Silver Phoenix by Cindy. Pon Read Free Book Online

with care and sat up, drew herself closer to the fire. She reached for the jade pendant without thinking.
    She squeezed it tight in her palm, remembering the breaths of life-saving air that had fi lled her lungs.
    “You’re shivering. Do you have more clothes?”
    She shrugged, caught off guard by his concern. Her hand found her worn knapsack, which she had been using as a pillow. Could she trust him?
    “Yes,” she said.
    “I’ll turn around.”
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    Ai Ling saw his back before he even finished the sentence.
    Under different circumstances, she would have sought privacy in the thickets, but she was in no mood to leave the safety of the fire as daylight ebbed. She pulled out a blue cotton tunic and trousers, sewn with care by her mother, then peeled the clothes from her body. Her gaze never strayed from the young man’s back as she changed. She laid her wet clothes down fl at near the fi re.
    “I’m done,” she said.
    He turned toward her, and she studied him. He had a high brow, tall nose, and a proud, serious face. His clothes were travel worn, but well made. She guessed him to be about eighteen or nineteen years. He had saved her life. Perhaps it would be safer to stay with him, at least through the night.
    “I am called Ai Ling,” she said.
    “I am Chen Yong.”
    It was like a trick of the light, how his features appeared Xian from one angle, and then quite foreign with a half turn of his head. He wasn’t fully Xian, she realized with shock.
    The idea had never crossed her mind before. You were either Xian or not.
    “Are you hungry?” he asked.
    She had not thought about it but heard her stomach growl at his question. She was starving.
    “I bought some pork buns at the inn. They must be cold by now, but still tasty.”
    Chen Yong passed two large buns to her. The breading 44

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    was thick and a little sweet. The stuffing was savory, and the broth ran down her chin and fi ngertips.
    “You’re hungry, then.” He smiled, stating the obvious.
    Ai Ling nodded, abashed. The buns had disappeared like a conjurer’s trick.
    “You travel alone?” he asked.
    The skin on her arms prickled, reminding her how alone she truly was, how vulnerable. One glance at Chen Yong told her he didn’t realize the weight of his simple question.
    She looked away.
    “I’m searching for my father.” Ai Ling felt her throat clench. She swallowed hard. “But . . . but I think he may be dead.” Sobs overcame her, even as she tried to suppress them. She wiped a hand across her face in frustration. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had been carried like a babe in the arms of this stranger, now she’d become a blubbering fool before him.
    “We travel for similar reasons,” he said, making no mention of her tears.
    They didn’t speak again that night. Ai Ling laid her head back down on her knapsack and watched the dancing flames. Chen Yong’s profile, bent over a book, was the final image she carried with her into sleep.
    Ai Ling’s eyes fl ew open, and she sat up, confused.
    “Good morning,” Chen Yong said. He was sitting by the spot where the fire had been. All traces of it were gone, 45

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    swept away. He held the same book in his hands. Had he even slept?
    “I made some tea. It may be cold now.”
    He poured from a small silver kettle. She nursed the cup in cold hands, turning it. It reflected a distorted image of her curious face across its smooth plane.
    “It’s made of eng. From abroad. A gift from my father when he learned I was traveling.”
    “It’s foreign? Is your father . . . ?” she asked.
    “No. My adoptive parents are Xian. I don’t know who my birth parents are.”
    She sipped the lukewarm tea, not knowing what to say. It soothed her, and the fragrance of jasmine reminded her of home. She rummaged through her knapsack and fished out a small bundle wrapped in a deep purple handkerchief. She untied the twine with care, revealing a heap of walnuts.
    “My