Descendant of the Crane(2)

And they did come—at the hands of eleven scrappy outlaws who climbed the Ning Mountains, crossed the Kendi’an dunes, breached the imperial walls, and beheaded the last relic emperor on his very throne. They emancipated serfs and set them to work on dikes and embankments. Storms calmed. Floods drained. They opened the doors of education to women and commoners, and their disciples circulated the former outlaws’ philosophies in a book called the Tenets. The people of Yan called them the Eleven. Legends. Saviors. Heroes.

“Beware the devil of lies.”

Of course, heroes cannot be forged without villains: the emperor’s henchmen, the sooths. The Eleven rooted them out by their unique blood, which evaporated quicker than any human’s and ignited blue. They burned tens of thousands at the stake to protect the new era from their machinations.

Whatever the reason, murder was murder. The dead were dead. Hating the sooths, as the people continued to do, made little sense to Hesina. But occasionally, like now, with the beggar barking ominous warnings, her pity for the sooths spawned into fear, eating away at her conception of a sooth until it collapsed and a new one rose in its place: a faceless head attached to a charred body, an eyeless, toothless monster straight from the Ten Courts of Hell.

By the time Hesina eradicated the image, the beggar was gone and another had taken his place, resuming the chants—in an alltoo-familiar female voice.

“Beware the one you leave behind.”

Oh no.

Hesina whirled as a hooded figure strode toward them.

“My, my. What do we have here?” The newcomer circled Hesina. “I like the linen ruqun. Very commoner-esque. As for you…” She flung aside Caiyan’s cloak and frowned at the plain hanfu beneath. “This is how you try to pass as a sprightly nineteen-year-old in search of a romp? What are you, a broke scholar?”

Caiyan readjusted his cloak. “We’re going to a music house.”

The newcomer placed a hand against her hip. “I thought you said ‘brothel.’”

“I said no such thing.”

“I could have sworn—”

“I thought,” Hesina gritted out, overcoming her shock and glaring at Caiyan, “you were to say nothing about this to anyone.”

Caiyan, in turn, glared at the newcomer. “You said you wouldn’t come if I told you.”

“You should have known better!” cried Hesina, and Caiyan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know, milady. Forgive me.”

“Now there, Na-Na.” The newcomer lowered her hood and fluffed out her braids. Pinned back like a pair of butterfly wings and woven through with bright ribbons, the braids were a signature part of Yan Lilian’s style. So was the mischief in her eyes, a shade of chestnut slightly lighter than her twin Caiyan’s. “The stone-head tried. It’s not his fault that I blackmailed him. Besides, did you really think I’d let you commit treason without me?”

Hesina wasn’t sure whether to be angry or miserable. “This isn’t a game.”

“You promised.” Caiyan sounded mostly miserable.

Lilian ignored him and faced Hesina. “Of course it’s not a game. It’s a dangerous, important mission befitting a threesome. Look at it this way: you need one person to hear this forbidden wisdom, one to watch the door for intruders, and one to beat up the intruders.”

“Send her away,” Hesina ordered Caiyan.

Lilian danced out of Caiyan’s reach. “I could still tell all your high-minded court friends that the illustrious Yan Caiyan reads erotic novellas in his spare time. Who’s the latest favorite? Wang Hutian?”

Caiyan made a strangled sound. Lilian laughed. Hesina watched their shadows lengthen under the moonlight.

They were losing time.

“Let’s walk,” said Lilian, as if reading Hesina’s mind. She linked their arms. “You can try to get rid of me on the way.”

Hesina knew better than to try. They proceeded in silence, the low-lying shops on either side giving way to taller, pillared structures. The song of zithers and pipa lutes replaced drunken improvisations.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Hesina finally said.

“What’s life without a bit of danger?”

“Be serious.”

“I am, Na-Na.” Like a real sister, Lilian still used Hesina’s diminutive name long after she’d outgrown it. “Father might be gone, but he won’t be forgotten. Not with us here.”

“That’s…” Comforting. Frightening, that Hesina had more loved ones to lose. “Thank you,” she finished hoarsely.

“Well, we might not be here for much longer, since meeting with this person may end in death by a thousand cuts.”

“Lilian!”

“Sorry. Sorry. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Ahead of them, Caiyan stopped in front of a three-tiered building. From the outside, it resembled one of the celestial pagodas rumored to exist back when gods walked the earth. But inside, it was every bit a music house. Beaded curtains fell from the balustrades. Private rooms blushed behind latticework screens. The namesake music—plucked and bowed—gusted through the air, fanning Hesina’s anxiety.

“Don’t look anyone in the eye,” Caiyan instructed as they crossed the raised threshold and came into the antechamber. “And don’t take off the hood of your cloak,” he ordered, right before lowering his.