Yong obviously did.
After their lesson had ended with a conversation between Peng and Chen Yong that made her head ache, she went up on deck. She pulled a stool to the ship’s stern and stared out to sea, holding her sketchbook and charcoal, but became too mesmerized by the diamond-spangled waters to draw. Her chin dipped. The crew’s words and thoughts buzzed like distant mosquitoes. She closed herself off, reached for elusive silence…
Her head jerked up. The brightness of the day stabbed her eyes, and she winced.
“Miss, you musta fell asleep.” Xiao Hou was standing beside her.
“We didn’t mean to scare you,” Yam Head said. The two boys flanked her like guardian lions.
Ai Ling rubbed her face and smiled. The charcoal clinked to the deck.
“Who’s that?” Yam Head pointed to her lap.
Puzzled, she looked down. A detailed portrait of a young woman had been sketched into her book. She didn’t remember drawing it but recognized her own hand. Her throat closed, and her fingers flew to her neck. Her pulse fluttered so fast she thought she would faint.
“She’s pretty,” said Xiao Hou.
“Could you bring me some water, please?” she managed to say in a weak voice.
The two boys scurried off together.
She looked at the portrait again. Piercing wide-set eyes stared back at her from a heart-shaped face. The woman’s brows were delicate; the mouth was bow-shaped and full. The ebony hair was pulled up in a style fitting a servant. It was as if she were gazing at a splintered image of herself.
She closed the sketchbook with a trembling hand. Despite the fact that she had never seen her before, Ai Ling knew she had somehow drawn a portrait of Silver Phoenix.
After the midday meal Ai Ling decided to ignore her tight, aching legs and attend Chen Yong’s shuen lesson. She needed to clear her mind. The group was larger bytwo. Peng was dressed in Xian clothing again, the only time he seemed to wear it, and Yen had taken his tunic off, revealing a compact body with powerful muscles. Chen Yong asked everyone to resume the Horse Riding stance after some initial stretching. Her legs quivered in protest, and she had to suppress a cry of pain.
From the expressions on some of the other faces, she was not the only one who suffered. Peng and Yen seemed untouched, however, both sitting deep into the stance. Chen Yong moved down the line with his dreadful bamboo rod, tapping shoulders and legs, correcting form. He passed her without comment.
Again, he demonstrated the Jade Serpent Steals Breath punch. The skies had become overcast, blanketing the world in gray. Yet Chen Yong, dressed in a deep green tunic with gold details, glided like a bold stroke of color across the deck. It was as if he were the only living person and everyone else a pale shade around him. He pushed people lower at the shoulders, twisted hips with his hands to reiterate the power of the punch, pried fingers open and closed them again to form the correct fist.
Ai Ling was at the end of the line once more. She put her heart into every lunge and punch, but a part of her was always aware of Chen Yong. He spoke to the crewin quiet, patient tones, leaned his head close to the boys as they babbled up to him excitedly. Ai Ling thrust her leg and fist out again and again, losing herself in the movement.
Then he was before her, his hands behind his back, so close she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. “I’ve been watching you,” he said, a hint of something unreadable in his golden eyes. They were the first words he’d spoken to her all day.
He took a large step back, and she almost followed, as if drawn on strings.
“Show me.” Chen Yong gave a slight nod.
She lunged forward, punching toward his solar plexus. He circled her, just as he had the previous day. Her nostrils flared; she was determined neither to twitch nor to blush.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
Ai Ling collapsed out of her stance, almost sputtering. Perfect! She had no
After their lesson had ended with a conversation between Peng and Chen Yong that made her head ache, she went up on deck. She pulled a stool to the ship’s stern and stared out to sea, holding her sketchbook and charcoal, but became too mesmerized by the diamond-spangled waters to draw. Her chin dipped. The crew’s words and thoughts buzzed like distant mosquitoes. She closed herself off, reached for elusive silence…
Her head jerked up. The brightness of the day stabbed her eyes, and she winced.
“Miss, you musta fell asleep.” Xiao Hou was standing beside her.
“We didn’t mean to scare you,” Yam Head said. The two boys flanked her like guardian lions.
Ai Ling rubbed her face and smiled. The charcoal clinked to the deck.
“Who’s that?” Yam Head pointed to her lap.
Puzzled, she looked down. A detailed portrait of a young woman had been sketched into her book. She didn’t remember drawing it but recognized her own hand. Her throat closed, and her fingers flew to her neck. Her pulse fluttered so fast she thought she would faint.
“She’s pretty,” said Xiao Hou.
“Could you bring me some water, please?” she managed to say in a weak voice.
The two boys scurried off together.
She looked at the portrait again. Piercing wide-set eyes stared back at her from a heart-shaped face. The woman’s brows were delicate; the mouth was bow-shaped and full. The ebony hair was pulled up in a style fitting a servant. It was as if she were gazing at a splintered image of herself.
She closed the sketchbook with a trembling hand. Despite the fact that she had never seen her before, Ai Ling knew she had somehow drawn a portrait of Silver Phoenix.
After the midday meal Ai Ling decided to ignore her tight, aching legs and attend Chen Yong’s shuen lesson. She needed to clear her mind. The group was larger bytwo. Peng was dressed in Xian clothing again, the only time he seemed to wear it, and Yen had taken his tunic off, revealing a compact body with powerful muscles. Chen Yong asked everyone to resume the Horse Riding stance after some initial stretching. Her legs quivered in protest, and she had to suppress a cry of pain.
From the expressions on some of the other faces, she was not the only one who suffered. Peng and Yen seemed untouched, however, both sitting deep into the stance. Chen Yong moved down the line with his dreadful bamboo rod, tapping shoulders and legs, correcting form. He passed her without comment.
Again, he demonstrated the Jade Serpent Steals Breath punch. The skies had become overcast, blanketing the world in gray. Yet Chen Yong, dressed in a deep green tunic with gold details, glided like a bold stroke of color across the deck. It was as if he were the only living person and everyone else a pale shade around him. He pushed people lower at the shoulders, twisted hips with his hands to reiterate the power of the punch, pried fingers open and closed them again to form the correct fist.
Ai Ling was at the end of the line once more. She put her heart into every lunge and punch, but a part of her was always aware of Chen Yong. He spoke to the crewin quiet, patient tones, leaned his head close to the boys as they babbled up to him excitedly. Ai Ling thrust her leg and fist out again and again, losing herself in the movement.
Then he was before her, his hands behind his back, so close she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. “I’ve been watching you,” he said, a hint of something unreadable in his golden eyes. They were the first words he’d spoken to her all day.
He took a large step back, and she almost followed, as if drawn on strings.
“Show me.” Chen Yong gave a slight nod.
She lunged forward, punching toward his solar plexus. He circled her, just as he had the previous day. Her nostrils flared; she was determined neither to twitch nor to blush.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
Ai Ling collapsed out of her stance, almost sputtering. Perfect! She had no
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