Song Feng and Zhu-ge Liang reappeared on what seemed to be the outermost wall of a city. Feng blinked rapidly. She didn’t recognize the city below, not that she expected to. She looked at the buildings, wondering what the problem was, why the cityscape below looked so strange.
There aren’t any skyscrapers, she realized suddenly. “Where are we?” She asked. Zhu-ge Liang had said that they were going to his home and that she would stay with him and study there, but he hadn’t mentioned what city it was in.
“We’re only stopping here briefly,” Zhu-ge Liang replied as he finished tapping out an elaborate pattern on the stonework with his staff.
Before she had a chance to ask Zhu-ge Liang what he meant by that, and why he didn’t just answer her question, they disappeared again.
When they reappeared this time, they were inside. This must be Zhu-ge Liang’s house. The room looked expensive without being tacky. It reeked of old money, of restrained but deliberate class and aristocracy. Feng didn’t want to like it, but she couldn’t hate it. It was all too beautiful. They were facing an altar, with a sword and an old man’s portrait hung above it and several pieces of porcelain on it, including something that looked like an old fashioned water clock.
Feng sneezed, almost dropping her bag on her own foot. She pulled out a tissue and wiped her nose, then she put the bag down before she could sneeze again and drop it. The house smelled like jasmine and other flowers that she couldn’t name, in addition to the incense burning on the altar. Are we right next to the garden?
She assumed, correctly, that the Zhu-ges would have a garden, most old houses like this did. Zhu-ge Liang stifled a short laugh. She glared at him.
She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him, just that it was going to be annoyed, but before she could even open her mouth, she heard another pop.
Feng turned around and tried not to gape. Some sort of small pointy-eared creature stood in front of her. It was dressed in what had to be a rag, even if it was a very clean one. It bowed to them. “Ling-ling is here, Master Zhu-ge and Young Mistress Song.”
Ok, she, Feng corrected herself internally. The voice was clearly a female one, even if the person did not look particularly female at first glance.
“Ling-ling, please take the young mistress’s bag to the guest bedroom on the west side, the spacious one next to the garden.”
Ling-ling bowed again, picked up her bag and vanished again.
“Who was that?” Feng asked.
“She is one of our house-elves. Her name is Ling-ling.” Zhu-ge Liang responded easily, adding: “We will have to buy you new clothes so that you can fit into the wizarding world.”
Feng looked down at herself. She was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a zipped up hooded sweatshirt with her favorite old sneakers. Then she glanced back up at Zhu-ge Liang, in his elaborate hanfu. “Well if everyone dresses like you, then I suppose so, yeah.” She really didn’t want to have to get used to old style clothing, but it looked like she wouldn’t have a choice. She liked wearing pants; she liked wearing clothes that just pulled on.
“For now, let me show you around the house a bit.” Zhu-ge Liang started to lead the way out of the room they had Apparated into, but Feng didn’t move.
She stood there, absolutely stock still for a moment. “Where are we, exactly?” she asked. “I mean, this is your home, but where is it?”
Zhu-ge Liang stroked his beard thoughtfully, as if he had not even considered the question. “Ah, we are in Chang’an, the Western Capital of the Middle Kingdom.”
If Song Feng had had a better sense of her own people’s history then she probably would have made some comment about how some things never change; that the same sites, and even the same names are reused over and over as capitals. Chang’an had first been a capital of the semi-legendary Western Zhou dynasty thousands of years earlier, the dynasty that Confucious himself extolled for its virtues. Instead the only thing she could think of to say was the modern name of the city that she assumed was the same. “Xi’an,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
“What did you say?” Zhu-ge Liang asked.
She felt stupid for saying anything at all. “Nothing.” Then she added, “We’ve changed the name, that’s all. It’s not Chang’an, Long Peace, anymore, it’s Xi’an, Western Peace.”
The Headmaster nodded. “Many things will appear strange for you, I think. But come, you should get a bit of a look around the house. My wife, Jiao-long is probably out, but you will most certainly meet her at dinner, if not at lunch.”
As Zhu-ge Liang led Song Feng around, she hoped that she would be able to find her way around the house. It was easily the biggest she had ever been in. They didn’t even go through most of the garden, which was also huge, though they did stop by the pond.
Feng liked the pond a lot, particularly because it was filled with brightly colored fish. Some looked like they were koi, others were probably magical. Stones were set into and above the pond to provide a path and then a high arching bridge to the other side. The stones that formed the bridge floated in the air. Feng stepped very carefully on to the first stone, and the floating ‘bridge’ stones lowered. She blinked.
“They move depending on the height of the person walking on them.” Zhu-ge Liang explained.
Feng continued very carefully along the stones until she reached the first floating stone. She took a careful breath and stepped on to it. The stone didn’t move or even wobble. It seemed just as steady as the ones in the pond. She brought her other foot up on to the stone and it still didn’t move. She smiled and continued walking. Maybe magic isn’t so bad if wizards can do things like this.
When Feng reached the highest stone, she sat down on it, letting her legs dangle. It was a nice view of the garden. The Zhu-ge family has orchards, she noted. I wonder what they grow. Maybe they have lychee or long-an or persimmons or loquat. She did not realize she had named most of her favorite fruits.
Feng could have stayed in the garden for a lot longer, particularly going through the orchard and eating some of the fruit, but there was more of the house to see.
Zhu-ge Liang also lingered in some rooms like the library, where he had pulled out several scrolls and books which were to be her textbooks on magic. Feng glanced at the titles, but unsurprisingly, she couldn’t even read most of them. She managed to recognize the words “magic” and “history”, but not much more. She winced. This isn’t going to be fun.
Perhaps the headmaster noticed her expression because he pulled down a few more titles. “These are children’s stories. They will be easier to read than the textbooks.”
Feng accepted the extra books silently.
Zhu-ge Liang waited for some kind of response for another moment, and then led the way out of the library.
Finally, more than an hour later, they reached the west wing of the house.
“Here is your room,” Zhu-ge Liang said, opening the door. They walked in the room. “Go on, wash up and change into something from the wardrobe over there. Some of my youngest daughter’s old things should fit you. We will be eating lunch in another two hours. If you get lost, Lingling will help you.”
Feng nodded, silently. She put the children’s books down on the desk. Zhu-ge Liang placed the rest of the books and scrolls down next to them. “And Young Mistress Song, things will be all right,” he added, as he left the room.
“Sure,” she said flatly. She closed the door behind him. Well, the Zhu-ge family is definitely rich. She eyed the silks that were on the bed, the quality of the wood and the intricate carvings. It was all bordering on absurd really. The room was easily three times the size of her room in the village and had a window looking out to the garden. Her bag looked absurdly small and out of place at the foot of the bed.
She walked over and kneeled down, unzipping the bag. Feng sifted through the bag, ignoring the clothes. Finally, she found her stuffed white tiger. She hugged it tightly. I hope I get to bring you to school at least. The tiger had gone to Beijing with her, and kept her company those first weeks before she had made friends with Li Fei. She didn’t want to face a new school, a new city without it now.
After a moment, she sighed and got up. She put the tiger on her bed and walked to the window. She traced the latticework. That looks like a bat, and these... she stroked a wooden flower. It looked the same as the one on the jade comb that Zhu-ge Liang had sent to her. Bats are easy, those are for luck and prosperity, but the flowers... She wasn’t sure what they could represent. Still, she was far from an expert on symbolism, and she couldn’t even name the kind of flower.
There was another door on the other side of the room. Feng pushed it open to find a bathroom. She sighed. They were rich enough so that their guest bedrooms could have bathrooms attached. Well, she really didn’t have an excuse not to get washed up then.
The bathroom was also huge. Feng looked at the sink... or what she thought should have been the sink. There was a jade dish that looked like an old fashioned washbasin, but she didn’t see any faucet. She frowned at it. Maybe it’s automatic, like the stones in the pond. She stepped up to the dish, but no water appeared. Well, it had taken a voice command to get the letter to work. “Water?” she asked, hesitantly.
For a long moment, nothing happened. “Please, water?” she asked again. Still nothing happened.
She frowned at the washbasin. Well... Zhu-ge Liang said that magic is based on wanting it to happen... “Water,” she said again more firmly, tapping the dish with a finger for good measure. Water appeared in the dish.
She stripped off her sweatshirt and put her hands in the pleasantly cool water. She splashed water on her face and her arms, then took the soap and actually washed up properly. The bathroom had been filled with fluffy towels and she dried herself off briskly.
After washing up, Feng felt a lot better about herself. She steeled herself and went to the wardrobe. It was a lot of high quality cotton, thankfully, not too much pure silk. She didn’t like the idea of wearing pure silk, even if it did feel very nice. It was too nice, too expensive for just her. Everything in the wardrobe had silk embroidery on top though. She sighed.
Everything looked somewhat too large for her too. Things were starting to look more in her size though, the further back she went. Finally, she pulled out something that looked like it would fit her.
This hanfu was mostly an off-white color, with phoenixes on the edges of the sleeves. She sighed, silently wishing for something less ostentatious, but started changing into it anyway. At least it isn’t red, Feng thought, trying to console herself. I’m not going to look like I’m getting married.
Zhu-ge Liang said that lunch isn’t for two hours. What does he expect me to do for all that time? Feng looked over at the pile of books on the desk. Probably read.
Feng forced herself to sit down at the desk. For a moment, she hesitated between the two piles of books. Then, feeling stubborn, she picked up the top book from the pile of textbooks. She couldn’t even read the title. She squinted, trying to make sense of the characters, before giving up. I am doomed.
She put the book down, and crossed her arms on top of the desk. Then she laid her head down on top of her arms. She hated everything. What was Zhu-ge Liang thinking? What were her parents thinking? Feng didn’t bother trying to answer the questions.
A few minutes later, she picked up the top book from the “children’s literature” that Zhu-ge Liang had given her. Feng flipped past the cover without looking at the title this time and quickly realized that the book was a series of short stories. Many of the stories felt familiar, but there was something odd about them. She couldn’t figure out what was different about them, since she was barely reading them. What was worse was that the pictures helped her comprehension more than she wanted to admit to. After skimming through the entire volume, she put the book away.
She had no confidence that she would be able to make her way back to the dining room without getting completely lost and she was getting tired of trying to figure out the characters. She should have brought a simplified-traditional dictionary with her. After checking her reflection to make sure that she had managed to put the traditional garment on more or less correctly, she left her room.
Feng managed to make her way through the house alright, even though she definitely made at least one wrong turn at some point.
She entered the dining room feeling very awkward. She had forgotten to change shoes and the old sneakers looked even that much stranger under the pretty hanfu she was wearing. She slowly walked into the dining room.
Zhu-ge Liang and a woman that must have been his wife were discussing something in very earnest tones. She had to be as old as Zhu-ge Liang but she was still the epitome of restrained, aristocratic elegance. She wore a cream colored hanfu, and her long silvery hair was pinned up in a dark, wooden comb carved with tigers. Her long, slender fingers were clasped around a tea cup. Somehow, Zhu-ge Liang’s wife managed to be even more frightening than him, without saying anything.
Song Feng stood at the door, unsure how to interrupt their conversation, if she should walk straight in, knock on something or cough...
The woman looked up and noticed Feng standing awkwardly at the door. “Phoenix,” she breathed.
“Yes...?” Feng said awkwardly. She had thought that Zhu-ge Liang’s wife would have called her “Young Mistress Song”. That’s what Zhu-ge Liang always called her anyway.
The woman shot Zhu-ge Liang an annoyed look. “You didn’t mention that her given name is Feng.”
Zhu-ge Liang shrugged, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “You are incorrigible,” the woman informed him. “You must be Young Mistress Song, please have a seat.” The woman gestured to the remaining seat at the table.
“Thank you, ma’am.” She stepped forward and sat down quickly, feeling very awkward.
“My name is Jiao-long, I’ve been married to Liang for longer than I care to remember right now.” Feng stifled an amused giggle. I think I like her. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Zhu-ge. You have a very lovely home,” she added, trying to be polite.
“You’re welcome, young mistress Song.” Jiao-long smiled, not bothering to correct Feng’s minor misspeak. “Lunch will be served momentarily. I asked the house elves to serve a variety since we were not sure what you liked.”
Feng looked down at the table. “I like most kinds of food. I’m not particularly picky.”
Jiao-long looked ready to ask her another question, but she was interrupted by the arrival of Ling-ling and another house elf with their lunch. “Master and Mistress Zhu-ge, Young Mistress Song, lunch is served,” Ling-ling said. They bowed and left.
Feng stared at the spread. The entire table was covered in dishes. A variety was an understatement: there was everything from jook, the plain rice porridge, to camels’ feet. She eyed the camels’ feet suspiciously. She had heard that people in the far West ate camel, but she had never even seen them on a table before.
“If I may ask a personal question, young mistress Song?” Jiao-long asked pleasantly.
Feng forced her eyes from the camels’ feet and up to Jiao-long’s face. She didn’t seem angry at least, though the girl was still unsure why the older woman would ask a question before asking a question. “Yes?”
“Where do you hail from, Young Mistress Song?”
Feng blinked at the archaic language before remembering that it meant where she was from. “I’m from Taishan, in the delta of the Pearl River.”
Jiao-long took out a fan from her sleeve. What is she going to do with that? Jiao-long tapped the table and the dishes shifted. Feng blinked, and the camels’ feet were on the far side of the table. She breathed a small sigh of relief and noted that the house elves had made crackling rice soup.
“Well then,” Zhu-ge Liang said. “Feel free to help yourself.”
Feng barely remembered to say thank you, before she reached for the soup. Then she realized that there was nothing to serve it with.
“Would you like some soup, Young Mistress Song?” Jiao-long asked.
Feng looked at the soup cautiously. “Yes, please... I’m just not sure how to get it.”
“It has been so long since we had young people in our home that clearly Liang has forgotten that for most people it is more difficult to use magic to serve soup then not.” Zhu-ge Liang didn’t deny the accusation, though he gave his wife a slightly bemused look.
Jiao-long tapped the soup with her fan and gestured towards Feng’s bowl. The soup raised itself in an arc and entered her bowl, then stopped neatly without spilling a drop. A few pieces of rice followed the soup.
“That’s amazing,” Feng said. “How do you do it?”
Jiao-long considered the question. “You practice. You concentrate. In addition, the way we make things, like the soup bowls and the tureen, they become infused with our magic, attuned to our thoughts and desires.”
Feng considered that statement. If it wasn’t automatic, but it did react then this magic was more... “Like the dish in the bathroom.”
“Yes, precisely.” Jiao-long said, with a smile. Feng looked down at her bowl. “Go ahead and eat, while it’s still hot.”
“Thank you,” Feng responded quickly, grabbing her soup spoon. For a while, they ate in a pleasant silence. Zhu-ge Liang and Jiao-long used their chopsticks to pick up pieces of various dishes, and put them into their rice bowls, so Feng copied them without worrying about serving utensils. It was the traditional way to serve and eat, anyway.
Eventually, Jiao-long spoke again. “I admit that my husband has not told me much about you, Young Mistress Song. Please, tell me about yourself.”
Feng put her chopsticks down, and considered the question. Before, it would have been so easy to answer. “I was born on National Day, on the 1st of October in 1992.” She paused, realizing that Jiao-long probably would have no idea what that meant. “I was born under the sign of the Water Monkey,” she added. “I turn eleven in the autumn.” She didn’t know the exact day on the lunar calendar. Should I say twelve? Traditionally, you count one year when you’re born for being alive one year inside your mother...
Jiao-long just nodded and Feng continued, describing how she became a gymnast when she was three and left home to join the provincial team, and how she had a brother when almost everyone she knew was an only child. She kept expecting Jiao-long to interrupt and Zhu-ge Liang seemed ready to ask a question several times, but Jiao-long kept stopping him. At least Zhu-ge Liang listens to his wife. As he should, she thought approvingly.
“Last year, I competed in a major national tournament and I did really well. I made the national team.” Feng was surprised at how steady her voice was. “I moved up to Beijing. I was...” her voice broke. “I was going to be on the Olympic team, I was... I was going to win gold medals for us, for China! My whole life, all my life’s work, everything I’ve ever done...” She was crying, sniffing and feeling like a fool. She thought she was over this feeling, but clearly she wasn’t.
Jiao-long got up noiselessly and pulled the girl into a hug. “It seems that my husband and I have made you give up a lot. For that, we are sorry.”
Feng sniffed into Jiao-long’s shoulder. “I’m going to ruin your silk hanfu with my snot...” she murmured.
If the older woman was confused by the very modern slang, she didn’t show it. “One of the benefits of magic is that cleaning can be quite a bit simpler,” she responded. “It will be all right,” she added.
Somehow, for some reason, when Jiao-long said it, Feng believed her. Things were going to be all right.