Shao nods at Elder Guo, who gestures a monk forward. He hands Shao a covered pot the size of his palm, the corners sealed with red wax. A warning of the dangers contained within.
“I am honored to be standing before the judges today, and to set eyes upon these rare creatures.” Shao bows with a flourish. Guoming stands next to him, holding a tray with one cup in the center, filled with something steaming. Shao carefully breaks the wax seal and sets the pot on the table before him. With steady hands, he uses a pair of chopsticks to lift the jīncán out for all to see.
It’s such a small thing, the silkworm pupa. Only the size of a thumb. The color is pale gold, almost translucent, as if the poison has leached all the color out of it. Shao places it carefully on the plate, then covers it with another bowl.
Selecting the cup from Guoming’s tray, he salutes the judges and then drains it in one mouthful. I smell the scent of rain, perceive the same peculiar feeling prickling my brow. Shao uncovers the plate with a flourish, and in the center, gleaming, is a plump red date. The jīncán has disappeared.
“An illusion,” Lian breathes beside me.
Shao laughs, turning toward her, the rush of the magic making him amicable for once. “Not an illusion. A transformation. To the Piya, it will taste like a date.”
“Marvelous!” Marquis Kuang approaches, face taking on a calculating expression. “How long does this transformation hold?”
Shao shrugs. “Depends on the skill of the shénnóng-tú. A competent apprentice should be able to maintain it for the span of one incense stick.” The arrogance returns swiftly with Shao’s declaration: “In my class, I hold the record. A breath over two hours.”
That’s more than double the expected time.
“Impressive.” The marquis nods and returns to his seat.
“It is not sufficient for the jīncán to merely appear as something else,” Elder Guo calls out. “The bird has to ingest it.”
“Of course.” Shao bows and slides the plate into the enclosure.
The Piya settles beside the plate and regards it. Deeming it good to eat, it plucks the date off the plate and swallows it whole. Only a moment passes before it begins to convulse. The nature of the jīncán is such that ingesting a few small flakes of it over time results in a slow death, but to partake in such a large amount at once?
The bird makes a high, keening noise of pain and despair. The other two Piya in the pavilion screech in concern. Guoming is there immediately, reaching into the cage. He pries open the Piya’s mouth with gloved hands and pours a tonic down its throat. It’s too weak to fight him, but it feebly attempts to fend him off with a flap or two of its wings.
It jerks, once, twice, then the date is expelled successfully from its body, covered in a slick fluid. The bird lies there, dazed, chest heaving, but still alive. The monk, waiting to the side of the pavilion, quickly approaches and returns the transformed jīncán back into the pot. The bird is ushered away as well, having endured its purpose.
“Well done,” Elder Guo pronounces. “A worthy resolution to the dilemma presented. Now, our next pair of shénnóng-tú will demonstrate their abilities.”
She turns to me and Lian expectantly.
Something churns inside me as we approach the dais. Mother told me that if anyone is found to have died at the hands of a shénnóng-shī, the murderer’s name will be stricken from the Book of Tea. She died of a poison created by one of us, someone who walked in pretense along the path of Shénnóng. And someone in the palace knows who it is.
That cold thought is the only thing that steadies my hands as I prepare to do this cruel deed.
“I’m sorry, Peng-ge,” I whisper to the bird as I carry its cage to the enclosure. It chirps at me, oblivious to the fate that awaits it. I close the door and watch it tentatively hop out of the cage.
The pot is placed into my hands, heavy and cool. My fingernails sink into the softness of the seal, releasing the lid. I regard the jīncán sitting at the bottom. Such a small, unnatural thing. I lift it out and set it into a bowl. Lian passes me a jar of water, which I pour on top of the jīncán in a thin stream. The gold silkworm rises, then sinks as it absorbs the water, releasing its essence.
I slide the bowl into the enclosure with Peng-ge. It is accustomed to my presence now and hops forward to explore the bowl’s contents. Its trust makes this worse, as I watch it test the water. For a moment I hoped it wasn’t as smart as the elder had promised, that it would see the water and drink. But it seems to recognize the danger contained within and flits away, uninterested.