A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (71)

We continue to ask and answer each other, always circling back to the key questions for this challenge: How do we transform the jīncán and use it as a lure? And then how do we rid the bird of it?

I doze off, jerking awake to the sound of Lian singing a pleasant tune to the Piya, and the bird trilling back. The two of them have seemingly developed an affection for one another while I rested.

“Can you even bear to poison it?” I tease, and she flutters her hand at me in dismissal.

“You can do the poisoning, and I will do the saving,” she decides, and I am in agreement.

I read about how the Piya are fed their unique diet from birth, building up from seeds to insects, then to larger creatures, growing their awareness and their immunity. When they are old enough, they transition to human dishes, where they can begin to detect the poison present in food. I read about the five venoms—the scorpion, the snake, the moth, the toad, and the centipede. All of them condensed into the fabled jīncán, and something the bird should easily detect.

Later in the afternoon, Qing’er brings us our midday meal along with a platter of fruit and nuts. I experiment with a mild poison, a berry that irritates the stomach but is pleasing to the eye. The bird pecks at it until it opens, but then refuses to ingest it. Tricky creature.

While we eat our turnip cakes, dipping them in soy sauce and chilis, we continue to test what the Piya will eat. At home our turnip cakes are plain and steamed, but here in the palace there are bits of sausage and dried shrimp mixed in. The bird refuses the sausage but nibbles on the shrimp and bites of cake.

I glare at the bird in frustration as we continue to puzzle through this riddle.

“You shouldn’t overfeed it,” I say to Lian, who coaxes the bird with a grape. “If you do, it won’t have the stomach for the poison tonight.”

“Poor Peng-ge,” she sighs.

“Peng-ge?”

Lian laughs. “It’s a nickname given to boys in Kallah. I think it suits him.”

I can’t help but chuckle in turn, even as the daunting task looms ahead of us. We continue to debate while I stretch out on my bed and Lian continues to pace. Her muttering is now as familiar to me as the crackle of the fire and the ringing of the bells.

Another hour passes, the sun making its descent in the sky, approaching the time of the third round. Until the uncertainty inside me continues to grow and fester, until I cannot stand it any longer, and I throw the scroll I’m holding to the ground. Peng-ge and Lian jump at the sound.

“There’s nothing in these texts!” I grumble. “Nothing … nothing … nothing!” One by one, I toss the stack of books on my bed, until the last one knocks them all over with a satisfying crash.

“Feel better now?” Lian asks.

I grunt at her, arms crossed. We both stare at Peng-ge, preening himself.

“The bird will eventually develop a distaste for poison,” I say out loud, returning to the puzzle before us, hoping that this time we can unravel the problem, “and will refuse to eat what may harm it.”

“This is what I am struggling with,” Lian says, folding her arms over her chest as well. “In order to counteract some poisons, you have to ingest another poison, but there is always the risk of countering the toxicity of one and then succumbing to the other.”

“What did Elder Guo say to us that day before we found out about the emperor?” I ask, struggling to remember her words.

“The bird will only take in what it is able to endure,” Lian recalls.

I stare at her, the solution revealing itself in my mind, like a hand brushing steam off a fogged mirror. “Fight poison with poison,” I tell her excitedly. “That’s it! That’s the answer!”

Lian looks at me, still confused.

“We force the bird to ingest the poison somehow. It will do so, in order to save itself. If it believes there is an even greater threat than the jīncán.” My mind is already going through the list of ingredients that will make someone more susceptible to influence. Mother uses them to calm those who are in mental distress, and I can use them to coax out a different reaction.

“I don’t want to hurt him.” The corners of Lian’s mouth pull down into a genuine frown.

I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll save him. I’m certain of it.”

After a lengthy pause, Lian finally nods, acquiescing to my horrible, yet necessary plan.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


The setting sun sends streaks of pink and orange across the sky, reflected in the water of the lily pond behind the pavilion. A beautiful backdrop to the third round of the competition, but I do not have the luxury to admire such views. Instead, I mentally rehearse the steps to the daunting challenge ahead of us. Deceive the Piya, save the Piya.

Our judges are seated on the stone chairs already built into the pavilion itself, speaking to one another while waiting for the competition to begin. Three of them are cloaked in black, bare of courtly ornamentation, adhering to the ritual of mourning. The princess sits clothed in an austere robe of white, hair adorned with silver flowers. The sweep of her skirt shows the faintest hint of embroidery, chrysanthemums in gold.

Mother never liked chrysanthemums, due to their association with funerals. When we laid her to rest, there was not a chrysanthemum in sight. It feels like a bad omen to see them now, even though I know that is a foolish thought.