2 years later…

Yuyu Zhu staked out her spot in the upper decks of the auditorium three hours before the awards ceremony began.

It was the finale of the Rising Phoenix Conference, the annual three-day extravaganza the Alchemist’s Guild put on. Alchemists from all over the Dynasty pooled to share their findings, mingle in cocktail banquets, and vote on matters of import. It all led up to the most important event of all—the Rising Phoenix Award, given out to the Alchemist who’d penned the most important publication of the year.

This year’s Award, just like last year’s, and the year before that, would go to Ruyi Yang, for her pioneering a Healing Elixir formula three times cheaper than the industry standard.

But this year’s Ceremony was special.

Rumor had it that Ruyi was to be declared an honorary Grandmaster—and given a seat on the Alchemist Guild’s board! In Yuyu’s opinion, it was long overdue. The rule age-limiting Masters to thirty years or older, and Gradmasters to fifty, was a relic. It was beyond obvious that certain rising stars like Ms. Yang and the Princess, Tingting Song, were well beyond master-level. Yuyu had complained as much, loudly, to her uncle, who also sat on the board.

It was finally coming to be! Long overdue in Yuyu’s opinion, but she was still ecstatic about it. She had brought all her collected papers, her clippings of Ms. Yang’s columns, even a portrait of her from an interview she’d done for the Post last spring. She’d brought all her letters too, tied up in a bundle with twine. Ruyi gazed out at the portrait artist with a look of dry amusement. She was so cool… Yuyu sighed. She’d been exchanging the odd letter with this—this genius, this living legend, which was surreal by itself—but she couldn’t believe she’d finally get to meet her in person! She hoped she could get all her stuff signed.

By the time the Awards ceremony began, the hall—originally an opera house, repackaged for the occasion—was packed to the brim. Everyone knew the significance of this moment. The youngest Grandmaster ever, and the youngest board member too! They were witnessing history. Yuyu could hardly wait.

The hour until the Ceremony began seemed to crawl by.

Then it started.

For a good five minutes, nothing happened. Then, just as the crowd was growing restless, Grandmaster Yin took the stage. “Greetings, fellow Alchemists!” he said, his voice strangely high. It was cool, yet his face was patched with sweat. “It is my pleasure to announce, on this auspicious day, the closing ceremony of the Rising Phoenix Conference…”

***

“We have to get you to a healer’s ward,” said Sen.

“No,” Ruyi managed to get out, and then went into another puking fit. She was curled up over a chamber pot, eyes bloodshot, hair a frazzled mess, a dark-green stream down the front of her dress robes. Outside the dressing room, a curtain away, Grandmaster Yin was regaling the crowd with some inane anecdote of his youth—trying to buy her time.

“My room,” she groaned. “There’s—a change of robes, get the black gown and there’s this bottle with these pills, they’re bright blue—”

She went back to puking. It felt like her stomach was a prisoner trying to escape her body by climbing up her throat.

Sen hesitated, but did as she asked.

Last night had been… eventful. She only remembered the first half of it. To celebrate she’d brought a gourd of wine the size of a coffin, and it was empty when she woke. Poor Sen had been in bed next to her, and had taken the full force of her first puke. She hadn’t stopped ever since.

Dimly she heard the echoes of Grandmaster Yin’s voice… “A most distinguished Alchemist indeed. She has drawn favorable comparisons to a young Boyuan…why, I remember when—”

Sen was back, gown over her arm, pills one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“What would I do without you?” groaned Ruyi. She snatched up three pills and drank them in a gulp. Ice water splashing inside her head. Sounds sharpened; the world stopped wobbling quite so much. She gasped. She could breathe again.

It wasn’t so much a hangover cure as a hangover deferrer. She’d be bent over a chamber pot again in a few hours’ time. But for now—“Comb, please?” she rasped.

Sharp raps at the door. “Ten seconds!” a voice called. Ruyi breathed in deep, staring at the lady in the mirror. She hoped she looked put together. She felt like she was about to shatter into a thousand thousand pieces; she could barely stand up straight—her knees kept knocking together. Black spots splotched her vision. She was sure she might faint any moment. “I’m ready,” she said, plastering on a smile.

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***

“Presenting… Ruyi Yang!”

Thunderous applause. The curtains parted. For a heartbeat, no-one appeared.

Then Ruyi strutted on through, chin held high, like a goddess descending from the Heavens. Her hair flowed down her back in a silky wave, not a lock out of place. It blended into a spotless black gown. Her smile had a hint of amusement, like she was playing a little joke on all of them. It was like she felt no pressure at all. She was so calm, so poised, so put together. She was perfect, Yuyu thought.

Yuyu leaned over the railings to get a better look as Ruyi ascended the podium. Grandmaster Yin fastened a medallion around her neck, said his pretty words, and finally it was her turn to speak.

“Good afternoon,” she said. Her voice, smooth and measured, carried well across the hall. “First, I would like to thank the Guild, and all of you, for voting me the Rising Phoenix Award winner. I gather I’m meant to spout off for a while on how great I am. And don’t get me wrong—I do love telling everyone I possibly can.” A chuckle went through the crowd. Ruyi wore a dry grin but Yuyu got the sense she wasn’t joking.

“But there’s a better use for the one time a year I have all of your attentions. Here’s a question for you: What’s the point of Alchemy?” said Ruyi. She paused, like she was waiting for someone to answer her.

“I’m serious. What’s the point? Why do it? The earliest elixir was the healing elixir, made to patch up wounds. Then came the qi elixir, made to strengthen the body and spirit. Alchemy—the essence of the art and craft—is meant to harness the energies of the Heavens to help people.”

Yuyu blinked. She saw her expression mirrored across the floor as heads turned to one another, blinking—what was Ruyi talking about?

“Ah, yes—you’re baffled. You’re baffled because the question seems ridiculous. Alchemy doesn’t have a point. It is, to most of us, an intellectual exercise,” continued Ruyi, leaning heavily on the podium. “It has detached itself from useful applications. It no longer has to justify itself. We push the boundaries of knowledge for the sake of pushing the boundaries of knowledge, right? And so we huddle in our little labs, working out complex formulae for experimental, often merely theoretical formulae. We quibble over edge cases, endlessly debate obscurities. Why? Because we can.”

She coughed into her fist. “Excuse me. Those of us at the so-called cutting edge—have our efforts affected any great change in the Realm? Don’t get me wrong. I love a good theoretical koan as much as the next Alchemist. And perhaps the obscurity of today becomes the ubiquity of tomorrow! But there is so much to be done today, here, now. In these turbulent times, it would do all of us good to think more practically…”

Ruyi smiled thinly.

“Today,” she said, voice loud and clear, “I challenge you to reconsider what it means to be an Alchemist. When you start a new problem, first ask—what’s the point? Who does this help, here and now? Thank you.”

To the side, Grandmaster Yin’s expression had gone from awkward to pained. “Miss Yang—”

“Grandmaster Yang,” corrected Ruyi.

“Grandmaster,” agreed Grandmaster Yin. “Would you kindly clarify what you mean by practical utility? I sense some in the audience remain rather confused.”

Grandmaster Yin wasn’t only a master of alchemy, he was also a master of understatement.

“Very well. If you’ll indulge me, let me use myself as an example,” said Ruyi. “Most of my time these past few years has been spent brewing, and experimenting on, the most basic elixir—the Healing Elixir. And you all are giving me an award for it. It is a lovely award, don’t get me wrong. But…” She took off the medallion and studied it; its golden glow was reflected in her face.

“My work has saved the lives of tens of thousands in the Lower City. My work has gone into the world, and done good.”

“In the Lower City,” Grandmaster Yin pointed out, like it was an asterisk.

“Yes, in the Lower City,” said Ruyi, “And I’m proud of it, thank you. When I think of the worth of my Alchemy, that is what I think of… in comparison—”

She shrugged, tossing the medal over her shoulder. Gasps rankled the crowd.

“This award is nothing,” she said. Yuyu got the sense she knew exactly what she was doing. “Think higher, my fellow Alchemists. Thank you.”

The crowd exploded. She strutted off the stage. Yuyu watched her go wide-eyed.

“…So cool…” she whispered.

***

“Sen?” said Ruyi out one side of her mouth. The other half held a practiced smile.

“Yes?”

“Hold me up by the elbow please, I’m about to keel over. But be subtle about it.”

As she felt Sen prop her up she gave a little wave. She hoped she’d struck the right balance between shock and subtlety. It helped that they adored her here. She could’ve said pretty much anything and they still would’ve cheered her.

“Steer me to the backrooms,” she got out. “It’s too loud. It feels like my skull’s about to explode.” Then, louder—“Ah—Grandmaster Tao, how lovely to see you!”

She gave a tiny toddling old man a one-armed-hug, exchanged some meaningless small-talk before she managed to break free.

“Rue?” said Sen, biting her lip. “Can I give you my honest opinion?”

“Sure. Why not?” It was good to hear Sen out when she was troubled; it was more for her than it was for Ruyi.

“You should stop drinking,” said Sen, wheeling her up a flight of stairs. “You’re scaring me.”

Ruyi rolled her eyes. “Sure I can go overboard sometimes, but I’m holding together just fine when it matters, aren’t I? Trust me—everything’s under control.”

“You threw up on me this morning,” mumbled Sen. “I don’t like being thrown up on.”

“And I’m sorry for that,” said Ruyi. Gently she brushed Sen on the arm, giving her a doe-eyed look. “It won’t happen again. Promise.”

Sen softened, just as Ruyi knew she would. “Okay…”

“Um. Ruyi?”

Ruyi’s heart stuttered, like it was gasping in her chest. Slowly she turned.

Tingting Song stood before her, cheeks flushed, eyes trained on the ground. She wore a flattering silver-lace dress, and on her head was a tiara inlaid with a pink gemstone like a bird’s egg. She was, to Ruyi’s dismay, every bit as beautiful as Ruyi remembered.

“I came to say congratulations.”