Page 14 of Song of the Crimson Flower

The woman cackled. “You’re an even worse liar than I thought. I can see her in your eyes, plain as day. A girl with a little yellow flower in her long, shining hair.”

Little yellow flower.Bao’s eyes widened at the phrase from the song he had written for Lan, but it was impossible that the woman could know anything of that. It had been a lucky guess—likely there were many heartbroken young men whose lovers favored the sunny petals ofhoa mai. “I’ll take my leave now,” he said shortly, using his oars to detach his boat from the rock. He heard a loud crunch and groaned, seeing a large crack in the wood through which water was already seeping. “Do you have any tree resin I might borrow to patch this up?”

But the woman did not answer. She was staring in openmouthed silence at his right shoulder, from which his tunic had slipped. “What did you say your name was, boy?”

He yanked the cloth back over his skin. “I didn’t.”

After a long moment, she spoke again with an odd expression on her face. Her rough voice had changed to be almost polite. “I do have some resin. Pull your boat over here.”

Bao had no choice but to obey. As he jumped out and dragged his damaged vessel onto the bank, he felt her shrewd eyes on him all the while. She gestured for him to follow, and he did so reluctantly, tucking his possessions under one arm, though he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to steal anything from this desolate place.

The woman’s hut had an empty chicken coop beside a sad, scraggly garden. She held the door open for Bao, but when he didn’t move, she rolled her eyes. “Stay there, then, brave heart, and I’ll bring it out.” In a minute, she returned with a basket of dark tree resin and a dirty brush, which he accepted. Up close, she looked even more frail and fragile, and Bao felt a wave of pity for her. He could see on her weathered face thehardship of poverty and loneliness. She was only scared and confused, and the locals had all turned her into some kind of evil witch.

“Is there anything I can do to help you in return?” he asked gently.

She gazed at him with eyes so keen, he thought she might be probing his innermost thoughts. “Why did you lie to me?”

“Because I wasn’treallymeaning to look for the river witch...”

The woman made an impatient gesture. “Not about that. Why did you say you were from the river market up north when I know you’re from the Gray City?”

“I’m not from the Gray City,” Bao protested, but she lunged forward until her face was inches from his. For a small, harmless-looking person, she was faster than he had imagined.

“Full of lies, just like your mother. So, after almost twenty years, she has decided to come and find her little sister at last.” She laughed, a bitter, poisonous sound. “No doubt she has found another use for me. She only ever cared about what I and my magic could do for her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Spare me.” The woman’s sharp, sarcastic voice cut through his words. “We both know your mother wants me back in the Gray City, and she sent you to do her dirty work because she knew I would kill her on sight. Well, if she’s hoping that seeing you will soften me and make me forget everything she’s done, then she’s wasting her time.”

The dark fury in her eyes sent a chill down Bao’s spine. Clearly, she was confused and delusional, but she believed in everything she said. And judging from the way she glowered at him, she would not let him go without a fight. He darted a glance at his boat, wondering if he could stall for time. He needed only a few minutes to plug up the crack and get away.

“I see nothing of your mother in you. Only Sinh,” she said, shuttingher eyes with such a look of grief that Bao paused. “She had everything: our parents’ love and the people’s respect, and still she took him from me. She didn’t love him; she has nevertrulyloved anyone in all her life. She only wanted him because he was mine. Well, perhaps, it is timeItook something fromher. Perhaps it is time your mother was punished for her deeds.”

“I’m going to fix my boat now,” Bao said, sidestepping her, and his bundle slipped from under his arm as he did so. The bamboo flute fell to the ground, and he hurried to pick it up and carefully wipe off the dirt with his tunic.

The woman watched him, her mouth twisted. “Your father played the flute, too, long ago. He loved it as much as you seem to love yours. Is it your most prized possession, Bao?”

He froze. “I never told you my name.”

“You didn’t have to. I was there the day you were born. How do you think I recognized the birthmark on your shoulder? It looks like the number three, doesn’t it?” She laughed at his shock. “That’s not a lucky number. Andyouare not a lucky boy.”

Bao’s mind spun, racing for answers. But there was no rational explanation for how she had known his name, and no way she could have so clearly seen the shape of the birthmark in the darkness. “Who are you?” he whispered, feeling cold all over.

“I have had many names in my long, sad life,” she said, advancing as he backed away. “I am known as sorcerer. Wielder of dark magic. River witch. But to you, I will soon be nothing. You, who are the result of my sister’s and Sinh’s betrayal of me. The product of their lies. And won’t it be fitting to send you back to them not as their son, but as something else entirely?”

Again on her pinched face was the look of a wildcat, fierce and hungry,poised to spring. Bao stumbled and fell, bringing his bundle down with him. “You’re my aunt? And my parents are still alive?” he breathed, hardly daring to believe his own words. But despite his fear and confusion, a quiet note of hope sang within him. “Why did none of you ever come to find me?”

“Enough lies!” the woman—his aunt—shouted, extending her right hand, palm outward.

On the ground, Bao felt a powerful tug between his ribs like fingers reaching inside of him, pulling out the threads of his being. He sucked in a sharp breath as the feeling intensified from a dull ache into a sharp, excruciating pain. “Please stop!” he begged, shielding his chest with one arm. The bamboo flute was still clutched in his fingers.

“I have no wish to see my family again,” she said, drawing a knife from her tunic. “I want to be left alone, and you will be the message I send back to my sister.”

“Don’t kill me,” Bao begged. His chest felt like it was on fire, like every rib was being pulled out of him one by one. “Have mercy on me, if I really am your nephew.”

The woman knelt beside him and yanked the flute from his fingers, then cut the palm of his hand with her blade. She wrapped his bloody hand around the instrument once more. “Blood magic is a powerful gift for those who want it, like my sister,” she said as the dark drops seeped into the holes of the flute. “But it’s a curse for those who don’t. She never understood why I hated my abilities. She took it as a personal insult that the gods favored me with our ancestors’ powers.”

The tight, unbearable pain in Bao’s chest faded, but in its place was a disorienting feeling of lightness. It felt as though any second, his arms and legs might lift off the ground and he would be flung into the heavens with no ballast. “What are you doing to me?” he choked out.

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