The three Arkana agents had just finished checking into their hotel in Luoshui – one of the many villages that rimmed the lake. Despite Cassie’s misgivings about Rou, the girl had proven herself an able travel guide. She had taken charge of booking their accommodations and gotten them on the right airplane to Lijiang and the right bus to the lake. At the moment, she was in the hotel lobby haggling over their bill with the proprietor. It seemed that Rou’s self-consciousness disappeared whenever she was speaking her own language.
Cassie scanned the architectural style of the buildings surrounding the lake and let out a soft chuckle. Given the evergreens and mountains, the hostelries in the area looked like Rocky Mountain ski lodges complete with knotty pine paneling in the guest rooms. The pagoda roofs offered the only hint that this wasn’t Colorado. The parallel to the Wild West was further emphasized by the cowboy hats and blue jeans that Mosuo men wore.
In contrast, Mosuo women were more likely to be seen in traditional attire—long white cotton skirts covered with elaborately embroidered jackets and sashes. Their headdresses were even more intricate than their clothing, consisting of thick black turbans festooned with beadwork, flowers, and ropes of pearls.
The pythia glanced at a group of Europeans avidly snapping photos of the lake, the surrounding mountains and a costumed villager posing in the foreground. Tourist season was just beginning to gear up, and tourism was booming for the Mosuo. The anthropological oddity of a “Kingdom of Women” advertised in travel brochures was an irresistible draw to both Asians and Westerners alike. It had transformed the previously obscure location of Lugu Lake into a must-see attraction. The natives were happy to oblige since tourist money had given them a prosperous lifestyle beyond the reach of most rural Chinese.
The Mosuo didn’t seem to mind that some visitors came to the lake in search of lax moral conduct. Han Chinese sex workers, dressed in Mosuo costume, had been imported to fulfill male tourist fantasies in a small red-light district. The local women, as a rule, were more selective in their romantic partners than outsiders anticipated.
Lugu Lake had other attractions to offer besides the lurid prospect of nightly orgies. Nature buffs were drawn to its picturesque beauty, and the best way to see that beauty was via pig-trough boat. The shallow-bottomed, square-ended skiffs were so named because they looked like feeding containers for swine. At the moment, several oarsmen sat at anchor waiting to row tourists across the water to get a closer view of the islands dotting the lake and the mountain beyond.
Griffin walked up beside Cassie, interrupting her reverie. “Amazing view, isn’t it?”
She turned. “Where’s Rou?”
The scrivener laughed. “She’s still involved in a heated dispute with the innkeeper over the rate we’re being charged. I didn’t catch what she was saying, but I suspect she’ll prevail in the end.”
“I think we underestimated her.” Cassie’s tone was rueful.
“She’s certainly proven her worth in getting us to this rather out-of-the-way speck on the map.” Griffin looked behind him. “Ah, here she is now. Is everything sorted out?”
Rou scurried up to them, looking flushed and mildly irritated. “The bill was wrong.”
“Thanks for straightening things out for us.” The pythia gave an encouraging smile.
Rou bobbed her head in acknowledgment. Ill at ease with the direct compliment, she immediately changed the subject. Pointing straight across the lake from where they were standing, she announced, “Gemu Goddess Mountain.”
“I can see why somebody would have picked that mountain as the home of a goddess,” Cassie observed. “The shape is really unusual.”
Rising on the opposite side of the lake was a long flat-topped mountain. It’s upper half, devoid of trees, appeared golden brown in the afternoon light.
“It almost looks like an animal crouching,” the pythia observed. “A tiger or maybe a lion stalking its prey.”
“It was once called ‘Lion Mountain,’” the girl informed them.
Griffin, who had been casually gazing at the scenery, swung abruptly to face Rou. “What did you say?”
She took a frightened step backward.
“Griffin!” Cassie warned. “Ease off.”
Recovering, the scrivener apologized. “I’m terribly sorry, Rou. I didn’t mean to alarm you. You said that the peak across the lake was once known as ‘Lion Mountain’?”
The girl nodded warily. “In ancient times.”
“Good grief! I’m a complete idiot.” Griffin sloped off to a bench next to the water. Puzzled, his two companions followed him and sat down.
“You want to explain why?” Cassie prompted.
He sighed and raked his hands through his hair. “The riddle. It all makes sense now.”
“Riddle?” Rou ventured uncertainly.
Cassie took up the explanation. “Each of the artifacts we’re trying to find is inscribed with a riddle to help us locate the next one. The current clue stumped us both. It says: ‘The kindred stir upon the high sharp peak where the river flows red to the serpent's heart. Under the lawgiver’s glare, its coils tremble in the mirror at the lion’s feet.’”
The girl seemed no less baffled by the attempt at clarification. “Lion’s feet?”
“Yes, Rou, lion!” Griffin announced triumphantly. “As in Lion Mountain. I feel confident that I can decipher the clue completely now.” The scrivener’s eyes had taken on a feverish glow which Cassie interpreted as a good sign. It usually meant he was on the verge of making an important discovery.
“So, spill already!” the pythia commanded.
He grinned happily. “The confusion arose because we both thought the lion’s feet of the riddle referred to Regulus in the constellation of Leo. Though Regulus does factor into the time of year for our search, quite a different lion points to the location of the artifact. We are being instructed to look near the foot of Lion Mountain. And what do we find there? A lake. All lakes are reflective surfaces or mirrors if you will. So, the mirror in which the serpent’s coils tremble is the lake itself. It reflects a shimmering image
