Page 24 of The Scarlet Alchemist

The smile dropped off his face. His gaze slid across the three of us, gold flecks glittering in his irises, his lip curled.

“I see,” he said, turning without another word. He said something to his companions, and soon their conversations died down and they left the pub. We returned our bowls in stony silence and headed up to our room. Wenshu didn’t even complain about not having water to bathe, which truly spoke to how exhausted he was. We were all shivering, so I fished out some firestones and made a small flame in the hearth, jabbing it with a fire poker. The bright flames reminded me of Uncle Fan’s kilns, but I swallowed down my tears before Wenshu or Yufei could see them.

The room had only one bed, so Yufei tugged me onto it beside her and wrapped her arms around me like an octopus. Wenshu curled up on the floor beside us.

The two of them dropped off to sleep quickly, but even though my whole body felt like it was covered in heavy clay, I couldn’t fall asleep. Moonlight spilled across my face from a tear in the paper window and scorched away any hope of slumber, yet I couldn’t bring myself to move away from it. It took me a while to realize that it was too quiet. The only sounds in the room were the passing footsteps of night guards and the distant hum of cicadas in the fields.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, wiping away the haze of half sleep.

My cousins were motionless beside me, completely silent.

They weren’t breathing.

They lay still as corpses, dust settling on their white, waxy skin, blankets unmoving.

I seized Yufei by the shoulders and shook her. She was still so limp and warm. Dead bodies quickly grew stiff, unable to bend at the joints.

She sucked in a sharp breath and slapped my hands away, driving a foot into my ribs.

“What are you doing?” she said, shoving me back when I reached for her pulse. Beside her, Wenshu stirred, rolling over and cracking open one eye.

“Why are you making noise when it’s still dark?” he said.

“I just thought...” I hesitated, unnerved by their glares. I knew they were only exhausted and irritated to be awoken in the middle of the night, but their anger was so rarely pointed at me.

“Bad dream?” Yufei said, her gaze softening.

I nodded because that seemed the easiest answer.

Yufei leaned over me and yanked Wenshu up unceremoniously. He folded over the bed, grumbling in protest as she manhandled him under the blanket, sandwiching me between them. He swore under his breath but flopped over onto his stomach obediently. Yufei curled up around me, and then both of them were warm beside me, chests rising and falling, like when we were children, all small enough to share the same bed. They fell asleep again quickly, and this time I was the one lying stiff as a corpse.

This happened every now and then, ever since I’d woke them up three years ago.

When I was sure they were sleeping, I sat up against the wall. The moonlight fell through the paper windows, lighting up the pale white scars on the back of their necks that spelled out their names:

? ?

? ?

? ?

When I was thirteen, my cousins had started bleeding from their eyes. Yufei fell down while carrying eggs and twitched like her bones were trying to break free from her skin, foaming at the mouth, thrashing on top of the eggshells. Wenshu coughed up black blood and screamed and cried that his organs were melting. The healer said it was because they’d played in the tall grass, where the grass demons hid.

Then why not Zilan?Auntie So had said.She goes everywhere with them.But the healer had no answer. I always wondered if Auntie So truly wanted to understand what had caused their illness, or if she wished it had been me instead.

Uncle Fan had busied himself making lots of míngqì to bury them with—soft baby lambs and tiny ponies and wise teachers.They will be well taken care of, where they’re going, he’d said. My cousins grew smaller and smaller, skin tight across their bones, somehow looking younger even though their faces were wrinkled from thirst.

My aunt prayed, but I didn’t bother. If praying could save lives, then my mother wouldn’t be dead. Hadn’t my aunt prayed for her sister before she’d died? Didn’t she know by now that prayers were useless?

My cousins stopped breathing as the sun fell. I sat on the floor between them and didn’t tell my Auntie or Uncle because they were too busy praying and carving and doing things that didn’t help, didn’t matter, didn’t change anything at all.

My cousins went cold and stiff as clay, like they were turning into the míngqì on the shelves, and I was alone again. When I was eleven and my mother had died, I’d cried because I’d thought that was the worst pain I would ever feel. But this was like baking in one of Auntie’s dragon kilns, my lungs filled with fire, organs cooked and skin scorched off.

I bit the side of my hand to stop from crying, because if Auntie and Uncle heard me, they’d send their bodies off to the coroner and I’d never see them again. I tasted blood but only bit down harder, scarlet painting my chin and neck.

The floorboards creaked in the hallway. I froze, my pulse hammering through the wound in my palm, but after a moment, the footsteps moved past and a door closed at the other end of the house.

I had to do it now, or I’d never have a chance again.

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