Be careful, he signs. We didn’t just survive a lethal mountain climb only to have you fall from a fruit tree.
By way of answer, I toss the persimmon down to him and then begin picking all the rest. There are about a dozen total, and when I’ve thrown them all down, I climb back, feeling a bit of pride that I’m able to swing off the last branch and land without his help.
It must be true, he says wonderingly. He has gathered all the persimmons together. We’ve been in the lowlands for barely an hour and have already stumbled across food. They must have an abundance.
Someone came through and picked over the rest of the tree earlier in the season, I point out. There may be people nearby.
He nods, growing serious. We’ll be careful tonight and take watches again.
We make a dinner of the persimmons, prudently saving some for tomorrow’s journey—though I know we’re both secretly hoping to find more food along the way. When we finish eating, I take his shirt out of the dye. It isn’t as dark a green as I’d hoped, but it’s definitely an improvement. I change into my clean robe and give him my travel-stained one to wear overnight. He can’t even fully cinch it, leaving a comical gap over his chest, but at least it will provide warmth.
We are in good spirits as we settle down for the night, playing another round of xiangqi before the sun goes down. I still can’t beat him, and he gently tries to coach me. The moves you make seem good, but you aren’t thinking far enough into the future. Plan at least two moves ahead of your opponent.
I sigh. You’d think I’d be better at that, with all the planning and organizing I normally have to do in my work.
A small hesitation is the only sign of Li Wei’s unease as he asks, Is marrying Sheng part of your plans?
The question catches me completely off-guard. Sheng has never come up in conversation between us before. Honestly, Sheng hasn’t even crossed my mind on this trip.
It’s part of the elders’ plans, I respond carefully.
I see.
You know how it is, I add when he says nothing more. You can’t be surprised at that. Artists always marry other artists.
Yes . . . but does it have to be him? asks Li Wei, a wry look on his face. It seems like there are better choices among the apprentices. Sheng is so . . .
Arrogant? Obnoxious? I supply.
Now Li Wei looks surprised. That doesn’t bother you?
I don’t think much about it, I say. He is the best apprentice among the boys. I’m the best girl. The elders think it is a wise match.
But that is all? Li Wei pushes. It’s the elders who want the match? Not you?
It doesn’t matter, I remind him. I will still abide by their wishes.
Li Wei is indignant. You shouldn’t marry because of someone else’s wishes—because it’s a wise match. You should marry someone who loves you. Someone who loves you passionately and would change the world for you.
The world would have to change indeed for that to happen, I point out. Do you see it changing anytime soon?
He gestures around us. It already has, Fei.
Not enough, I say after several long, weighted moments. I know what he is hinting at and need to discourage it. And even if it did, what was between us is in the past.
So you say. But you’ve done an awful lot to keep me alive. He gestures at the green shirt. And well dressed.
Only so you won’t embarrass me, I say loftily.
Whatever you say, apprentice, he replies. He prepares for bed with a glint in his eye, and I know he doesn’t believe me.
CHAPTER 9
MORE STRANGE DREAMS PLAGUE my sleep that night. I again feel as though something or someone is calling out to me, this time through a mist. I run through it, trying to find my way, but only grow more and more disoriented. Soon I lose sense of whether someone is trying to reach out to me—or capture me. I begin running, full of panic and unable to see my destination.
I wake up with a start, flailing and terrified. To my astonishment, Li Wei is kneeling by my makeshift bed, and before I know what I’m doing, I throw myself into his arms. The phantoms in my dream fade, and his presence grounds me, calming me down. He strokes my hair gently, and it takes me a moment to slip from his embrace.
Sorry about that, I say.
I was worried, he tells me. You were so restless, tossing and turning. Kicking. And this isn’t the first time I’ve seen it while you’re sleeping.
It isn’t? I ask, feeling mortified.
What are you dreaming of that upsets you so much? he asks.
Although he knows about my hearing, I haven’t told him the full details of how it started or my recurring dreams of being called to. I nearly tell him now, but something fearful and personal holds me back. It’s nothing, I say, getting to my feet. Sorry for worrying you.
He touches my arm briefly, turning me so I must face him. Fei, I’m here for you. No matter what else has happened between us, I hope you know that. Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.
I nod but don’t elaborate. How can I explain what I myself don’t understand?
He doesn’t press me for answers as we get ready for the day. We eat all but two persimmons and finish cleaning ourselves up. Li Wei’s “new” shirt, now fully dry, has ended up as a kind of sickly green, but it’s still better than before. I stand before him, helping smooth some of the fabric as I survey him with a critical eye.
I guess you’ll do, I say, certainly not about to admit that even in rags, he is magnificent.
I feel confident in my own clean set of artist’s clothes, though I wish I’d thought to pack a girl’s set. It isn’t completely unheard of for women to wear pants in our village, but the more I think about meeting a venerable figure like the line keeper, the more I wish I could put on a strong, formal appearance.
I remember when I first interviewed to help out with the artists, I tell Li Wei as we are breaking camp. Before I officially became an apprentice. I had to undergo extensive tests and interviews. My mother scrubbed me until I hurt and traded three days’ worth of her own rations for some new cloth to make me a robe. “When you’re meeting someone in power, someone with the ability to change your life for better or worse, it’s important you show them you’re worth it,” she told me. I pause, feeling a bittersweet tug at the memory. My mother had died before learning the results. I wonder what she would think of me now: going to see the line keeper, dressed like a boy.
Li Wei grins, revealing a phantom dimple I’ve always liked. You might be dressed like a boy, but no one’s going to think you’re one.
Despite his teasing, there is a heated undercurrent in his words, and I can’t help but think of our conversation last night: You should marry someone who loves you. Someone who loves you passionately and would change the world for you.
Has it changed? I wonder. And will I be able to change with it?
Those thoughts weigh on me, but as the sun rises higher, concern for Zhang Jing is more pressing. When I’ve finished pinning up my hair, I ask, Is there anything else we need to do? Should we work out what we’re going to say to the line keeper?
We’ll tell him our problems and ask for help, Li Wei says simply.
The answer doesn’t surprise me. Li Wei is more straightforward about some things than I am. Coming from the Peacock Court, where we work with more structure and formalities, I’m hesitant just to rush forward without a concrete plan. You’re still assuming that what happened to the other village was part of some misunderstanding, I say. What if it wasn’t? What if he knows and did nothing?
Then we will have nothing to do with him, Li Wei says. We’ll take matters into our own hands.
I don’t know how I feel about that—or how we’d even go about it—but I decide not to argue the matter until we know for sure the line keeper was complicit. For now, we must go to him and find out what we can.
&nb
sp; The usual morning mist covers the mountains, but the day is warming quickly, promising us that summer hasn’t quite left yet. Li Wei has a better sense of how and where we descended the mountain, and he leads us back in the direction of the zip line. We walk through more forest, seeing little sign of human civilization but keeping our eyes open for more persimmons or other edibles. We also pass a few small woodland animals, causing us both to pause in contemplation. Game is as rare as agriculture up in our village, and sadly, animals usually don’t last long due to the lack of sustenance in our rocky soil. We make no attempts at hunting today—not when we’re so near our goal.
Soon enough we see the line coming down the mountain, suspended high over the trees and treacherous cliffs. Seeing it this way is just as surreal to me as this new bottom view of the mountains. For all my life, I’ve seen shipments of precious food come up that line from a mysterious location. Never did I dream we’d arrive there—or that it would be so underwhelming.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a small, nondescript shed at the base of the zip line. Sitting beside it, getting what shade he can from the overhanging of the thatched roof, is a middle-aged man with thinning hair. Two things about him strike me immediately. The first is his clothing. It’s made of cotton, just like my artist’s attire, but there’s a freshness to it that’s rarely seen in our village, where cloth is at such a premium that new clothing is a luxury. The other thing about him that takes me aback is that he’s . . . plump. Outside of babies and drawings from old stories, I’ve never really seen anyone with extra fat, and I find myself gaping.
Li Wei and I stand there, neither of us sure what to do. The man is slumped against the shack’s walls, looking as though he might be dozing. Li Wei shifts slightly, making his pack rattle, and the man’s eyes open in in surprise. He can hear, I realize. He jumps to his feet, putting a rumpled cotton hat on his head, and looks between our faces expectantly. Then something truly remarkable happens: Sound comes from his lips.
It’s not a scream, not laughter. It’s like nothing I’ve yet encountered in my brief experience with hearing, a series of rapid sounds of different lengths and shapes. I realize, with a start, that I must be hearing human speech for the first time. Only, I have no idea what it means. And I certainly have no idea how to make it in return.
Hesitantly, I lift my hands. Our records say that the language we use with our hands is based on a preexisting one used by our migratory ancestors, specifically those who lost hearing through diseases or other known causes. I have no idea if that means others in the lowlands still use this method of communication or if only those without hearing do. Regardless, I bow and then sign a greeting: Hello, most exalted line keeper. My name is Fei, and this is Li Wei. We have traveled a great distance from the village on the top of the mountain to speak with you about grave matters.
The man gapes, and his eyes bug out. It’s clear that he doesn’t understand what I’ve said . . . but it seems to me he recognizes that I was speaking with my hands, as though perhaps he’s encountered others who do as well.
What do we do? Li Wei asks me when no immediate answer comes.
I make a motion of painting or writing with my hand and then look at the man expectantly. The line keeper occasionally sends notes to communicate with us, so surely he must keep supplies here. I think my meaning is clear, but it takes a few more repeated attempts before he understands. When he does, he shakes his head, which surprises me. How was he communicating with our lead supplier if he has no writing tools on hand?
Stumped, we resort to much more basic attempts. Li Wei touches my shoulder and his own chest, then points up to the top of the mountain, tracing along the zip line. He then signals that we have descended the mountain, coming to this spot. I watch the line keeper closely as Li Wei maneuvers, and I feel myself growing increasingly puzzled. This isn’t at all the kind of man I expected. At the very least, I imagined someone a little more intelligent. Maybe we can’t communicate in the same language, but Li Wei’s gesturing is pretty basic. The man finally seems to grasp where we’ve come from, and that realization almost frightens him. He shifts from foot to foot, looking troubled and conflicted.
At last, he gestures that we should sit down. He points at himself, then at the small dirt road winding away from the shed, and indicates he will return. When Li Wei takes a couple of steps forward to suggest we accompany him, the man frantically shakes his head and reiterates that we should sit and wait.
Li Wei and I exchange looks. What else can we do? I ask. Maybe he’s going to get someone who knows our language. Or at least some paper and ink.
Our deliberation slams to a halt when the man hurriedly goes inside the shed and returns with a crate. He sets it on the ground and opens it, beckoning us over. We come closer, and I can’t help but gasp. The crate is filled with food. I’ve never seen so much at once. Small buns, radishes, onions, rice, dried fruit. It is staggering, and I know my awe is reflected in Li Wei’s face. The man gestures grandly that it is for us, his motions sweeping and generous. He urges us to sit down and eat while he is gone, and it is an offer we have a very difficult time refusing. The persimmons were a joyous discovery, but the one I ate this morning didn’t make much of a filling breakfast.
The man watches a few moments more as we look over the box, and then he begins making his way down the road that leads from the mountain, occasionally glancing back. He seems uneasy. Nervous, even. There were more crates in the shed, and I wonder if he thinks we’ll take advantage of his hospitality by helping ourselves to more than was offered. I wish I had the words to reassure him and tell him how grateful we are for what he’s given, but my bows only go so far.
When he is nearly out of sight around a curve in the road, Li Wei pauses in feasting to ask me, Do you think that in eating this, we’re taking away from our village’s rations?
I freeze midbite. It’s a terrible thought, and I glance down at the crate guiltily. We’ve each already eaten more than a normal ration in our village. After some thought, I shake my head. That would be poor hospitality on his part. I don’t think the line keeper is a man like that. He’s given us this as welcome, as a way of showing generosity. And clearly he has more. For the first time, I’m daring to hope this plan might truly result in change for my village—despite a worrisome voice in my head that keeps pointing out how things didn’t work out for that other village.
Li Wei chews some dried fruit, his brow furrowed in thought. I don’t think that’s the line keeper.
I raise an eyebrow. Who else would it be?
I don’t know, he admits. A servant? But don’t you think he behaved strangely? He’s so . . . unsure of himself. The line keeper always speaks with authority and seems so decisive. This man jumps at his own shadow.
I did think it was weird that he didn’t have paper or writing tools around, I concede. Especially with all the notes he writes us.
Li Wei nods. Exactly. Something doesn’t feel right. He gazes off down the road winding through the trees. Our host is long out of sight. I’m not sure if we should wait for him to come back. This might be a trap.
What kind of trap? I ask in surprise. And to what end?
I don’t know that either. It’s just my gut. But the gift of food aside, he didn’t seem very welcoming. I’m afraid of whom he’s going to bring back.
I point at the crate. But this is what we came for. It’s right in front of us. Food and the potential to feed our people! If we leave after he gifted us with this and told us to stay, what kind of message will that send? Where is the honor in that?
Li Wei is torn, and the irony of our situation isn’t lost on me. Until now, he has been the one so brazen and certain great things would come of this trip, while I worried. Now I am the one who wants to trust it will be fine, while he has doubts. He looks back down the road and makes a decision.
From what we know, that road pro
bably leads to the township. If he’s seeking help or supplies, it makes sense that’s where he’d go. I say we go there ourselves and try to get a better sense of what’s going on—of what these people are like. If I’m wrong, we can apologize later, claim we didn’t understand his directions. If I am right, and there is something sinister going on . . . He doesn’t elaborate, and he doesn’t need to, not with the memory of the ghost village fresh in our minds. Instead, he simply shrugs and adds, Well, that’s what I think, at least. But I’m only the advisor.
I give a faint smile at the joke of referring to himself as xiangqi’s second most powerful piece, but there’s little humor in anything else. Between the line keeper’s strange behavior and what we read in the other village, it’s clear that caution is vital. Okay, I say. Let’s go. And let’s take some of this food with us. He did offer us the crate.
We follow the road away from the mountain, and I try not to think about how much farther I’m getting from the only home I’ve ever known. The road widens as we walk down it, the dirt smooth and hard-packed from many feet and wagons. I have read enough to know that our village is small in comparison to other settlements, that there are people in the world who live in much larger and more populated settlements and cities. The reality of that has never hit me until now, when I try to imagine the number of people who would require such a large road. Soon the road changes from dirt to flat stones, and that too is another surprise. We have nothing even remotely comparable in our small village.
I eventually detect sounds that indicate others are ahead of us, and I put out an arm to stop Li Wei. I motion that we should get off the road and walk where we will have the cover of the trees to keep us from immediate discovery. He agrees. We both want to believe the best of these new people, but we are also too tense from our dangerous journey here to assume anything or anyone is safe. We make the rest of our journey in the woods, keeping the road in sight. When we reach the township at last, however, it isn’t fear that dominates my emotions.