Chapter 7: Pick Flowers, Trample Grass (拈花惹草)
Daiwen dragged their aching body out of bed before dawn to get in a bath. The water was even colder than the air, but it was clean. They discovered that Yanxi had left yet another piece for their growing spider silk ensemble, soft fitted boots that pulled snug all the way up to their thighs.
The boots were beautiful, and the craftsmanship was beyond anything that Daiwen, a professional seamster, had ever encountered in their admittedly tiny village. They thanked Yanxi on the way to breakfast. Yanxi grinned over her mandibles.
Mistress He assigned Daiwen to work with her that morning. Daiwen followed her fully-clothed into a different one of the four smaller tents. Neither Daiwen nor Mistress He made any move toward the rolled parchment scripts. The ringmaster frowned at Daiwen, arms crossed over her chest.
"You can go first."
"There's something have to do this morning."
"Mother damn it, Daiwen! You fucked up last night, and I know it was because you shirked rehearsals."
"I'm sorry-"
"This is a business-sorry isn't gonna cut it."
"I was helping the yaoguai-"
"Fuck the yaoguai! They're a murderer who also, incidentally, hurt out business."
"Please, just give me one more day."
"Did you know it's illegal for me to have you perform with us if you have no prior knowledge of the acts I need out of you?"
"No, but-"
"But what?"
"I can read. It only takes me fifteen minutes-"
"Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes."
Mistress He grabbed the scripts from the basket. She laughed and tore them to shreds. They drifted like snowflakes to the dirt floor.
"Fifteen minutes. Why'd I even bother writing these? Fifteen minutes. Tell you what. You take all the fucking time you want, just be back here fifteen minutes before the show. I'll get you a script you can read real easy. How about that?"
Daiwen's rice porridge breakfast curned to paste as coils of unease rolled up into their stomach. But the yaoguai needed them more than Mistress He. They steeled themself to the challenge, the threat.
"That sounds perfect. I'll see you this evening."
That steel turned to water as soon as they stepped out into the pouring rain. Their legs shook as they carried them east. All that kept them going was a single, hot coal of a mantra: they would show the ringmaster.
The village of Haosang (鎬磉) nestled six miles out from Laoshi City on a rice-terraced hill like a giant's stair of grass and water. Wicker scarecrows on bamboo poles all painted in pitch to avoid the rain's rot stared at their black reflections in the glassy surfaces of the paddies.
The small gathering of farmhouses on the hilltop, each comprised of three stone halls surrounding an open stone courtyard (三合院), reminded Daiwen of their own village, only they'd had to rely on pitch-painted lumber.
Daiwen walked up the lonely stone road between the paddies. They stopped at the first sight of a farmer. Their broad-brimmed hat of tightly woven reeds kept the rain off their grim, deeply lined face. Though the farmer straightened to their full height, the only sound between them was the steady patter.
"I've been sent by the city to investigate a murder."
"Follow me."
Daiwen followed them to the far side of the hilltop to a three-halled house with a blue tent in its courtyard. A lantern hung from the top of the tent. Just as in their father's funeral tent, a table stood to one side holding cut flowers, food offerings, and a bamboo cup full of dry rice to keep its sticks of smoking incense standing. The only difference was a doll of stuffed tarp without a hair or a face.
A child. The yaoguai had been accused of a child's murder. It was heinous, a complete abomination, if true.
Two sallowed, doughy farmers rose from their seats in front of a cheap screen of painted heaven. White streaked their hair and wrinkles lined their sunken, shadowed eyes.
"I'm sorry for you loss."
The pair said nothing. One glanced back at the screen of heaven or perhaps the coffin behind it.
"Where did it happen?"
The pair walked out of the tent and into the courtyard without a word. Daiwen followed them. The rain lightened to scattered plinks as they walked down the hill to the glassy lake at its foot.
Black-boughed willows stood by the water's edge. Their trailing leaves swayed out past the gravelly shore. The rain, though gentle, still knocked the willow's white blossoms out into the lapping shallows.
The farmers pointed wordlessly to the base of the willow tree on a small, grassy rise over the gravel. Daiwen nodded in thanks and waded through the rain-rippled water. They stopped short of the willow at a wall of pure cold and stink of death. Their spine shivered involuntarily and their pulse quickened. Whatever happened here had left a presence.
Daiwen knelt at the base of the willow, looking out between the trailing leaves to the lake. The two farmers watched them from the bank, but Daiwen could no longer feel the weight of their eyes. They couldn't even hear the plinking rain over the pounding in their ears. A third stare from the heart of the willow raised beads of sweat from the skin of their back.
Daiwen closed their eyes and let out a shaky breath. Their aura flared purple. They couldn't hear their own croaked call.
"I know you see me. Come out, so I can see you too."
The leaves of the willow only swayed under the falling rain. Daiwen's breath steadied. Their pulse quieted until the plink of rain on water filtered back in. Daiwen steeled their spine and called again, quiet but firm.
"Come out, spirit, and I will bring you peace."
The willow vibrated with the waking buzz of a hornet's nest. Black smoke, radiating a burning heat, billowed out from the tree. The buzzing grew louder and louder as the smoke gathered into a dark cloud. A red eyeball, large as a fist, rolled out from the cloud. Then a second, a third, until six float in the burning, buzzing black.
One of the farmers screamed. Daiwen, throat as parched as a burning field, couldn't speak. They held one sweating, shaking hand up to the burning, buzzing wraith.
The wraith opened a mouth like a burning torch and screeched. Its flame burst up to the treetop, torching the willow.
Daiwen shrieked and threw their arms over their face, but their trembling knees refused to move.
The wraith swooped down upon Daiwen, swallowing them in its buzzing, burning cloud. Thick smoke shot down Daiwen's throat, into their ears and nose.
Daiwen fell to the ground wheezing and choking. Their fingers clawed the dirt. As darkness spread from the edges of their vision, light flared purple around them.
A cool wave of magic exploded out from Daiwen, ripping the buzzing, burning smoke from their throat. They reached out, one hand closing over the tail of the ghost cloud before it could blow away. The smoke writhed and burned between their fingers, but the buzz-shrieking wraith remained in place.
Daiwen coughed and huffed until they found their voice. They shouted over the buzz of a thousand hornets. Their voice echoed over the lake.
"You don't belong here! Let me send you home!"
The wraith writhed and shrieked, but its tail was trapped in Daiwen's necromantic grip. The cloud stilled. Six eyes met Daiwen's. It opened its burning mouth and spoke with its insectoid buzz.
"There is no place for the undead."
"You would have peace, at least."
"I would have NOTHING."
Daiwen shut their eyes, feeling the burning coils of smoke between their fingers. This was the shape of a life. They looked back at the wraith.
"Then I'm sorry, but I can only give you nothing."
Daiwen squeezed their fist shut. A cool shot of magic flew from their arm into the cloud. The buzz-shrieking wraith burst apart into wisps of burning smoke. They vanished into the rain.
Daiwen slumped onto their hands and knees in the muddy grass. The two farmers ran to their side. They didn't Daiwen, but they held their hands at the ready to catch or support. Daiwen gave them a watery smile.
"Will you testify for the yaoguai?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
Daiwen pushed to their feet, a hollow pit gnawing at their stomach. Esquire Kang, Mistress He, everyone was wrong. The yaoguai was innocent. Despite the cover of rain, they blinked back bitter, burning tears.
-/-
When Daiwen returned to Laoshi City, they spent a full piece of gold on a waterproof pocket watch. They returned to Mistress He's rehearsal tent exactly fifteen minutes before the night's show. Mistress He handed them the new script with a thin smile.
"Enjoy."
Daiwen struggled to keep their face placid. When they spoke, their voice crawled out in a hoarse whisper.
"I don't say anything."
"No. In fact," she pointed to a line in the script, "I ask you to remain completely silent, if you can manage it."
"I can," they replied, hollow and automatic.
"Excellent. Now get into costume."
-/-
The ringmaster bowed to the riotously cheering crowd. As she straightened, her outfit darkened and lengthened to ink black robes. The hat in her hands grew a broad brim and sharply pointed tip. She raised a finger to her lips. The tent dropped into taut silence.
"Ladies and gentlefolk, tonight we have for your viewing pleasure a cautionary tale of scholarly delight: Apprentice, Scroll."
Yanxi in the tent top shifted the spotlight from the ringmaster to Daiwen seated on a cushion at a low table. Their paperthin costume resembled the long, elegant robes of a scholar. They held a short, cylindrical ink stick in hand.
Daiwen ground the inkstick in measured circles into an inkstone. The black grains flowed down into the clear water of the ink's well. As Daiwen set down the stick and took up the goat-haired inkbrush, Mistress He walked into the spotlight wearing her sorcerer's hat. A tall scroll stood precariously in the pocket of her robe.
"My dear apprentice, my guests have arrived downstairs to see my latest magical marvel. I must ask for your complete silence so you do not disturb my concentration. Can you do that for me?"
Daiwen smiled and nodded under a slight sheen of sweat. The ringmaster smiled back.
"Thank you. I shall return in a few hours."
She turned about face and marched into the darkness. The ridiculously tall scroll fell from her pocket. The crowd's titters grew to ringing laughter as it unrolled, reading: 'Spell for a Most Considerate Lover.'
Daiwen set down their brush, unstained, and tiptoed to the scroll. Their mouth opened to a little 'o.' They looked around hastily, cuping a hand to their ear. There was no sound save for the laughing crowd. Daiwen smiled, biting their lower lip, and kneeled behind the scroll with their face to the audience.
They undid the wooden toggles of their robe, one by one. They clutched the opened folds. After a quick look this way and that, they pulled the robes down their naked shoulders and pushed them off their bent knees.
Daiwen took a breath as deep as a diver's and placed both hands on the scroll. The audience held their breaths with them. The silence stretched until the air thickened with prickling heat.
Daiwen watched wide-eyed as the ink rippled over the parchment. A thick, rubbery black tentacle rose up from the characters for 'lover' (情人).
Daiwen offered a hand. The blunted tip of the tentacle bent toward them, a hair's breadth from their fingers. They brushed the back of their fingertips across its heavy side, segmented like a worm's.
The tentacle rose up under the line of their chin. Daiwen nuzzled the side of their face to its solid warmth. They closed their eyes and opened their mouth, one hand reaching between their knees.
-/-
Explicit encounter on AO3