Flying Swords 13 (Patreon)

It’s time to start introducing the wider world of characters. I didn’t want to do that too fast because the names can be a lot for a Western reader, but Heng has his own life and his own family, and now it’s time for Leander to start meeting them. If you are Chinese and have suggestions about cultural elements I could include or things I absolutely shouldn’t include, please let me know. I would love it if some people from the culture could read this. The closest I have is a friend in Myanmar, and she’d still recovering from New Years/Water Festival.

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Leander sat in the palace, staring out at the gardens, but he wasn’t seeing. He wasn’t feeling. He was existing in some foggy space that precluded thought. He quite liked it.

“Lian,” a voice called.  Leander did not react, but then hands caught him, pulled him, and he was dragged back into reality by Shanlin clinging to him, half in his lap and sobbing.

“He’s dead,” he cried. “Xi is dead!”

“No,” Leander wrapped his arms around the boy who had suffered too much. These tears were likely healthy, but Leander had to force himself not to recoil.  “He is being treated.”

Shanlin looked at him, eyes huge and disbelieving.

Leander twitched at the implied disrespect. The boy did not mean it–he had simply seen too much death to trust that it had passed them by this time.

“The doctor and Master Teacher Wang are with him,” Leander said.

Heng settled into a chair carved to resemble two cranes.  “Your qidi is lucky you are so skilled,” Heng said.

Leander nodded mutely.

“Do you know who might have done such a thing?”

Leander looked at Shanlin. “This is not the place to discuss possibilities.”

Heng smiled. “Your son is a wise boy, and we do not believe in hiding the truth from our sons in China.”

“Only your daughters?” Leander countered.

Heng’s laughter was as effortless as the graceful flow of the robe’s fabric around his knees. He was grace personified, and Leander felt like a rough lump of flesh next to him.  “Our daughters know more truth than we, the men, do. Chinese daughters learn early to plot to take power that others refuse to give them freely.”

“Maybe you should treat people more equally and they won’t have to plot.”

“Maybe given more access to power they would take over the world because they have learned to plot so effectively. Chinese men are all that stands between the world and a thousand-year rule by Chinese queens.” Heng grinned at him, his lopsided smile so endearing that Leander was lost in time for a moment–caught in a memory of Heng with that same smile in his bed. Even then, even before life had torn Leander apart and left him more bitter and cold and scarred, he had been shocked that someone so beautiful had chosen him.

“I prefer my son to remain unbothered by nightmares.” Leander stroked Shanlin’s hair.

“I know what happens. I know who’s after us,” Shanlin whispered.  Heng raised an eyebrow as though challenging Leander.

“We’re safe here,” Leander promised.

“Here in the school? Absolutely,” Heng said.  “The Flying Swords school has stood for two thousand years, although the first five hundred or so years it was little more than a house upon a hill. No Westerner will breach our defenses.”

“But we aren’t safe out there,” Shanlin whispered.

“We are,” Leander said. “Now that I know what poison feels like outside the plant, I can search for it.” He made deliberate eye contact with Heng. “If your teachers will give me access to what poisons they know, I can learn each poison and protect us.”

Heng tilted his head to the side. “Or you can stay here.”

“I am not a student, and those who are not members of the sect cannot stay within a school. You taught me that.”

“But you could pledge yourself, as could Shanlin. If you are members of our sect, you would live here.  No member of the sect may move out of the school until they reach Golden Core state, so you would be sheltered here as long as needed.” Heng leaned forward. “It would keep you safe from these unseen enemies.”

Leander felt like the walls were closing in on him and the light was dimming. He didn’t want to be trapped anywhere, especially when he would likely never reach a high level of Chinese cultivation. While logical, the idea of joining the sect terrified him.

“Mom said Xi knew people. Dangerous people,” Shanlin whispered in Leander’s ear.  He was still half in Leander’s lap, one leg over his knees and leaning close.  

Leander leaned away from him so he could study Shanlin’s face.  “What exactly did your mother say?” If Tecca called someone dangerous, then they were. After all, as a blood mage, she was called on to be at Druwolf’s side far more than Leander, so she knew what dangerous looked like.

Shanlin chewed his lower lip.

“It’s fine to tell me,” Leander tried to reassure him. The look Shanlin gave him made it clear that Leander’s efforts were less than stellar.  However he slid off Leander’s lap and backed away, his suspicious gaze darting toward Heng in a rather unsubtle gesture.

Heng smiled kindly.  “Your father is my qidi. If I were to betray him, I would be labelled as unfaithful. While that would not be as catastrophic as being labelled unfilial for betraying my parents or ancestors, it would be a serious enough charge to endanger my place here. We are family.” He held out a hand, and in the center was a red string with red and gold beads and a green stone. It took a second for Leander to recognize the jade bracelet. 

“You shouldn’t have,” Leander said, shocked at the gesture.

“He is a new boy for the family. I should.” Heng caught Shanlin’s wrist and put the bracelet into it.  “Everyone should have a piece of jade. May the stone of heaven bring you wisdom and luck,” he said.

Shanlin looked at Leander, who nodded, before he closed his hand around the jewelry.  Still, the moment Heng let go, Shanlin retreated to the far side of Leander. Heng’s expression could have been one of hurt or pity, Leander wasn’t sure.

“We will both protect you,” Leander said, since he was sure that was the truth. “What did your mother say?”

Shanlin stared at them for long, awkward seconds before whispering, “She said Xi knew dangerous people. She said we should work with the police because the other people Xi knew were more dangerous.”

Leander exchanged a concerned look with Heng. Right now, Creek was unconscious and they couldn’t ask him, but if Tecca thought he was mixed up with people more dangerous than the government, Leander trusted her judgment. He might have hated her, but she was a clever and powerful woman, and one who didn’t jump at shadows. “What else did she say?” he asked.

Shanlin shrugged, his gaze now on the floor.  Leander wanted to reach into his head and pull the information out, but mind reading was definitely outside his skill-set unless the mind in question was a plant’s. And plants thought about little other than the direction of the nearest water source or the complex system of chemicals released when predators breached their defenses.

“Are these the sort of people who would follow us here?” Leander asked.

“Yes.” Shanlin’s voice was soft but without a single quiver of doubt.

“I can ask if any Westerners are visiting the local area,” Heng said.  Leander nodded, not trusting his voice.  He had planned this to be his safe retreat, and now Creek had brought enemies in his wake. He wanted to find the man and choke him to death before he could wake up.  He was simultaneously desperate for Creek to wake up and be alright. This is why he preferred plants–they didn’t inspire such confusion.

Heng left in a swirl of pastel robes, and Shanlin sat next to him on the low window bench, his knees drawn up in front and his arms hugging them.

“We’ll be fine,” Leander said.

Shanlin blinked at him. Maybe he should have allowed Creek to take the boy to the police. If the police knew he’d seen something when his mother died, they wouldn’t have cared that he didn’t have a magical gift. They would have protected him. He could be home, in America, watching cartoons.  Leander lost time as he drifted on the regret and shame and silence.  Even Shanlin seemed to have fallen into a half-trance as the sun’s rays shifted across the stone floor, as the sun moved toward afternoon.

“I finally found you,” a voice said, and Leander jerked out of his trance. He saw Shanlin was leaning into the corner of the window and wall, cradled by the heavy beams and asleep.

He stood and offered a low bow. “Master Teacher Wang, you honor me with your presence.”

“Your qidi will recover. He sleeps now,” he said in English.

A knot around Leander’s soul loosened. “Thank you for such joyous news.”

The old man nodded and remained silent for a time before adding, “The poison disrupted his qi, so his magic may be unstable.”

“His chi? How does poison of the body disrupt magic that is not of the body?” Leander asked.  He bit his tongue after. A teacher held in such esteem was not one to bother with novice questions, and he had been rude for asking the question.

Instead of taking offense, Master Teacher Wang sat in the crane chair Heng had used.  “It is pronounced qi,” he said.

“Chi.” Leander knew the word well. It was the reserve of power in the body that allowed those with talent to use magic.

“Qi,” Master Wang said, emphasizing the slight difference.

Leander frowned and pronounced it again. “Qi.”

Master Teacher Wang smiled brightly. “Just so. I often think our schools exclude Westerners because your accent is so grating. Your qidi’s qi is part of both his body and his magic.  The poison corrupted the channels so it will not flow to the dantien or come from it as easily.”

“What is a dantian?” Shanlin asked despite all the times that Leander had cautioned him to not question elders. Either he had been feigning sleep or the voices had woken him because he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. 

Luckily, Master Teacher Wang did not seem offended. He leaned forward and pressed his hand over Shanlin’s breastbone.  “Do you ever feel warmth here?”

“Like when I need to burp?”

Master Teacher Wang’s laughter was so loud that Shanlin jumped, and so did Leander.  “Yes,” he said, “qi is often like the need to burp.  It presses at us, flowing through us like air, especially when we are young.”

“Do not bother Master Teacher Wang with impertinent questions,” Leander chided him.

“The question is inelegant, not impertinent, Boon Lian,” Master Teacher Wang said. “As you work your magic, young son of Boon Lian, the qi will grow more dense, like egg drop soup, and then like a long simmered stew, and if you cultivate your qi long enough, you can create a golden core here.” He pressed his hands against his own breastbone. “And then you can do mighty feats.”

“Like fly?”

“One only needs to be forming a core to learn that skill. There are many more powerful possibilities with magic.”

Immediately, Shanlin’s expression soured. “I don’t like powerful magic. It makes people want to hurt you.”

Leander winced, and Master Teacher Wang sighed. “That is true, young one, but if the qi moves within you powerfully enough for you to have magic, you cannot change that.”

“I don’t want qi, then,” Shanlin said.

Leander truly prayed the boy never developed magic. Both his parents were dead because magic had dragged them into a war they hadn’t wanted to fight, and if Shanlin ever wanted to go home to the US, he would be dragged into the same damn fight if he had a talent.

Master Teacher Wang patted Shanlin’s knee.  “As a boy, I saw those with political power. I both envied them and feared the power because I saw how people fought over it… killed over it. Magic does not change the nature of a human being; it only gives people a new excuse to fight. Money, love, power, land, magic–it is human nature to lose ourselves to it, which is why we meditate and learn to release the bonds that would drive us to desire that which is not ours.  Did you see the streets in the City of Ringed Beauty around the school?”

Shanlin nodded.

“When the school was built, the dragon who gave his power to make this sanctuary feared that people would try to fill all the space that he set aside to be shared among many species.  So he limited where people could build. Every time someone builds so much as a chicken coop outside the ring, a natural disaster comes to destroy it, and several times the City of Ringed Beauty has been damaged. It takes great fear to overcome the need for more.”

“People are terrible,” Shanlin agreed.

“They can be, but people can also be wonderful,” Master Teacher Wang said.  “The great master Mencius once revealed the true nature of humans by telling the story of a child who fell in a well and cried for help. A person’s first inclination is to run toward the child because that is our first and truest nature. But the world tempts us from it.”

“I think lots of people would wait until the good people were all at the well with the child and then they would steal from their houses,” Shanlin whispered.

This time Master Teacher Wang’s sigh of pity was unmistakable.

“Do we know how Xi was poisoned?” Leander asked, more to distract Master Wang from Shanlin than any expectation they could have uncovered the murder plot.

“We do not,” Master Teacher Wang said.  “But Nie Zhiyuan comes to speak of outsiders in Yaan.”

“Is Nie Zhiyuan related to Nie Heng?” Leander asked. Nie Heng had taken Leander as his qidi–his adopted little brother–but he had no idea if the family obligations extended to his birth family.  He’d never asked since he’d never expected to meet any of them. Now his stomach was knotted with fear at the idea of having to navigate complex Chinese family relationships.

“Nie Zhiyuan is the eldest brother of the Nie family,” Master Teacher Wang said.  “We often call him Zhiyuan the younger because there is another Zhiyuan in the town and the boys are both craftsmen of metals, so there is confusion with their names. He approaches now.”

Master Teacher Wang gestured to the far end of the hall and a man strode in.  His robes were dark–black and burgundy–and gathered at the wrists in leather bracers that Leander had not seen in town.  He had a passing resemblance to Heng, the same chin and strong cheekbones, but his eyes…. They were amber, lighter than Heng’s, and so very cold.  They swept past Leander without pause, as if he was not worthy of a single moment of consideration.

Zhiyuan bowed to Master Teacher Wang.  “I come with news from my younger brother.  There are four strangers in Yaan, three with the strange, unbalanced Western magic.” His Chinese was sharper than the lilting tones Leander had come to know–more machine gun than song.

“Thank you for your news. What else does your brother report?”

Zhiyuan’s gaze flickered toward Leander before he focused on Master Wang again.  “My brother hopes you will consider the safety of the strangers.”

“Does he?”

Zhiyuan’s expression didn’t change, but Leander could still feel the disapproval.  “My brother is gifted with an excess of empathy and a dearth of wisdom,” he said.

Leander sucked in a breath and sat up. Such insults were not acceptable. He was grateful that Shanlin didn’t know enough Chinese to see this utter lack of decorum. 

Master Teacher Wang chuckled. “You shape metal with more skill than you shape relationships, Craftsman Zhiyuan.”

“I accept that as a great compliment, Master Teacher,” Zhiyuan said with a bow.  “My younger brother hopes you will keep his qidi and the qidi of his qidi safe while he attempts to ascertain the nature of the strangers.”

Cold swept through Leander’s bones.  “Master Teacher Wang, Craftsman Zhiyuan, I must warn against interacting with these strangers. Shanlin speaks of his mother’s caution of these individuals. She described them as dangerous, and she was not one to see threats where there were none.”

“There were no threats before you came here, stranger,” Zhiyuan said.

“So intemperate. For someone who must control heat so precisely to form metal, you are indiscriminate with the heat formed by words,” Master Teacher Wang chided.

Zhiyuan’s face grew even colder, and his gaze finally settled on Leander. His look didn’t just aim to kill, it threatened maiming, torturing, death, resuscitation, and new death. His light amber eyes were devoid of any sympathy.

Leander forced himself into a polite bow when every instinct told him to grab Shanlin and flee. “I apologize that my actions attracted the attention of villains,” Leander said. “I hope I have done nothing to personally offend such an esteemed craftsman as Craftsman Zhiyuan.”

“You’ve never seen my crafts, outsider.”

“I trust that Master Teacher Wang would never name you craftsman unless you deserved the respect,” Leander countered.

“Well said,” Master Teacher Wang said. “Tell your brother to avoid the notice of the outsiders. Come, Craftsman Leander, let us go see your qidi.”

Leander blinked at the new title he’d been afforded.  For the first time, an expression crossed Zhiyuan’s face. Disgust.  Leander caught Shanlin’s hand and hurried to follow Master Teacher Wang. He did not want to be left in the same room with Heng’s brother. Either Craftsman Zhiyuan was a particularly virulent racist or he didn’t approve of Heng’s decision to name Leander as his qidi.  At least Leander could reasonably assume after this that he had no obligation of filial duty to the Nei family, qidi or not. Because he and Zhiyuan were definitely not family. Either that or they were the type of family that wanted each other dead.