Insignia: Chinese Fantasy Stories: The Insignia Series, #2

By Kelly Matsuura, Joyce Chng, L. Chan and 2 more

INSIGNIA Vol.2 includes 7 Chinese fantasy stories with a mix of urban, literary, contemporary, myth-based, and historical fantasy pieces.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWWP Publishing
• Release date: Jun 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393476870

Kelly Matsuura

Kelly Matsuura grew up in Victoria, Australia, but always dreamed she would live abroad.  She has lived in northern China, Michigan in the US, and over ten years in Nagoya, Japan, where she now lives permanently. Kelly has published numerous short stories online; in group anthologies; and in several self-published anthologies. Her stories have been published by Visibility Fiction, Crushing Hearts & Black Butterfly Publishing, A Murder of Storytellers, and Ink and Locket Press. She majored in Asian Studies at university, and (sometimes) studies Japanese, Chinese and German. Her other hobbies include cooking, knitting, sewing, and traveling. As the creator and editor for The Insignia Series, Kelly uses her knowledge of Asian cultures to help other indie authors produce great diverse stories and to share the group's work with a new audience.

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors. Stories are the authors’ original work and are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons (living or dead) or real situations is coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission from the authors. Short extracts for reviews are allowed.

Other Books in The Insignia Series:

‘Insignia: Japanese Stories’ (October 2013)

‘Insignia: Southeast Asian Fantasy’ (April 2016)

‘Insignia: Asian Fantasy Stories’ (March 2017)

‘Insignia: Asian Science Fiction’ (July 2018)

‘Insignia: Asian Birds & Beasts’ (August 2018)

‘Insignia: Asian Flash Fiction & Poetry’ (2019)

PART I

Young Adult/Adventure Tales

‘The Bones Shine Through with Light’ by Joyce Chng

‘Looking for Trouble’ by Joyce Chng

‘The Great Qilin’ by Kelly Matsuura

THE BONES SHINE THROUGH WITH LIGHT

Joyce Chng

Children go to bed with stories of the tiger demoness who eats knuckle-bones like peanuts. They huddle under their blankets while images of bones being crushed by huge fangs spin in their frightened minds.

The tiger demoness prowls in the shadows, a feline shadow in pools of darkness. In her human form, she is an old lady, kindly, if you don't really look too closely at her eyes. Her cold, amber eyes.

She sometimes offers her services as a nanny to tired farmers. Once the deal is done, the fate of their children is sealed. While the parents work tirelessly in the rice fields, the tiger lady comes and feasts on the soft, plumb flesh of her charges. She keeps the knuckle-bones, stores them up and eats them later.

Kerunch, kerunch, kerunch. The storyteller will always embellish the story with awful sounds. Kerunch. Because the tiger demoness relishes the taste, the texture. Kerunch.

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Word spread about the appearance of a strange old lady. She just turned up along the edges of Wulong village, a lone figure in rags. She found residence in an abandoned rice shack. People said that they could see smoke rising forth from a hidden fire. They said that they heard strange noises from the rice shack.

Tiger demoness, they whispered in the tea houses. Tiger demoness, they whispered in the bustling marketplace where the dumplings steamed and candied hawthorn enticed little children. Parents shooed their children into the safety of their houses and bade them never to wander near the demoness' rice shack.

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I find myself wandering too closely to the tiger demoness' hut, my feet crunching too loudly on the fallen mulberry leaves. Late in autumn, there is a chill in the air.

I smell fire, the comforting aroma of burning wood. I also smell meat. Barbequed meat, like Old Gao's famous, mouth-watering roasted duck. I peer through the rushes, feeling my stomach grumble with hunger. Now as winter approaches I grow hungry often.

Bones. A lot of bones. Hanging in clusters. Whole skeletons, all grotesque, like miniature gui. Ghosts. The light piercing through the roof shines through the bones, making them glow. The sight is oddly beautiful.

The bones tell me I have a visitor! The voice. Like a thunderclap, like a gentle grandmotherly caress.

I cry out in terror and scramble for my life. My heart drums like a mad festival gong.

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The strange old lady was odd in her ways. She sang to bones, they said, secretly in their huts, during the dark of night. She sang to bones and they danced like puppets during Spring Festival shows.

Ach! Afterwards, she eats them! Women muttered amongst themselves when they met at the local well. Tiger demoness! Eater of bones! Feh, feh, feh!

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I am creeping towards the old rice shack once more, thrilling and delicious danger coursing in my body. I want to know more about the old lady. I want to know about the bones aglow with light. It is colder now; winter is definitely closer. In the village, they are selling spicy dumplings that warm the body when eaten hot. The rice is now harvested. Very soon it will be Winter Solstice.

Fire, and the smell-taste of barbequed meat in the air. There is singing, like the lullaby Mother uses to rock my little brother to sleep. It sounds so sad, so poignant.

I poke a tentative finger through the brittle rush.

She is stripping meat off bones. Cooking meat sizzles on hot coals. I watch her fingers, so gnarled yet delicate, peel off the meat in red ribbons. And for a horrible moment, I know that she is going to eat the bones. Like peanuts or pumpkin seeds. Kerunch. Kerunch. Kerunch.

I continue to watch. The meat is making me salivate.

She is done with the bones now, carefully arranging them on the floor. Her expression. Concentration, as if she is reading. Her eyes are closed. Her mouth moves.

A cluck-cluck-cluck almost scares me half to death. I look at the rooster strutting in front of me, all colorful feathers and a brilliantly red, floppy comb.

Will he end up being her dinner?

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Li Jian and his farmer cronies complained loudly about their missing chickens and ducks. This late in autumn, with the first frost on the ground, they needed the meat and the eggs; the latter to make salted eggs to sell in the markets and feed their families. Their families were always hungry.

Meanwhile, everyone prepared for winter. Mothers brought out the thick winter clothing and mended old garments. The village would soon become silent, covered with snow.

Children listened to the stories of tigress demons feasting on knuckle-bones and felt hungry, sad, and scared. They slept fitfully though, as the snow began to fall in flurries of white.

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Wrapped in thick fleece, I struggle towards the rice shack. There is the smell of fire and the tantalizing aroma of roasting meat. My stomach growls.

When I peek in, she is hanging bones. They swing slightly, stirred by some invisible breeze. They are white, the color of snow.  Tiny gui. Tiny ghosts bereft of feathers and skin. She lifts one bone up, a tiny bone the size of my finger, and gazes at it. The fire in the rice shack crackles, casting jittery shadows on the rush walls. More bones, more skeletons–many