Friend or Foe?

A secret cease to be a secret when shared by too many—so now The Alchemist stepped quickly out of camp to meet with the woman clad in white foxskin. She was shrouded already in the aureate light of the setting sun and the silver-blue of the moon, the sun and the moon sharing the sky for a short moment.

Jian and Shufeng stood afar, their unwavering stares following the two figures whose shadows fell against the craggy grey face.

The woman and The Alchemist found a spot under the nose of the slumbering giant turned to rock. She stuffed her jade flute into the deerskin girdle at her waist, next to the knife, when—she seemed to have felt the two pair of eyes on her—her thin long neck, as if it had no bones at all, swivelled her head; and she touched her unnaturally long fingers to her lips and offered a kiss to the two spies.

Tendrils of iridescent silver mist crept around the two silhouettes, crowding around them as they talk. The woman seemingly spoke as one in command, but The Alchemist made no motion of recognition and the expression on his face did not alter.

He spoke noiselessly. She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. He turned heels. She tugged at his sleeve.

It seemed as if there were two forces filling the air, two ambiguous auras, taunting each other, testing the other's resolve.

Shufeng and Jian had many strange thoughts troubling their mind… Didn't she say she had come to visit an old friend? Judging by the looks of it, their emotions certainly did not match those of a friendship.

But most importantly, how and why So Dzong made acquaintance with this loathsome woman who rejoiced in gratuitous cruelty?

What the men could not hear was part of the mystery surrounding this perplexing interaction which seemed to both of them to grow more inexplicable as they observed the conversation unfolding.

The Alchemist nodded his cloud-white head slowly several times and she offered a bow. Following this, he presented her a small flacon.

Her voracious fingers, spindly like the tendrils of a parasitic plant, snatched the flacon, opened swiftly the seal, and swilled down the liquid with an unquenched craving as if she had just wandered forty days in the desert. She licked the corners of her lips once, twice, thrice, for fear she might waste one single drop.

Next, she bowed her head, lower than the previous time, and she clasped her hands into a praying gesture.

Was she pleading for something or begging for forgiveness? The two men were merely making assumptions.

It was unexpected when the two men witnessed her prostrating on the ground! She looked up to the Alchemist, lips moving fast and continuously, hands grasping tightly his foot.

Wreathed in rising clouds of mist and draped with the purples of the setting sun, The Alchemist gestured her to rise. She did so instantly, and he placed into the palm of her hand a small box.

The daylight faded behind the mighty Evernight Waterfalls and the rising moon which faintly mirrored in the clear waters foretold that not only darkness but evil plans were coming soon.

And the woman clad in white foxskin had disappeared like a shadow into the encroaching gloom of nightfall.

.

.

.

The hessian bag contained what Shufeng greatly feared it did: Zing Zing dead body, yet, his skin still warm to the touch; and a stone in the place of its heart laid.

Jian was trained to kill—not liking to kill. But if he ever cross path with the woman clad in a white foxskin he would stab her heart with his sword, and he would like it.

Ten years past, it chanced that Jian's mother, on her way back to the market, passed by a woodland path and came across a baby owl with a broken wing; so she brought the chick back home and she, with her son, nursed the fledging back to health and they raised Zing Zing together.

The beloved Zing Zing was a warrior-like owl, his skill and courage won praises for his role in relaying crucial messages which had saved many lives. However, Zing Zing was, foremost, the last connection Jian had with his mother's love, the last testament to his mother's existence.

Is it a wonder, then, that Jian's heart should be torn to pieces, and that his friends turned in gloom?

The three companions stood before Zing Zing small grave and grieved. Beyond the river sank the moon forlorn and beneath the fair moon Shufeng reverently whispered:

"With dying strength he flew into the air,

And uttered piercing yells,

Which shook the hills and forest trees,

And echoed through the dells.

Now, our happy comrade homewards turns,

We'll see him safely on his journey start

Across the Stream of Stars."

Back at camp, minutes grew into what seemed a long time to the three companions; and still Alchemist So Dzong sat motionless, deep in thought. He did not so much as quiver an eyelid.

It was evident he was deeply stirred by his conversation with the mysterious woman; and when he finally rose to his feet and looked up at them, his eyes burned with a strange fire that they had not seen once before.

When So Dzong arose the two men questioned him insistently about the mysterious woman and the nature of their relationship, however he was dodging their questions, running silently here and there towards piles of books and scrolls, and little hide bags that Li Ji knew contained herbs and unidentifiable powders of many colours.

"Great-Uncle," said Shufeng, "my thoughts are puzzled by this strange happening earlier. Please, throw light upon it."

So Dzong looked significantly at the prince. "This matter is not yet perfectly clear to my mind. It will take some thought. But it is a matter for which you are not yet prepared." His voice trailed off into silence as he sat in the Full Lotus Position and closed his eyes.

Jian walked out of the cavernous chamber and beneath the noble starry-night, for he was in no mood to stay in the company of the old man. After walking some distance along the serpentine stream, with many thoughts troubling his mind, he found a spot under a large rock where he hoped to be alone. He could not remember the days when he was able to simply breathe refreshing air into his lungs without fearing it could be his last breath.

The sky was a warm black that hugged him, the blanket of generous velvet that enveloped him, it was the softness that called body and brain to rest; and he could feel his own soul all the more clearly.

When, in a little while, Jian heard a sound of hurrying feet pounding the pebbles—someone who came running in excitement or fear—and he leaped to his feet, staring at the approaching figure who could be plainly seen in the starlight and whose ankles tumbled left and right.