He gestures to a pile of equipment near his feet. Some of it, like the ropes, look like gear I’d find among the miners. Other items—metal rings, spikes, and hammer-like tools—are beyond me.
Some of this is from the mines, he confirms. The rest is from the magistrate’s supply shed. It has been stored there for centuries, but I was able to find pieces still in good shape. His face darkens. I had to steal all of it.
I know, I tell him. I had to steal the food too.
He shakes off his dismay and forces a smile. None of that will matter when we return with new supplies, right?
Right, I say, trying to smile back. I don’t bother pointing out what he already knows: that there’s no guarantee we’ll make it back, let alone with any bounty. Do you know how to use this stuff?
Much of it works like what we’ve used in the mines, he tells me. I’ve read up on what I don’t know and made some inquiries in the past. He glances up at the sky, where the full moon is descending in the west, still bright. In the east, however, I see a faint purpling of the sky as the sun readies itself for the day. Ready to go?
Ready as I’ll ever be, I reply.
He gives me a quick primer on the basics of the equipment and then shocks me when he uses some of the rope to tie us together. He grins when he sees my astonishment.
Nervous about being so close to me? he asks, giving the rope a slight tug.
I cross my arms, refusing to be baited by that dangerous question—even if there is truth to it. But whatever my feelings for him, I must focus on the larger picture: Zhang Jing and our village’s future.
Don’t get any ideas, I warn.
A small smile tugs at his lips. And what kind of ideas would those be, apprentice?
You know what kind of ideas. Just because we’re going on this journey, it doesn’t mean anything has changed. I meant what I said two years ago: My life has taken a different course. We can’t be together. I cross my arms imperiously, hoping I am convincing and that I’m not letting on that his nearness makes my pulse quicken.
He scrutinizes me, trying to determine if I’m telling the truth. Very well, he says. If that’s the way you feel, far be it from me to interfere. He gives the rope around my waist a test tug. There. It’s an older rope, but it should hold. I can’t risk you slipping and falling, he explains. This way, I can help you.
Or go down with me, I point out.
Then don’t fall, he advises.
The ropes and rings become a confusing web to me, but Li Wei understands them and how they’ll work to keep us safe. He secures our climbing ropes at the top of the cliff and hands me a pair of miner’s gloves. Although we are loosely tied to each other, we each have our own rope to rappel down with, and I grip mine with a tightness born out of fear as much as necessity. Li Wei makes the first leap, launching himself over the edge. A pit opens up in my stomach as I watch him drop, but then the rope goes taut in his grip, and his feet land on the mountain’s stony face, securing his position. Stable and safe, he glances up at me nonchalantly, as though what he just did was perfectly ordinary. Easy, even. I’m sure I look terrified, but there is no coddling from Li Wei. The challenge in his gaze spurs me on, and before I have a chance to second-guess myself, I leap over the edge as well.
I do exactly as he did, hopping only a short distance down, but that first leap feels a hundred miles long. The air rushes past me, and for a few terrifying seconds, I feel as though I’m floating, with nothing to save me. Then my feet strike the mountain’s side with a teeth-rattling jolt. The rope above me holds true, and I squeeze it tightly, grateful for its security . . . yet fully aware that its security is a tenuous thing. One snap, one slip, and there would be nothing to save me from the drop.