Beijing

November

————————

This was a bad idea.

Zhengyi Yang stood in the lightly falling sleet, teeth chattering as she held her umbrella over the spirit medium’s head with one hand and her nose with the other. If the older woman in front of her didn’t quit burning incense, both of them were going to choke to death on the smell.

Grandma Lin, or Lin Puo-puo as she insisted Zhengyi call her, hacked and wheezed over the wet gravestone before them, where a thick bundle of joss sticks smoldered between a bouquet of white lilies and a plate of fruit. Plumes of fragrant smoke wafted into the woman’s nose, mixing with her breath to create white puffs in the cold air. Zhengyi shifted the umbrella from one gloved hand to another, keeping the elderly lady and the incense dry while she herself got drenched, her head only barely protected by a thin hood. Headstones squeezed them in on every side, but, as was anticipated in this weather, no one else was in the cemetery.

“Puo-puo,” Zhengyi managed politely, barely suppressing a gag at the atrocious smell, “Would you like me to hold the sticks for you?”

“Silence!” the woman hissed. “Do you think it’s an easy thing, calling up spirits of the dead, Yang Xiao-jie?”

She’d addressed Zhengyi with the honorific used for young women rather than referring to her amiably as ‘child,’ as she had previously. The old woman was probably in a bad mood due to the damp. Zhengyi, her own demeanor souring, remarked, “We chose the one day this month that wasn’t as dry as a bone. Wouldn’t it have been easier to do on another day? Or, better yet, indoors?”

“I told you already, Xiao-jie.” The old lady harrumphed. “The channeling is stronger at the gravesite. But we can’t risk running into a public regulation official—they can take you in for doing this kind of thing out in the open. That’s why I charged you a risk fee, remember?”

Zhengyi swiped a glove over her glasses, succeeding only in smearing more rainwater across her vision, much to her irritation. Of course, she remembered. The extra hundred yuan ‘risk fee’ had brought her total payment up to nine hundred, which wasn’t exactly cheap for a college student. So Zhengyi had been quietly annoyed, just as she was quietly annoyed now from the smoke cloying her lungs and the frigid water dripping down her soggy bangs, which were usually lightened to a chocolate brown but now darker from the icy drizzle. But, if this was the price for gaining peace—to no longer spend every waking moment feeling empty from loss or every night dreaming of vengeance—it would be worth it.

Before her, Lin Puo-puo began to rock on her heels and chant, waving her arms wildly. Zhengyi looked about uneasily. Hopefully, they were still alone. The old woman let out a series of loud staccato grunts before, to Zhengyi’s relief, going silent. Reaching out a wrinkled hand, the medium placed it over the name engraved on the tombstone. Zhengli Yang.

A beat passed. Then, suddenly, she leaped into the air. Zhengyi almost jumped herself as the top of the woman’s gray head knocked into the underside of her umbrella.

“Aieeeee!” the old lady cried. She spun around to face Zhengyi, her eyes rolling back. Affecting a sing-song tone that didn’t sound at all authentic, she addressed her. “Well met, cousin. Why do you come to disturb me?”

Zhengyi eyed the old woman skeptically. It sure didn’t sound like her cousin. “Zhengli...is that you?”

“Mei-mei,” Lin Puo-puo crooned in a high-pitched voice. “Little sister. You’ve missed me, haven’t you?”

What kind of stupid question was that? Not one Zhengli would ask. Of course, Zhengyi missed her. Why else would she be desperate enough to use up her meager savings on a shady spirit medium she wasn’t even sure she believed in? Zhengli had been a source of light in her bleak existence, and though they’d called each other sisters, Zhengli had been a far better maternal figure than Zhengyi’s own mother. She’d inspired Zhengyi to believe in herself and hope for better things. Maybe that was what made Zhengyi desperate enough to believe and hope that she could actually talk to her again.

But now, as Zhengyi stared at Lin Puo-puo’s sagging face, with its deep frown lines and missing teeth, reality came crashing down on her. This was not her cousin. Her cousin was dead, and no amount of money or supernatural intervention could bring her back. A surge of anger filled her. It enraged her that the elderly woman was making not only a profit from her grief, but a mockery of it as well. Reigning in her fury, Zhengyi decided to play along and return the ridicule.

“I just wanted some advice,” Zhengyi said with feigned sincerity. “You remember Chow Ming?” She forced a humorless laugh. “Silly question. Of course, you’d remember the guy who raped and murdered you.”

“Chow Ming will pay for his evil deeds,” Lin Puo-puo groaned out, adding a lilting pitch to her voice. “But I am at peace now.”

To the supposed medium’s credit, her facade hadn’t slipped at Zhengyi’s appalling pronouncement—information she hadn’t deigned to share beforehand. But the woman was most definitely a sham because the murderer’s name was not Chow Ming, and her cousin would have known that.

Zhengyi grit her teeth and faced the medium. “The rapist’s name is Ai Bing, actually, and it seems his evil deeds will not be paid for...because he just got released from prison.”

“Mei-mei, there are many injustices in the world of the living,” Lin Puo-puo sang discordantly, either ignoring that she’d been caught in her act or not yet aware of the fact. “But I am free from that world now.”

The gall. Zhengyi’s temper gave way. “Well, I’m not!” she exploded. “What am I supposed to do? Wave hello when I see him in the streets? Just accept that he gets to walk free while you never get to see the light of day again?”

The medium moaned unintelligibly at that. Probably stalling to think up a response.

“Yeah, that’s how I feel, too,” Zhengyi said dryly. “Who would’ve thought some money and good deeds could turn a death sentence with a reprieve into a mere five years in prison? Too bad the same can’t be said for bringing you back for a visit, Jie-jie. Maybe I didn’t pay enough.” She scowled pointedly at the medium.

Lin Puo-puo’s low moaning suddenly careened upwards into a distinct wail, startling Zhengyi before it abruptly broke off. There was a moment of still silence. Then, in a normal voice unlike the one before, the medium asked, “Does Ai Bing regret his actions?”

Zhengyi stared. This, oddly enough, did sound like something her cousin might ask. “Does it matter?”

Lin Puo-puo’s face relaxed, expressionless now, her eyes no longer rolled back. Instead, she gazed straight at Zhengyi. “A life of regret is hell enough in itself.”

Unbidden, a memory of Ai Bing’s face on the day of his trial five years ago, streaming with tears, filled Zhengyi’s mind. She had been barely fourteen at the time but had insisted on attending the hearing with her aunt and uncle. Her cousin had introduced Ai Bing to her in the past, as a friend from work who’d walked Zhengli back home whenever the older girl’s hours ran late. He’d bought ice cream for Zhengyi once.

He’d pled guilty at his trial. The judge’s decision? Death sentence with a reprieve on the grounds of mental illness. Typically, that turned into life imprisonment, which would have satisfied Zhengyi. But such was not the case.

Her fists curled. “That’s not good enough. And we have no idea if he has any regrets.”

Lin Puo-puo stared at her with a vacant gaze. “Are you so hungry for another’s pain?”

“When it’s deserved, yes.” Zhengyi considered the woman before her, who seemed to have dropped all pretenses, then sighed. “But that’s not you’d want me to think, is it, Zhengli?” she addressed the tombstone behind the medium. “You’d tell me to move on. Live my life. Find peace.” She covered her eyes with one hand. “But I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t move on when I know that he gets a second chance at life, and you don’t. I can’t live my life knowing that you won’t be a part of it anymore, helping me along the way, like you did. There is no peace for me until there is justice for you.”

Letting her hand fall, Zhengyi stared at the ground. Rain, mixed with snow, splashed around her ankles. “If there was a way—any way, to achieve that,” she said quietly, “Then I’d sell my very soul to find it.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Silence filled the air following her words, punctuated only by the patter of droplets. Zhengyi looked up. Before her, Lin Puo-puo’s eyes had rolled into the back of her head once more, and her mouth hung slightly agape. Slowly, she began to rock back and forth again. Zhengyi scowled. “Puo-puo, you can stop acting. I’m—”

“She’s not acting,” said a low, gravelly voice to her left.

Zhengyi jumped, turned to the speaker—and shrieked, the sound piercing the quiet air of the cemetery. Her umbrella clattered to the ground, leaving Lin Puo-puo exposed to the elements. The old woman didn’t seem to notice as she continued rocking on her feet. Zhengyi took two steps backward and clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling any further screams as she stared, the cold forgotten.

Before her stood a tall figure. It towered a good three feet over her and was impossibly thin, like a shadow with arms and legs. Its garments were pitch black and wispy like fog, as was its hair, which streamed around its head like a hundred writhing snakes. Large yellow eyes with an unearthly shrewdness in them stared at Zhengyi from a pale, angular face.

“What are you?” Zhengyi whispered. “Are you a demon? Or a spirit, or—?”

The side of the creature’s mouth slanted upward. It did not answer but simply looked at her with an amused expression.

Against all logic, Zhengyi’s brain riffled through a mental catalog of terms she had picked up from other cultures. “A djinn then? Or...some kind of fae...thing?”

“Some kind of what?” the strange being chortled, in a low tone that sounded distinctly masculine. “Oh, the sort of words you humans come up with! I’ve always found earthly language to be a funny thing. But, then again, that is what you creatures were made to do, isn’t it? Name things.” He sobered, and his eyes narrowed. Zhengyi backed up another step. “How the gift is utterly lost on you all,” he continued with a woeful sigh before waving dismissively. “Call me what you like. I’m not one for labels. So then, to business! There’s something you want, isn’t there?”

Zhengyi gaped. “I—I don’t—”

“You creatures always want something. That’s why you sought out this old hag, isn’t it? To get some assurance from beyond the veil?” The demon—Zhengyi assumed that was what he was—gestured at Lin Puo-puo. “Sorry to break it to you, but you went to the wrong source. I feed her hints now and then so she can keep food on the table—what can I say, I’m generous—but she doesn’t have the power to help you.” He leered. “I, on the other hand, do. So, let’s not waste each other’s time. You tell me what it is you want, and maybe we can make a deal.”

Zhengyi’s deepest instincts screamed in alarm, but something made her jab a shaky finger at the tombstone. “Can you bring her back to life?”

Ire flickered across the demon’s features before he quickly smoothed it away. “Ah, the cousin. Poor, violated thing.” He cocked his head at the burial plot. “I must say, human depravity hasn’t lessened a bit over the millennia. Tragic, isn’t it? So many lives cut short through the ages, so few ever brought back.”

Zhengyi’s heart beat faster. “So, it’s possible?”

The demon smiled. “Well, anything’s possible.”

“That’s what I want then.”

“Hold up.” The demon raised a hand. “I didn’t say I could do it.”

Despite Zhengyi’s fear, anger welled in her again. “But you just said—”

The demon cut her off in a flat tone. “I can’t bring the dead back to life. That’s sort of the opposite of what I do.” At Zhengyi’s devastated look, he sighed. “Look, kid, only God can do what you’re asking. And I can guarantee you that He won’t, not for you.” He wagged a long, clawed finger. “You’ve been dabbling in some dark stuff, summoning me and all that.”

Zhengyi’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “I don’t—I didn’t summon you.” Her gaze traveled to where Lin Puo-puo still rocked.

“Casting the blame, are we? How very human.” The demon pointed at Zhengyi. “You’re the one who spoke me into existence on this plane. Gave me an invitation, loud and clear. ‘Death and life are in the power of the tongue.’ Ever heard that?”

Something in Zhengyi’s mind clicked. She had heard that before...from the book of quotes and pictures her cousin had gifted her. Zhengyi carried it with her almost everywhere now. Did this demon know about that somehow? “Yes,” she answered cautiously. “It’s a proverb.”

“From the Word of Life itself,” the demon affirmed. “Back to the point. You haven’t exactly won the favor of God here, what with all you’ve managed to manifest.” He gestured grandly at himself. “Sort of unfair if you ask me, seeing as how He’s the one who endowed you creatures with the authority to speak over us in the first place.” Rolling his eyes skywards, the demon clicked his tongue. “Stupid to make creatures in His image with free will. It’s just like that tree in the garden fiasco all over again. Anyway...” he smiled a bone-white smile that split his entire face in two. Zhengyi stood rooted to the spot, anger dissipating in the wake of terror. Gliding over to her, he leaned down at an impossible angle from the waist so that his face was level with hers. Her entire body trembled.

“What if I told you,” he began softly, “That I could give you the power to exact vengeance on Zhengli’s murderer?”

Zhengyi went still.

“And,” he went on, “To stop other criminals from doing the same thing to someone else?”

Zhengyi found her voice. “How?”

The demon’s grin widened. “Through a word, a touch, and a little…supernatural assistance.” He swept a hand to his chest. “You just tell me how you’d like one of these reprehensible criminals to take their own life. Then, all you need to do is make that person feel shame, lay hands on them, and speak my name. I’ll take over from there. Oh, right—” He chuckled. “The name’s Reap. Nice to meet ya. I, of course, already know your name.”

Zhengyi eyed Reap warily. “Are you saying that you can only make people die by suicide?”

“Hey, now.” Reap straightened up, looking affronted. “Whaddya mean, only? Don’t disrespect the impact of my methods. I’ll have you know that I was the one who took out Judas Iscariot.”

Against her better judgment, Zhengyi lifted an eyebrow. “Who?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The demon smacked a hand to his forehead. “That’s what I’m famous for! Do kids not read these days?”

Zhengyi stared at him.

Reap made a sound of contempt. “Forget it. Listen, kid. There are loads of creative ways to kill yourself. If you take my offer, you get to be the one who cooks up all the juicy details. I gotta hand it to you humans—you’ve got a great imagination. Plus, you’re corporeal.” His thin lips stretched into a tight smile. “There’s a lot I can do, but not much without the help of a human on the earthly plane. That’s why you and I could make a great team. So…what do you say?”

Zhengyi managed to think clearly for a moment. “What’s the catch?”

He smirked. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” Leaning back, he tapped his chin with a claw. “I wouldn’t call it a catch, per se...but you only get this power for a year, and in exchange, you have to make the best of it. No wasting the power you’ve been given, or it’ll start to get…uncomfortable for you.”

Goosebumps prickled Zhengyi’s skin. “In other words...I have to continuously make people kill themselves.”

“That’s a crude way of putting it. I prefer the term capital punishment. It’s sort of my specialty, making people get what they deserve. Isn’t that what you want, too?”

Another line from the book Zhengli had given her entered Zhengyi’s mind. “As a man sows, so shall he reap,” she quoted quietly. “Is that where your name comes from?”

The demon snapped his fingers gleefully. “So you do read!”

Zhengyi’s gaze traveled to her cousin’s tombstone. “I’m not sure this is what she would want,” she murmured.

Reap crossed his arms. “You’re saying that your beloved cousin wouldn’t appreciate getting some justice?”

“No, that isn’t what I meant—but...this is why I’m studying criminal justice at school,” she explained uncertainly. “So that I might be able to obtain that for her one day—the right way.”

“Yes, because ‘the right way’ has worked out so well for you so far,” Reap quipped. “Her killer is already free, running amok—perhaps even searching for new victims as we speak. Righteous punishment indeed.”

The words stung. Zhengyi went silent, shaking from both cold and rage.

Reap sighed. “How many years do you plan to waste chasing a possibility that might never happen, when you could simply choose who you want to die, how you want them to die, right away?”

Zhengyi processed his words. “But it wouldn’t be right away, would it?” she countered. “You said I have to first make a person feel shame for it to work. What if I don’t know what they’re ashamed of?”

Reap tutted. “You’ve already proven that you’re a sharp and studious little human. So put your skills to use. People aren’t so hard to crack in that department. Besides—” He grinned. “I can help.” At her inquiring look, he tapped his nose. “You humans have a certain smell to you when you feel things like fear, shame, and whatnot. I’ll let you know once it starts brewing, and then you’ll know it’s time to make your move and say the magic word. No one else will be able to see me, by the way.”

“And what do you get from all this?” Zhengyi asked.

“Besides the satisfaction of witnessing a human’s demise?” The demon’s grin stretched wide. “I get to feed on that person’s shame, up until the very end...and that’s my favorite delicacy.”

Zhengyi considered Reap’s offer for a long moment. Everything within her told her that trusting a demon could not be a good idea. Yet, everything he had said so far had rung true. Even if she did manage to find a job in law enforcement after graduation, how long would it take to climb the ladder and gain influence? How much red tape and corruption would she have to fight against? If she rejected the demon’s offer now, she might lose her only chance to ensure justice for Zhengli’s death. And wasn’t that ultimately what her cousin would’ve wanted?

“I alone get to choose who dies,” she said slowly. “Right?”

“Yep!” Reap replied cheerfully. “Your choice. Free will and all that. Just pick your mark, and I’ll mark them for the kill.”

His choice in words made her uneasy. What did he mean, mark them for the kill? “I’m not interested in going on a killing rampage,” she clarified. “That would make me no better than Ai Bing. I just want justice for Zhengli—and others like her.”

“‘Course you do.” Reap spread his fingers. “But how about a little vengeance, too?”

She gave him a dubious look. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

The corners of his mouth tilted high. “Sure it is.”

Zhengyi regarded the dark being a moment longer. There were people in this world, people like Ai Bing who would violate and abuse innocent women such as her cousin, who deserved death…but who didn’t always get what they deserved. If the law didn’t exact justice on them, then no one would. Those were the type of people who she could—and would—take down.

“I accept your proposal,” she declared.

No sooner did the words leave her lips than a sensation both bitingly cold and burning hot seared through her tongue, surging through her chest and down into her fingertips like wildfire. It hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before, as though molten flame and liquid ice had been simultaneously poured down her throat. She almost screamed, but the feeling disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Slowly, she opened her eyes, which had been squeezed shut from the pain.

The demon gloated over her, cackling. “Excellent.”

————————