Jade Fire Gold(49)

Tang Wei and Linxi take their seats as the musicians tinker with their instruments. I stand behind with the intent of leaving early if I get restless.

Within moments, a gong booms. The lamp is lit, and the crowd goes silent.

Percussive sounds set the tone of the first story, and the troupe’s singer spins a tale of the Monkey King and his adventures after he was banished from Heaven. The crowd cheers whenever the mischievous Monkey King smites a demon and roars with laughter when he utters a witty line of dialogue. The sad faces and tears from this morning’s funeral are nowhere to be seen. The crowd is dressed in color again, too.

It is only the start of autumn, but the troupe announces the performance everyone has been waiting for tonight: the legend of Chang’e, the Moon Goddess. As the harmonic notes of a flute drift into the air, the puppet master brings out his new set of characters and the singer begins her soulful rendition.

When plaintive sounds of èrhú strings soften, the crowd breaks into thunderous applause, some wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs, touched by the tale of love and sacrifice. The troupe comes on stage to take a bow, nudging a hunched old man forward. He must be the puppet master, the one who pulled the strings behind the stage. The troupe disappears to prepare for the second half of the show, and I walk to the food stalls nearby in search of a snack.

A stallholder greets me enthusiastically.

“Come, xi?odì! Have a drink.” He thrusts an umber-colored jar at me. It jostles and liquid spills onto my robes.

“Good thing they’re black,” I tell him, waving away his apologies. From the scent, I know the alcohol is low grade and unaged. Probably made from glutinous rice instead of sorghum. Which means it burns your throat and gets you drunk immediately.

The man continues to badger me, offering me a free sip to test his merchandise. I shrug him off and end up bumping into someone behind me.

“Watch it!”

That voice.

I turn to meet the piercing stare of the girl from the bazaar. She looks different—overdressed, like she was at some important banquet instead of a street show. I’m caught off guard by how happy I am to see her.

“The boy from everywhere and nowhere,” she says. I’m pleased she remembers me.

“Mangosteen Girl,” I quip, gesturing at the two long sticks of candied hawthorn in her hand. “You’re not stealing those, are you?”

“I paid for them.” She takes a bite from one of the sticky orbs to prove her point. Syrup stains her lips red, leaving a tiny dot on her chin. I fight the urge to wipe it away.

“Seems like your circumstances have changed.” I meant it as a casual observation, but it comes out like an insult and I want to kick myself.

A flash of annoyance crosses the girl’s face, but she merely nods and hands me a stick of candy. “Here.”

“But you paid for them.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “Ever heard of a gift?”

“But we’re strangers.”

“There’s no law against giving gifts to strangers,” she says, repeating my words back to me. She laughs, and I remember the first time I heard her laughter. It reminds me of spring when everything comes to life.

“Thanks, but I don’t have a sweet tooth.” I return the candy to her. Our fingers brush briefly, and I take a step back, skin tingling. I bow in farewell, expecting her to leave but she starts walking with me as I head back toward the square.

“Where are your weapons?” she asks.

“Don’t need them.”

“You look far less intimidating without them. Are you passing through the capital?”

“In a manner.”

She takes another bite of her candy, chewing thoughtfully. “Mysterious as always.”

I sense that she wants me to explain myself more fully. To talk about myself, perhaps. But I choose to deflect. “How about you? This is a long way from the desert.”

She turns away, tugging a loose lock of silky black hair. “I’m here with . . . a friend. He wanted to see the puppet show.”

A friend, my mind repeats. There’s a funny feeling in my chest I can’t place. I brush it aside. The sound of drums and the èrhú grow louder as we stroll.

“Did you enjoy the shadow puppet performance?” I ask, suddenly wanting very much to hear her speak again.

“I did. It’s the first time I’ve seen one. At least, I think so. It all seems familiar somehow.” She looks perplexed.

I shrug. “There’re performances like these in every town in the summer and autumn. They’re common enough. My favorite is the one about the Moon Goddess, the one the troupe just performed.”

She makes a face. “I never liked that legend.”

“Why not? It’s a tale of selfless sacrifice. Chang’e drank the elixir of life instead of surrendering it to the despotic emperor.”

“And what was her reward? She was separated from her husband—she had to live on the moon with a rabbit. It’s not fair.”

“What’s wrong with rabbits? Besides, they see each other once a year during the Mid-Autumn Festival,” I counter, wondering why I care so much about a legend that probably isn’t true.

“You say it like it’s a good thing.” She jabs the air with her stick of candy. “Chang’e could have smashed it, and the emperor wouldn’t get it. That was what everyone was fighting about—the stupid elixir. If it didn’t exist, everything would be fine.”