inkling what she was doing. If he truly was so angry with her that he wouldn’t teach her properly, would just ridicule and ignore her…
He cocked an eyebrow, then grinned. It took every fraction of her willpower not to smile back.
Chen Yong ended the lesson by demonstrating a sequence of forms with such fluidity and strength heappeared otherworldly. He twisted and rolled from an imaginary attacker and backflipped twice before spiraling with a series of kicks, floating, suspended in the air for so long it seemed as if he were flying. He had stripped off his tunic, and despite the chill in the air, sweat gleamed at his throat, on his collarbones. But no hint of exertion touched his face, which was intense with focus.
She stared, entranced, admiring the way his muscles tensed and eased as he moved. She realized all at once exactly how powerful Chen Yong was, how lethal and precise. Better than she ever was, could be. He would have made the perfect assassin in the palace.
Ai Ling faltered in mid-thought, bewildered.
Everyone erupted into applause as he landed gracefully and bowed to his small audience. Looking embarrassed and suddenly boyish, he waved his hand to silence them. Several of the sailors crowded around him, speaking simultaneously, and she headed toward the galley for water. She was reminded of the last time she had seen Chen Yong practice his forms, after his sparring session with Li Rong when they had visited Lao Pan’s cave. Her heart ached to remember it.
She encountered Peng in the galley, already seated at the table with a cup of water. He didn’t look as if he hadbroken a sweat. “I’ll ask Lao Lu to leave a few jugs of water for us on deck tomorrow.”
Ai Ling sat beside him and drank in large gulps, spilling on herself as the ship swayed. “Have you practiced shuen before?”
Pensive, Peng swirled his cup. “I did once,” he said. “Yes.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and she realized he wasn’t going to explain further. The ship lurched as he brought the cup to his mouth for another sip, compensating for the sea’s erratic movements without thought. He certainly didn’t wash his face by accident while trying to drink.
“Are you not wed?” she blurted.
His black eyes widened; then he laughed. “I’m not. I don’t believe a wife would agree with this lifestyle. I would never be there for her or our children.” He glanced down at his hands. “It’s not something I want.”
“How many years are you?” Her curiosity overrode decorum.
Peng laughed again. “You’re quite forthright. You’ll fit right in in Jiang Dao. If I may ask, how many years are you?”
“I’ll be eighteen years in the ninth moon.”
“The Jiang consider eighteen years to be a significant year,” he said, smiling. “I am twenty-nine years.”
Twenty-nine!
“Ah.” She cleared her throat. “You don’t look—I mean, I didn’t think—” She drank another sip of water, managing to keep dry this time.
“Thank you.” He smiled with gracious amusement, rose, and rapped his knuckles on the table. “You jested about not having practiced shuen before?”
“What?”
“Your form is excellent,” Peng said.
“No…my father only taught my brothers.”
His dark eyes narrowed a touch as he gauged her. Did he think she was lying?
“The talent must run in your family,” he said, then nodded once before leaving the galley.
Ai Ling gazed into her empty water cup, too perplexed to laugh at the irony.
They had sailed two weeks without incident when something jolted Ai Ling from a deep slumber early one morning. She sat up without realizing it, tilting her head to listen to the creak and groan of the wooden ship, the quick scurrying of steps climbing topside. Maybe that was what had woken her. The crew was rising for the day. She lay back and listened to Chen Yong’s steady breathing. Just a few moments more…Her mind wandered,and her spirit touched the crew, most of
He cocked an eyebrow, then grinned. It took every fraction of her willpower not to smile back.
Chen Yong ended the lesson by demonstrating a sequence of forms with such fluidity and strength heappeared otherworldly. He twisted and rolled from an imaginary attacker and backflipped twice before spiraling with a series of kicks, floating, suspended in the air for so long it seemed as if he were flying. He had stripped off his tunic, and despite the chill in the air, sweat gleamed at his throat, on his collarbones. But no hint of exertion touched his face, which was intense with focus.
She stared, entranced, admiring the way his muscles tensed and eased as he moved. She realized all at once exactly how powerful Chen Yong was, how lethal and precise. Better than she ever was, could be. He would have made the perfect assassin in the palace.
Ai Ling faltered in mid-thought, bewildered.
Everyone erupted into applause as he landed gracefully and bowed to his small audience. Looking embarrassed and suddenly boyish, he waved his hand to silence them. Several of the sailors crowded around him, speaking simultaneously, and she headed toward the galley for water. She was reminded of the last time she had seen Chen Yong practice his forms, after his sparring session with Li Rong when they had visited Lao Pan’s cave. Her heart ached to remember it.
She encountered Peng in the galley, already seated at the table with a cup of water. He didn’t look as if he hadbroken a sweat. “I’ll ask Lao Lu to leave a few jugs of water for us on deck tomorrow.”
Ai Ling sat beside him and drank in large gulps, spilling on herself as the ship swayed. “Have you practiced shuen before?”
Pensive, Peng swirled his cup. “I did once,” he said. “Yes.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and she realized he wasn’t going to explain further. The ship lurched as he brought the cup to his mouth for another sip, compensating for the sea’s erratic movements without thought. He certainly didn’t wash his face by accident while trying to drink.
“Are you not wed?” she blurted.
His black eyes widened; then he laughed. “I’m not. I don’t believe a wife would agree with this lifestyle. I would never be there for her or our children.” He glanced down at his hands. “It’s not something I want.”
“How many years are you?” Her curiosity overrode decorum.
Peng laughed again. “You’re quite forthright. You’ll fit right in in Jiang Dao. If I may ask, how many years are you?”
“I’ll be eighteen years in the ninth moon.”
“The Jiang consider eighteen years to be a significant year,” he said, smiling. “I am twenty-nine years.”
Twenty-nine!
“Ah.” She cleared her throat. “You don’t look—I mean, I didn’t think—” She drank another sip of water, managing to keep dry this time.
“Thank you.” He smiled with gracious amusement, rose, and rapped his knuckles on the table. “You jested about not having practiced shuen before?”
“What?”
“Your form is excellent,” Peng said.
“No…my father only taught my brothers.”
His dark eyes narrowed a touch as he gauged her. Did he think she was lying?
“The talent must run in your family,” he said, then nodded once before leaving the galley.
Ai Ling gazed into her empty water cup, too perplexed to laugh at the irony.
They had sailed two weeks without incident when something jolted Ai Ling from a deep slumber early one morning. She sat up without realizing it, tilting her head to listen to the creak and groan of the wooden ship, the quick scurrying of steps climbing topside. Maybe that was what had woken her. The crew was rising for the day. She lay back and listened to Chen Yong’s steady breathing. Just a few moments more…Her mind wandered,and her spirit touched the crew, most of
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