Chapter 3

XIAN

Xian walked toward his mother's bedchamber. The circular openings along the corridor and the latticed windows of her quarters

did more than let in light and air—whenever she had to spend days or even weeks restricted to bed, they were her only portals

to the world. Her windows overlooked gardens that were among the most beautiful on the palace grounds, landscaped with osmanthus

trees, karst rock formations, and a koi pond.

His mother's handmaids bowed as Xian approached her bedchamber. He acknowledged them with a nod before sliding open the wooden

doors.

Inside, candles threw flickering shadows across the painted phoenixes on the joined panels of the píng fēng , a folding screen that shielded his mother's bed from view. The windows were closed at this late hour to keep out night drafts, and the still air was suffused with the scent of sandalwood from the incense burners.

Xian shut the doors soundlessly behind him. He crossed to the dresser and opened a velvet box. Inside was a slender bamboo

flute. He brought the mouthpiece to his lips and held the flute horizontally, his fingers moving smoothly over the holes along

its hollow length. He continued to play as he walked to the folding screen and peeked around its outermost panel.

His mother sat in bed, leaning against the headboard, a luxurious embroidered quilt pulled up to her chest. Though she was

not yet forty, strands of silver wove through her dark hair. Her sunken cheeks made the pallor of her skin starker, but her

eyes still sparkled with warmth.

"Xian'er." She held out her hand. "I used to play ‘The Song of the Crow' when you were a baby to lull you to sleep. Now my

ears prick up whenever I hear the tune, because it means my dear boy has come to see me."

"Niang Qin." Xian lowered the flute as he sat on the edge of her bed. "Sorry I'm later than usual tonight."

His mother hid a smile. "I'm sure you had to make many preparations for your journey to Changle tomorrow."

"Father told you?"

"Your first official diplomatic mission at the age of seventeen." She beamed. "Your father has a great deal of faith in you

to send you to the capital of Min. And I could not be more proud of my son."

Xian's father had instructed him to keep the oracle's words and his real purpose in Changle a secret; they didn't want to raise his mother's hopes until they had the cure.

Xian took his mother's hand in both of his own. Her knuckles were bony, and her skin felt as thin as rice paper. "My only

regret is that I won't be here to help you make zòng zi for the Duanwu Festival."

The Duanwu Festival was celebrated on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, coinciding with the summer solstice. People

would watch dragon boat races and eat zòng zi —triangular sticky rice dumplings filled with sweet or savory ingredients such as chestnuts, jujubes, red beans, and minced

pork meat. Other consorts in the palace delegated the laborious task of making the dumplings to their servants, but Xian's

mother's zòng zi were his father's favorite, and she took great pride in making them herself. Even after the snakebite had paralyzed her with

pain and stiffness, she never missed a year. She taught Xian how to wrap the rice with two reed leaves, but he always squeezed

too hard while tying the dumpling with colored string. His father remarked that he could tell which zòng zi Xian had made by the dents in them.

Last year, on the evening of the Duanwu Festival, his mother was well enough to leave her bedroom. Her attendants carried

her out of the palace in a palanquin—a furnished wooden booth lifted with two long horizontal poles. She asked to be taken

to the Broken Bridge, away from the crowds gathered on the eastern shore. Xian sat beside her on a cushioned stool, and they

watched the dragon boats race as the sun set over the West Lake.

Now his mother winked. "Next year, I'll hide the fattest zòng zi from your father and save them for you."

Three months, maybe a little longer. Xian had to force himself not to react. Did she not know she was dying? Or was she trying to shield him from the truth?

His mother stifled a yawn, and Xian remembered the medicine with opium poppies that the physicians had prescribed for her.

"It's getting late." He adjusted her quilt. "I'll wish you good night now."

"Wait." She caught his hand. "I want to give you something before you leave on your journey tomorrow." She reached behind

her pillow and withdrew a jade amulet on a silver chain. "Before I left my hometown, my mother brought this amulet to the

temple to be blessed by the priest. Then she gave it to me for protection. Light-colored jade is more valuable, but dark-colored

jade gives strength to overcome adversity."

Xian took the amulet. Instead of translucent emerald green, the weathered jade had a dusky shade, with dull veins and mottled

specks.

"When I came to live in the palace, the jade worn by other women was so brilliant and lustrous," his mother continued. "I

was afraid people would laugh at my cheap amulet, so I kept it hidden. A prince should not be seen wearing jade of such low

quality, but you can carry it in your pocket. Jade is a living stone that grows stronger the longer it is worn—this amulet

will protect you and ward off any evil that tries to harm you."

Xian looped the chain around his neck and slipped the amulet inside his shirt. The jade's cool weight rested against his chest.

"I'll wear it close to my heart," he told her. "I'll be home before you start to miss me."

"That's impossible. You'll have to turn and come back the moment you walk out of my chamber." His mother let out a watery

laugh. "Oh, I'm just being silly. I promise to keep in good health and welcome you when you return. Bring home a souvenir

from Changle if you can."

Renewed resolve coalesced in Xian's chest. He was closer than ever to finding the white snake. He could feel it in his bones,

like a prophecy. Like a vow.

"I will, Niang Qin," he replied.