‘—Take that!’
Yellow light catches the giant scorpion square in the chest. He goes rolling—ten times and more—and skids back for kilometres—
‘Five little girls dare to—’
‘Big Sis.’
Jun Hao is clutching my trousers.
I’ve got one foot on the bed, the old book in my left hand and his pillow braced against my right arm. The pillow has already served as the Celestial Tower tonight. Now it’s being forced to double as the Diamond Shield.
I keep my shield raised. ‘What? The Prince isn’t even back on his feet yet.’
Jun Hao pushes his plastic Pineapple Bun Hero mask onto his forehead. Its nose points right. His eyes are completely serious.
‘What about the other four?’
‘What other four?’
‘The Shadow Princes. Weren’t there five? Why is only the scorpion fighting?’
I look down at the book.
There really are five.
‘Because I’ve only got one throat.’ I prop the pillow up again. ‘If all five speak at once, you’ll have to visit me in hospital tomorrow to hear the ending.’
‘I’ll read it myself.’
Jun Hao reaches. I lift the book out of range at once.
‘No. This is the Big Sister Peach Channel. Sit down.’
He hugs his knees and settles back. I clear my throat, start with one low voice, then a lower one. By the fourth Prince, the howl gets halfway out before I choke on it. Jun Hao collapses across the duvet, laughing.
So I probably did frighten him earlier. Not his fault. I’m brilliant at voices. My teachers and classmates all agree: very impressive, completely useless.
‘Don’t laugh. They’re tearing the five lands apart.’
I thump my chest and get through the last Prince.
Five colours of light weave into a ring before the Celestial Tower. All five Shadow Princes seize the earth at once, dragging deep ravines across the mountains and rivers. The Princesses clasp one another’s hands and keep lifting the ring, even as the light fades from their battle-robes, layer by layer.
I slowly lower the pillow. This time, I don’t add any lines.
The ring snaps skywards. Five vast shadows are wrenched towards the rift, their roars piling over one another.
‘When we return—’
The rift seals.
The bedroom goes quiet.
The old book says the five Shadow Princes were cast out, Shen was saved from destruction and the stars shone again. Of the five stars, four had vanished. Only the yellow one remained, flickering.
Carrying the Diamond Shield, the Earth Princess walked back through the scattered troops to the fortress. Her battle-robes were torn. Starlight shone through the cracks in her arm, lighting the shield’s rim. The Emperor still stood beside the broken wall, holding the cavalry helmet she had left behind.
She set the shield’s lower edge on the ground, kept one hand on the rim and looked up.
‘Father, Shen is safe.’
As the starlight faded, she became the girl from the altar once more. Her father looked at Chenyue, but through her shoulder he could already see the rainbow currents streaming from the distant Tower.
He tucked the helmet into the crook of his arm and reached for her cheek. His fingers passed through.
Chenyue smiled at him. With the last of the yellow light, she was gone.
Her father’s hand stayed in the air. Beside him, the Diamond Shield fell with a crash.
I stop with my fingers on the page.
Jun Hao sits up.
‘Will she come back?’
‘Of course.’ I look down the page. ‘They’re just… on standby.’
‘What’s standby?’
‘When a grown-up says “in a minute” and makes you wait ages.’
‘How long?’
‘Let me see. It’ll be in here.’
I’m about to turn the page when Dad lets out an ‘Aiyoh!’ in the living room. They’re throwing punches in parliament again. Dad shouts back at the screen.
Mum comes into the living room carrying a stack of clothes she has just taken down. She is still in the white blouse she wore to work this morning, with only one cuff rolled up. Her laptop and two brown document envelopes cover the dining table. She puts down the clothes, pulls out a sheet of figures and calls through the bedroom door without looking away from it.
‘Tao Xiyi! Jun Hao has school tomorrow.’
‘He’s the one who keeps asking. I’m not making him stay up.’
Mum pulls Jun Hao’s uniform from the pile, shakes it out and lines up the sleeves.
‘You’re the older sister.’
She ticks a number on the invoice.
Dad looks away from the television, first at her, then at me.
‘All right, all right. Peach is older. Unless you want Jun Hao to be the big sister?’
Dad laughs first.
…
He picks up his still-full cup. ‘I’m getting some water.’
I push the bedroom door almost shut. Harder than I need to.
Jun Hao has curled beneath the duvet with only half his face showing. I rescue his mask from the covers and hang it on the bedpost.
‘Just a bit more,’ he says.
‘Last bit.’
I sit beside him and open the book where we stopped.
Two lines remain.
The relics the Princesses left behind were later enshrined and revered.
Whenever Shen needed them again, the Celestial Princesses would return.
‘See?’ I pin the last line beneath my finger. ‘They’ll come back.’
‘When?’
I read on.
‘A hundred years later—’
I turn the page.
Blank.
I turn another. Blank.
At last, there’s a black speck on the next page.
‘Found it.’
I hold the paper close to the night-light.
The speck grows six legs and crawls slowly towards the binding.
Jun Hao leans in too. ‘What word is that?’
‘That isn’t a word.’
It jumps off the book. My thumb catches another clump of pages at once.
Blank. Blank. Still blank.
Paper flutters past my fingers. Every page in the second half is properly bound. None are missing. None are torn. There is simply nothing on them.
‘Big Sis?’
‘Maybe they put “a hundred years later” further towards the back.’
I reach the final page. Nothing. I work backwards. Still nothing.
The first half is dense with old print. The second half is empty. Between them, four words reach out and stop halfway.
A hundred years later—
‘Didn’t the Princesses come back?’ Jun Hao asks.
‘That’s not it.’ I clap the book shut. ‘The shopkeeper sold me a book they forgot to finish printing.’
‘But you said they’d come back.’
‘Which means he’d better have the other half.’
I press Jun Hao back onto his pillow and pull the duvet up. He keeps watching the book in my hand.
‘Will you ask him tomorrow?’
I glance down at the closed book.
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t forget.’
‘I’ve still got a book report to write. How could I forget?’
He thinks about that, then buries his face in the duvet.
I switch off the night-light. A scooter turns out of the lane outside, its headlamp sweeping once across the ceiling.
When Jun Hao’s breathing slows, I sit beside him and open the old book again.
A hundred years later—
The next page is still blank.
I unzip my schoolbag. Maths textbook, light novels, a half-eaten packet of soda crackers. I cram the old book on top. The zip barely closes.
Fine.
Tomorrow, after school: the Thousand Worlds Bookshop.
Whatever happened a hundred years later, the shopkeeper had better give me a proper answer.