"He was the Great Sage, equal of Heaven. Armed with the knowledge of seventy-two transformations and powers beyond anyone's imagination, he laid waste to the Nine Heavens with his beloved Jingu Bang, the treasured staff of the Eastern Dragon King. None could defeat the Monkey King, be finally found his match at the hands of the All Wise."

Fall of Sun WuKong—A Journey to the West

CHAPTER FOUR

We gathered outside the courtyard in utter silence. Not even Mila and Shao, who spent every minute of the day practicing their vocals or exchanging the hottest gossip in city, spoke a single word. It was as though everyone was stunned by the sinister grandeur of the Jade Palace. Everywhere we turned, stone lions snarled at us from their raised platforms, the trees shook their branches at us, and guards sized us down, their hands never leaving the hilt of their swords.

The main doors of the Palace swung open. The eunuch with the large hat walked into the courtyard.

Pooj hissed in my arms and spat at the eunuch.

"Hush," I whispered. "Not now. You can kill him only after we leave the Jade Palace."

He hissed again, then fell silent.

The eunuch's eyes flicked lazily to Pooj, then back at us. "Greetings," he said in his oily voice. "Welcome to the Jade Palace."

"Your welcome is much appreciated." Mr. Long rolled down the ramp with the help of Reni. "I suppose you're here to show us our accommodation?"

"Please call me Gui," the eunuch said. "Yes, indeed. We have the guest court prepared for your theater. Please, follow me."

"How nice." I adjusted the straps of my bundle on my shoulder. "I thought we would have to camp outside."

"Not necessarily," Mr. Long said as everyone contrived to follow Gui into the Palace. "The Imperials are well known for their courtesy."

"Courtesy is a facade." Mila drew up beside us, her face solemn. "Quick advice from the older chaps. The Jade Palace is not a place for commoners like us. Don't talk to anyone that is not our own. Stay away from the concubines and pray you don't run into the Imperials."

"Bad memories, eh?" Shao said in a singsong voice. "Still pissed at the romance that did not work out between you and the general?"

"That general was a rotten biscuit," Mila snapped. "I was just trying to protect the kids. This is the first time they've ever set foot into the Jade Palace. Someone has to look out for them."

"I'm sure they can look after themselves," Mr. Long interjected, rolling up to us. "I trust they won't stir up any trouble."

"Yes," Shao said petulantly. "That's what you said last time, and then they set an auditorium on fire."

"Hey." Biyu waved his arms in front of them. "We're here, you know. We have ears."

"You. Set. The. Crystal. Auditorium. On. Fire." Shao enunciated each word with a jab to Biyu's chest.

Mr. Long shook his head. "This is not the most ideal time to fight."

Gui faced our small group of twenty. "We do not tolerate rowdiness and disregard for the Imperial rules. Visitors are expected to be silent in the open sections of the Palace, as so not to bother his Imperial Highness the Emperor, the crown prince, and the second prince. The crown prince has specifically ordered that no one be a nuisance as he requires utter silence to study during the day."

Sounds like a typical Imperial. What a rotten beast.

Gui led us through several more doors and stone arches before we stepped into a lush courtyard. Cherry blossom trees formed a walkway arch leading to a main hall, flanked by several other smaller residential halls. The dark gilded wood of the doors was nothing like the discolored ones of teahouses and inns. These gleamed like a brand-new silver Credit. Above us, a stone arch proclaimed the name "Wanxin Court" in elegant carving, and in the middle of the courtyard was a large lotus pond where multicolored koi swam idly about.

"Wanxin Court was selected specially for Zichuan Theater." Gui nodded at Mr. Long. "I have stationed several slaves inside. I hope you'll find this place up to your comfort."

"I have no doubt," I muttered. Wanxin Court was beautiful. It was everything a commoner could wish for—elegance, extravagance, beauty. From where I stood, I noticed Biyu was trying his very best not to jump head first into the pond. But it wasn't for me. The richness of the court brought me back to the red satin room where I had spent more than three years in.

It reeked of pain and fear. I missed the shabby inn we last stayed at. I wanted the moth-eaten cushions, the faded sheets, and the hard, creaky bed.

The theater spilt up thereafter. Mila and Shao took one of the rooms closest to the entrance, while Mr. Long occupied the master room. I chose the smallest room deep within the court, where I wouldn't see the porcelain ornaments or the giant portraits of the Imperials hanging from the walls.

To my dismay, as I pushed open the door to my room, I was greeted by three life-like tapestries of the Emperor, the crown prince, and the second prince.

I sat Pooj down and stared at them.

All three were colorful, embroidered with tiny jewels which glittered like a splash of stars and woven from the richest silk. The middle and the largest tapestry depicted the Emperor as a tall, sturdy man whose beard reached his chest. On his head sat the Imperial crown, a masterpiece of gold and rubies shaped like a dancing phoenix. It was forged by twenty of the nation's best goldsmiths whose eyes were put out once the project was completed, so they would never be able to create another crown as exquisite. The thought of having my eyes burned out by hot iron stakes made me shudder, and I turned to the portrait on the right.

The crown prince was a proud man. Like his father, he inherited his height and broad shoulders. His cold gray eyes seemed to mock me as I stared at them, his long dark hair flowed till his waist, and an eagle perched on his outstretched arm. A silver crown the shape of branches ringed his head, which I was sure another goldsmith lost his sight just to create something as beautiful.

On the Emperor's left, was the second prince. He was shorter than Wulin but no less imperious. Instead of a crown, the second prince wore a simple but elegant silver circlet which rested above his brows. He held a whip in one hand, and a sword in the other, painting the picture of a man of war.

All the Imperials were so proud, so fatally beautiful, and so devastatingly dangerous.

I gritted my teeth. They wore fabric woven by slaves, bore the crowns of blinded artists, and ate the food planted by poor farmers. I shouldn't be admiring their portraits. They didn't deserve to be admired. If only Pooj could understand instructions. I would ask him to tear up all the tapestries.

On second thoughts, I didn't need Pooj to get them out of my sight.

Grabbing the first tapestry by its end, I yanked it off the hook, rolled it up, and threw it under my bed. I repeated the process with the Emperor and the second prince's portrait, each time with more vehemence than the last.

I hope you like dust. There's plenty under this b-

"What are you doing?" Biyu appeared at the doorway with a bundle of cloth in his arms.

I gave the last roll of tapestry a violent kick under the bed. "I'm just admiring the room."

He raised his eyebrows, looked at the large empty space stretched across the wall, but didn't question further. "We should head to bed soon. It's getting dark and I want to look my best tomorrow."

"Why would you want to look your best?" I asked, baffled.

"It's the crown prince's nameday! Of course, I'd need to look presentable."

I rolled my eyes. "We're Facechangers. The only person will see your face tomorrow is me."

Realizing I had a point, Biyu held up a finger. "I insist. If you're not going to sleep, I'd appreciate it if you would move from the bed."

He shoved me aside, doved into the bed, and curled into the blanket like a caterpillar.

Staring at the vaulted ceiling, I couldn't sleep even if I was tired. The tension was still there, a serpent coiled in my stomach, waiting for the right moment to strike. I stood up, walked out of the room, and headed toward the pond. Hauling up my legs, I sat on the largest boulder jutting out from the sides where I had a clear view of the colorful fishes darting about. The continuous splashes distorted my reflection, but I didn't mind.

Wanxin Court fell quiet as the sun went down. I hugged my knees, watching the last of the evening wink into darkness across the horizon. Slowly, hundreds of silver eyes appeared as night stretched high.

I couldn't read stars very well since I was too lazy to learn the art from Zhenjin, which I regretted sorely. However, I knew which constellation shone the brightest as the months faded. Today marked the tenth day of the Seventh Month. There in the midst of tiny stars, glinting like spears under the sun, was the constellation Pangu and Nüwa.

Pangu and Nüwa, the High Immortals of Creation. Eons ago, when heaven and earth were one, Pangu used his own body to hold up the heavens and press down the earth, while Nüwa knelt by the eternal river and fashioned humans out of water and clay, then breathed life into their chests and set them free.

As humans began to populate the new world they had created, Pangu grew weary, as centuries of holding up the sky had taken its toll. As the High Immortal breathed his last, his right eye became the sun, and his left eye became the moon. Every hair on his head fell off and became trees and animals. From his bones sprang rocks and metals, and from his blood sprang fountains and rivers. His limbs became the four pillars of the world, holding up the heavens for all eternity.

As Facechangers, Biyu and I had danced to almost every lore and tale of the High Immortals, but I loved this story the most. Being able to dance as Nüwa, to feel the rush of energy as one of the most powerful High Immortals, was exhilarating.

I wanted to pray to Nüwa for strength. After all, she was our first mother. But she gave up her life to fill a gaping hole in the sky after the High Demons knocked down one of the four Heavenly Pillars. I had tried praying to the other High Immortals—Nezha, Donghwa, Erlang, Yaozi, Mazu. Eighteen Hells, I even prayed to CaiShen, the High Immortal of Wealth. But they were either dead or couldn't care less.

I clapsed my hands together, betrayal an angry pulse in my heart. I had sworn to never pray to the High Immortals ever again, not since they abandoned us to the Imperials. But somehow, a small, desperate part of me still yearned for even the slightest sliver of hope—that tomorrow would come and end as fast as High Immortal HouYi's arrow could fly.

I never asked for much. Just a little divine intervention, or a blight in the arrangement of fates which allowed our escape in the past.

Just once, I begged. Help us for once.

The silence was only broken by the occasional shrill stridulation of crickets, and the gentle sobs that broke free from my throat. I allowed myself to shrink into the little girl dressed in overlarged silk robes who wasn't even sure if she would see the next sunrise. I needed to let her go, so when tomorrow came, she would be quiet. She'd hold herself and stand unflinchlingly in front of the people who butchered her family.

And maybe, it would even allow her to heal.

Maybe.