Huijin's chest rose and fell as he tamed his breath like gege had taught him once. If he had been less numb, less hollow, he would have allowed himself to remember the broad, warm hand as it ran through his hair.

  But though the bridges between him and Yin Yue had been burned, been ruined beyond repair, they had ever been, at heart, of the same cloth. Their tempers had the same silk, the same iron, the same shards of gss. And likewise were their minds not so disparate that the servant held no doubts of his own towards the white-haired ndowner.

  They were not born from the broken trinket, nor the presence or absence of grief for his friend and brother, nor the want of concern for his own farmhands. It was the strange wound on his arm the ashen one wondered at.

  "Yin Yue," began he, "no, Yue'er, have you heard about this Qian-gongzi before? Had gege ever spoken of him or this vilge?"

  And Ming-zongzhu buckled under the invitation in his servant's voice. He near fell to his knees, near clutched at the gray robes. But in the end, though he drooped, though his hand clenched, he did not come closer. He dried his cheeks and heaved his words more than he spoke them.

  "No, but — gege might have mentioned Caodi vilge, but it is on our nds. And gege had so many acquaintances, so many that he could not mention them all."

  "So far, we found two former cultivators in Caodi," mused the ashen one. That was not peculiar, but the thought would not leave him.

  "Had gege ever spoken of anyone here who cultivated after the path of menders?" he asked. "Or knew the arts to hasten the repairs of injuries?" That was a rare art; that much did he know. Few cultivators could master it. If such a capable man dwelt here, and if gege had bestowed on him a token of honor, it stood to reason that he would have mentioned this man.

  Yin Yue allowed himself to think as he dried his nose. In truth, gege had told him little of the wide world; had spoken little of the wild jianghu or his own affairs as Ming-zongzhu. It had been his pleasure to speak of his younger brother's gardens; his friends and his games. What knew Yin Yue, wondered the boy, of menders and sages, of the heroes of this realm of rivers and kes? He raised his shoulders to admit his defeat, but just as he was about to let them fall and decre himself an ignorant boy, he too remembered that repulsive wound on the ndowner's forearm. His shoulders remained by his ears as he frowned.

  "No, that does not— Huijin? If a spirit-bear took his friend, if it mauled him and hauled him into the woods, would it not have bitten his arm off? Those rifts— they seemed too small for a bear's maw. Much too small."

  "One man says hound, another man says bear," answered the ashen one, pensive. "I do not know that this spirit has a form."

  The boy's frown deepened. "Those wounds? Huijin, they were from a hound's bite. I am sure of it."

  "But they seemed old, Yue'er. Older than a mere day."

  Yin Yue rubbed his neck. "Old, yes. About a moon old?"

  "Yes," agreed Huijin. "So lest he can direct the flow of his qi to repair himself, I do not see why he should cim the wounds to be fresh. His friend died a mere day ago; the same day he cimed to have been scratched or bitten."

  As he mused thus, he came closer to his young master and raised his own sleeve. It was a gesture of habit, a gesture of old, with no thought behind it. So often had he dried the boy's cheeks in the past that his hand still remembered what his heart did not.

  But he caught himself in the act and hid his wrist behind his back.

  If Yin Yue had at all perceived this, he kept quiet about it. Rather he mirrored his servant and rested his own hand behind his back, as if he meant to conjure composure, then turned his eye for the southern path where the former cultivator had walked.

  "He said his friend was sin to the south — that the beast left only blood behind. He spoke of bear dens. If he lied, why? Why not just cim ignorance?"

  Huijin's hand returned to the hilt of his sword. Night had fallen around them, and in the wake of his earlier wrath, the slow breath of dread crept up to him. Pale stars hid behind clouds as dark as the smoke from burnt ruins, and he could no longer see what stirred on those distant meadows.

  It was te, and Lu Yuxin had not returned.

  And yet was it the boy's why which now chilled the marrow of his bones. His thoughts skipped like pebbles across a pond, beyond the fetters of his own will. Why? Why would a man not cim ignorance in such circumstances? Why would he burst forth from the shrubs with a token of Cn Ming held before Ming-zongzhu? Why did he keep the token with him at all, when such a badge of honor ought be kept safe in the man's own abode?

  Because he had hoped to lure us into the woods, offered his own treacherous mind.

  At first, he rebuked himself for such suspicions. He thought too much; saw shadows where no shadows ought be seen. He was addled from a long day's travel on the road, from the boy's petunce and the teeth of fear hooked into his own spirit.

  Yet no such rebukes could quell the tremors in his hand. They were alone, him and the boy, while the skies darkened above them. Hang the why. Hang this Qian-gongzi!

  He resolved at once to take Yin Yue under a warm roof, behind a locked door, before a fire which could ward off the forces of the night. With as much calm as he could muster, he answered, "Yue'er, this begets a closer examination. But it is te, and you have not yet eaten. Let us return to the farmstead."

  The boy ran a hand over his face, his eyes red and strained. He bowed his head with reluctance and spoke with a voice of dew, "I can't get my thoughts in order, Huijin. Just now, I had a thought most — most absurd. So absurd it amuses me to think of it. For — what if there is no spirit at all?" He chuckled at his own specution, the sound as hollow and dark as the night.

  From the corner of his eye, the ashen one looked at his young master. He did not ugh.

  Yin Yue quieted. He stood quiet a while, shamed, then took a deep breath to decre the end of their bors for the night.

  And yet, the first word never left his mouth before he convulsed, his back tense as if awash in abrupt agony. He writhed like a skewered worm on a fisherman's hook.

  Huijin's first, wide-eyed cry was swallowed by a howl. Carried on a dread wind from the northern meadows, it washed over them and blotted out the night. Too terrible was this cry to belong to the mortal realm; though faraway, it burrowed, cwed underneath skin, pierced frayed armor and found purchase in buried pain and grief half-forgotten.

  It was followed by the cries of farmhands, by the frantic bleats of sheep and the telltale hiss of a sword loosened from its sheath.

  Huijin's knees buckled under the onsught of terror so sudden it thrust the very st breath from his chest. The howl hit him like a hammer below the ribs, widened his eyes, whitened his thoughts. All but one thought fled him, and that one he mustered to capture and tether. His bde would be of no use, flight would not avail them, that no tree or hollow could shield them. All he could remember was gege's old lecture; the tormented of the lower realm preyed on those who yet breathed and hungered for the warmth of mortal blood.

  He did not think at all when he threw himself upon the boy and fttened him to the earth; his back a shield for his zongzhu.

  Yin Yue had no mind to shield himself from this onsught. His eyes flew wide as his chest hit the earth, and he cwed at his servant's wrists as the man's thin hands fell to cover his ears. A wide sleeve fell over his eyes while his cheek was shoved into the dry earth.

  A breath fell on his ear, words ferocious in their distress.

  "St— still, Yin Yue, hold still!"

  Yin Yue froze. His own voice left him in a frayed gasp, small and thin and far, far from the confident lilt of a zongzhu of his cn.

  "Huijin? Huijin? What happened?"

  His servant did not answer. Huijin tensed his back and lowered his head and awaited the dreaded cws of some spectral horror to tear into him.

  The awaited pain never came. From the near meadow, the cries of farmhands quieted, the bleats of sheep grew sparse. A brief while ter, a door opened at the Qian farmstead, but the farmhand who ran into the night turned for the field and saw no one on the road, and so was Ming-zongzhu spared disgrace.

  "Huijin?" pleaded the boy, "Huijin!"

  In the night's silence, Huijin dared to raise his chin. A bead of sweat fell and soaked into the colr of his young master, but his eyes was abze. The road was deserted; no ghosts or wraiths in sight.

  He clenched his teeth. With a strength his thin frame belied, he tore the boy to his feet and drew his own bde.

  "Come with me," demanded he.

  Yin Yue's breath stuttered. He unsheathed his own sword and stumbled after his keeper, eyes on the darkened meadows behind them.

  Huijin turned his back on the Qian farmstead and towed him like a merchant tows his belligerent mule. His breath whistled past his teeth while his qi thrummed under the skin of his own frigid hands.

  He did not know which deity of the Divine Realm he owed his gratitude when they at st reached the porch of Elder Ban's farmstead. With brute force, he threw open the door, shoved the zongzhu into the warmth, and croaked an apology to the frightened farmhands around the firepit. Before Yin Yue could find his feet, he turned him for the stairs to the garret.

  Yin Yue near fell at this shove, his sword held like a child's stick in his hands. Though he could not hear the murmurs at his back, the farmhands' eyes had spoken enough. Here was the head of Cn Ming, brought into shelter while a resentful spirit haunted their pastures. The former Ming-zongzhu would never, had their gazes said. Is the boy of any use at all, had their eyes asked.

  And so, no sooner than Huijin could shut the door to their small chamber upstairs, he whipped around and rasped, "Wait — I cannot stay here!"

  The ashen one batted some hair from his brow, his sword still drawn, his mouth pale as death. His chest strove to swell under breaths too shallow.

  "You can and you will," he promised. "Sheathe your weapon and sit down."

  "But Huijin!" cried Yin Yue, "they will talk."

  Huijin thrust out his sleeve, voice tight.

  "Let them talk."

  At that, the boy quieted and lowered his sword until it pierced the old bamboo floor. He turned from his servant and went to the window to stare at the night. Gege would never, thought he. Never.

  It was strange, he told himself. When he first heard the spirit's howl, he had been frightened. But in the wake of that terror, his calm had returned to him, as if he had never lost his nerve at all. A resentful ghost haunted the meadows, Lu Yuxin had not returned to them, and yet was he not afraid.

  "I am not afraid, Huijin."

  His servant turned heel, drawn taut like the chords of a qin strung too tight. He whisked over the coarse wood to rid himself of the fine tremors in his shoulders, but his mind still refused to clear.

  "And why not?" barked he.

  His eyes bit into the boy's neck. Do you not understand, you imbecile, that even Lu Yuxin has failed to return? Do you not understand what this means?

  Stunned, Yin Yue stared back. Why not? He scratched the nape of his neck with the hilt of his sword and turned back to the meadows. Why not? He did not know why his terror had left him like water on a duck's feathers. There was in him some voice, the voice of youthful arrogance perhaps, which told him that this spirit posed no great threat, all evidence to spite.

  He could not say that to Huijin.

  At st did he settle upon one suitable, defensible thought.

  "Because Lu Yuxin will send it," he offered.

  And where is Lu Yuxin now? begged Huijin's tongue to ask. But he swallowed the dire question. The boy kept calm; calmer than his servant. A fool's calm might this be, but did they need a fearful Ming-zongzhu now?

  Did he need that paper-thin spirit fraught with fear, when Yin Yue was kept whole with little more than silken thread and air?

  "You may be right," he agreed, as if persuaded. "It does appear that your shifu went on a nighthunt."

  The insufferable, inconsiderate, neglectful boor that he is, the ashen one did not say. He left us. And I could not prevent it.

  Well, he thought, if the man does not return by dawn, we will send for the sergeant and Cn Ming's best and oldest cultivators. Every st one.

  "If you have calmed yourself," said he rather, with affected ease but no warmth, "go down to speak to the farmhands and reassure them. It will amend some of the doubts they have towards you."

  Yin Yue made a face. How could he reassure the farmerhands? How could he even face the men who had given up their beds for them, when they had seen Ming-zongzhu flee the night like a rabbit? He touched his forehead, the beats of his heart painful behind his eyes.

  "What does it matter? I am the worst —" he broke off, "look, there is Lu Yuxin!"

  Huijin drew closer to the window with hurried steps. A head taller than his master, he gazed past the boy's head and narrowed his eyes to see what hid in the dark beyond.

  A lone silhouette was there on the road towards the farmstead. The mane of the Red Tiger of Ming was unmistakable.