Fury of the Phoenix by Cindy Pon

Author:Cindy Pon
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins US
Published: 2011-06-17T16:00:00+00:00

They disembarked with Jiang money in their pockets, gold and silver coins similar to their own, but with different marks on them. Peng had given them the coins, explaining that it made for easier trading, especially since they had foreign faces. She was unsteady when she finally stepped onto shore, still feeling the lurch of the sea despite the solid ground beneath her.

It smelled entirely different. Like the earth, like moss and flowers. She drew a deep breath, wide-eyed. Chen Yong glanced at her, and she saw that he smelled it, too.

“It smells like…land,” he said.

“Like wet earth and—”

“Life,” he interjected.

“And the colors…” No longer did her world consist solely of varying shades of blue or gray. Or the brown masts and bleached planks of the ship. She marveled at the potted daisies blooming in bursts of magenta and gold, the deep greens of the hedges manicured into square columns outside a storefront.

They walked on wobbling legs toward the little village nestled beneath the cliffs. “What is that smell?” She raised her nose and sniffed. It smelled like burned honey, and her stomach grumbled.

Chen Yong chuckled and covered the pouch at his waist. “You will not rob me to clean the whole village out of its food.”

She made a face at him but laughed as she rushed on to find the source of the delicious scent. A woman who was her mother’s age stood in front of a cozy hut. There was a giant stone hearth tucked in the back, and the ground was strewn with baskets, all stuffed with objects of various shapes—long ovals, square and round. They didn’t look like anything one could eat, but the aroma!

The woman greeted them with a hello, or literally, good meeting, as Peng had once translated for her. Chen Yong spoke, surprising Ai Ling again with his ease at speaking the language. The Jiang woman replied too quickly for Ai Ling to understand. Her wheat-colored hair was in two braids, draped over her ample bosom. Her face was ruddy, and her round eyes were a clear light blue. She wore a loose dark green dress with a white tunic tied over it.

The woman cast a curious glance her way, and Ai Ling looked down, embarrassed that she had been gawking.

“It’s bread. She bakes the loaves in the hearth. Some are filled with nuts or dried fruit.”

“Which one smells of burned honey?”

Chen Yong chuckled. “Hmm. I’m not certain I know how to say ‘burned’ in Jiang.” He turned to the woman and spoke again, this time in a more hesitant tone. She nodded at a tray on a low table, and Ai Ling was beside it before Chen Yong could translate.

“Fresh from the hearth, she said. Filled with dried grapes and covered in sugar.”

Ai Ling leaned over the round lumps and inhaled. “Can we have four, please?”

His eyes widened; then he laughed. “Four, if you can,” he said in Jiang. Which was the closest they had to “please.”

The woman pointed at one of the baskets and asked if they had one.

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