Back in the guest lodgings, Pun folded all three Taoist garbs and placed them in small bamboo baskets by the bed. She replenished the oil lamps, closed the windows, and returned to her own room.

  Sochai was already in bed, huddled against thick covers. “Did you see the girl they were talking about?”

  Li Kung looked up. “You mean Wei Bin’s daughter, the Red Dragon princess? I didn’t notice. Did you see her?”

  “I did.”

  “As beautiful as they say?”

  Sochai sighed. “More. Much more.”

  Li Kung shook his head with a smile. He moved to the window, pushed it slightly open and peered into the heavens. The sky was clear, the moon high. He tucked a large canvas bag into his robes and headed to the door.

  The Mongolian lay quietly on the bed, expressionless. Under the dim light, Li Kung watched Sochai’s eyes close, as if his soul had left him for a faraway land, a better land. Then, a faint smile appeared on his bluish face, like ice rising to the surface of a pond.

  Li Kung frowned. He may not be able to save this man. The poison-user was the only chance he had.

  Li Kung slipped into Pun’s room and found her curled up in bed, fast asleep. He lowered the canvas sack he was carrying, tiptoed to the candle in the middle of the room, and extinguished it. He knelt by her bedside and stroked her long hair, her full cheeks.

  “Pun,” he whispered. “I’m going to look for the poison.”

  She moaned in her sleep and turned away. He brushed her lips with his long fingers, and leaned in to kiss her earlobe. “I’ll be back before you wake up.”

  He retreated from the bed as quietly as he could, picked up his canvas sack and inched out of the room. She was tired and he wanted her to rest well. He breathed a deep sigh. He needed to rest too. But there was no time for that. Once outside, he closed her door, threw a coat over his shoulders, covered most of his face with a cloth shawl, and began walking.

  His movements were swift but cautious, staying in the shadows, veering away from the guards in the distance. When he was alone in the dark, Li Kung reached into his overcoat for the canvas bag and held it like he would a child, before pulling apart the drawstring. The head of a little brown monkey appeared.

  Li Kung’s monkey was named Peppercorn. Long hours were spent training her to search for the unique scent of arsenic, which every poison-user would keep in abundance. The poison-user of Redwood Cliff could be nothing other than a great alchemist. A simple stash of arsenic should not be hard to find.

  Peppercorn climbed out of the bag and peered left and right before dropping to the ground. She leaped across the icy snow.

  Li Kung followed on light tiptoes. The monkey pranced through the darkness on all fours, pausing here and there to smell her surroundings, often stopping to wait for Li Kung. She climbed to every window, peeked inside like a child looking for candy, then reluctantly loped to other buildings, other windows.

  For a long time, Peppercorn scrambled about. Sometimes, guards with bright lanterns patrolled the main roads, and Li Kung huddled with his monkey in the shadows until they passed. Often, the slightest sound inside a window would send Peppercorn scurrying into Li Kung’s arms, and they would hide together, in darkness, until the world was silent once more.

  The monkey found nothing. Much later, Li Kung placed Peppercorn back in the canvas bag. All buildings on Redwood Cliff were concentrated by the edge of the cliff, and they had covered most of it. Why couldn’t they find the walnut smell of arsenic? He observed the cluster of concentrated buildings, the dense pine trees lining the side of the cliff, the dark, eerie forest by the Grand Stairway.

  Then it came to him. A great poison-user would practice in solitude, would never store his unique creations where hundreds of people passed each day. He must practice somewhere hidden, quiet, unnoticeable.

  The northern side of the cliff, densely engulfed by pine trees, lacked roads. All activities on Redwood Cliff seemed to point away from the north. Li Kung cradled his monkey, took a deep breath of icy air, and headed north.

  The pine trees were unnaturally tall. Their hovering arms formed a canopy, completely covering the sky, leaving him no light from the moon. Li Kung closed his eyes, his arms outstretched, and stumbled across the icy earth. Soon. He would find the poison-user soon. Then what? What would he do then, against the greatest poison-user across the land?

  A pavilion appeared in the darkness. It seemed abandoned for decades, with the red paint on its four main columns cracked and faded. It was slightly elevated by five marble steps; grayish, almost ghostly. Li Kung absently opened the canvas bag.

  Peppercorn tested the frozen ground, shook her small brown head, then scampered away. She was on to something.

  Li Kung ran on tiptoes, breathing in short, quick gasps, straining to keep up. Peppercorn didn’t stop to wait for him this time.

  Moments later, a bare pine tree loomed before them. The monkey paused, sat on her hind legs and gawked at the tree. The branches had already fallen. Pine needles darkened with decay littered the ground. It was clear that the tree died recently, perhaps no less than a year ago. It rested against a small hill of hard earth and stacked boulders; the trunk so massive that four men couldn’t wrap their arms around it.

  The monkey inched to the tree, stopping every two steps to wait for her companion. Li Kung stepped past her, reached into his pockets, produced a silver stake, wiped it on his coat and stabbed it into the tree.

  The dead bark gave way, the rotted wood underneath yielded with a soft crumbling sound. Li Kung yanked the spike and stared. The silver had turned black. The tree was toxic.

  Li Kung circled behind the trunk and noticed fallen pines behind it. He hid Peppercorn in his coat again, peered around the trunk, and discovered an opening in the rock barely large enough for one man to squeeze into, unmistakably an entrance to a tunnel. He drew his pouch of green powder, bundled together some dry twigs. He sifted the powder, and in a moment, held a blazing torch in his hand.

  The descent into the tunnel was slippery, the rocks covered by moss and slime. It led into a damp room.

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  Steel urns and ovens occupied most of the room, with newly built shelves lining all four walls. There was a familiar smell of herbal debris in one of the urns. He trembled with excitement. This was it. This place was too well hidden for the production of ordinary medicine.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. Redwood Cliff was a known fortress, impossible to penetrate, and the few who actually visited never found their way without a guide. Now, with only the help of a tiny monkey, he had located a room so well hidden, so secretive.

  Li Kung directed the shimmering light to reveal row after row of porcelain jars, all in different colors and sizes. He stabilized the torch in a crack between two urns, pulled many tiny pouches from his pocket and reached for the closest jar. There was no way he could take a sample from every jar in the room. He didn’t know what the elixir looked or smelled like. There was no choice but to grab a small handful from as many jars as he could.

  At the other end of the room was a sub-den too low for a child to walk into. Li Kung dropped to all fours, waved his torch inside, and noticed wooden boxes, neatly stacked with cloth seals around them. He crawled in, picked up a box while lying on his back, and unwounded the seal.

  “Why are we here, Master Bin?” The voice came from the tunnel. Li Kung froze. Someone was coming. He dashed the torch into the ground, curled himself into a ball and waited. Peppercorn scratched his coat and he silenced her with a firm pat.

  “It’s private here. Too many people on Redwood Cliff tonight.” It was a younger but overpowering voice.

  Li Kung could see the light of a bright lantern coming through the tunnel. Soon, two men stepped into the room, one leading the other.

  Li Kung felt himself growing weak. He recognized them both. The middle-aged man was Wei Bin, leader of the Red Dragons and commander of Redwood Cliff. Li Kung had spotted him in the main hall just after sunset. There was a silk fan in his left hand, despite the cold winter, which he rocked in front of his chest as a matter of habit. The spines on the fan were made of metal. Behind him was Tao Hing, the old man with long white hair and a general’s splendor, who, two days ago, dropped spikes into the snow to ambush Stump.

  “Who can be out at this time of night?” Tao Hing asked.

  “Maybe a Green Dragon is snooping around,” Wei Bin said, seating himself on a long bench and extending his hand for Tao Hing to do the same. “Maybe Black Shadow.”

  Tao Hing chuckled. “And what chance do we have of stopping Black Shadow if he’s here on Redwood Cliff? No one’s ever lived to describe how fast he is. Although, the last I heard, Wei Xi couldn’t find him. Maybe he’s not here.”

  “Black Shadow only appears when my brother is in grave danger, and there should be no reason to suspect danger at my mother’s funeral. Everything will go as planned. Now, what exactly did you say to my brother?”

  “I told him exactly what he dreamed of hearing,” Tao Hing said. “He could hardly believe his ears.”

  Wei Bin laughed a cold, eerie laugh. He closed his fan with a snap of the wrist and clapped it against his palm. “That brother of mine. How could anyone in the Wei family be so stupid?”

  “I told him we found the jade dragon, and the Old Grandmother wanted us to share this leadership, and we must unite as one family and keep the wealth and power within the family. I told him it was your wish that he keep the jade—because he’s the older brother—and we wish to live in peace. I told him you didn’t want new shifts in power.”

  “And what did my brother say?”

  “He was too pleased. He agreed to complete peace during the funeral, and he’ll call a banquet afterward to discuss a truce.”

  Wei Bin broke into a short laugh. “Excellent. Very well done. Although my brother’s words can’t be accepted at face value, of course. He’s certainly here with a battle plan.”

  “Any battle tomorrow would lead to massive loss of life,” Tao Hing said. “This’ll be the first time in many years our two Houses will stand together in one place. It won’t be easy.”

  “And what if the Green Dragons pick a fight?”

  “I’ve instructed Old Snake to prepare a poison fog,” the old man said. “It’ll weaken, but not kill.”

  Old Snake! That must be the name of the poison-user. Li Kung craned his neck forward.

  “Excellent!” Wei Bin said again. “We can’t risk a battle tomorrow, for the sake of our long-term strategy.”

  “Long-term strategy?”

  “I see my old strategist is not aware of the long-term strategy. Well, this is it. The medicine we create in this room.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tao Hing said. “We already dominate the salt business—and salt is forever in high demand—but that didn’t make us supreme leaders of the Martial Society. What can we accomplish by selling an herbal tea?”

  “You’ll see soon enough. Everyone will buy our tea, even the Green Dragons—even my dimwit brother. You’ll see. Tao Hing, would you notify our men? Any hostility from our side means execution. We’ll shorten the ceremony, host the lunch in separate banquet halls, and they’ll leave peacefully by mid-afternoon.”

  “Sure,” Tao Hing said with a bow. Wei Bin stood up to leave.

  “Rest well tonight,” Li Kung heard him say. In a moment, they were deep inside the tunnel. Wei Bin’s voice echoed with a low tremor. “We all need to be wide awake tomorrow.”

  The silence broke so abruptly Li Kung felt like he was in a dream. The room was pitch dark, and for a second, he was blind and deaf. Somehow, he found his pouch of green powder, ignited the bundle of branches, and, shying away from the stinging light in his hand, clambered out of his hiding place. The porcelain jars seemed to stare at him, and he looked away with a shudder. These were the ingredients to the tea Wei Bin spoke of. Could it be the elixir that he came to find?

  He needed a sample from every jar on the shelves. His cloth pouches, lined with multiple pockets, were already pregnant with ingredients from the room. He barely collected half of what he found.

  Time seemed to freeze when there was so much to find and so much to know. Li Kung struggled to relax his hands so his cold fingers could peel off the sheets of waxed parchment that he had prepared. Perhaps the residual compounds would give Old Two a hint of the actual specimen. He smeared portions of the herbal mixture from each urn, his eyes turning often, waiting for another light to emerge from the tunnel. Perhaps Wei Bin would unexpectedly return.

  Time was not on his side. It never was. He gathered his pouches, secured them inside his coat, and ran for the tunnel exit. Near the narrow opening, he threw down his torch and extinguished it before emerging into cold air.

  The ground was heavily frozen. It yielded no footprints and made it difficult to retrace his steps. Once he found the strange pavilion again, he would recognize the pine forest to the south.

  The air was even colder than before. The wind lifted out of nowhere and tore through the pine trees; his ears were so numb he could hardly hear the screams of agitated wind. Metallic silver reflected from the millions of silver needles around him, waiting to pierce him, waiting to draw his blood. He moved slower, his head down, his back hunched over, fighting the powerful gusts that struck him again and again.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Li Kung saw a weak, yellow light emerging from the woods. His heart stopped. Guests were not allowed outside the mansions. Being caught would mean the end.

  He spun around, gasping for air, searching for a place to hide, when suddenly, he realized that the old pavilion was behind him all along. He had found his way, but that didn’t matter now. He recognized the yellow lantern—the Red Dragon night patrols carried them, and with the stolen herbs bulging from his pockets, he wouldn’t survive one stroke of a Red Dragon sword.

  Li Kung scrambled for the pavilion. Behind it was a small ledge of dirt and cobblestone, with a drop no taller than the height of two men. It was a hiding place. Li Kung saw his chance and jumped. The whistle of a gust of wind muted the sound of his landing. He crouched low, and prayed.

  Li Kung watched the lantern brighten, hearing the large, bold footsteps of an approaching man. The ledge was too shallow, even if he lay flat on his stomach. He could be exposed.

  Then he saw it—a tiny opening between the rocks, almost completely hidden underneath the ledge. It must be another tunnel, like the one behind the massive pine tree. He crawled into the opening, climbed in feet first, and lowered himself.

  He couldn’t feel the ground underneath. He kicked and couldn’t find footing. Perhaps there was a slight drop into the tunnel. He dangled, stretching to reach the ground, and felt himself weaken.

  Li Kung closed his eyes and allowed his hands to slip.

  He thought he heard himself gasp and felt his heart skip a beat when he realized that he was still falling—the pit was very, very deep. With a dull slap, he felt himself land on soft sand, something jolted in his throat, his bones rattled against impact, and the yellow light somewhere above him become very, very dark.

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