Page 18 of A Forgery of Fate

Nomi touched her hat, saying nothing. My gift felt empty, a moment’s distraction from the possibility that our family might soon be torn apart. But my sisters and I had learned to cherish even the smallest joys. We knew they brought us strength in hard times.

“And, Fal,” I said, “no fancy shoes for you, but I bought pancakes. Your favorite—with lotus-seed paste. They might be cold by now…”

Fal snatched the bag. She tore it open and passed one to Nomi, then me. I shook my head. “I don’t like sweets.”

“Liar.” Fal bit into her pancake and let out a blissful sigh. “I won’t feel bad eating your share, though. I can smell the garlic and chili on your breath. Only you’d pick noodles over cakes.”

I laughed. The cakes were a family favorite. Cheap and delicious, and probably what had kept us alive that first winter after Mama lost our house.

As my sisters ate, completely unbothered by the stench of rotting fish and sewer water, my chest tightened. If notfor them, I’d have left Gangsun years ago. Would have snuck aboard the first merchant ship leaving for Port Onsun, maybe disguised myself as a boy and tried to pass as a sailor. I would have traveled the world twice over by now, searching for Baba.

But in no world could I ever have abandoned my sisters. No matter what it took, I’d make the best future I could for them. I wouldn’t let them down.

“It’s the eve of the Ghost Festival,” I told Fal as I turned back for our room. “Ask Mama to come out here with the prayer lantern. You three should light it for Baba and send it down the canal.”

“What about you?” Nomi asked.

I glanced up at the sky, at the whirlpool of stars whispering with possibility.

No one can see the future,Baba told me once.Not even your mother.

Mamacouldn’t see the future. But I could.

I’d been ignoring the tickle in my fingers for too long. “I’m going to paint a miracle.”

Chapter Five

I sat on an overturned pot and whittled away at an ink stick, its edges rubbing off on my palms like tar. It was better than confronting the blank scroll in front of me. What could I possibly paint in one night that would pay off Mama’s debts?

Forging a new piece was out of the question. The Lei Wing painting had been my best work yet, and that had only netted two thousand jens.

I’d have to paint something new. But what?

A landscape? The view outside our window offered little inspiration. Across every rooftop, clotheslines hung from eave to eave, old laundry fluttering like banners. Along the canals, festival lanterns bobbed up and down, leaving a glowing kiss of light upon the water.

Almostbeautiful, if you overlooked the mounds of trash and the rising stench of fish bones. But not a miracle.

Nomi followed me inside and lit my candles with a flame stick. She glanced into the closet, her pity for me clear on her face. “Will you be in here all night?”

The space was cramped, barely wide enough for me tostretch my arms, and if I stood on my toes, my head hit the ceiling. But it was a place to work. That was all I needed.

“All night,” I confirmed.

“You sure I can’t help you? I can stay up too.”

“I paint best when I’m alone.” I tossed her braid affectionately. “Don’t look so worried. You go on with Mama and Fal, then get some sleep. When you wake up, I’ll have a masterpiece ready to sell.”

Much as I tried to hide it, we both heard the tremor behind my bravado.

“I’ll pray for you,” Nomi mumbled.

After she left, I cleaned my hands and shut myself in the closet. I swept my fingers down the wall, feeling for a thin stack of joss paper I’d hidden between the bricks. Using my nails, I pried the pages out, then blew dust from the cover.

This was my sketchbook, bound tightly with twine. Inside were simple drawings: mostly faces and a smattering of objects like hats and linen shoes and broken cart wheels. Nothing special to the ordinary eye.

But to me, a compendium of secrets.

It’d started with a game of magic paintbrush. My sisters and I had stopped playing after Baba disappeared, but the winter when Nomi got sick, I picked up my brush to cheer her. “I don’t believe in magic anymore,” Nomi’d said, bringing a pang in my heart. So instead of mermaids and dragons, I painted cookies and books—simple pleasures we could no longer afford. My fingers tingled with every stroke, as if they were dancing with sparks, but I shrugged it off as excitement from revisiting an old pastime. “Magic paintbrush,” I’d sometimes murmur after finishing a painting.

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