Nancy Collins

“I’ve done you a disservice,” he said at last. “It’s only fair to let you know, but you won’t have a normal life span.”
I bit my lip. “Have you come to take my soul, then?”
“I told you that’s not my jurisdiction. But you’re not going to die soon. In fact, you won’t die for a long time, far longer than I initially thought, I’m afraid. Nor will you age normally.”
“Because I took your qi?”
He inclined his head. “I should have stopped you sooner.”
I thought of the empty years that stretched ahead of me, years of solitude long after everyone I loved had died. Though I might have children or grandchildren. But perhaps they might comment on my strange youthfulness and shun me as unnatural. Whisper of sorcery, like those Javanese women who inserted gold needles in their faces and ate children. In the Chinese tradition, nothing was better than dying old and full of years, a treasure in the bosom of one’s family. To outlive descendants and endure a long span of widowhood could hardly be construed as lucky. Tears filled my eyes, and for some reason this seemed to agitate Er Lang, for he turned away. In profile, he was even more handsome, if that was possible, though I was quite sure he was aware of it.
“It isn’t necessarily a good thing, but you’ll see all of the next century, and I think it will be an interesting one.”
“That’s what Tian Bai said,” I said bitterly. “How long will I outlive him?”
“Long enough,” he said. Then more gently, “You may have a happy marriage, though.”
“I wasn’t thinking about him,” I said. “I was thinking about my mother. By the time I die, she’ll have long since gone on to the courts for reincarnation. I shall never see her again.” I burst into sobs, realizing how much I’d clung to that hope, despite the fact that it might be better for my mother to leave the Plains of the Dead. But then we would never meet in this lifetime. Her memories would be erased and her spirit lost to me in this form.
“Don’t cry.” I felt his arms around me, and I buried my face in his chest. The rain began to fall again, so dense it was like a curtain around us. Yet I did not get wet.
“Listen,” he said. “When everyone around you has died and it becomes too hard to go on pretending, I shall come for you.”
“Do you mean that?” A strange happiness was beginning to grow, twining and tightening around my heart.
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“Can’t I go with you now?”
He shook his head. “Aren’t you getting married? Besides, I’ve always preferred older women. In about fifty years’ time, you should be just right.”
I glared at him. “What if I’d rather not wait?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you mean that you don’t want to marry Tian Bai?”
I dropped my gaze.
“If you go with me, it won’t be easy for you,” he said warningly. “It will bring you closer to the spirit world and you won’t be able to lead a normal life. My work is incognito, so I can’t keep you in style. It will be a little house in some strange town. I shan’t be available most of the time, and you’d have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
I listened with increasing bewilderment. “Are you asking me to be your mistress or an indentured servant?”
His mouth twitched. “I don’t keep mistresses; it’s far too much trouble. I’m offering to marry you, although I might regret it. And if you think the Lim family disapproved of your marriage, wait until you meet mine.”
I tightened my arms around him.
“Speechless at last,” Er Lang said. “Think about your options. Frankly, if I were a woman, I’d take the first one. I wouldn’t underestimate the importance of family.”
“But what would you do for fifty years?”
He was about to speak when I heard a faint call, and through the heavy downpour, saw Yan Hong’s blurred figure emerge between the trees, Tian Bai running beside her. “Give me your answer in a fortnight,” said Er Lang. Then he was gone.”
― Yangsze Choo, The Ghost Bride

“I liked the moon, with its soft silver beams. It was at once elusive and filled with trickery, so that lost objects that had rolled into the crevices of a room were rarely found, and books read in its light seemed to contain all sorts of fanciful stories that were never there the next morning.”
― Yangsze Choo, The Ghost Bride

“Down at the old house, I’ve made a serious effort to rejuvenate what was once my garden and lawn. And I’ve been rewarded with all sorts of forgotten and neglected plants making surprise appearances. Random daffodils and narcissus. A fairy rose that I thought was gone forever. And, despite some very enthusiastic pruning by the local deer population, the little plum trees look as if they will survive. There is one that is very battered as the deer used it to rub the velvet off their antlers, but it is sending up some shoots and it may yet live for another year.

So. Spring. The most forgiving season of the year.”
― Megan Lindholm

“If I had known how easy it is to lose your life, I would have treasured mine better".”
― Yangsze Choo, The Ghost Bride