SIX THOUSAND YEARS LATER

  SU TANG (素醣)

  Day 2, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Shuishang Province, Huadu Sect

  It was raining.

  The ill-tempered storm violently pounded the ground, turning the newly fertilised soil into waterlogged mud. Large, dark clouds heavy with water wept their tears over the forest, drenching the undergrowth and bruising the blossoms. Peach petals fell in droves, torn from their branches mid-bloom, bleeding soft pink onto the damp earth. The smell of crushed beetroot and wet bark clung to the air, pungent and strangely nostalgic.

  Distantly, the sounds of splashing—probably some poor soul slogging through the mud—mingled with the dull thuds of rain battering bamboo eaves. Occasional bursts of chatter of either complaints or jokes I couldn’t quite make out, floated briefly above the storm’s orchestral suite.

  Normal people would be angry or even annoyed that the planting season would be delayed once more. Our efforts wasted, our good topsoil washed away like broken promises in spring. And trust me, in Huadu Sect, promises were the first to rot once the rains came.

  But no one who lived here long enough would bat a single eyelash. This was Shuishang Province.

  I laid my head on a tree trunk, one of the cedars that still stood proud despite the wind trying to drag it sideways. When I was a child, they told me that these trees were planted by a half-blind poet who came to die in the countryside. Apparently, he wanted to write his last verses beneath petals instead of palace stone. He never left. His bones are probably still somewhere beneath the roots.

  A fitting grave for a dreamer.

  And so far the only place I could be left alone.

  “Tang’er!! Where are you? Tang’er?!”

  Not anymore it would seem.

  “There you are!” huffed Lao Zhe (老哲), as he navigated his way through the undergrowth.

  His shoes were splattered with a mixture of brown garbage-like substances...probably dirt but who really knew? He held a parasol made of lily pads over his head.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What are you doing?!”

  I swung my legs over the mossy branch I sat upon.

  Lao Zhe frowned. “Tsk! Don’t tell me you forgot?!”

  “Forgot? Pfff, silly me—my memory must be failing me,” I outrageously lied.

  It was no accident; I had deliberately wagged. Repositioning my bottom on the trunk, I straightened up.

  “I thought that because of the rain, it would be cancAAH!”

  I tumbled from the tree in the most disgraceful manner possible as Lao Zhe yanked my foot. My shoe went flying and landed perfectly in a stew of muddy water.

  My favourite white shoe! Damn it! I rolled across the ground and rubbed my backside. This had to be the 324th time this week. Not that I was counting. I should’ve known. Nothing; come rain, sun, wind, births or even deaths, could convince her to cancel it.

  “That’ll stop you from climbing trees,” Lao Zhe proudly said for the 324th time, as he dusted his palms.

  I whined, slowly getting up and brushing off the wet mud that was smeared on my white skirt. It was bad enough to be getting rained on and it was even worse to have some offensive brown thing on my clothes. The mud smelt awfully like a chamber pot; a chamber pot that had never ever been emptied. A trickle of cold sweat went down my back and I almost wanted to scream.

  “Old man, you’ve ruined my clothes! What on earth am I going to do with these?” I hooted, pointing at my white shoes and white skirt and white ribbon…jeez we students sure have a lot of white things.

  Lao Zhe sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. But with my uniform covered in mud and my hair soaking up water like a sponge, I was in no mood for further instruction by the likes of him.

  He waved at my attitude like he was flicking away a fly.

  “Don’t pout at me,” he said. “The longer you delay, the more likely Blossom Chief Ju will personally come to fetch you.”

  Ughh. Why is he right?

  I kept pouting—purely on principle, of course—but the internal frustration had passed. Lao Zhe, whose name literally meant Old Wise One, had been my guardian since the day I was born. Not a day passed where he didn't make that clear. Still, I appreciated his pedantic parenting. If not for him, the Blossom Chief would’ve cut off my head and turned me into manure for next season’s soil.

  Lao Zhe’s squat form looked even rounder than usual, his robes tugging at the seams from too much pacing, and his face—already resembling a crumpled scroll of ancient regrets—seemed to have sprouted a fresh wrinkle. Probably because of me. Again.

  “Fine. You win.”

  “Come,” he said. “Let’s get you cleaned up before Ju Ying (菊英) gets here.”

  He grabbed my elbow and hauled me through the rain. I followed, wet and soggy, like a biscuit dunked in milk a few too many times. I wrapped my arms around myself trying to relieve the uncomfortable clamminess of dank clothes against my skin.

  I swiped my dripping fringe out of my eyes and kept trudging forward. On any other day, if I didn’t smell like a cowpat, I might’ve appreciated the storm. Perhaps I would’ve paused, taken a deep breath, and written an ode to the rainforest like the romantic fool I occasionally pretended not to be.

  The leafy overgrowth bowed over the path like polite servants. I brushed my hand along their edges and their dewdrops sparkled like diamonds under the grey skies. Small sprigs of flowers jumped out of the dark green with sunset hues.

  Sudden force rippled through my arm as Lao Zhe ripped me from my daydreams and dragged my body through the forest.

  “Stop daydreaming,” he snapped. “If you still want your head attached to your shoulders, hurry up.”

  Apparently, my pace didn’t meet his survival standards, because the next thing I knew, he whipped his head around, ready to unleash a lecture that would scar generations.

  But the words never came.

  Instead, I was greeted by Lao Zhe’s frozen expression. His lips parted slightly, like the door of a house left open in a storm. His eyes were wide—too wide. His right arm hung still, whilst the hand gripping my elbow turned from a helpful guide to a clamp that bit through my sleeve. I tried pulling my arm from him and opened my mouth to speak.

  A voice sharper than an arrow cut me off. “Hurry where?”

  Slowly, and I mean really slowly, I turned around.

  So, he didn't stop because of me.

  “shījiě,” I said.

  Blossom Chief Ju’s words sent a chill through the air.

  “Su Tang. Where have you been? And where’s your hairpin?”

  Gosh, I hated it when she called my full name. I awkwardly smiled at her, as she waved her arm through the air with queenly grace. The skies cleared and the clouds disappeared into a glittering mist. Beams of sunlight bounced off water puddles, making the forest even more radiant. If only I had that kind of cultivation…

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  “Su Tang, I asked you a question,” Ju Ying said, as she tapped her slim index finger rhythmically against her forearm.

  Lao Zhe let go of my arm and stuffed his hands into his sleeves. He may have raised me; hell, he may’ve even raised the angry woman standing before us, but that didn't mean he would stand up to her. After all, she was the Blossom Chief.

  “Yes, you did,” I muttered. She asked me a double-barrelled question, so there was no reason why I needed to answer all of them.

  She stopped tapping. “Hmm?”

  I hurried the conversation along. “Did you miss me?”

  The Blossom Chief frowned. “You didn’t think you had to attend class this whole week?”

  I feigned surprise. “It’s been that long? I hadn’t realised.”

  Ju Ying curled her lip.

  “Yes, yes it has been. And don’t give me that.” She pointed at my face. “You knew it. I know you do. You skipped on purpose.”

  “Of course not,” I replied.

  She pinched her lips and stiffened her shoulders.

  Delicate as an orchid, the only flaw marring her appearance were the dark, rounded bags sagging beneath her eyes. No wonder so many people tried to court her in her younger years. Maybe, if her elegance hadn’t been worn down by years of stress—and by dealing with me—she’d have been married by now. And maybe, just maybe, if she had been married off, she wouldn’t be standing here, scolding me like it was her life’s purpose.

  “Su Tang. It is the Blossom Cultivation Ceremony. The Blossom Cultivation Ceremony. It happens every year. Don’t pretend that I don’t know you’re always finding an excuse to escape.”

  “Who doesn’t?” I mumbled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said you’re absolutely right.”

  I hated Blossom Cultivation Day. It was meant to be a great chance to grow our cultivation. It was meant to be a joyous occasion.

  “Every immortal, alchemist, and cultivator must participate. And you are no exception,” she stated, perhaps a little too firmly.

  “That’s right,” I said, kicking at a muddy puddle. “Maybe we can recreate that scandal from last year.”

  I scanned her rigid form.

  She clenched her teeth. “That won’t happen again.”

  “Mhm.”

  I wondered which part wouldn’t happen again.

  Her eyes widened and her pupils honed like a falcon.

  “Unruly! Where are your manners?”

  She looked Lao Zhe, probably hoping that he would support her, but Lao Zhe simply looked on.

  She inhaled deeply. As she exhaled, I could’ve sworn a trail of smoke drifted from her nostrils.

  “Must we do the same old dance?”

  I was pushing my luck. A small part of me wanted to apologise. But the main part of me didn’t. Last year’s debacle had been her fault. Her fault.

  “You’re such a good partner.” The words were scornful, but my tone was playful, and I knew she knew it.

  She took my hands in hers. Mine were soft, pink, and completely outmatched by the pale, calloused grip she had earned from years of doing everything I avoided.

  “Let’s have a rest,” she whispered. “My feet are tired.”

  Something shifted in her eyes. They didn’t glaze over like they did when she lied. No flicker, no dart. Just stillness. Steady and real. I dipped my head slightly.

  “Well, it just happens that today I have two left feet,” I said.

  She smiled. The one that showed the edges of her teeth through parted lips. The one that held more pain than joy. The one she only gave me when I made the ‘right’ choice. Whatever that meant.

  “Well, it also happens that I have,” she said, pulling a book from her sleeves. The title—

  —no fair, that’s cheating—there’s no way I’m fall—

  —but—

  She waved it absently as if she didn’t realise what precious treasure she held in her possession. “I wasn’t going to resort to this. But if you go to the ceremony AND behave, I’ll give—”

  “The Thousand Petals Diary!”

  The Thousand Petals Diary was an alchemist’s heaven. A crude person might’ve called it encyclopaedia, but anyone who had worth treated those pages as pure gold. The diary contained knowledge on the magical, healing, and poisonous abilities of all flowers. Ordinarily, a small potato like me wouldn’t even have the fortune to stand in its presence.

  Of course, it could be fake. People often made fakes—some very convincing ones too—of priceless artefacts such as these.

  And I had only seen the title…

  Ju Ying’s eyebrows went up and she leaned back. It was only then that I realised I was practically hanging off her, clutching at her arms like some deranged addict. A book addict.

  Well, she wasn’t wrong. But I have to maintain some dignity.

  I pulled back and straightened my clothes. The motion caused my half-ponytail to whip my face. Note to self: bun it next time.

  She’d won this round.

  “I’ll go get changed,” I said, turning.

  “Don’t forget your hairpin this time,” she called after me, the edge of her voice lined with something that resembled affection.

  ***

  The outfit was a pinkish-white shade and perfect for a sunny day.

  I found my attention drawn to the windowsill. The heat of the sun gently baked the wooden floorboards, making it hard to believe that it was raining moments before. I reached out a hand and tried to feel the golden rays. I always played this game as a kid, using all-sorts of stuff—jars, bottles, even bowls—to try and catch a drop of pure gold.

  Just one drop…

  A drop of water residue from my roof splattered onto my open palm and dribbled into the thirsty grass. Just like my childhood fantasies of catching sunlight.

  I best be going.

  I turned to the entrance, scratching my head.

  Where on earth was my hairpin? Ju Ying will kill me if I don’t have it. I think…I whipped around, snatching it off the dresser, and messily stuffing it into my head. If Blossom Chief Ju wanted me to be neat and pretty, I was certainly far from it.

  I stumbled out of my room, trying to stop the hairpin from falling out. Lao Zhe and Ying Yue (映月) awaited me.

  “Miss Serious,” I smiled.

  Ying Yue returned an icy stare. “Good day, Miss Annoying.”

  Lately, she’d taken to scraping her hair into a severe bun, as if that would somehow enhance her facial features. Personally, I disagreed. If anything, it only made her already prominent forehead jut out like a sore thumb. Combined with the streaks of red peeking through her grown-out dye job, she looked less like a refined lady and more like someone who’d been whacked on the head with a stick and the swelling never quite healed.

  “Is that for me?” I said, unsuccessfully ignoring her forehead that looked like an oranda goldfish and gestured to the food she held upon a black lacquer tray.

  “Yes. Your lunch before the event, Miss Annoying.”

  “That’s not my name~,” I replied, grabbing the tray out of the safe cradle of her arms. Most of the soup sloshed out and the chopsticks clattered dully against the tray.

  “Well, my name isn’t Miss Serious,” she frowned.

  I swiped up my chopsticks and planted them into the bowl of rice. Dumplings and stir-fry lotus was on the menu, with some weird spicy sauce that I didn’t dare touch. I skewered a dumpling with a chopstick and stuffed it into my mouth.

  “Slow down. You’ll get a sore stomach!” she said.

  I ploughed through the food. I’d never known if she felt the need to act like my mother or was absolutely clueless to the irony of her mannerism. I’d say it was the latter.

  “Don’t eat with your mouth open!” she sighed. “Blossom Chief needs to talk to you about proper etiquette. You’re old enough to know what is considered acceptable.”

  On second thought, maybe she thought she was my mother.

  “The food will be eaten either way. Does it really matter how I eat it?” I argued.

  She gave me a disdainful look and began glaring at her teacup.

  I stopped shoving food into my mouth. She was ruining my mood, and I wasn't having any of it. I slapped down my chopsticks.

  “Just say what you want to say, Ying Yue.”

  She clamped her lips tighter. Like mentor, like mentee. Between her and the Blossom Chief, there was so much constipated talk I was surprised neither had exploded.

  I spoke in her stead. “You want to ask me what my problem is? Why I’m…”—I gestured to my messy eating—“like this?”

  She flinched. Gotcha.

  Picking up my chopsticks, I resumed eating.

  She fidgeted. Three.

  She brushed back the wisps of her red fringe. Two.

  She took a breath. One.

  “Well? Why don’t you care? Blossom Chief Ju put so much effort into organising it.” Bang.

  I leaned back into the chair.

  Yes, it was no denying my shījiě put much effort into setting up the Blossom Cultivation Ceremony. But she always used me as her party trick, before stuffing me back into the closet. And frankly, I was sick of being treated like that.

  Ying Yue continued, “You know? Just do the right thing.”

  Yeah sure.