"The Jade Emperor sent an entire Heavenly army to kill Yang Jian's family and trapped his mother underneath the Peach Blossom Mountain. Secretly saved by a Sky Marshal who aged them from younglings into adults, Yang Jian and his sister went out in search of the Lotus Lantern, a relic said to be created by the All Mother herself, to avenge their father's death and free their mother."
ErLang Shen and San ShengMu—The Lotus Latern
CHAPTER NINE
A rustle in the bushes made me leap back.
"Who's there?" I said.
There was another rustle. This time, it was closer. A white cat leaped out of the bush and stared at me with his one blue eye.
"Pooj?"
I thought he was lost to me forever, but here he was, healthy and alive. What was he doing in the Forest of a Thousand Faces?
Pooj mewed and slunk behind another bush. Then, he popped back and eyed me.
"You want me to follow you?"
He repeated his movements—one leap into the bush and then back in front of me.
As silly as it felt, I followed Pooj. He led me past bushes and trees, down a winding pathway that wasn't there before. The path unfolded like the paper cranes Biyu and I used to make when we first joined the theater and needed something to occupy the time as we travelled.
As I ventured deeper, I lost count of the number of turns we took, the amount of rocks and trees we passed. The path stretched on and on; an eternity molded in the shape of rocks and earth. I held my breath as I continued making my way down the path. It seemed endless—one stone appearing in front of the other. When I looked back, the path vanished, covered by tall grass and trees.
My heart thudded against my ribcage, the sound of blood crashing through my head loud in my ears. The twisted boughs of trees covered up most of the sunlight, and whatever that was left slithered through the cracks like silver cobwebs. There was serenity to the forest, but at the same time, it made the hair stand up at the back of my neck. It was silent—too silent in fact.
Quiet. Quiet. Quiet.
The word was an echo in my head, repeating itself. Finally, I saw the silhouette of a person standing at the end of the neverending path. The person was tall with slender shoulders, dark hair cascading down his shoulders, a faint smile on his lips.
He looked so familiar, like a whisper of memory. Pooj mewled, shimmied up to the person, and stood at his feet.
"Hello, Sarna." Biyu smiled.
No words could express what I felt—the rush of happiness, relief, and sorrow—and I dashed toward him, throwing my arms around his neck and pulled him close. He still smelled like cherry-blossoms. I released him and gently touched his face, tracing the slim cheekbones and down to his collarbone. There wasn't a single bruise on him or any trace of scars. I twisted my fingers around his bony ones—fingers that weren't broken and swollen.
"I was so worried about you," he whispered.
I placed my head in his chest and sobbed. Hearing his voice made me want to melt on the spot, to lie on the ground and to never rise again. I was afraid if I opened my eyes, he would be gone.
"You left us," he said. "We thought you were dead. We grieved for you."
I raised my head and stared into his eyes. They were hollow and dark, as if all light had drained out of them.
"I had to." I touched his cheek. "I had no other choice."
Biyu let loose a sharp breath and pushed me away.
"Liar."
He started walking backwards, his hands placed in front of his body, as if protecting himself from me.
"I did not abandon you," I tried to reason. "I am doing this, so you can be safe."
"Liar," Biyu repeated, and his body exploded into a million moths. I screamed as the moths fluttered their tiny wings and swarmed toward me, scraping every inch of exposed skin, forcing themselves down my throat, into my ears. The bitter taste of insects overwhelmed me, and I collapsed onto the ground, convulsing and vomiting. But the horde of moths never ceased attacking. I tried to scream for help, but the moths rushed into my mouth again.
I couldn't breathe. My head hurt. I was going to die.
There was a sharp whistle, and all the moths vanished.
I opened my eyes, shakily sat up, and threw up on the grass. The sensation of a million soft wings were still an echo on my body, and I shuddered, scratching my hands, legs, and face, as if I could strip off my skin and step out naked.
Liar. Biyu's voice resonated in my mind. We grieved for you.
This wasn't real. Biyu was still in the Imperial Dungeons. This must be an illusion of the forest, created to scare the mortals from trespassing.
I leaned onto a tree for support as I rose shakily to my feet. The dense forest around me was gone, replaced by a lush meadow with a trickling stream. There was no sun in the sky, no moon behind the clouds, yet the place was illuminated by a source of light I couldn't pinpoint. Everything gleamed as though basked in molten silver, glinting like diamonds scattered across the ground.
Pooj was still there, staring at me as if nothing had happened. He meowed and darted down the small hill.
I followed him. There at the foor of the hill was a small cottage. It could have passed for a regular cottage if not for the broad trees that surrounded it. On the trunk of every tree hung human faces. The faces had their eyes closed, and they were completely devoid of hair—features flat and unimpressive, and blue lips pulled down to form a frown.
All without identity. These must be the faces of those who had wandered too deep into the Forest of a Thousand Faces.
Turn back, the faces whispered. Turn back.
Their disembodied voices sent chills shooting up my spine, and shaken as I already was, I froze. The faces never stopped their chorus, their etiolating voices running the same phrase over and over again.
Turn back. Turn back. Turn back.
Pooj seemed unfazed by the faces. He darted across the bridge and toward the wooden house floating above the peaceful waters. There was a small click of metal released from metal, and the door of the wooden house swung open.
High Immortal Donghwa stepped out of the house and picked up the cat.
I grunted, taking a step backward. High Immortal Donghwa looked exactly as he was when he appeared in the teahouse—lilac colored silk robes, a tall and slender figure, unforgiving violet eyes which crackled with lightning, and faces which wove in and out of physical forms until they finally settled on a stoic human face.
"LiJin tells me you've treated him well," the High Immortal said in a calm, steely voice.
"You're High Immortal Donghwa," I said.
Donghwa looked proud. "Indeed I am."
So, this was where he was hiding all these centuries. All the agony and disappointment roared and surged upwards like an angry tidal wave as I raised my fist to hit the High Immortal, washing away my terror at seeing a High Immortal in the flesh.
"Insolent human. You dare raise a hand at a High Immortal?" His voice was the chorus of a thousand souls, a mixture of pitces and cries, just like the thousands of faces hanging around the forest.
Donghwa's human face vanished. In its place was a lumpy, misshapen face with four yellow eyes, fluted horns which protruded behind its head, and a grin which literally reached its pointed ears.
The murderous glare made tears blossom at the corner of my eyes in shame and terror, crumpled my knees until I was a heaving pile on the ground.
"I-I'm sorry." The words were a soft sigh of defeat as they left me. This was what a High Immortal was capable of—frightening a human senseless with just a glare. I had fantasized slapping the High Immortals should I had the chance, but I was so wrong. What was I, a sheer mortal whose brittle bones could break under the slightest pressure, against a High Immortal who could channel the forces of the Three Realms?
Donghwa continued grinning as he regarded me with his four eyes, as though enjoying the sight of a mortal groveling at his feet. His face shrunk back into its human form, and he picked up Pooj.
"High Immortal ShiMing has written the fate of every human that has ever lived, and every human that'll ever be born in his Scroll of Twelve Stars. He has foretold that one day a daughter of slaves will come knocking at my door."
I looked at Pooj, snuggled tight in the High Immortal's arms. Once again, his beautiful coat of white fur stood out like a diamond amidst coals. Just like how he stood out in the city square awashed with people and dirty stray creatures; a stark, tell-tale sign that he didn't belong.
"You sent him," I said in a small voice. "You've been spying on me."
Donghwa continued smiling, his hand running up and down Pooj's soft back, ignoring my statement.
"Are you not here to ask me a favor?"
He sounded so sincere, so eager, but I wasn't ready to trust him, especially not after he ignored my prayers for so long.
"Why help me now?"
Donghwa's smile stretched even wider. "Does it matter?"
Yes, it did. It was a difference between having a family and watching them die in front of your very eyes. High Immortals would never understand the pain mortals go through, for they were far above us, the superior beings of the universe.
He suddenly reached for my face. I stepped back, but invisible hands grabbed my feet and rooted them in place. Try as I might, I couldn't escape Donghwa. He traced the burns of my face, from the brow to the chin, as if committing them to memory. I sobbed, cringing as his cold fingers came in contact with my skin. I couldn't control the tears, they rolled down my cheeks like water bursting from the riverbanks.
"I can teach you the art of Facechanging and Bodystealing," he whispered. "With my powers, you can change into any face, be it a prince or a slave. You won't have to fear the judgemental glares of the people or live in the shadow of the man who ruined you any longer. You can truly be Sarna Jinyu."
There was something else implied. He didn't say it out loud, but I heard them in my head. I could enter the Palace as a new person and kill the crown prince without rousing suspicion. But like he said, nothing came without a price.
I choked out the words. "What do you want?"
Donghwa took a step back. The force holding me faded, but the radiance around the High Immortal seemed to be more agitated, like birds stirring in trees.
"What I want?" he echored. "Think of it as a trade. I teach you the art of Facechanging and Bodystealing. In return, you owe me a favor. We will sign a contract that is unbreakable by any force but my own."
I stood, silent. Donghwa was a High Immortal; why would he enlist the help of a mortal should he ever need it?
Do it, the small voice in my head said. This is your way into the Jade Palace.
The High Immortal did not chastise me. Instead, he looked at me, his expression unreadable.
Zhenjin had sacrificed his own life to save me. Biyu had risked death to guide me out of the Pavilion. What was I willing to do for them?
"I'll do it," I said. "I'll sign the contract."
"You're quick to agree to something you haven't the faintest inkling what it is about," Donghwa said. "You're either very brave or very stupid. Before we start, I need something as collateral."
"I don't have anything valuable to offer you," I said. "I have nothing. The Imperial soldiers took everything."
Donghwa's violet eyes fell upon my waist, and my hand automatically went to cover my string of items.
"No. This is very important to me."
"In that case, I'm afraid you've come all the way here for nothing." The High Immortal turned to enter his cottage.
I clutched the giant wooden bead on the string. This string tethered me to Zichuan Theater. It reminded me that I was free from the Pavilion. I'd always had it, through rain or shine. Giving it up would be cleaving a knife through my soul.
What about Biyu? What about Mr. Long? My inner voice challenged me. You came all this way to save them, you fell to your knees and begged the High Immortals whom you did not believe in the first place. Now, you're going to jeopardize everything for a string of silly bits?
"Wait!" I shouted.
Donghwa swung around.
"Why do you want it?" I asked.
"I am a collector," the High Immortal said. "I collect precious things. That string of items might worth nothing if you peddled it in the market, but because it holds sentimental value, it is worth more than all the golden Credits in the world."
Disgust filled my stomach. "So, you take the things people cherish the most from them as a hobby. What about all those faces out there?" I swept an arm across the trees. "What did those people do to you?"
Donghwa sighed and walked onto the bridge, closing the distance between us. "I'm not evil, Sarna. I'm old. The faces you see on the trees are the faces of the mortals who asked me for favors but weren't able to settle their debts. Like I said, I'm a collector. I not only collect tokens, I collect debts. If you fail to settle your debt, you'll end up as one of those poor, sad faces hanging on the trees."
I untied the string from my waist, letting the clinking items run through my fingers one last time before I handed it to Donghwa. The thread was invisible against the glow of his skin. There was a flash of white light, and my string was gone.
For the first time since we met, the High Immortal smiled. It was both a radiant and imperious smile, one that hid thousands of secrets and more to come. I drew back, suddenly terrified and doubtful of my decision.
So many things could go wrong. I—
"Hold my hand." Donghwa extended his hand toward me.
I stared at him.
"Are you deaf, mortal?" he thundered.
Shocked at his outburst, I grasped his hand. His hand was cold, colder than a frozen lake. It was as if Donghwa was a walking corpse, devoid of hot blood pumping through his veins.
My heart pounded in my chest, like a hammer falling upon iron, again and again. Donghwa seemed to swell in size, his glow now rivaling the moon. I was too awed and petrified by his might to take heed the small twinge of uneasiness within me; that I was about to sign a binding contract with a High Immortal.
"With this handshake, I, Donghwa, High Immortal of Facechanging and Bodystealing, Protector of the Faces, grant you the powers of a Facechanger, and with it, all the tools and training required."
Gold, shimmering letters blossomed from our clasped hands in the form of a silken thread. It soared into the air, a graceful wisp of light, and bound itself around our wrists. Every word that fell from Donghwa's lips became the letters.
"May the Heavenly Father bear witness, that the mortal Sarna Jinyu, agrees to comply to any demand I make in return for this favor."
A second gold thread leaped out and twisted around our hands.
"And may the All Mother bear witness, that this contract is bound by my magic and my blood, and it cannot be broken by any power but mine."
A third and last gold thread blossomed and tightened the other two threads, binding our hands and wrists together with so much force, I gasped as the strings drew blood.
Red wept from mine, and gold bled from his.
"And thus, the contract is signed."
There as a soft sigh as the glowing threads leaped into the air, basking us with their effulgence. The needle-thin wounds closed up, and what remained of the gold threads bound themselves around my wrist like a bracelet. Donghwa released my hand as the glow faded. I touched my right wrist where the threads had coiled. Marked in my flesh were three red striations.
"It is done," he said. "I shall now verse you in the art of Facechanging and Bodystealing."
"But I don't have much time," I said. "I need to kill the crown prince before the coronation."
"Time is but an illusion," he answered. "You're in my world now. I am time."
The High Immortal rested his left hand on the front door. The wood melted away, heralding an opening for the both of us.
"Take heed," he said. "What you're going to learn is of a higher power. Once you enter, you will no longer be the Sarna you know and remember. You will be half-High Immortal, half-mortal, for you will need to consume my blood in order to ascend as a Facechanger. Are you ready, Sarna Jinyu?"
I glanced down at the three red striations on my wrist, the faces hanging from the trees, and finally at Donghwa's expressionless face. His hand was still pressed against the door, holding it ajar.
This was a damned road. A damned and cursed road that would turn me into something neither human nor High Immortal. But I was already a cursed mortal, one whose fate was judged and dictated by cruel men with golden crowns. With this promise of power, something inexplicable and extraordinary, I could be something more.
"Yes," I said. "I am ready."