I don’t even bother correcting her about the line keeper. Zhang Jing, if we don’t take action, there won’t be a place for me. There won’t be anything for any of us except death and despair. We have to explain this to the others.
But inside my heart is sinking a little as Li Wei’s warning rings true. If my own sister won’t believe what I’ve learned, how will the others? And how am I going to convey the full scope of what I’ve seen? Will anyone even listen to me? The township overlords have already done a neat job of turning my people against me, attacking in the most powerful way they can: by withholding food. Zhang Jing’s words about people getting too hungry aren’t lost on me. They are already hungry. In our village, we have at most one extra day’s supply of food at any given time. If no food came up today, the villagers would have had to use that tiny reserve and would have rationed it out pretty strictly. That’s why there were extra servants on watch tonight. No wonder people have been quick to believe the worst of Li Wei and me. They are starving and desperate, just as the township wants. Who will believe our story now? How will I even get them to pay attention?
An idea suddenly hits me. It isn’t ideal, but it’s the best one I’ve got. It’s the only one I’ve got. I think back to when I was standing outside the school, breaking the window. Based on the moon’s descent in the sky, I probably have about three more hours until the first people in the village start waking up. It’s not a lot of time, and I’m so exhausted from the feat of climbing, but what choice do I have? Everything is riding on what I do next.
I rise from where I’m sitting on Zhang Jing’s bed, beckoning her forward. Come on, I say. I’m going to need your help.
With what? she asks, startled.
It’s time to make the record.
CHAPTER 15
ZHANG JING FOLLOWS ME as we head to the school’s work studio. Along the way, we encounter two servants patrolling the halls. I hear them before they see us and am able to dodge them each time, keeping us concealed. Zhang Jing observes all of this without comment until we’re safely behind the closed door of the workroom. I begin lighting lanterns for us to work by.
Fei, she says at last. How are you able to do that? What’s happened to you? Did you receive some kind of enchantment while you were down the mountain?
I smile, imagining how what I’ve been able to do would seem like magic. And really, for all I know, maybe there is some sort of magic involved, since I have yet to understand why this is happening to me. I’ve regained my hearing, I tell her. It surprises me how easily I am able to say those words. I guess after everything I’ve gone through and learned, my hearing is just one more incredible thing. And seeing as how Zhang Jing is having enough trouble believing the rest, I figure I have nothing to lose by sharing this too.
That’s impossible, she says. It’s becoming her standard line.
Believe me, I know, I say. I’ll tell you more about it later, when there’s time. Right now, we need to get to work.
And so, as usual, Zhang Jing follows my lead. The room is set up the way it always is, with the previous day’s record still in progress on assorted pieces of canvas. A glance at what my fellow apprentices have been working on confirms Zhang Jing’s earlier story. It is an accounting of yesterday, covering the rejection of the metals and refusal of food. Even Li Wei and I are mentioned—probably the first time we’ve been included in the record since our birth announcements. There are also recaps of emergency meetings and arguments that have already broken out since the food shortage began. Elder Chen’s other apprentice, Jin Luan, has done a commendable job of painting a scene of some disgruntled miners gathering for a meeting in the village’s center. She’s probably the only person glad for my disappearance.
I direct Zhang Jing to help set up new canvases for me to paint. I visualize the layout of the various pieces of the record and how I want to create my message. It is going to be a daunting task, and there is no time for any of the skill and fine detail I’ve been so painstakingly trained to use. I must get my message out, and the only thing that really matters is its truth.
I start with the words, drawing characters in big, bold calligraphy to tell my story. Zhang Jing stays nearby, watching as I work, ready to mix fresh ink when she sees I am running low. First, I tell how Li Wei and I climbed down the mountain. I gloss over the details, for time’s sake, emphasizing that it was dangerous but possible. If there’s a chance our village may be leaving this place, I want them to know it can be done without scaring them too badly—at least not about this. There are plenty of other things for them to be scared of.
When I reach the part about Nuan’s village, I include more detail, about the dead bodies and the records of a village in chaos—a village just like ours. It is a grim memory, one I don’t like repeating, but it too must be told. When I get to the point where Li Wei and I make it to the bottom and see the township for the first time, I pause. The artist in me, the one who sees the world and wants to capture it, wishes I could spare the time to truly describe the township. For all its evils, it is still a remarkable place, the closest thing to a real city any of us will ever get to. I want to paint pictures of those embellished buildings, list all the things for sale, convey the singing children . . . but there is no time. I simply describe it as a busy, vivid place—emphasizing that it has plenty of food—and then go on to Nuan’s tale.
This is the part I elaborate on in the greatest detail, pointing out the similarities between our peoples and how the mines destroyed them—and how the township gave up on them. I tell of their encampment and treatment by the others, how many have given up hope and are just as hungry as they were when they still lived on the plateau. Finally, I close my account with a brief recap of how the soldiers chased us, and how Li Wei and I split up. Although it is certainly a thrilling part of the tale, I again use brevity. My own hardships don’t matter at this point. It is Li Wei’s sacrifice and the township’s ruthlessness I want my village to know about.
When I step back, I am amazed at the amount of calligraphy I’ve painted. This much text normally would be the work of at least half a dozen apprentices. It would also have been painted with much more precision, each brushstroke placed with care and beauty. My work, though not entirely neat, is thorough and legible. I used big, broad strokes, ensuring it can be read from a distance.
Zhang Jing now supplies me with colored paints as I start the illustrations. My pictures are even more hurried than my text, but I’m a strong enough artist that my skills still shine through. For one picture, I depict the house in Nuan’s village, showing the room in disrepair and the bodies of the family that starved to death. It is a gruesome creation, but the shock in Zhang Jing’s face tells me it’s effective. For my second image, I paint where Nuan’s people live now: the dilapidated village of tents, its people thin and dirty. It is something else my people need to see.
I don’t know where I find the energy to do all this painting. The earlier harrowing climb has left me in a state far past exhaustion. It is Zhang Jing’s future—hers and others like her, I decide—that gives me the added rush of adrenaline and inspiration to complete this frantic, ominous masterpiece. And Li Wei, of course. Always, always he is in the back of my mind, urging me on. My sister keeps me supplied with paint, so I have no delays, save for pausing and dipping my brush or switching colors.