Eagle (Page 45)

Ying looked at ShaoShu. “To find my mother.”

“Really?” ShaoShu asked. “Are you excited?”

“No questions,” Ying replied, half joking. “Remember?”

“Sorry,” ShaoShu said, and again he pretended to lock his mouth closed.

Ying nodded, and Hok turned the skiff toward the apothecary. She found an unoccupied slip among the docks out front and pulled in. Ying grabbed hold of a dock pylon, and Hok and ShaoShu climbed out.

Hok slipped her herb bag over her shoulder and tightened the green turban on her head. “When and where should we meet again?” she asked.

“We can meet right here,” Ying replied. “This is a busy area. You should be able to find an inn nearby.”

Hok nodded. “How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure,” Ying replied. “I don’t know how long it will take to get there, and I should probably spend some time with her. How about three days?”

“Three days sounds good,” Hok said. “Let’s meet here at sunset.”

Ying nodded and glanced at ShaoShu. “I almost forgot something important,” Ying said. “Hok, open your medicine bag, please.”

Hok gave Ying a quizzical glance but did as he asked. Ying untied his bag of coins from his sash with one hand and dumped half the contents into Hok’s medicine bag.

“You did well, ShaoShu,” Ying said. “You deserve this.”

ShaoShu grinned but didn’t say a word, his mouth still locked closed.

“You can talk now,” Ying said.

“I’m rich!” ShaoShu squealed. “Thank you!”

Ying smiled. As much as he hated to admit it, he was going to miss Little Mouse. “Take care of Hok while I’m gone, okay?” he said.

ShaoShu suddenly grew serious. “I will guard her with my life,” he said. Ying didn’t doubt it.

Hok offered Ying a polite bow. “Safe travels, and good luck.”

Ying nodded back. He let go of the pylon and the current began to pull him gently away. ShaoShu waved an enthusiastic goodbye, and Ying actually returned the wave. Then he turned away, grabbed the oar, and began to row downstream.

The river was pleasantly smooth, and Ying felt himself relaxing as he left the crowded city behind. Five hours later, he spotted the pagodas.

Ying turned the skiff south, as the pet vendor had directed, and headed up a rather wide creek. He lifted the oar out of the water so that it wouldn’t drag along the bottom, and picked up the push pole. He had to work against the creek’s current, but it wasn’t difficult. The current was light and his shoulder felt strong.

As Ying poled the boat forward, the landscape quickly changed from flat farmland along the Qiantang River to steep, ragged hillsides farther inland. The slopes were thick with evergreens, but some had hundreds of wide steps carved into them, where farmers grew crops of tea leaves all the way up to the hilltops. Ying had never seen anything like it. It seemed the locals were determined to squeeze a living out of this scenic but rugged landscape.

Ying took a deep breath of the fresh, warm air. It smelled of pine, cypress, and green tea. He felt oddly at home. He’d heard a saying once about this region: “Above is Heaven, below is Hangzhou.” He had to agree.

A little more than one It up the creek, Ying reached his destination. It was exactly as the pet vendor had told him it would be.

The house looked very old, but solid as a mountain. It was single-story and fashioned from brown bricks. It had a traditional green-tiled roof, and each of the roof’s corners swept sharply upward to dispel evil spirits. Standing guard at the end of each corner was an ornate stone dragon. Each dragon was different, and Ying couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from them. They faced north, south, east, and west. Each also represented a different season. Whoever had carved them had put a lot of effort and energy into them. Ying could almost feel them pulsating with life.

Ying couldn’t help but think about the dragon scrolls and the treasure. The scroll map did lead to this area, and a house like this one seemed to be an appropriate place to hide a dragon’s hoard. He would have to keep his eyes open for potential clues.

Ying looked farther down the creek and saw a garden thick with early-autumn vegetables. In the center of it knelt a small woman wearing a large straw hat. In one hand, she held several clumps of weeds. In the other was a long blade used for digging them up. She turned and stared at Ying.

A deep chill ran down Ying’s spine. The woman’s face was shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat, but it didn’t matter. He knew who she was.

Nervous tension twisted Ying’s stomach muscles into knots. His limbs grew numb, and he felt the pole slipping out of his hands. He gripped it tighter and continued pushing the skiff up the creek.