SU TANG (素醣)

  Day 15, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Shuishang Province, Huadu Sect

  I later learned that a kind soul had taken me—reckless me— had dragged me, unconscious and reeking of ash, to the medical bay after I passed out. For five hours.

  The elders had been shocked. Not because I had singlehandedly endangered myself in a blaze of spiritual combustion—no, that sort of melodrama was practically expected in entrance examinations—but because someone could be so desperate to melt their primordial spirit for the sake of passing the examination.

  Voluntarily.

  On purpose.

  With full knowledge of the consequences.

  I would have been shocked too, if that suicidal lunatic hadn’t been me. And for the record it hadn’t been desperation, just sheer stupidity.

  The real twist, however, was that no one raised a fuss about me growing báilián. Not even a whisper from the gossip mongers, and believe me, that was saying something. Usually, the courtyard tongues wag so fast you’d think they were trying to summon wind spirits. But this time? Nothing. Maybe no one noticed. Hard to tell anything when the arena is exploding around you.

  Xiao Wu later claimed the explosion had the magnitude of a volcanic eruption. A minor one, he added quickly, lest my ego inflate and I try to outdo myself next time. As if I’d try that. According to him, if Qi Qi hadn’t intervened, everyone in the east wing would’ve been charcoal.

  When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself tightly swaddled in sterile white sheets like a poorly wrapped dumpling.

  What a day.

  I peeled the covers off and perched at the edge of the bed. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the high window, spilling golden threads across the floor. My bare feet hovered just above my cotton shoes.

  “You’re awake.”

  The voice came from a tall woman looming over me like a mountain. She placed a bowl of water on the bedside table and pressed an icy hand to my forehead. Her skin smelled faintly of lavender and dry herbs.

  “Your fever is down. Good.” She crouched onto her haunches and smiled like we were old friends.

  I must’ve looked suspicious, because she hastily added, “I’m Chun Li. The host.”

  Ah. So, this was the woman who scorned us in the courtyard earlier. I expected her to sound shriller.

  But I guess I can’t blame her. She was probably reading a script.

  “Your adoptive grandfather used to take care of me.”

  No wonder the name seemed familiar. Lao Zhe rarely spoke about his past, let alone his history with his other disciples. But the name ‘Chun Li’ had surfaced a few times.

  I leaned slightly away from her touch. Even if she claimed to be a friend, I wasn’t stupid. Anyone who knew Lao Zhe would know I was his disciple. And impersonating a friend of my grandfather was an easy ploy. All it took was confidence and the right amount of sentimental detail.

  Chun Li snorted softly, wagging her finger like an overconfident scholar correcting a misbehaving student.

  “Lao Zhe said you wouldn’t trust me.” She reached into the front pocket of her apron. “But you trust this, don’t you?”

  I tilted my head. Between her fingers dangled a navy-blue hair ribbon, all frayed, faded, and painfully familiar. Yellow chrysanthemums bloomed messily across the cloth, the petals uneven and smudged. Bamboo shoots flanked the flowers like awkward sentries.

  My very first embroidery project. Everyone had laughed, except Lao Zhe. He’d worn it in his hair for a week straight and told the elders they lacked ‘vision.’

  There were only three reasons why Chun Li could have it: she was trusted, she was dangerous, or she had forced Lao Zhe’s hand. Given the situation, and the absence of Blossom Chief Ju, I doubted it was the last.

  She pressed the ribbon into my palm, her thumb brushing the coarse stitches. A memory crossed her face like a ripple over still water. “He said you—that your alchemy style reminded him of the Blossom Deity.”

  I blinked. I had known Qi Qi was talented. A once-in-a-four-thousand-years kind of prodigy. But I hadn’t known that people could see that kind of legacy. I would’ve trained harder if I knew I had a cosmic comparison hanging over my head.

  Chun Li’s smile softened into something too pitying for my taste.

  “It’s a shame your talent is going to waste.”

  I didn’t ask why. I knew better than to open questions when I didn’t want to hear the answer.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  She moved to sit beside the bowl. “You would have made a fine alchemist. But you’ve been assigned other duties.”

  I exhaled. “I’m going to be someone’s servant.” Aren’t I?

  She didn’t answer.

  I shouldn’t have known the Guild wouldn’t be handing out alchemist positions for free. I bet that ploy about getting The Velvet Root Compendium for a tier-seven pill is fake too.

  Chun Li bit her lip. “Also, since you destroyed the arena, you won’t—”

  “Of course,” I mumbled, collapsing backward into the bed and staring up. The ceiling offered an uninspiring shade of beige. But my choices were even duller.

  When will you start using your brain?

  “It could’ve been worse,” Chun Li offered.

  Yes. I could be dead. Or worse, being trapped in some overblown cultivation novel with evil stepsisters and tragic misunderstandings, which—quite frankly—was sounding like a better story already.

  “Well,” she clapped her hands, disturbingly chipper, “since that’s sorted, let’s get you ready. Up you get.”

  With great effort, I hauled my protesting limbs together and slid off the bed. “Where to?”

  She was already halfway out the door. “Where else? The Imperial Alchemist Guild.”

  Ah. Of course.

  ***

  Within a span of seven days, I had managed to enter the Guild’s exclusive library twice. The library put Shuishang’s to shame and that was saying something. Scrolls upon scrolls, books upon books, shelves upon shelves towered like palace guards frozen mid-march. And yet, the high-ceilinged entrance hall was grand enough to host a minor gala…or a small war. Honestly, either would suit the atmosphere.

  Chun Li clicked her way across the marbled flooring, each step echoing like a passive-aggressive complaint. She was probably the only person in this whole building who could weaponise heels and smugness in equal measure.

  Suddenly, arms appeared in my periphery and wrapped around me, squeezing my ribcage tighter than a boa constrictor.

  “Su Tang! Are you alright? What happened?” Lao Zhe cried with a paternal tempest, just as Chun Li announced my presence.

  He pulled back just enough to pat my face like it owed him rent and kneaded my shoulders with enough force to tenderise meat. “Let me have a good look at you. One, two, three, four. Good, you’re not missing any limbs. Open your mouth. Say ‘ahhh’. Ahhh?”

  “She’s fine,” Ju Ying said, arms folded, voice unimpressed.

  “You don’t know that. Su Tang don’t listen to her. Open your mouth. I need to check for internal injuries.”

  I gently batted his hands away and clasped them in mine. “I’m fine, yéyé.”

  He finally eased his grip.

  “I told you not to cause any trouble. You should thank Chun Li for covering for you,” the Blossom Chief scolded. Then her glare swivelled to Chun Li. “But was that comment necessary?”

  Chun Li widened her apple-green eyes—glistening and innocent like a deer. “What comment?”

  “Don’t be coy with me.”

  “I forgot. It’s all scripted anyway.” Chun Li tapped her chin with one finger, then turned and held out her palm toward Ju Ying, rubbing her thumb and index finger together. “But maybe you can jog my memory.”

  Man, this Chun Li was bold enough to provoke Ju Ying and ask for money too. Since meeting her in the infirmary I suspected that she must’ve been one of Lao Zhe’s older disciple, trained long before Ju Ying joined the ranks. Only we younger ones still feared Ju Ying’s wrath. But Ju Ying’s seniors treated her outbursts like inconvenient rain: loud, predictable, and harmless against an umbrella.

  The Blossom Chief rolled up her sleeves. “Oh, I will. And I don’t think you’ll enjoy it very much.”

  Chun Li backed up, hands raised like a peaceable monk caught stealing offerings. “Okay, okay!”

  Then, with a not-so-accidental glance at me and Lao Zhe, she added, “I didn’t realise your precious disciple would take the words so seriously. How was I supposed to know there was another alchemist talent?” She drifted over to Lao Zhe. “You always did have a good eye.”

  Confirmed. Chun Li was most definitely his former disciple.

  Ju Ying rubbed her forehead like she was trying to erase me from existence. “Never mind. What’s done is done.”

  She’d been saying that a lot lately. Which either meant she was coming to terms with my chaos or plotting my assassination. I really was the bane of her existence.

  She turned to me again. “Just be good and don’t cause any more trouble.”

  Chun Li snorted, rather helpfully.

  Ju Ying leaned forward. “Are you helping me or not? If not, the door is over there.”

  “Then you leave. This is my place,” Chun Li fired back.

  “Ladies, please.” Lao Zhe lifted his hands as though this were a battlefield and not just a regular day in our lives. “Blossom Chief Ju just wants to look after Su Tang.”

  Then, sotto voce: “And Ju Ying… maybe you should be a little more patient—”

  “Patient? I am being patient!” she barked.

  “Be more patient. You are asking Chun Li for a favour.”

  Ju Ying exhaled like it physically hurt. “I wouldn’t have to if someone behaved themselves.”

  I looked up and three pairs of eyes were drilling into me.

  I let out a nervous laugh, then quickly clamped my teeth down on it. I stared at my shoes like they’d whisper the correct response. They didn’t.

  Chun Li slung an arm over my shoulder like we were best friends instead of temporary allies. “She’ll be fine here. I promise to send her back in one piece.”

  Ju Ying replied without missing a beat, “Who says I want her back in one piece? It’s better if she gets punished. Maybe that’ll tone her arrogance.”

  “Blossom Chief…” I tried to soothe.

  “Shh. Zip it. Don’t cause trouble. That’s all. Can you do that?”

  A brilliant comeback poised itself on my tongue. But I swallowed it. She looked like she’d bitten her own patience in half just to deal with this mess.

  And anyway, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t warm me a little to see her expression shift from iron to something almost resembling relief.

  She turned away. Lao Zhe followed her toward the exit.

  Chun Li waved her hand like she was parting a curtain. “Come on. Let’s go to your real job.”

  I dragged my feet after her, already whispering silent prayers to the heavens. Please, please, please don’t let my new master be someone from the royal family.