"Driven by loneliness, Nüwa created copies of herself from earth, but then that task grew weary. She dipped a rope into mud and splashed it onto the ground. Where the drops landed, a tiny human crawled free. But with it, came unfairness. Those she created by hand became rich and powerful, those she created by flinging the rope became the poor."

The All Mother—The Immortalist Lores

CHAPTER TWO

"So," Biyu said. "Where are we headed?"

Without Facechanging makeup, Biyu's strong features were most prominent. Castrated when he was eight, he was sold to the same brothel as I was, and he quickly became one of their most prized possessions. He had distinctive feminine traits—a tiny waist, and a heavenly voice that covered a wide spectrum of notes. His brown eyes twinkled whenever he smiled, and his long black hair curled like waves lapping against a shore. He was so desired, both men and women had paid handsome sums to spend a night with him when he was in the Pavilion.

"Candy!" A middle-aged man wearing a green hat shouted, jerking me from my thoughts. "Freshly made date candy! The finest in Jade City. Only one bronze Credit per stick!"

I stopped in front of the stall and ran my eyes down the rows of squarish sweets skewed on skinny bamboo sticks. They looked like rocks caked with mud.

"No, thank you," I said.

"I'll take two," Biyu interjected.

"Sure thing, kind sir." The man whipped two rows of the hard candy up and handed them to Biyu.

Biyu passed him two bronze Credits and handed me one.

"I said I don't want candy." I pushed his hand away.

"You know," Biyu said while stuffing the first sweet into his mouth, "Sometimes, I feel like we've never met. And maybe like you don't want me around anymore."

"Don't exaggerate. I just don't feel like eating sweets, that's all."

He shrugged, then without warning, bounded into the crystal shop next to us like an excited puppy. I had to drag him back by the sleeve to prevent him from colliding head-first with a piece of rock his height.

Nothing excited him more than rocks. I sighed, exasperated. This was why I refrained from walking around with him. Crystal shops were abundant in Erden, as precious stones were its main export next to gold. Whenever we chanced upon one, Biyu would waste our hard-earned money on stupid rocks when we should be saving them for our Visas.

Biyu stuck his face onto a glass case which held a glittering purple geode, eyes wider than dinner plates.

"Why hello, beautiful," he cooed. "I wonder how much you cost."

"I'll give you a good deal on that." An old man with a white beard reaching his chest walked out from the exhibitions. "Only three thousand gold Credits!"

"Only?" Biyu spluttered. "That's a bit outrageous, isn't it?"

The old man tapped his cane against the ground. "It would be outrageous to assume that crystals grow on trees. This beautiful geode you see here was mined from one of the deepest and darkest caves in Erden. Legend says that the green dragon Yulong lives there. Extracting this geode was a difficult process. The price doesn't seem that outrageous now, does it?"

Biyu swallowed the rest of his candy, preparing himself for a rebuttal, but I shoved him behind me.

"Apologies, sir. My friend gets too excited over rocks."

"Well, make sure your excited friend doesn't knock anything over. Things are expensive here, girl."

I dragged Biyu out of the shop and into an alley. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Three thousand gold Credits is ridiculous. He might as well rob the Coin Master. I can buy my own palace with that."

"No, you can't." I reached for his hand and emptied half of the coins into his palm. "You already have a thousand stones in your possession. You don't need any more."

"Two hundred and thirty-three to be precise."

"Exactly."

Biyu pocketed the money.

"Oh, that reminds me, I found this on the road yesterday. I thought you might like to add it to that funny collection of yours." He fished out a wooden bead the size of my thumb, carved in the likeness of a little girl.

Ever since our escape, I traveled with Zichuan Theater around Erden. Wherever we stopped, I gathered one item to remind me of my freedom. It could be a loose bead, a broken piece of crockery, anything that tied my memories to that place. I kept those items strung on a thin piece of rope which I carried around in my pocket wherever I went.

I reached for it. The moment my fingers connected, the strangled cries of the children in cages filled my ears. Blood from the execution of runaway slaves sloshed across the street, drenching every inch of it in red. The metallic stench was a metal spike in my throat, piercing a hole through it as Mama Ruga towered over the Pavilion girls and me, forcing us to watch every swing of the axe.

I dropped the bead. It fell onto the ground with a clatter and rolled into the ditch.

"No," I said softly. "Not from this city."

Heart still thumping wildly in my chest, I turned toward the other side of the street and took in a deep breath. "I'm going to see if there's a tavern nearby. It's midday, there are bound to be wrestling matches and drinking contests. See you later."

Get drunk. Douse all the fear and anxiety in cheap wine. Forget about the Imperials and the Pavillion. That was the best way I could cope with being in the city that robbed me of my innocence.

"But Mr. Long said you weren't supposed to go near taverns," he protested. "Remember what happened last time you were inebriated?"

Inebriated was a modest way to phrase what I did to myself. I almost destroyed my liver, if not for Mila who seized my money and locked me inside an inn until I was sober enough to regret drinking the tavern dry.

"See you later," I repeated, and walked off.

I knew Biyu would return to the crystal shop and haggle his way through. He believed they connected him to the divine energies of the High Immortals. However, I couldn't muster the same level of devotion he had.

If the High Immortals truly cared, they would have saved us from the clutches of the Imperials. Commoners wouldn't be turned into slaves. Instead, there was no divine intervention, and we were abandoned to the mercy of those who wore heavy crowns and sat on the bones of those they exploited.

Once, they had rode down to earth on their blazing chariots and spears. Now, what was left of their glorious reign were stone carapaces echoing with unanswered prayers.

Why? I cast my question into the sky. Why did you save us from the High Demons thousands of years ago only to neglect us when we need you most?

Not looking where I was going, I walked into a crowd converging into a teahouse overflowing with celebration. The crowd was as large as the theater's earlier today. I wasn't aware there was another performance in the Jade City. As far as I knew, we were the biggest and grandest entertainers in town as of now.

I tapped a man entering the teahouse on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me what's going on?"

The man broke into a smile. "You must be new! Traveler Jin has finally returned from his three-year expedition. Rumor has it that he met a High Immortal in the flesh!"

I almost snorted but caught myself in time. Although I doubted this traveler had truly met a High Immortal, it wouldn't hurt to listen to what he had to say so I could have a good laugh later. I thanked the man and followed the stream of people into the teahouse.

As much as I hated the Jade City, there was no denying the surface beauty of it. The interior of the two-storey teahouse was painted a creamy brown with red pillars. Vases of cherry blossoms lined the corridors. The upper floor consisted of four balconies facing one another with square tables and stools which ringed the lower floor, giving those above a generous view. In the middle of the teahouse was a stage where a single chair stood.

I climbed up the creaky wooden stairs and seated myself on the third balcony facing the door. A serving lady with a basket stopped at my table.

"Care for some biscuits?" She pulled back the cloth covering her goods. "Pork buns? Roasted peanuts?"

"How much for roasted peanuts?" I asked.

"Very cheap," the lady said. "One bronze Credit for a bowl."

Well, I suppose I could spare one bronze Credit for good food. I reached for my coins.

"Roasted peanuts, please."

She scooped two generous ladles into a bowl and handed it to me as I passed her one bronze Credit.

I folded back my veil, cracked open the first peanut and popped the contents into my mouth. It was an aromatic mixture of herbs. I sighed, cracked open a few more, and stuffed all of them into my mouth.

As I was about to cram in my twentieth peanut, a young man appeared in front of me. He looked about my age, with dark hair pulled back in an elegant ponytail, and brown eyes with a sly twinkle in them. His head was tilted upwards, the sunlight from the rafters hitting the sharpness of his cheekbones, highlighting his skin in a sheen of gold.

Without a word, the young man pulled out a stood and dropped onto it, reached for a peanut, and cracked it open.

"Sir." I rapped the table with a knuckle. "This is my table and those are my peanuts."

He popped the peanut into his mouth, chewed it with extra relish, and pushed the shells back toward me.

"I don't see your name written anywhere on this table," he said. "This is a public place. I can sit anywhere I want."

Blood pounded in my ears. From his rich attire and the ridiculously pompous atmosphere he teemed with, I assumed he belonged with the nobles. Perhaps not high-ranking enough to mingle with the Imperials and the Generals, as I see no jade pendant hanging from his belt, but he had enough coin to fling his merry way around the commoners.

"It seems that your parents forgot to educate you about public manners and decency." The words flew out of my mouth before my mind even registered them, and I realized a second too late. In Erden, to call out one's parents was considered the ultimate insult, worse than spitting in someone's face. For my people, fathers and mothers were held in high esteem by commoners and the nobility alike; they who brought life and raised their children from a helpless toddler to a strong adult. The monks likened them to High Immortals on the Material Plane.

To my surprise, the man's mouth curved slightly upwards in a form of a crooked smile, as though my words were nothing but dust motes stirred by a passing wind.

"My parents taught me plenty." His tapped the table with his long, tapered fingers. A thin golden band gleamed on his ring finger—a smooth, delicate thing with nothing etched upon its surface. "But whether or not I choose to adher to their teachings, is none of theirs or your concern."

I took in a sharp breath, unsure whether I should just surrender the table to him or retain my stance. Mama taught me to be resilient. I didn't fight my way from slavery to be humiliated by a clown in a fancy suit. This was my table, I came here first, and I bought the peanuts. They were all legally mine.

"Your accent." He waved the fan in my face, as though our previous conversation never happened. "You're not from here, are you? You speak so fast, perhaps even faster than a bitch can breed."

Face burning, I rolled my eyes, picked up my bowl, and stood up. "I am not obliged to entertain your obstrusive questions, peanut thief."

"Leaving so soon?" The man smirked. "I thought this was your table?"

His voice was sleekier than oil, laced with the poison of impertinence. The pounding in my ears grew louder, rising in a violent crescendo, overpowering common sense and the thin barrier of patience I had learned to build over the past few years. I knew whatever I was going to do would cause a scence, and maybe even get me thrown out of the teahouse. But I didn't care. In that moment, all I wanted was to rip off that stupid grin and make him scream.

I flung the bowl of peanuts in his face. The hot, cooked peanuts bounced off his neck and his chest, staining the sky-blue silk with the brown herbal soup it was cooked in.

He wanted peanuts. I would give him peanuts.

He leaped to his feet, a cry of horror tearing from his mouth.

"Filthy peasant," he cried. "Do you know who I am?"

At that moment, a man in a weathered cloak and a peculiar hat walked through the doors, saving me the pain from having to converse with this man. A white, gauzy shawl scaffolded his shoulders, and he carried a round, cane-woven basket covered with a black cloth. His beard was long and scruffy, as though he hadn't shaved in months, and brutal weather had left weary lines on his forehead.

Almost at once, people rose from the tables next to us, pushed their way through and toward the balcony, the throng separating me from the irritating man. They cheered and tossed petals through the air, raining down upon the man in the cloak.

This must be Traveler Jin, the man who supposedly met a High Immortal in flesh.

"Greetings from the far realms of the unknown world!" Traveler Jin removed his hat with a quick swipe and bowed. "Today, I bring you something so inexplicable, it will astound you."

"Show us!" a man shouted.

"What is it?" demanded another.

Jin reached into his basket and held up a white mask for all to see.

I walked toward the banister and closed my fingers around the wood. There was something about this mask; something familiar. It was as if I was seeing a person for the first time, yet I was confident I had seen them before. The white mask was oval-shaped, like the ones I used for Facechanging, with a golden whorl circling the right eye and a bold black stripe across the lips.

A strange aura emanated from the mask; something ancient, something sinister. I tasted the bitterness of raw power, the tingling sensation of a million ants crawling up my skin.

I turned to the peanut thief, who was now squashed against a pillar by the crowd. I wondered if he had felt the upsetting rush of energy from the mask, but he didn't seem to notice, being too busy rolling his eyes at the man. I turned my attention back onto Jin.

The Traveler's smile was triumphant. "I have spent three years looking for this. I have trekked up Huran Mountain, braved snowstorms, and finally ripped this from the Last Tower. This, my friends, is the face of a High Immortal."

Peanut thief let out a loud snort, making all heads turn toward him.

"You're pathetic. Couldn't you have come up with a better lie to amuse us?"

The man looked up and smiled at him. "Do you not believe in the High Immortals, my friend?"

"I believe only in things I can see," he replied.

Outraged gasps escaped the crowd, but Jin's grin widened. "Then, let me show you the divine. As promised in the Investiture of the High Immortals, they who wear either the face of a High Immortal or a High Demon shall become one."

Chairs scraped, people scrambled, and women gasped.

"Give it back to the High Immortals," a bearded man said. "Humans should not tamper with the faces of the divine."

"The High Immortals are dead," Jin said. "All that are left are these husks. But these husks contain their identity, their powers, used as war trophies by the High Demons."

"The High Immortals are very alive," the bearded man continued to protest. "I admire your courage to find their remains, but I assure you, they will be displeased to see you parading around with their faces."

Jin laughed again. "We have long paraded around with their faces. The Theaters replay their wars, we sing their achievements. And these masks, they were left behind for us to take."

He whirled to take in the shocked people of the teahouse.

The nausea was suffocating. Waves after waves of ominous energy poured from the mask. Claws latched onto my windpipe, choking me, forcing me to grab the banister for support. Fear and shock were fire in my veins.

"Now, we can be gods."

Jin lifted the mask.

No. Every inch of me screamed at him, every muscle in my body straining to leap down and wrench the mask from his hands. This was wrong. This was very wrong. I did not know why I was protesting with all I had, but deep inside, my soul felt the rattle of intense fear at this unknown power.

The mask was a whisper away from the Jin's bearded face. There was a sudden explosion of brilliant white light from the doorway. The light was scorching, cutting furiously through the air, followed by an overwhelming smell of burning leaves.

My hands flew to my eyes. I blinked hard, trying to regain my vision.

Through the slit of my eyes, I saw a tall man standing in front of the Traveler. His face was sharp and refined, his long white hair held back by a barrette, violet eyes fixated on the Traveler. His long lilac robes swept the ground, and he held a fan in his right hand. The man was suffused in a piercing white glare which prevented me from staring at him for too long.

I knew who this man was at once. Biyu had worn his face so many times during our performances.

Donghwa, the High Immortal of Facechanging and Bodystealing, the Protector of Faces.

Reading about the High Immortals was one thing, but seeing one in the flesh and blood was another. It was easy to envision them with humanoid features—regular people with power sparkling at their fingertips, an angry red branding on their crowns, and glittering weapons. But Donghwa was nowhere near what I had expected. He looked human, yet his face wove between the Three Realms, traversing through them at a godly speed—sometimes I saw a human face, other times I saw grotesque creatures from Eighteen Hells. But no matter how many times his face changed, nor how much his skin rippled, his High Immortal mark was stark on his forehead. Red and furious.

The peanuts I had eaten roiled in my stomach. I clenched my teeth, forcing the burning mess back down my throat. I wanted to move, but could not. None of us could. Nauseated, I could only watch as he reached for the Traveler's mask with his long, slender fingers.

"You dare steal from a High Immortal?"

His voice resonated through the teahouse, shaking the wooden pillars and knocking dust from the rafters.

So, you are real. Everything Mama told me is real.

Jin was frozen in shock, his eyes wide. He tried to block Donghwa who swiped his hand across his face, but he was too slow. Humans could never rival the High Immortals.

And Donghwa tore Jin's face from his head.

I had expected blood to spurt, eyeballs to thud to the ground, but I found myself staring at a head as smooth as a bronze mirror. Faceless, the Traveler clawed at his head and tried to look through eyes that weren't there, breathe through a nose that was gone, and scream through a mouth that was stolen.

Knocking over the chair, he collapsed into a messy slump on the ground. Dead.

No one screamed. Suffocating silence pressed down on the entire teahouse.

Donghwa stared at the loose piece of skin on his palm and scoffed.

"Let this be a warning to you, mortals. Today, I killed this thief. Should there be a next time, I will kill everyone in this city."

He turned on his heels and clicked his fingers. Just like that, he was gone. In his place was the evergrowing smell of burning leaves. The smell pressed against my throat, filling my lungs with invisible smoke. I couldn't even cry out as my legs gave way and my mind fell numb.

The last thing I saw was the man next to me dropping like a rock, unconscious, followed by the continuous thuds of falling bodies.