Bone of the Mortal Flame

Er Lengzi lay wide-eyed, staring blankly at the blackened thatched roof patched with mud and straw. The old quilt covering him had long since turned a murky yellow, its original color indistinguishable, and it gave off a faint, musty smell. Beside him, pressed close on the narrow bed, slept his second brother, Han Zhu, snoring softly, his breath rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. Half a zhang (about five feet) from the bed stood a wall made of packed yellow clay. The years had carved narrow, inconspicuous cracks into its surface. Through those cracks came the muffled, nagging voice of their mother and, every so often, the soft pa-da, pa-da sound of their father drawing on his long tobacco pipe. Er Lengzi slowly shut his dry, sore eyes, forcing himself to drift into sleep. He knew all too well that if he didn’t fall asleep soon, he wouldn’t be able to get up early tomorrow. And if he couldn’t get up early, he wouldn’t be able to go into the mountains to gather firewood with the other boys he’d made plans with. His real name was Han Li, a name far more dignified than his rustic nickname. His parents, simple folk, hadn’t come up with it themselves. It was a gift, earned in exchange for two coarse cornbread buns offered to old Uncle Zhang, the village’s only literate man. Uncle Zhang, back in his youth, had once worked as a companion boy for a wealthy family in town. He could read and write a little, and so, most of the children in the village bore names of his choosing. Though the villagers all called Han Li “Er Lengzi” (“second fool”), he was far from slow-witted. In fact, he was arguably the cleverest boy in the village. But just like all the other children here, no one outside his family ever called him by his real name. “Er Lengzi” had stuck since he was small—and only because there was already a “Lengzi” in the village before him. It wasn’t so bad. Other village children were called things like “Doggie” or “Second Egg,” names hardly more dignified than “Er Lengzi.” So although Han Li didn’t care for the nickname, he had little choice but to quietly accept it. Han Li looked quite ordinary—dark-skinned and plain-faced, a typical peasant boy. But deep inside, he was more mature than others his age. Ever since he was small, he had yearned for the richness and splendor of the world beyond the mountains. He dreamed that one day, he could leave this palm-sized village and see the outside world, the one Uncle Zhang always spoke of in hushed, reverent tones. Of course, Han Li had never dared share this dream with anyone. If he had, the villagers would surely be stunned. What kind of little brat, barely out of his diapers, would have such lofty ambitions—ambitions even grown men didn’t dare harbor? The other boys his age still spent their days chasing chickens and pestering dogs. No one else ever thought about leaving home. Han Li came from a family of seven—two older brothers, an older sister, a younger sister, and his parents. He was the fourth child, just ten years old this year. Life at home was hard; meat was a rare luxury. They teetered on the edge of hunger year-round. As Han Li hovered between sleep and wakefulness, one lingering thought clung to his mind: when they went up the mountain tomorrow, he had to pick plenty of red berries—his little sister’s favorite treat. By noon the next day, Han Li was trudging home under the blistering sun, carrying a bundle of firewood taller than himself and cradling a cloth sack bulging with red berries. He had no idea that while he was away, a guest had arrived—one who would change the course of his life forever. This esteemed visitor was none other than Han Li’s third uncle—a close blood relative. Rumor had it that he was a head manager at a restaurant in a nearby town, a man of some renown and respect. In the hundred-year history of the Han family, this third uncle was likely the only one to have made something of himself. Han Li had met his third uncle only a few times when he was very small. It was this uncle who had arranged for Han Li’s eldest brother to apprentice with an ironworker in town. He often sent gifts of food or household items back to the family through acquaintances. Han Li thought highly of him, and though his parents rarely said so aloud, he knew they were deeply grateful too. His eldest brother was the pride of the family. Word was that as an apprentice, he had food and lodging covered, and even received thirty copper coins a month. Once he completed his apprenticeship, he’d earn even more. Whenever their parents talked about the eldest brother, they lit up with pride, their whole demeanor transformed. Even young Han Li couldn’t help but feel envious. In his eyes, the best future possible was to be chosen by a craftsman in town and become a proper apprentice—a man who earned his keep through skill. So when Han Li saw his third uncle—a round-faced man in fine new silk clothes, sporting a tidy mustache—he was thrilled. After stashing the firewood behind the house, he shyly went to the front room and greeted his uncle with a polite, “Hello, Third Uncle,” before standing quietly to the side, listening as his parents spoke with him. Third Uncle looked at Han Li with a smiling gaze, examining him briefly before offering a few kind words about how obedient and clever he was. Then he turned to his parents and got to the point of his visit. Though Han Li couldn’t understand every word, he managed to grasp the general idea. As it turned out, the restaurant where his uncle worked belonged to a martial sect known as the Seven Mysteries Sect. The sect was divided into an outer and inner branch, and recently, Third Uncle had officially been accepted as an outer disciple. As such, he had gained the right to recommend children between the ages of seven and twelve to participate in the entrance test for the inner sect. The once-every-five-year selection test was set to take place next month. And this clever, quiet boy with a bundle of berries still warm against his chest— He was about to take his first step into a world he’d only dreamed of.