I had thought Zhen would insist upon traveling to Yěli? first, in order to act on the knowledge from Wenyi’s letter, or Ruyi would be the one to doubt my abilities, but they continue to surprise me.
“Thank you,” I tell them, voice hoarse with emotion.
I’m returning to Sù. I’m ready to go home.
* * *
On the road back home, I ponder the strangeness of the direction my life has taken. Sitting astride a horse behind the fearsome Shadow, who I thought was my enemy, following a princess who may soon be heir to nothing.
My agitation grows as we approach the village. What waits for me at home terrifies me more than waiting for my death in the dungeons. I must reach Shu before it’s too late, and the antidote must work against the poison. I cannot imagine any other possibility.
We take the road around the village, avoiding as many people as possible. I leave Zhen and Ruyi in my mother’s grove of pomelo trees, knowing her spirit will protect them.
Picking up my skirts, I run down the familiar road, climbing up Philosopher’s Hill, the moon lighting my way home. As I cut through the tea garden, the trees welcome me. Hearing them now, I know it’s not my childish imagination.
Hurry, hurry. Their whispers chase me down the next hill, until I see the rise of our roof. My hand clenches tightly around the curve of the vial containing the pearl powder.
The door flies open beneath my hand, thudding against the table. My footsteps thunder through our front room. I brush aside the bead curtain to see Father looking up from dabbing Shu’s face with a damp cloth, and my breath catches. It’s just enough hesitation to see the emotions that flit across my father’s face—relief, sadness, regret.
In the pale moonlight trailing through our windows, my father looks much older than when I left him. Haggard lines are worn deep into the crevices of his face. He looks worse than after we buried Mother, as if he hasn’t slept since I’ve been gone.
“Ning?” he asks, and his voice is as rough as his appearance. “Are you a ghost?”
I kneel at his side, taking Shu’s hand in mine. Her head is turned away from me, but she seems to sense I am near. She turns to face me, eyes glassy and unseeing.
“Mother?” she rasps out. I can smell the sickness on her breath. Her lips are cracked and bleeding.
“It’s me,” I tell her. “It’s Ning. I’ve come back.”
“Mother.” She begins to cry. “You’re back … I missed you so much.”
I look up at Father, alarmed. “How long has she been like this?”
“A few days now,” he says, shaking his head. “On and off. I try to get the fever down, but it returns. There have been a few nights I’ve found her wandering outside. I’ve had to tie her down, to keep her from leaving…” He chokes back a sob.
That’s when I look at her wrists and see the red marks there. A swell of anger rises inside me, then I notice his red-rimmed eyes, the stains on his tunic from blood, vomit, and who knows what else.
I force myself to channel my fury at the poison. My father did not cause this, and all the angry words in the world will not bring my mother back. But I might yet be able to save my sister.
“I think I have the antidote,” I say to him. “I can purge the poison from her.”
“Tell me.” He grips my arm, some clarity returning to his gaze. “Tell me what to do. I will help you.” He doesn’t question me like he usually does. He stands, awaiting instruction.
“I need lí lú and licorice root,” I tell him. “As well as Mother’s spring tea leaves.” I know we have tea leaves from more recent harvests, but there is nothing that would compare to the leaves she prepped with her own hands.
My tea ware still remains on the shelf in the main room, covered in a layer of dust. Returning back to our room, I look around our home with new eyes. Compared to the luxuries of the palace, the surroundings are worn and tired. No delicately carved screens, no incense emanating from braziers that can be lit day and night.
But the woven knot I made for luck still dangles by the window, bleached pale from the sun. There’s the crack in our mirror, from the time Shu and I were chasing each other and I fell against it, knocking it over. The worn pattern on the doorway where the bead curtain rubs against the frame, the one Shu always imagined looked like a dragon, calling it our door guardian. Something squeezes in my chest.
A hand sweeps the bead curtain aside again as my father steps in, bringing over everything I’ve asked for from the storeroom.