Chasing Moonflowers, page 2
Ling contemplated the myriad of theories about Lady Tun on her way home. Was she a mean witch who hexed children who came too close? Or simply an old woman waiting for a visit from the grim reaper? Too old to take children’s tales seriously, Ling nonetheless felt the thrill and danger of the mystery.
The road home took her past the mansions along the bay. Her best friend from school, Emma, lived inside one of these homes, a lemon yellow house. However, while they lived reasonably close to one another, their lives couldn’t be farther apart. In between Emma’s neighborhood and hers, the missionaries had constructed a marble building as a school for younger grades. Here, the twins started their studies at the proper time, unlike her.
Continuing onward, Ling passed a wall erected with hand-chipped stones. The barrier divided the lands of the ghosts and those of local rule, enclosing the area around an abandoned fort. In between the military structures, factories, schools, and restaurants sprang up overnight. The armory had been converted into residential apartments. With no sovereign nation assuming jurisdiction, the Kowloon Walled City was run by groups committed in an uneasy truce.
A week ago, her town had been a quiet, rural village. But now, new families flooded the farmlands. Tents and signs organized around the stone wall suggested a season for rebellion. The winding paths also increased her travel time. Laborers had departed their posts on the island in households, factories, and shipping companies in support of a greater cause. After foreign forces had killed unarmed protestors in Shanghai, locals were demanding better hours, higher wages, and an end to child labor.
The school yard was empty. She was too late to pick up her brothers. While it wasn’t her responsibility to fetch them, she loved to catch them by surprise when she could. They sometimes played jacks or jumped rope after school. Watching Gou and Kit laugh made her days complete.
Passing the playground, an eerie feeling descended on the courtyard lined with flowering trees. Ominous white blooms popped up out of waxed leaves. The colors reminded her of a scene of mourning. Hot wind carried a heaviness from the mountains, thickening the air and weighing down her steps. As she approached her house, Ling shrank into herself. The two-bedroom structure had been haphazardly constructed, unlike the artful Venetian decor of her father’s old ship.
Inside, her brothers sang. Lights glowed from the kitchen window as smoke poured from the crooked metal chimney. She had never imagined her life to have contracted so tightly.
When she opened the door, her mother was not there. Her brothers were sitting at the kitchen table two bowls in front of them, swinging their legs while humming an off-key melody:
Three blind mice.
Three blind mice.
See how they run.
See how they run.
“Mom left food for you,” Gou said, jumping up to greet her. “She agreed to an extra shift.” A third bowl sat with a cover on the table. Ling’s stomach grumbled.
“Be back before eleven,” Kit parroted Ahma in a fake high-pitched voice.
Ling pursed her lips. This complicated things. To deliver the package to Lady Tun, she would have to wait until her mother returned. Ling never liked when Ahma was out during twilight, especially when it meant leaving her brothers alone. Her mother’s sacrifice felt like she was running away. Ling felt that Ahma was disappearing into responsibility, so she wouldn’t have to face the bleakness of their situation. It was up to Ling to stay grounded.
“Ahma only left a short time ago.” Kit read Ling’s face. “Don’t worry. We’re safe.” He lifted up a slingshot. “I have this to protect us!”
“Our warrior.” She ruffled his hair. Then she plucked three stones she had collected from the sands out of her bag.
Kit’s eyes sparkled as Ling lined them up on the table. He rolled a smooth stone in between his hands. Then he pulled one back in the slingshot, making his fiercest face. “I can battle all the ancient beasts: dragon, bird, tiger, and tortoise.”
He loved mythological stories, and like her, he always had his head buried in books. The world’s common origin grounded her. Without these tales, her dreams floated back out to sea, where she had been born and raised during the first decade of her life.
“Your weapon doesn’t work on people.” Gou waved his hands in front of Kit’s face.
“I wouldn’t want to meet you in the woods,” Ling assured him. She put on a brave face, but the idea of her kid brothers lost in the wilderness sent shivers down her back. It was just as possible for her siblings to go missing.
Kit relaxed and rested the slingshot in his lap. With a pleased look, he scooped another mouthful of rice and chicken into his mouth. “I’ve been practicing behind the trees at school. I can knock pods off from the panpo trees.”
Ling blinked twice. She had gathered those seeds around his school during the fall; they didn’t grow on school grounds. This was the first time she’d heard of either of them leaving the school yard. “When did you play in the woods by yourself?”
“No, there are…oh…um…” Gou mumbled with a mouthful of half-chewed dinner. The question quieted both of them.
“It’s okay, you’re not in trouble, but you must be careful. Do you know that Cili is missing?” She enunciated their classmate’s name, watching her brothers’ expressions change from mischievous to frightened.
The boys glanced at each other, then nodded in unison.
Kit replied. “She wasn’t in school yesterday or today. But the day before…” Under the table, he fidgeted with his hands.
Ling moved toward the table. The woman, probably Cili’s mother, and her uncle had spoken the truth about the girl’s disappearance.
“Cili…she…” Gou said.
“Shh.” Kit lowered his head, rubbing his fingers over the leather strap on the slingshot.
“If you know something, it can help find her,” Ling said, hoping she spoke the truth. She glanced at the old oak steering wheel leaning against the back corner. In times like these, she wished her father was around to advise them.
She knelt next to Kit and touched his arm. He blinked rapidly as he scrunched his nose. Lowering her voice, she reassured him. “It’s not your fault.”
“Cili told us,” Kit swallowed, “about sweets at the edge of the marsh.”
“Licorice and cookies.” Gou smiled as if the treats conjured in front of him.
“Sweets? From who?” She bit her lip. There had been too many new people coming into their town.
Kit looked into her eyes. “We told her not to go.”
The dread in their eyes set a knot in her stomach. “Who told her to head there?”
Kit shook his head. Gou gobbled up his food and left the room, dragging his school bag with him.
The space fell dead silent, except for the crickets outside. Something twisted inside of her, making it hard to breathe. Reluctantly, Ling abandoned her inquiries. The thought of their missing friend had distressed them too much; she would get nothing more from them.
She didn’t want to leave her brothers alone to deliver the package to Lady Tun, so she ate and waited for her mother to return.
At bedtime, Kit asked Ling to tell the story of creation. The stories were ancient; they had existed before Imperial Kings, before invasions by the Manchurians, before the poppy plague. Tales of primordial creatures brought a certain comfort in these times when strangers whispered offers of treats from the marsh.
Ling jumped into the story:
After the wars between the Gods of Fire and Water, Nuwa repaired the sky. She used bits and pieces of her human face and serpent body to heal the wounds in the air, waters, and earth. When she was done, the Goddess was lonely. She gathered substances from the earth, crafting noblepersons from yellow mud, animals from white sand, and demons from red clay. With a sprinkle of dark sky, she formed the four mythical beasts.
When Ling ended the tale, Gou had burrowed under the blankets, asleep. Kit’s eyes were still half-open. He waved Ling to his side.
“Did she make us?” Kit asked, his eyelids drooping.
“Perhaps she did,” Ling said.
“The snake woman said we could have more sweets.” Kit mumbled.
A tingling feathered Ling’s scalp. Had he really just identified Nuwa as the culprit in Cili’s disappearance? Kit had a wild imagination, but something inside of her said he hadn’t fabricated the revelation. She squeezed his arm gently, hoping for clarification.
A small hand reached out from under the covers, dropping something cold into Ling’s palm. Her fingers rubbed over a pattern etched into the material.
“What is this?” Ling held up the piece of round metal. It reflected silver in the moonlight. The edges were rough and uneven. At its center, the word for snake had been engraved. But it wasn’t the modern word se (蛇). It was the script from thousands of years ago:
“Snake” in ancient bone script.
“Caramels and taffy.” His eyes rolled backwards as they closed.
She gasped. Her brothers had never tasted those soft candies, only longed for them in shop windows. “When did you have them?”
His body slumped in relaxation, fully asleep.
“From who?” Ling hissed. She wanted to shake him awake, but in sleep, he looked peaceful. Who had spoken to them? What had been offered? In sleep, Kit and Guo looked so very calm and peaceful. She placed the coin on their desk, planning to ask more questions in the morning. It seemed to her that whatever had taken Cili wasn’t yet finished.
Three
Ling sprang up in a panic, startling awake. Her loaned copy of Camilla hit the floor with a thud. Moonlight shone over the books and other supplies that lined Ling’s bedroom shelves. While waiting for her mother to return, she had read more of the novel. The story was supposed to keep her awake. Instead, the elegant violence had mesmerized her and lulled her into a doze. Her worries returned to Lady Tun again. What if Lady Tun bad-mouthed their services? Could the business thrive with a soured reputation? She had to deliver that package no matter the hour. In the morning, Dabak would thank her for her initiative.
The moon sat low in the sky. Shortcuts through the marsh or Walled City would give her the time to deliver Lady Tun’s medicine by midnight. Sweat gathered on her nose as she pulled on her trousers and stuffed her hair into a cap. She yanked her bag over her shoulder. This outfit transformed her into a boy, at least from a distance. This was a safer way to travel at night.
She tiptoed into the common room. Ahma had returned while Ling had dozed off; the snores from the other bedroom marked the distance to the front door. Her twin brothers shared the larger room with Ahma, while Ling slept in the smaller one next to shelves of pickled lotus roots and the carcasses of pregnant mice. The arrangement provided her privacy, at least.
As soon as Ling stepped outside, a putrid smell bloomed. Rain mixed with rotting vegetables. Turned meat that hadn’t yet been scavenged by wild dogs. The odors of a neighborhood where no one had enough. She dipped her finger into the protective balm from Dabak. Rubbing the menthol under her nostrils, she warded the appalling smells away. Then she touched the salve to her forehead, shoulders, and wrists, the key points to shield her from unwanted evil. There were menaces which existed beyond the visible threats.
Passing the line of makeshift homes, she dodged grimy puddles and jumped over potholes. This neighborhood existed in a no-man’s land between the historical villages and the old fort walls. The Walled City offered a power vacuum where only ambition ruled.
Her body slid between the unnatural spaces. Even worse than the smells, darkness brushed against the back of her neck. The shadows felt malicious on her skin, and she quivered inside. The bravery she had drummed up in her mind hadn’t yet traveled to her heart.
Rubbish overflowed everywhere. Garbage service in Kowloon was fickle, run by the Red Society that collected weekly protection fees from merchants, shopkeepers, and businesspeople. Their demands had started back when they were a group of imperial rebels, taking refuge in the lawless parts of Kowloon. They had fought to restore the Ming Dynasty, because the Manchurian kings had suppressed science and hoarded resources. Absent other masters, the Red Society was the closest thing to a municipal government.
Now, a foreign ruler raided the native treasures, and people flocked to the former garrison. The location provided a perfect vantage point over the bay and foothills. If one could withstand the risks, the walled city offered unheard of freedoms and opportunities.
Approaching the entrance, Ling brushed against the tents that lined the walls. Dampness coated her skin. Lights flickered on from the higher floors in the stacked buildings above. Machines behind the stone walls buzzed and creaked, like the Walled City’s heartbeat. She was having second thoughts about her venture. Was a short cut a bad choice? If she didn’t return, who would search for her?
Decay permeated from the mortar. Under the moonlight, the boulders spoke to her. Ling gritted her teeth, letting herself through the entrance. After a few steps, she was startled by a different smell – inexpensive tobacco. She gasped and scurried into a divot in the wall. She hid in the shadows, observing as someone smoked.
The assured boy had hair falling around his face. He took a drag from his cigarette with confidence, revealing a reptile tattoo on his arm. She studied the scaled tail, wrapping from his muscular forearms to elbow. A symbol to show off, unlike the secret inked on her own inner arm. Who was he? He pushed his hair aside, and familiarity fluttered inside her stomach. She recognized that it was Enlai, the last person she wanted to see. In the two years since they had last spoken, he had grown taller and picked up a tobacco habit.
Her fears that her hiding place was inadequate were confirmed, as his eyes flickered in her direction. A smirk raised the corner of his mouth. He moved in her direction, until a gwai interrupted his stride.
“Hey there, friend,” said the stranger in a suit. Foreigners weren’t called ghosts merely for their pale complexions. They had earned the distinction with their shifty actions.
“Wait a second.” Enlai tried to go around the meddler, still gazing into the dark space where Ling held her breath, but the man grabbed his bicep. He whispered into Enlai’s ear.
“If you insist.” Enlai scowled. He flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and followed the man through a door.
Ling breathed again, slipping back into the street. Enlai hadn't crossed her mind in a long time. The burn of his betrayal still stung. He had apparently gotten everything he’d wanted. Well, good for him. He’d exchanged their friendship for ambition. Ling wanted nothing to do with him.
With the moon still rising, Ling decided to take a different route through the marsh. The thugs didn’t patrol the swamplands. They feared the monsters hiding in the reeds. But she would rather take her chances with nature than Enlai’s new pals.
Ling slid into an orchestra of frogs and bugs. Thanks to her many trips hunting herbs, she recognized where to step to keep her shoes dry. The warmth of the swamp wrapped around her ankles. Stars spread out overhead. Cries of the city fell away.
About halfway through the wetlands, Lady Tun’s shack became visible in the distance. Candles in its two windows glowed like eyes. Waves crashed against the rocks echoing through the dark. The sound deafened Ling’s other senses. A porch jutted from the structure’s middle like an open mouth, ready to devour visitors. Ling conjured an image of the rusted rectangular house, trying to see past the mist-shrouded, predatory shape facing her now.
The scent of sugared cookies carried her forward, the stars lighting up the cobblestone path.
“See, Dabak. I am competent enough to make the deliveries.” A thrill ran through her. She was so close to completing a task no one thought she could do.
Then a faint sob broke through the waves. It sounded like a cat. Without hesitation, Ling peeked over the edge of the rocks. Down below, the tide had receded, exposing footprints in the sands at the bottom. She was alarmed. Why would anyone go down there? It was dangerous.
She could so easily become one of the missing, falling into the waves or getting lost in the maze of homes inside the Walled City. Her own precariousness mixed with the dangers her brothers faced.
Ling shook her head. Cultivating terrible ideas would only scare her further.
As she approached the shack, Ling tiptoed around the back. One could never be too careful. Was Lady Tun expecting her uncle? A gust scattered the smells of chocolate and dried fruits through the air. The sweetness clashed with the earthy, fetid environment of the marsh. Ling hugged the shadows to inspect the trays on the open kitchen windowsill. Her mouth watered as she peeked over the ledge, marveling at the frosted cinnamon rolls, cut-out gingerbreads, and powdered-sugar dusted scones.
A grunt from inside drew her retreat. Ling released her grip and crouched on the ground. She looked through holes in the exterior wall. A dark silhouette slithered on the edges of the room. It maneuvered furtively like a thief. Her heart leapt into her throat.
Ling snuck to the front, a sense of danger percolating in her veins. She must finish her task. Climbing up the porch railing, where straw dolls and crooked charms dangled over the door, she extended a shaking hand with the package. There was no need to knock; she could leave it here, surely. Coiling its string around the door handle provided a little relief.
While curtains flapped, Ling retreated over the railing. Was Lady Tun in the middle of a clandestine visit from someone? Ling listened to the rhythm of the steps as she crouched behind overgrown weeds. The cadence didn’t belong to a middle-aged woman. Crickets and spiders skittered over her legs. A small tickle started inside her ear. It told her to stay put.
She held steady, waiting for the commotion to settle. What was happening? As if answering her question, the structure rattled with the noise of shattering glass and objects crashing to the floor. High-pitched shrieks splintered the silence.
Ling’s breath sounded very loud to her. A cold bead of sweat trickled down her neck.
