FMA: The Tale of Three Meis (1/2)
Title: The Tale of Three Meis
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (manga/Brotherhood)
Word Count: 9,687.
Rating: PG
Summary: From the moment Mei first brings the tiny, grumpy panda home, her aunt knows this is a bad idea.
Author's Notes: This was my entry for this year's fma_ladyfest; it started out as a few silly vignettes and somehow evolved into a huge plotty monster. D: The FMA wikia page says that the phonetics for 'Xiao Mei' mean 'little sister' in Mandarin Chinese, but discussion with derawr has made me question this. However, for the purposes of this fic I'll say that it does mean 'little sister' in Xingese if not in Chinese. More notes at end.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Hiromu Arakawa-san. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others.
The imperial messenger had already come and gone by the time Mei Chan hurtled down the stairs, still tying off the ends of her braids. Her aunt slowly rose from her bow, staring into the grey mists that concealed the messenger’s white horse. “He didn’t wait for a response,” she said, worriedly.
Mei bit her lip.
Dongmei hesitated only a moment, still vainly searching the foggy hills as if the messenger would turn around, before she held out the letter. “It’s addressed to Your Highness.” Her aunt always called her by her title, never her name, as a way of instilling the proper pride of her position. “You are the seventeenth princess,” she had said countless times as she brushed Mei’s hair. “You must never forget that you are the emperor’s own daughter. You look up to none but His Majesty himself. And when you are Empress-”
If Mei’s mother were there, she would hurry to shush her sister. “Are you mad?” Mei always imagined her hissing. “That is treason!” But Jingfei had been in the capital city for ten months, and in Mei’s memory her aunt continued uninterrupted.
“And when you are Empress, everyone will look up to you. You will change the fortunes of the Chan clan, Your Highness.”
The letter was signed but unsealed - a second hallmark of trouble - and Mei read it quickly. “His Majesty has refused my petition,” she said, hand falling to her side. She felt blank. “Mother’s stay at court continues, indefinitely. I am not allowed to visit her.”
Dongmei swept the letter up before it could drop to the floor as well. Her eyes flickered across the neatly-inked words (written by a secretary, no doubt, as impersonal as if she were not his own blood) before closing. Her mouth tightened; she exhaled heavily.
“He is disappointed in my progress,” Mei said into the silence.
“You need to eat, Your Highness,” her aunt countered - as good a confirmation as any.
Mei frowned, turning her face away. “I want to take a walk first,” she said.
Her aunt glanced through the still open door. The mist had stiffened into a drizzle. “I do not know if that is wise, Your Highness…”
“I wish it,” Mei repeated. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.
Dongmei sighed, refolding the letter and tucking it into her sleeve. “Cover your head,” was all she said.
~-~-~-~-
Mei had not gone far into the hills before the rain stopped. The weather refused to clear, however, and the mistiness thickened into fog.
Mei sighed.
At eight years of age, she was almost squarely in the middle of the emperor’s children - for now. She had heard that the Shih clan was currently expecting another child of His Majesty (their third), which would bring the total up to thirty-six. Then again, the Feng clan’s son, one of the eldest of them all, had been seriously injured in an ‘accident’ (likely the work of an assassin, but no one would confess to that, of course), and if he died that would drop the total again.
Mei could not recall a time when she did not know these fluid numbers; one of her earliest memories involved reciting the ages and clans of her half-siblings to her aunt, as her mother (a distant but bright figure, even in memory) nodded approvingly in the background. As her clan was one of the smallest - only a few hundred people claimed loyalty to them - and the weakest - even lower than the Tongs, who didn’t have any living heirs - knowledge of the shifts in court was essential to the survival of both Mei and her clan.
And now it seemed even the emperor - her own father - had turned against them.
“I try,” she muttered to herself as she walked, trying to maintain the graceful posture Dongmei constantly emphasized, “I learn as much as I am able, as fast as I am able, and still I-” She bit her tongue, as much to bring herself to the present as to stop her own words. Decisions of the emperor were not to be criticized, even when she was alone in the middle of her clan’s small section of the countryside.
She reached the top of the hill and gazed behind her, back toward the home she and her aunt kept alone while her mother was in the capital. She ought to return. Dongmei would worry, and she needed to study, and she should remember the accident that had fallen on the Feng heir, and this weather was ideal for colds, and…
Mei continued walking.
Foolish, she berated herself, childish and willful. Is it any wonder His Majesty wants nothing to do with you? If it even was the emperor’s wish to keep her mother by his side at all. Perhaps Jingfei desired another prince or princess to be born to the Chans - a child who would be quicker, stronger, smarter, better than Mei.
“I try,” she repeated, voice trembling. She hunched her shoulders. The cold was seeping into her jacket; she should’ve worn a thicker today. “I do.”
When the sound came - a low, despairing whimper at the edge of her hearing - Mei thought it was only her imagination - a hopeless accompaniment to her bleak thoughts. When it came again, though, she looked up - and stopped, surprised.
Mei had seen some of the great pandas that roamed the hills of her clan’s province; she had even had the good fortune to see a young cub, once, before she had scrambled away lest its mother think her a threat. But she had never seen such a tiny one before - she was sure she had seen larger kittens in the village. It was huddled in on itself, sopping fur sticking up at strange angles where it had clearly been half-heartedly washing, and it was emitting some of the saddest sounds Mei had ever heard.
Her first instinct was to draw back; pandas might be slow to anger, but nursing mothers were easy to enrage. Another glance, however, told her not only that there were no adult bears in sight, but also why.
“You’re a runt,” she inadvertently breathed. The minuscule cub faced her hastily. It looked terrified. “Your mother abandoned you, didn’t she? Because you’re so small and-” she gulped, “-and she doesn’t think you’ll survive.”
The cub was still staring up at her, apparently frozen with fear. Mei realized how large and frightening she must appear to such a little creature and quickly bent down, minimizing her size. Her free hand reached out, almost unconsciously. She had often longed for one of the cats or dogs she had seen in the village, but her mother and aunt had always forbidden it. “We must take care of you first, Your Highness. There is no space for a pet.” But Mei still adored furry animals, and most of all she desired to pet them.
The panda watched her hand come nearer with unblinking eyes. Mei wondered if it was still scared; she didn’t want it to run away. She wasn’t sure why - Dongmei would never allow her to keep it - but she wanted to show the thing some small kindness, perhaps to give it heart so it would not give up on life. At least it had stopped making those pitiful whimpers. Maybe it was getting over its fright-
As soon as her fingertips were close enough, the panda opened its mouth wide and bit her, all its strength going into those sharp little teeth.
Mei’s howls echoed around the hills.
~-~-~-~-
“I am going to keep her,” she announced to a tight-lipped Dongmei. The panda huddled resentfully in the crook of her elbow. “She’s not a pet, so there’s no reason to forbid it, aunt - she’s to be my companion.”
“Your… companion, Your Highness,” Dongmei repeated. Her voice was perfectly flat.
“Yes,” Mei replied. “O-other clans have bodyguards for their princes and princesses. Our clan doesn’t, so I shall have a companion instead.” She fought to keep her voice as steady as her aunt’s. The panda was still making thin growling noises, as she’d done, off and on, while Mei carried - well, wrestled might be a truer term - her down from the hills.
Dongmei raised an eyebrow. Mei only hoped that when she was empress she would be half as regal in her displeasure. “Companion in what, Your Highness?”
“I-in everything.” Mei refused to give in. “Working, learning, sleeping, eating… in everything, aunt.”
“Indeed? And what is she to eat?”
“Whatever I do,” Mei said immediately. As if recognizing the topic at hand, the panda began gnawing at Mei’s sleeve; she winced, rubbing two fingers against the injured third in memory. “And I think we’d like to eat now,” she added loftily.
Dongmei merely looked at her, lips still pressed.
“I,” Mei began, then changed her mind. “Please, aunt. She’s been abandoned by her mother - she’ll die by herself. And you always say that a ruler must have as much compassion as wisdom.” She stared up at her aunt, trying to look not like what she knew she must - a little girl begging to keep a stray - but instead what she wished to be - a princess who wished to make others acknowledge the rational decision she’d made.
After a moment, Dongmei closed her eyes and exhaled loudly through her nose. “If she is to be your companion, Your Highness, than she will be your companion. She will do what you do, when you do it, how you do it.”
Mei bit down a most unseemly shout of joy - as well as a simply undignified squeal when the panda’s teeth found skin instead of cloth. She inclined her head - “You do not bow to others, Your Highness, excepting only His Majesty and your mother” - and turned, only stopping when Dongmei lightly tugged the end of one of her braids.
“Your Highness… honored niece.” Mei sucked in a breath; she could count on one hand the times her aunt had called her that. Dongmei’s eyes were worried. “You know that cubs rarely survive being abandoned by their mothers.”
“I know, aunt.” However weak the panda may have been, she showed little sign of it as she continued to shred Mei’s sleeve. “I know, but I-”
“A ruler keeps her word,” Dongmei said, and released Mei’s braid. She folded her hands together. “Now I think we should see what your new… companion… will eat.”
~-~-~-~-
As it turned out, the panda would eat anything. She ate Mei’s porridge, her aunt’s buns, and even tried to stick her nose into the bowl of soup that sat between them. “At least it won’t starve,” was Dongmei’s dry contribution. Mei stifled her giggles into her hand, and tried not to wince every time she put pressure on her bandaged fingers.
The panda looked up from the decimated remains of her portion and bared her teeth at them.
As they cleared the table, Dongmei said, “Perhaps Your Highness should practice her penmanship.”
Mei, knowing that phrasing it as a suggestion didn’t actually mean her aunt was suggesting it, nodded and scooped the panda up in one hand. The panda immediately started biting at her fingers, apparently out of habit. She settled after a moment and peered around curiously as Mei rifled through the study. When Mei sat, folding her legs under her and arranging her materials, the panda crawled up her arm and perched on her shoulder to watch.
Mei rubbed at her arm, where the panda’s sharp little claws had pierced through her sleeve. “You’re destroying my clothes,” she told the panda. The cub appeared completely unrepentant as she stared down at Mei’s desk. “Oh, you want me to practice, too?” Mei shook her head.
Picking up the inkstick in one hand, she ground it lightly on the stone. The panda balanced on her shoulder easily and Mei thought it safe to apply more force. Soon the inkstone’s water darkened to a usable shade and she set the stick aside in favor of her brush. Dongmei had long since stopped assigning her random assortments of words; now Mei’s task had become making her script as perfect as possible. As usual, she began with a list of the emperor’s titles; she had practiced these so often that they had become rote and soothing. His Imperial Majesty, she wrote, Emperor Above, Son of Heaven, Lord of
Her stroke skidded across the stretched sheet of paper as the panda suddenly leapt from her shoulder and attacked the brush. “No!” Mei shrieked as sharp little teeth sank into the brush’s soft wood. She shook the brush, trying to dislodge the animal; the panda hung on grimly. “Stop that. Let go.” Mei waved the brush harder. The panda was a black-and-white blur before Mei stopped. She scowled down at her ‘companion’, who was adjusting her grip and gnawing all the harder. “You just ate,” she reminded the panda, who growled meaningfully. Mei growled back. “Brushes are not food! They are for writing! Like this!” She yanked the brush out of the panda’s mouth with one swift motion. Her free hand forced the panda’s front paws into an approximation of a human’s grip and she shoved the brush forward. The panda’s claws latched onto it instinctively.
For a moment, girl and panda glared at each other. The panda was still clutching the brush in both paws, but Mei was certain that would only last so long as she physically held the panda’s limbs in place. She hesitated, but she had already gone this far. As her aunt sometimes said, risking one coin was the same as risking a dozen. “Now, write like this!” They briefly struggled for control of the brush; Mei won and, with a few deft strokes, they finished the phrase she had been writing. Lord of Ten Thousand Years.
She surveyed the thick, blotchy characters ruefully. “Well, you will win no awards for penmanship,” she sighed, and released the panda as she rummaged for another brush. The panda watched her with suspicion, even as Mei spread out a second sheet of paper and dipped her new brush in the ink. Mei lapsed back into the familiar rhythms of the strokes, letting her brush flow from one character to the next. She finished the formal address for His Majesty and paused for the ink to dry.
Beside her, the panda too sat back on her haunches, squeaking impatiently until Mei glanced down at her original paper. She blinked to see the rough splotches of ink underneath her own writing. The panda stared up at her expectantly, legs still wrapped around the tooth-mark ridden brush. “You need some more practice,” Mei said bluntly.
The panda squawked, sounding indignant.
“Well, it’s true!” Mei snapped. “And you can’t let your brush run out of ink like that, it’s crude! Watch.” She proceeded to demonstrate the most basic rules for calligraphy, occasionally rapping the cub’s paws to ensure her ‘companion’ was paying attention, usually being rewarded with another attempt at a bite or an irritated squeal.
She was so preoccupied with the impromptu lesson, in fact, that she failed to notice her aunt silently watching them both from the open doorway.
At dinner that evening, Mei picked apart a rice ball with her kuaizi for the panda to eat. She thought as she ate her own food, wondering if the panda could learn to maneuver a pair of the utensils - if she could find a pair small enough - if she could maybe trim down a pair they already owned (if her aunt would let her near a knife for that purpose) - if she could do the same with a brush…
“I think Your Highness should visit Master Ru tomorrow,” Dongmei said suddenly.
Mei fumbled her kuaizi, working not to drop them or her food. Finally she managed to set her bowl and utensils down without embarrassing herself. Her aunt continued to eat calmly, apparently not noticing Mei’s surprise. “The alkahestrist?” Mei wondered. “But I’m not sick.”
“For your pet, Your Highness, not for yourself. Perhaps he will be able to tell Your Highness why it was abandoned or further instructions for its care. After all, it may be sick, and we would not recognize the signs.”
“Companion, not pet,” Mei insisted absently. Her eyes were on the panda, which had already devoured the rice given her and was looking predatorily at Mei’s bowl. She didn’t look sick. But her mother had forsaken her…
Mei glanced up at Dongmei. Her aunt’s eyes were cast downward, apparently giving all of her attention to her food, but Mei knew that this was yet another command in the guise of a suggestion.
“Perhaps that is a good idea,” she conceded, flicking a few more grains of rice to the table for the panda and hoping her aunt didn’t notice.
“Your Highness is wise,” her aunt replied mildly.
The panda gulped the rest of her food and growled for more.
~-~-~-~-
In the morning, Mei attempted to clean her companion before they went down to the village. The panda fought her at every step, snarling at the soap and snapping at Mei’s fingers. “Stop that!” Mei scolded, washing the panda’s face vigorously. “We’re not going to see the alkahestrist looking like we’ve been rolling in the dirt. Even if you have,” she added. The panda finally settled into a sulky stillness, and Mei quickly dried her fur and then patted down her own braids for the third time. She took a deep breath as she placed the panda into the crook of her elbow. “I think we’re ready.” The panda scampered up her arm and onto her shoulder, resisting Mei’s efforts to dislodge her. “Oh, fine!” Mei threw up her hands and stalked out of the house. The panda made a contented trilling noise.
Master Ru lived on the far side of the village, where the rolling foothills smoothed into a long plain. He and his wife, Qiaolian, were both positively ancient and - like many alkahestrists, or so the gossip ran - absolutely mad as well. Mei wasn’t sure if that were true - she had seen odd behavior from the elderly couple, but then she’d seen odder from others, and she herself was determined to keep a carnivorous runt of a panda cub as a sort of bodyguard. Whatever the state of his sanity, Master Ru was still universally respected as a scholar and an alkahestrist. The village was proud of his skills and knowledge, and more pleased still that it was rare for someone to need to journey to a larger city for healing.
The building into which Mei stepped was both shop and home for Master Ru, as well as where he let patients stay if they needed overnight care. There was no door in the frame, and the only light came through the empty doorway and the equally empty windows. Mei looked around, but the place seemed deserted. The panda crawled from one shoulder to the other curiously.
“Master Ru?” Mei called, picking her way to the counter above which strings of herbs hung from the ceiling. She pulled herself over the counter to peek behind it before dropping back to the floor in disappointment. There really wasn’t anyone there. “I wonder where they’ve gone,” she murmured to the panda, turning around to face the dark, vacant shop again.
“Where who’ve gone, young lady?”
Mei and the panda both squeaked and jumped in fright as a tiny old man, not much taller than Mei herself, leapt up in front of her. “Oh, Master Ru,” Mei gasped. The panda growled from her shoulder; Mei absently reached up a hand to pat her fur soothingly. “I was looking for y-”
“Ah, the young princess!” he interrupted. He bowed eagerly; the battered, floppy hat on his head fell to the floor. “Ah, my hat!” he exclaimed in the same tone of pleased surprise, snatching it and dropping it back onto his head, where it tilted precariously. “So good to see you,” he said, once more speaking to Mei and bowing. A wide smile spread across his face when he popped back up, making his small dark eyes almost disappear into the folds of wrinkles.
Mei inclined her head, clasping her hands together so she wouldn’t fiddle with them nervously. The panda had stopped growling but continued to glare at the still grinning and bowing old man from Mei’s shoulder. “Yes, Master Ru, it is good to see you as well. I ha-”
“We don’t get to see you as often as we’d like,” the alkahestrist interrupted, beaming even more widely. “Or your mother, or your dear aunt. How is Jingfei? Or is it Dongmei who’s the aunt now?”
“Jingfei is-”
But Master Ru cut in again. “We saw a messenger on a horse yesterday, you know. Great huge thing. I don’t trust horses. Too tall.” He shook his head.
Mei nodded patiently. Master Ru had a tendency to ramble, and interrupt others as well as himself. The only way to get to the point was to wait for him to give you an opening - and then be faster than a hawk.
Sure enough, he left the topic of horses and imperial messengers to blink at the panda on her shoulder, which he’d apparently only just noticed. “Ah, and this must be your sister!” he cried excitedly. “Your little sister, of course - or, that is, your little little sister.” He chuckled warmly, stroking the panda’s hand with one finger. She gave another pleased hum.
“No, Master Ru, that’s not my sister - she’s a baby pa-”
“Yes, yes, just a baby. That’s all right, she’ll get bigger soon enough, won’t you, little sister? On the inside, if not the outside.” He patted the panda again, ignoring Mei’s attempts to correct him. “Ah, but you’re not here for me, are you? No, no, we heard all about it from your mother yesterday - or is she your aunt now? No, you’re right, it doesn’t really matter. Come, come, Qiaolian’s waiting in the back. Go on!” One hand in the small of Mei’s back pushed her forward, around the counter; his other opened the door to the half of the building where the couple lived. Ru hurried her down the short passage to another shut door, which he knocked on before calling, “Dear wife, our honored guest is here with her younger sister!”
“She’s not my-” Mei tried again. A voice on the other side of the door cut her off this time.
“Come!”
Ru chuckled. “Don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully!” He opened this door as well and pushed her through, closing it after her.
Mei scowled at it, all reminders from Dongmei to respect elders fleeing her mind. What in the world is he talking about? she groused to herself. Then, My aunt was here? When? Why?
“Don’t stand in the doorway, princess,” came the same voice. Mei recognized it as that of Qiaolian, Master Ru’s wife.
She turned from the door. The room was windowless and small. Qiaolian sat on a blanket with her back to the far wall. Two bright candles flickered between her and another blanket placed on the floor.
“Please, sit, your highness.” Eyes closed, Qiaolian gestured to the unoccupied blanket.
Mei walked forward to kneel on it. The panda whimpered uncertainly, and Qiaolian’s eyes opened.
“This is Xiao Mei?” she asked, holding out one plump hand, palm upward. The panda sniffed at her fingers and then hopped onto it. Qiaolian pulled her hand back in front of her, and panda and woman studied each other. Though no taller than Master Ru, Qiaolian was stout and heavy where her husband was bony and thin. Her long white braid was wound in a tight bun on the back of her head. Dark eyes glittered in the candlelight as she considered the animal in her palm.
“She’s a panda,” Mei said, relieved to finally be able to finish her sentences in Ru’s absence. “Not my sister.”
“No? Are you sure?” Qiaolian replied, her deep voice calm. Even with her most excitable husband, Mei had never seen Qiaolian anything other than unflappable.
“O-of course I am,” she said, bewildered by the question.
Qiaolian shrugged. “If you say so.” She set the panda down to scurry back to Mei. Qiaolian sat back, regarding Mei for a long moment in the same way she had the panda. “Your aunt asked us to discover whether you had any skill with alkahestry.”
Mei blinked, taken aback. “S-she did?”
Qiaolian nodded silently.
“She didn’t tell me,” Mei said slowly. “Why would she do that?”
“She is worried for you.” Qiaolian’s gaze was steady; Mei dropped her eyes, picking at her blanket. “One of your brothers was gravely injured recently, was he not?”
“I don’t consider sons of the emperor to be my brothers,” Mei muttered.
“Nor do you consider Xiao Mei to be your sister,” Qiaolian countered.
“She’s a panda!”
“And you are a little girl.”
Mei sputtered, unable to find an adequate response to this.
“But you are not here to talk of Xiao Mei, or of any of your siblings.” Qiaolian paused for a moment, her breaths slow and even. Mei struggled not to fiddle with the ends of her braids. “What do you know of the dragon’s pulse, princess?”
“The dragon’s pulse?” Mei asked, thrown by the change in subject. “It… that is the flow of qi, isn’t it? The way the emperor controls the land?”
“Something like that. The earth itself is a dragon, you know.”
Mei blinked. The panda, sitting next to her on the blanket, made a confused-sounding chirp, and Qiaolian laughed.
“Not literally, princess! But, you see, there is energy - qi - in all things, living or not - in the earth, too. Just as the blood flows in the body, so does the qi through everything. The emperor - as well as those whom he favors - can sense this qi, and in some ways he can affect it. But His Imperial Majesty does not control it.” She held Mei’s eyes. “Alkahestry requires an understanding of the dragon’s pulse, but merely possessing an ability to read the dragon’s pulse does not make a person an alkahestrist. That takes training and much effort. That is what your aunt would have me make of you, princess.”
“But-” Mei said, and then flushed at her inability to restrain her own tongue. Fortunately, Qiaolian did not appear offended; she waved her hand for Mei to continue. “But - forgive me, Mistress Qiaolian, but is not Master Ru the alkahestrist? Shouldn’t he, if anyone, be teaching me alkahestry?”
Qiaolian’s eyes twinkled in their dark depths. “Alkahestry is an adaptable field, princess. Its uses are as varied as the different forms of qi present in the world. While it is true that my husband is an accomplished practitioner of medical alkahestry - and, if you would like to and are able, you may learn that as well - I teach alkahestry as a martial art.”
Part 2
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (manga/Brotherhood)
Word Count: 9,687.
Rating: PG
Summary: From the moment Mei first brings the tiny, grumpy panda home, her aunt knows this is a bad idea.
Author's Notes: This was my entry for this year's fma_ladyfest; it started out as a few silly vignettes and somehow evolved into a huge plotty monster. D: The FMA wikia page says that the phonetics for 'Xiao Mei' mean 'little sister' in Mandarin Chinese, but discussion with derawr has made me question this. However, for the purposes of this fic I'll say that it does mean 'little sister' in Xingese if not in Chinese. More notes at end.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Hiromu Arakawa-san. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others.
The imperial messenger had already come and gone by the time Mei Chan hurtled down the stairs, still tying off the ends of her braids. Her aunt slowly rose from her bow, staring into the grey mists that concealed the messenger’s white horse. “He didn’t wait for a response,” she said, worriedly.
Mei bit her lip.
Dongmei hesitated only a moment, still vainly searching the foggy hills as if the messenger would turn around, before she held out the letter. “It’s addressed to Your Highness.” Her aunt always called her by her title, never her name, as a way of instilling the proper pride of her position. “You are the seventeenth princess,” she had said countless times as she brushed Mei’s hair. “You must never forget that you are the emperor’s own daughter. You look up to none but His Majesty himself. And when you are Empress-”
If Mei’s mother were there, she would hurry to shush her sister. “Are you mad?” Mei always imagined her hissing. “That is treason!” But Jingfei had been in the capital city for ten months, and in Mei’s memory her aunt continued uninterrupted.
“And when you are Empress, everyone will look up to you. You will change the fortunes of the Chan clan, Your Highness.”
The letter was signed but unsealed - a second hallmark of trouble - and Mei read it quickly. “His Majesty has refused my petition,” she said, hand falling to her side. She felt blank. “Mother’s stay at court continues, indefinitely. I am not allowed to visit her.”
Dongmei swept the letter up before it could drop to the floor as well. Her eyes flickered across the neatly-inked words (written by a secretary, no doubt, as impersonal as if she were not his own blood) before closing. Her mouth tightened; she exhaled heavily.
“He is disappointed in my progress,” Mei said into the silence.
“You need to eat, Your Highness,” her aunt countered - as good a confirmation as any.
Mei frowned, turning her face away. “I want to take a walk first,” she said.
Her aunt glanced through the still open door. The mist had stiffened into a drizzle. “I do not know if that is wise, Your Highness…”
“I wish it,” Mei repeated. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.
Dongmei sighed, refolding the letter and tucking it into her sleeve. “Cover your head,” was all she said.
~-~-~-~-
Mei had not gone far into the hills before the rain stopped. The weather refused to clear, however, and the mistiness thickened into fog.
Mei sighed.
At eight years of age, she was almost squarely in the middle of the emperor’s children - for now. She had heard that the Shih clan was currently expecting another child of His Majesty (their third), which would bring the total up to thirty-six. Then again, the Feng clan’s son, one of the eldest of them all, had been seriously injured in an ‘accident’ (likely the work of an assassin, but no one would confess to that, of course), and if he died that would drop the total again.
Mei could not recall a time when she did not know these fluid numbers; one of her earliest memories involved reciting the ages and clans of her half-siblings to her aunt, as her mother (a distant but bright figure, even in memory) nodded approvingly in the background. As her clan was one of the smallest - only a few hundred people claimed loyalty to them - and the weakest - even lower than the Tongs, who didn’t have any living heirs - knowledge of the shifts in court was essential to the survival of both Mei and her clan.
And now it seemed even the emperor - her own father - had turned against them.
“I try,” she muttered to herself as she walked, trying to maintain the graceful posture Dongmei constantly emphasized, “I learn as much as I am able, as fast as I am able, and still I-” She bit her tongue, as much to bring herself to the present as to stop her own words. Decisions of the emperor were not to be criticized, even when she was alone in the middle of her clan’s small section of the countryside.
She reached the top of the hill and gazed behind her, back toward the home she and her aunt kept alone while her mother was in the capital. She ought to return. Dongmei would worry, and she needed to study, and she should remember the accident that had fallen on the Feng heir, and this weather was ideal for colds, and…
Mei continued walking.
Foolish, she berated herself, childish and willful. Is it any wonder His Majesty wants nothing to do with you? If it even was the emperor’s wish to keep her mother by his side at all. Perhaps Jingfei desired another prince or princess to be born to the Chans - a child who would be quicker, stronger, smarter, better than Mei.
“I try,” she repeated, voice trembling. She hunched her shoulders. The cold was seeping into her jacket; she should’ve worn a thicker today. “I do.”
When the sound came - a low, despairing whimper at the edge of her hearing - Mei thought it was only her imagination - a hopeless accompaniment to her bleak thoughts. When it came again, though, she looked up - and stopped, surprised.
Mei had seen some of the great pandas that roamed the hills of her clan’s province; she had even had the good fortune to see a young cub, once, before she had scrambled away lest its mother think her a threat. But she had never seen such a tiny one before - she was sure she had seen larger kittens in the village. It was huddled in on itself, sopping fur sticking up at strange angles where it had clearly been half-heartedly washing, and it was emitting some of the saddest sounds Mei had ever heard.
Her first instinct was to draw back; pandas might be slow to anger, but nursing mothers were easy to enrage. Another glance, however, told her not only that there were no adult bears in sight, but also why.
“You’re a runt,” she inadvertently breathed. The minuscule cub faced her hastily. It looked terrified. “Your mother abandoned you, didn’t she? Because you’re so small and-” she gulped, “-and she doesn’t think you’ll survive.”
The cub was still staring up at her, apparently frozen with fear. Mei realized how large and frightening she must appear to such a little creature and quickly bent down, minimizing her size. Her free hand reached out, almost unconsciously. She had often longed for one of the cats or dogs she had seen in the village, but her mother and aunt had always forbidden it. “We must take care of you first, Your Highness. There is no space for a pet.” But Mei still adored furry animals, and most of all she desired to pet them.
The panda watched her hand come nearer with unblinking eyes. Mei wondered if it was still scared; she didn’t want it to run away. She wasn’t sure why - Dongmei would never allow her to keep it - but she wanted to show the thing some small kindness, perhaps to give it heart so it would not give up on life. At least it had stopped making those pitiful whimpers. Maybe it was getting over its fright-
As soon as her fingertips were close enough, the panda opened its mouth wide and bit her, all its strength going into those sharp little teeth.
Mei’s howls echoed around the hills.
~-~-~-~-
“I am going to keep her,” she announced to a tight-lipped Dongmei. The panda huddled resentfully in the crook of her elbow. “She’s not a pet, so there’s no reason to forbid it, aunt - she’s to be my companion.”
“Your… companion, Your Highness,” Dongmei repeated. Her voice was perfectly flat.
“Yes,” Mei replied. “O-other clans have bodyguards for their princes and princesses. Our clan doesn’t, so I shall have a companion instead.” She fought to keep her voice as steady as her aunt’s. The panda was still making thin growling noises, as she’d done, off and on, while Mei carried - well, wrestled might be a truer term - her down from the hills.
Dongmei raised an eyebrow. Mei only hoped that when she was empress she would be half as regal in her displeasure. “Companion in what, Your Highness?”
“I-in everything.” Mei refused to give in. “Working, learning, sleeping, eating… in everything, aunt.”
“Indeed? And what is she to eat?”
“Whatever I do,” Mei said immediately. As if recognizing the topic at hand, the panda began gnawing at Mei’s sleeve; she winced, rubbing two fingers against the injured third in memory. “And I think we’d like to eat now,” she added loftily.
Dongmei merely looked at her, lips still pressed.
“I,” Mei began, then changed her mind. “Please, aunt. She’s been abandoned by her mother - she’ll die by herself. And you always say that a ruler must have as much compassion as wisdom.” She stared up at her aunt, trying to look not like what she knew she must - a little girl begging to keep a stray - but instead what she wished to be - a princess who wished to make others acknowledge the rational decision she’d made.
After a moment, Dongmei closed her eyes and exhaled loudly through her nose. “If she is to be your companion, Your Highness, than she will be your companion. She will do what you do, when you do it, how you do it.”
Mei bit down a most unseemly shout of joy - as well as a simply undignified squeal when the panda’s teeth found skin instead of cloth. She inclined her head - “You do not bow to others, Your Highness, excepting only His Majesty and your mother” - and turned, only stopping when Dongmei lightly tugged the end of one of her braids.
“Your Highness… honored niece.” Mei sucked in a breath; she could count on one hand the times her aunt had called her that. Dongmei’s eyes were worried. “You know that cubs rarely survive being abandoned by their mothers.”
“I know, aunt.” However weak the panda may have been, she showed little sign of it as she continued to shred Mei’s sleeve. “I know, but I-”
“A ruler keeps her word,” Dongmei said, and released Mei’s braid. She folded her hands together. “Now I think we should see what your new… companion… will eat.”
~-~-~-~-
As it turned out, the panda would eat anything. She ate Mei’s porridge, her aunt’s buns, and even tried to stick her nose into the bowl of soup that sat between them. “At least it won’t starve,” was Dongmei’s dry contribution. Mei stifled her giggles into her hand, and tried not to wince every time she put pressure on her bandaged fingers.
The panda looked up from the decimated remains of her portion and bared her teeth at them.
As they cleared the table, Dongmei said, “Perhaps Your Highness should practice her penmanship.”
Mei, knowing that phrasing it as a suggestion didn’t actually mean her aunt was suggesting it, nodded and scooped the panda up in one hand. The panda immediately started biting at her fingers, apparently out of habit. She settled after a moment and peered around curiously as Mei rifled through the study. When Mei sat, folding her legs under her and arranging her materials, the panda crawled up her arm and perched on her shoulder to watch.
Mei rubbed at her arm, where the panda’s sharp little claws had pierced through her sleeve. “You’re destroying my clothes,” she told the panda. The cub appeared completely unrepentant as she stared down at Mei’s desk. “Oh, you want me to practice, too?” Mei shook her head.
Picking up the inkstick in one hand, she ground it lightly on the stone. The panda balanced on her shoulder easily and Mei thought it safe to apply more force. Soon the inkstone’s water darkened to a usable shade and she set the stick aside in favor of her brush. Dongmei had long since stopped assigning her random assortments of words; now Mei’s task had become making her script as perfect as possible. As usual, she began with a list of the emperor’s titles; she had practiced these so often that they had become rote and soothing. His Imperial Majesty, she wrote, Emperor Above, Son of Heaven, Lord of
Her stroke skidded across the stretched sheet of paper as the panda suddenly leapt from her shoulder and attacked the brush. “No!” Mei shrieked as sharp little teeth sank into the brush’s soft wood. She shook the brush, trying to dislodge the animal; the panda hung on grimly. “Stop that. Let go.” Mei waved the brush harder. The panda was a black-and-white blur before Mei stopped. She scowled down at her ‘companion’, who was adjusting her grip and gnawing all the harder. “You just ate,” she reminded the panda, who growled meaningfully. Mei growled back. “Brushes are not food! They are for writing! Like this!” She yanked the brush out of the panda’s mouth with one swift motion. Her free hand forced the panda’s front paws into an approximation of a human’s grip and she shoved the brush forward. The panda’s claws latched onto it instinctively.
For a moment, girl and panda glared at each other. The panda was still clutching the brush in both paws, but Mei was certain that would only last so long as she physically held the panda’s limbs in place. She hesitated, but she had already gone this far. As her aunt sometimes said, risking one coin was the same as risking a dozen. “Now, write like this!” They briefly struggled for control of the brush; Mei won and, with a few deft strokes, they finished the phrase she had been writing. Lord of Ten Thousand Years.
She surveyed the thick, blotchy characters ruefully. “Well, you will win no awards for penmanship,” she sighed, and released the panda as she rummaged for another brush. The panda watched her with suspicion, even as Mei spread out a second sheet of paper and dipped her new brush in the ink. Mei lapsed back into the familiar rhythms of the strokes, letting her brush flow from one character to the next. She finished the formal address for His Majesty and paused for the ink to dry.
Beside her, the panda too sat back on her haunches, squeaking impatiently until Mei glanced down at her original paper. She blinked to see the rough splotches of ink underneath her own writing. The panda stared up at her expectantly, legs still wrapped around the tooth-mark ridden brush. “You need some more practice,” Mei said bluntly.
The panda squawked, sounding indignant.
“Well, it’s true!” Mei snapped. “And you can’t let your brush run out of ink like that, it’s crude! Watch.” She proceeded to demonstrate the most basic rules for calligraphy, occasionally rapping the cub’s paws to ensure her ‘companion’ was paying attention, usually being rewarded with another attempt at a bite or an irritated squeal.
She was so preoccupied with the impromptu lesson, in fact, that she failed to notice her aunt silently watching them both from the open doorway.
At dinner that evening, Mei picked apart a rice ball with her kuaizi for the panda to eat. She thought as she ate her own food, wondering if the panda could learn to maneuver a pair of the utensils - if she could find a pair small enough - if she could maybe trim down a pair they already owned (if her aunt would let her near a knife for that purpose) - if she could do the same with a brush…
“I think Your Highness should visit Master Ru tomorrow,” Dongmei said suddenly.
Mei fumbled her kuaizi, working not to drop them or her food. Finally she managed to set her bowl and utensils down without embarrassing herself. Her aunt continued to eat calmly, apparently not noticing Mei’s surprise. “The alkahestrist?” Mei wondered. “But I’m not sick.”
“For your pet, Your Highness, not for yourself. Perhaps he will be able to tell Your Highness why it was abandoned or further instructions for its care. After all, it may be sick, and we would not recognize the signs.”
“Companion, not pet,” Mei insisted absently. Her eyes were on the panda, which had already devoured the rice given her and was looking predatorily at Mei’s bowl. She didn’t look sick. But her mother had forsaken her…
Mei glanced up at Dongmei. Her aunt’s eyes were cast downward, apparently giving all of her attention to her food, but Mei knew that this was yet another command in the guise of a suggestion.
“Perhaps that is a good idea,” she conceded, flicking a few more grains of rice to the table for the panda and hoping her aunt didn’t notice.
“Your Highness is wise,” her aunt replied mildly.
The panda gulped the rest of her food and growled for more.
~-~-~-~-
In the morning, Mei attempted to clean her companion before they went down to the village. The panda fought her at every step, snarling at the soap and snapping at Mei’s fingers. “Stop that!” Mei scolded, washing the panda’s face vigorously. “We’re not going to see the alkahestrist looking like we’ve been rolling in the dirt. Even if you have,” she added. The panda finally settled into a sulky stillness, and Mei quickly dried her fur and then patted down her own braids for the third time. She took a deep breath as she placed the panda into the crook of her elbow. “I think we’re ready.” The panda scampered up her arm and onto her shoulder, resisting Mei’s efforts to dislodge her. “Oh, fine!” Mei threw up her hands and stalked out of the house. The panda made a contented trilling noise.
Master Ru lived on the far side of the village, where the rolling foothills smoothed into a long plain. He and his wife, Qiaolian, were both positively ancient and - like many alkahestrists, or so the gossip ran - absolutely mad as well. Mei wasn’t sure if that were true - she had seen odd behavior from the elderly couple, but then she’d seen odder from others, and she herself was determined to keep a carnivorous runt of a panda cub as a sort of bodyguard. Whatever the state of his sanity, Master Ru was still universally respected as a scholar and an alkahestrist. The village was proud of his skills and knowledge, and more pleased still that it was rare for someone to need to journey to a larger city for healing.
The building into which Mei stepped was both shop and home for Master Ru, as well as where he let patients stay if they needed overnight care. There was no door in the frame, and the only light came through the empty doorway and the equally empty windows. Mei looked around, but the place seemed deserted. The panda crawled from one shoulder to the other curiously.
“Master Ru?” Mei called, picking her way to the counter above which strings of herbs hung from the ceiling. She pulled herself over the counter to peek behind it before dropping back to the floor in disappointment. There really wasn’t anyone there. “I wonder where they’ve gone,” she murmured to the panda, turning around to face the dark, vacant shop again.
“Where who’ve gone, young lady?”
Mei and the panda both squeaked and jumped in fright as a tiny old man, not much taller than Mei herself, leapt up in front of her. “Oh, Master Ru,” Mei gasped. The panda growled from her shoulder; Mei absently reached up a hand to pat her fur soothingly. “I was looking for y-”
“Ah, the young princess!” he interrupted. He bowed eagerly; the battered, floppy hat on his head fell to the floor. “Ah, my hat!” he exclaimed in the same tone of pleased surprise, snatching it and dropping it back onto his head, where it tilted precariously. “So good to see you,” he said, once more speaking to Mei and bowing. A wide smile spread across his face when he popped back up, making his small dark eyes almost disappear into the folds of wrinkles.
Mei inclined her head, clasping her hands together so she wouldn’t fiddle with them nervously. The panda had stopped growling but continued to glare at the still grinning and bowing old man from Mei’s shoulder. “Yes, Master Ru, it is good to see you as well. I ha-”
“We don’t get to see you as often as we’d like,” the alkahestrist interrupted, beaming even more widely. “Or your mother, or your dear aunt. How is Jingfei? Or is it Dongmei who’s the aunt now?”
“Jingfei is-”
But Master Ru cut in again. “We saw a messenger on a horse yesterday, you know. Great huge thing. I don’t trust horses. Too tall.” He shook his head.
Mei nodded patiently. Master Ru had a tendency to ramble, and interrupt others as well as himself. The only way to get to the point was to wait for him to give you an opening - and then be faster than a hawk.
Sure enough, he left the topic of horses and imperial messengers to blink at the panda on her shoulder, which he’d apparently only just noticed. “Ah, and this must be your sister!” he cried excitedly. “Your little sister, of course - or, that is, your little little sister.” He chuckled warmly, stroking the panda’s hand with one finger. She gave another pleased hum.
“No, Master Ru, that’s not my sister - she’s a baby pa-”
“Yes, yes, just a baby. That’s all right, she’ll get bigger soon enough, won’t you, little sister? On the inside, if not the outside.” He patted the panda again, ignoring Mei’s attempts to correct him. “Ah, but you’re not here for me, are you? No, no, we heard all about it from your mother yesterday - or is she your aunt now? No, you’re right, it doesn’t really matter. Come, come, Qiaolian’s waiting in the back. Go on!” One hand in the small of Mei’s back pushed her forward, around the counter; his other opened the door to the half of the building where the couple lived. Ru hurried her down the short passage to another shut door, which he knocked on before calling, “Dear wife, our honored guest is here with her younger sister!”
“She’s not my-” Mei tried again. A voice on the other side of the door cut her off this time.
“Come!”
Ru chuckled. “Don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully!” He opened this door as well and pushed her through, closing it after her.
Mei scowled at it, all reminders from Dongmei to respect elders fleeing her mind. What in the world is he talking about? she groused to herself. Then, My aunt was here? When? Why?
“Don’t stand in the doorway, princess,” came the same voice. Mei recognized it as that of Qiaolian, Master Ru’s wife.
She turned from the door. The room was windowless and small. Qiaolian sat on a blanket with her back to the far wall. Two bright candles flickered between her and another blanket placed on the floor.
“Please, sit, your highness.” Eyes closed, Qiaolian gestured to the unoccupied blanket.
Mei walked forward to kneel on it. The panda whimpered uncertainly, and Qiaolian’s eyes opened.
“This is Xiao Mei?” she asked, holding out one plump hand, palm upward. The panda sniffed at her fingers and then hopped onto it. Qiaolian pulled her hand back in front of her, and panda and woman studied each other. Though no taller than Master Ru, Qiaolian was stout and heavy where her husband was bony and thin. Her long white braid was wound in a tight bun on the back of her head. Dark eyes glittered in the candlelight as she considered the animal in her palm.
“She’s a panda,” Mei said, relieved to finally be able to finish her sentences in Ru’s absence. “Not my sister.”
“No? Are you sure?” Qiaolian replied, her deep voice calm. Even with her most excitable husband, Mei had never seen Qiaolian anything other than unflappable.
“O-of course I am,” she said, bewildered by the question.
Qiaolian shrugged. “If you say so.” She set the panda down to scurry back to Mei. Qiaolian sat back, regarding Mei for a long moment in the same way she had the panda. “Your aunt asked us to discover whether you had any skill with alkahestry.”
Mei blinked, taken aback. “S-she did?”
Qiaolian nodded silently.
“She didn’t tell me,” Mei said slowly. “Why would she do that?”
“She is worried for you.” Qiaolian’s gaze was steady; Mei dropped her eyes, picking at her blanket. “One of your brothers was gravely injured recently, was he not?”
“I don’t consider sons of the emperor to be my brothers,” Mei muttered.
“Nor do you consider Xiao Mei to be your sister,” Qiaolian countered.
“She’s a panda!”
“And you are a little girl.”
Mei sputtered, unable to find an adequate response to this.
“But you are not here to talk of Xiao Mei, or of any of your siblings.” Qiaolian paused for a moment, her breaths slow and even. Mei struggled not to fiddle with the ends of her braids. “What do you know of the dragon’s pulse, princess?”
“The dragon’s pulse?” Mei asked, thrown by the change in subject. “It… that is the flow of qi, isn’t it? The way the emperor controls the land?”
“Something like that. The earth itself is a dragon, you know.”
Mei blinked. The panda, sitting next to her on the blanket, made a confused-sounding chirp, and Qiaolian laughed.
“Not literally, princess! But, you see, there is energy - qi - in all things, living or not - in the earth, too. Just as the blood flows in the body, so does the qi through everything. The emperor - as well as those whom he favors - can sense this qi, and in some ways he can affect it. But His Imperial Majesty does not control it.” She held Mei’s eyes. “Alkahestry requires an understanding of the dragon’s pulse, but merely possessing an ability to read the dragon’s pulse does not make a person an alkahestrist. That takes training and much effort. That is what your aunt would have me make of you, princess.”
“But-” Mei said, and then flushed at her inability to restrain her own tongue. Fortunately, Qiaolian did not appear offended; she waved her hand for Mei to continue. “But - forgive me, Mistress Qiaolian, but is not Master Ru the alkahestrist? Shouldn’t he, if anyone, be teaching me alkahestry?”
Qiaolian’s eyes twinkled in their dark depths. “Alkahestry is an adaptable field, princess. Its uses are as varied as the different forms of qi present in the world. While it is true that my husband is an accomplished practitioner of medical alkahestry - and, if you would like to and are able, you may learn that as well - I teach alkahestry as a martial art.”
Part 2