Below, Lu Yuxin raised his head as he walked. Though his gaze could not be seen, the boy shrank back and lowered his hand. “He hates when you point at him,” he murmured.

  The swordmaster hasted towards the farmstead. While his gait was hurried, his sword remained sheathed and his back seemed at ease.

  And Huijin’s breath left him in a stutter. In all his years spent under the banner of Cn Ming, he had not thought he could be so joyous to see the Red Tiger appear. Then, in that soil of relief, fresh anger sprouted. Some protector this man was! Absent half the night while his young master faced the perils of Caodi alone.

  His mouth thinned in a manner that boded ill.

  As Lu Yuxin entered the farmstead, the boy threw open the garret door. They found their warrior in conversation with the farmhands below, his voice strained but bereft of horror.

  “— a sheep, yes. No man has been harmed, and you can thank Ming-zongzhu for that, for he has performed a ritual of protection from his chamber. Yes, that is why he returned in such haste, what did you expect? I will see him now, and — ”

  At this, Huijin lowered his shoulders. His ire to spite, he sent the swordmaster a lone, grateful thought.

  Lu Yuxin’s feet climbed the stairs. First did his wild mane appear, then did his hard countenance follow. He cast a look from zongzhu to servant and bestowed the ashen one a gesture most curious; a nod of approval.

  But the young zongzhu of Ming watched his guardian with stricken eyes and shunned the door as if burned by it.

  “Shifu,” he murmured.

  And then, the servant’s countenance tightened and shrouded, his silence stark in the small chamber.

  The swordmaster shut the door and lowered his voice to a severe whisper. “Yin Yue, you should change into clean robes and join me on the northern meadows. The spirit has fled, but it has taken a sheep again. The vilgers should see us hunt it.”

  Before the zongzhu could pass his verdict on this, a hoarse voice broke in.

  “No. He can be seen hunting spirits in the light of day, if he at all must be paraded around. I will not see him sent into the night again.”

  “Huijin!” cried the boy.

  Lu Yuxin turned, his hand perched on the hilt of his sword. He raised a brow at the servant, studied his demeanor, gazed at the sword he kept lowered but drawn.

  And the ashen one wore his composure like a porcein mask. The ends of his hair were bleak with dust, the skin of his cheeks near gray. Even so, his eyes remained shuttered, his mouth of stone, his brows silent.

  “The beast has fled,” repeated Lu Yuxin. “It will not do for the zongzhu to sit idle now. We must take this chance.”

  “You will not take him to the meadows.” Huijin raised his voice. “If you must, tow him around the four corners of this farm and leave it at that.”

  Lu Yuxin took a step closer. Bewilderment yielded to the first embers of rage.

  “What folly is this?” he spat. “What good shall he do here? What can harm him on the pastures now? Are you afraid he shall be eaten by sheep?”

  Huijin’s eye fell on his own drawn weapon, as if he had forgotten he held it. But though he came to remember, he did not sheathe it; rather did his knuckles whiten around the battered hilt.

  “Yin Yue,” began he, voice silken, “head downstairs to ask for sustenance and take some warm tea.”

  Yin Yue curled his lips until they disappeared. He threw the swordmaster a baleful look, then turned a much subdued eye upon his old servant.

  “Yes, Huijin.”

  And yet, as he passed, he hid a peculiar glint to his eye. A distant cousin to mischief was that ember; a look of quiet determination.

  He raised his voice as he stepped out. “A good decision!”

  Feet whisked down the stairs as the boy opened the door. Down below, the farmhands bent their heads and crowded near the fire. One of them pretended to dust the foot of the stairs.

  On any other night, the servant would have caught that shimmer in his master’s eye. But no thought had he for Yin Yue now; left alone with the swordmaster, his eyes were riveted to the odious man.

  “What?” demanded the tiger.

  Huijin bore down on him like a tempestuous wife upon her drunken husband.

  “You shall take him to the pastures in the dead of the night, shall you? The spirit has fled, has it? And what if it returns?”

  Unshaken calm met this first onsught.

  “Yes, I shall,” asserted Lu Yuxin. “The spirit has fled. It will not return. And if it did, it would just spare us hardship. I would subdue it and send it, what else?”

  But with this, he set his foot into the snare the ashen one had id for him. Huijin’s voice was like a dagger drawn across whetstone. “You have shown yourself such a reliable guardian this night, have you not? While you gallivanted the Jade Emperor knows where, Yin Yue could have died. I saw him bend under the spirit’s howl!”’

  He sneered at the sight of the swordmaster’s scarlet face. “You disgrace your zongzhu, Lu Yuxin.”

  Lu Yuxin bristled. His first words were a low, ominous threat. “I will tell you where I gallivanted, Huijin of Ming.”

  As he spoke, his voice rose, a herald of thunder and fire. In the blink of an eye, he loosened the scabbard from his sash and held the leather aloft before the servant. He unsheathed a part of the silvered sword, and so bared the stains of tar and soot upon his weapon. Veins of green oil crept along the edge.

  “Why do you think the creature howled earlier? Why do you think it did not consume another man this night? Do you see this?” He shook the sword. “I awaited it. I met it. I wounded it, and it fled me. What are you, ashen Huijin, his mother? Are you certain it was not your howls that had the boy bend?”

  Gray eyes found the bared bde. Huijin stood silent for one slow breath; then let shoulders fall as if his cords were cut.

  “And where is your judgment?” barked Lu Yuxin, caught in his own storm. “You were meant to distract him, to keep him from harm while I toiled!”

  The diatribe fell on deaf ears. Voice hollow, swathed in wool, the servant asked, “you injured the spirit?”

  “Of course I did,” came the assertion, “It was no grand feat.”

  “Was it corporeal?”

  Lu Yuxin sheathed his bde. Now you care about this spirit and our purpose here? A look of pity stole upon him as he eyed the battered hilt in the servant’s thin hand. A bane was it for a sword to be just for show.

  “As you see,” he said at st. “It is veiled in shadow and ash, but the depths of it are corporeal.”

  But Huijin stood deaf and blind to the swordmaster’s quiet derision. His left hand clutched the hilt of his sword as if it was his very heart.

  “Show me the bde again.”

  “Why?” demand the older warrior. “It is not for your scrolls and ledgers.”

  “Spare your breath,” came the sharp rebuke, “show me the bde.”

  You are unworthy of it, seethed the swordmaster’s eyes. He stood like a pilr of stone as he passed his verdict.

  “One man alone has ever had the privilege to make that demand of me. That man is not here.”

  So be it, decided Huijin. Used was the servant of Ming to skirt around the obstinacy of his betters, and though the tiger’s bde remained sheathed, he raised a quick hand to touch the sheath. In the end, though no cultivator, though he had never been taught and honed, he too knew the bite of tainted qi.

  Might be that he knew it better than those of coarser weave and more blunted wit.

  Rife with displeasure, Lu Yuxin allowed this unsolicited touch. Cold was the spirit’s residue, and yet it spread like bck ink in water. It was the lifeblood of a forlorn beast; in it, the ashen one could perceive a whisper of the spirit’s agony and rage. A faint ache stirred in the pit of his stomach; a need, a hollow hunger, an echo of gege’s voice close to his ear. His heart stirred with the kindled embers of wrath towards the tiger.

  These were not the spirit’s memories, he came to understand. Nor were they the echoes of the beast’s heart. They were but his own distorted reflections seen in the pool of the spirit’s agony.

  Huijin drew back his hand as if the sword had burned him. He ran his thumb over his fingers and shook his hand, his dull eyes caught in their habitual faraway stare. A while did he endure, his thoughts shrouded from the swordmaster’s hard face. At st, he raised his chin and ran his gaze over those bck brows and furrowed mouth.

  His own countenance bespoke unconcealed displeasure. Stark disapproval hid at the corners of his mouth, his sharp chin, his frown. This is not the way of it, reproached his gaze. You may have done good, but your ways are reprehensible! You left your master, you disappeared, you were beyond reach when he needed you most.

  But they no longer afford to pursue their quarrel. He bowed his head, all fire quelled, his mouth dry with a want of water and his face bleak with a want of sustenance.

  The swordmaster’s eyes fred at him. Who are you, demanded his bck eyes, to reproach me, you who have no knowledge of spirits, you who cower at the slightest danger?

  He parted his mouth to strike at the audacity of that look when a knock nded on their door.

  “Pardon, gongzi!” cried a woman’s voice, “there is tea for you!”

  The woman who had come to their door was Ban Shuren. A robust woman was she, and though she called herself ‘just Elder Ban’s wife,’ the whole vilge knew the master dared not speak against her. In her hands were bowls of hot tea and millet and steamed scallions. Two wooden sticks id upon them.

  Lu Yuxin averted his eyes with a scowl. That had taken long enough, decided he. No doubt had the boy listened at the door before he had walked down ask for tea. An ill habit was this, and Lu Yuxin thought he knew where the boy had learned it.

  “For the gongzi,” said the elder’s wife, “at the request of Ming-zongzhu. It is quite pin fare, I fear.”

  But the ashen servant took the offer with a small bow of his head. “Thank you,” he answered, “you have our gratitude, madam.”

  The woman delivered the bowls and bent down to collect a burp sack. This she offered as well.

  “Hm?” ventured Lu Yuxin at the sight of it.

  “And here are the supplies as requested by Ming-zongzhu,” smiled Ban Shuren.

  “We are obliged to you,” returned the servant, his face unchanged.

  “Cn Ming does us honor, gongzi.” The wife waved her hand. “Though I am shamed to admit that I could not find my aunt’s second ntern. I hope it will not inconvenience you too much to be left with just one?”

  Second ntern? The swordmaster sought the servant’s gaze, but could neither catch it nor read the purpose of these deliveries. Who had asked for provisions? Who had asked for nterns?

  Huijin’s shoulders tensed, but he spoke with ease, as if he had awaited sack and ntern both. “May I ask yet a favor?” he began, “I should, on behalf of Ming-zongzhu, make some compensation to Master Qian Xuegang for his losses. The locals here know him better than us, so I wanted to ask your counsel. In what manner might this best be done?”

  “How thoughtful of you,” praised the woman, her face earnest. “What might best suit Qian-gongzi of Caodi, you ask? I say, if you could find him a wife, he would be much pleased! Rumor has it he has sought after a wife for the past year or so.”

  “A wife in these days of grief?” wondered Huijin, “I heard he lost a dear friend just days before Ming-zongzhu’s arrival in Caodi. But I might have misunderstood.”

  The woman’s face softened in surprise. “A friend? Who? Forgive me, gongzi, I have not heard of this!”A look of horror dawned upon her face, and she bowed with her hands folded as if she meant to ask Heaven’s pardon for her vice.

  “No, it is I who ought apologize,” hurried Huijin, “I could have misunderstood some hearsay.” He returned a deep bow, as if Ban Shuren was the wife of a magistrate and not a mere farmer, and with his quiet voice and tactful grace, his demeanor was gentle on the eyes.

  “Indeed?” Gao Shuren touched the back of her head, still fretful “I hope so. I do hope so. I meant not to snder his name if he grieves. He is a most virtuous man, is Qian-gongzi.”

  “Was there a man, a recluse of some kind, who preferred to live in the woods by himself?” asked Huijin.

  Elder Ban’s wife stroked her chin. As she pondered, Lu Yuxin stared at the gray servant as if he had grown a third eye. Where had these questions come from? Where was Yin Yue?

  “No,” said the woman at st, “no recluse lives in the woods here. Though, there is one in the mountains to the northwest. Shang Hansheng is his name. Qian-gongzi was a benefactor to him, now that I think about it! It has been years since I st saw the man. I think he survives in the mountains because Master Qian provides for him.”

  “True to his virtuous reputation,” answered Huijin kindly. “Ming-zongzhu will be pleased to hear this. As for this hermit, why has he chosen seclusion? Is he a sage or a cultivator of some cn?”

  “I do not know,” admitted the the elder’s wife. “I have not seen him often, nor have I spoken to him. But he never struck me as a remarkable man. Too thin, if you ask me, to be a cultivator. I doubt he can wield a sword. He lost a few fingers on his right hand. An old wound, I think.”

  “Ah,” said Huijin.

  Lu Yuxin stared. Qian-gongzi. At long st did he recognize the name. Qian Xuegang was the ndowner who had lost the most sheep to the sinister spirit. It had been on his meadows that the creature had revealed itself this night.

  Huijin mused for one slow breath, then raised his eyes. On a whim, as a mere throw of dice, he asked, “the te Ming-zongzhu, Yin Zhaoyang, he must have paid Caodi some visits in the past. Do you know if he too treated this Shang Hansheng as a charitable endeavor? Or might it be that the te Ming-zongzhu held Master Qian in some particur regard?” He smiled. “It would please our young master to follow in his brother’s footsteps.”

  Recognition dawned on the woman’s face at that. She smiled wide enough to reveal the gap of a lost tooth.

  “He did! Qian-gongzi had won the te Ming-zongzhu’s favor. Word has it that Qian-gongzi once helped him recover some lost treasures on the road. It was many years ago now, but it was how he earned his token, you see. It is a fine one, a crane in full flight. Qian-gongzi says it is a symbol of virtue, given to those who do a service to Cn Ming.”

  Then did her smile falter and her eyes clouded. She bit her tongue.

  “Thank you, madam,” said Huijin to her. “Be sure that the ghost affair shall be resolved.”

  “Caodi thanks you,” came the answer. “As for Qian-gongzi’s compensation, you need not think too much. Ming-zongzhu told me he would see to it himself once he has banished the spirit. Now, I shall let you enjoy your tea. I heard Ming-zongzhu say that tea is important for the recovery of one’s qi after a strenuous ritual. You were most good to offer him your power, gongzi.”

  The ashen one stood mute. A tremendous restraint did he invoke to not look the swordmaster’s way, and with a scant bow, he closed the door.

  At once were there bloodshot eyes upon him. Lu Yuxin heaved a breath of disbelief. “Useless woman! Lead with that!”

  He threw the sack upon the bed and found there supplies enough to st them two days.

  Huijin put down the millet and tea, and stared at the bowls. As his stomach clenched at the sight of the millet and greens, he wondered if some part of him craved sustenance at all. How long had it been since he had eaten?

  Worse yet, he could make neither head nor tails of the boy’s mischief. Had Yin Yue run to the pastures on his own? Had he decided to hunt the spirit alone? In some faraway voice, the ashen one told himself that he ought be terrified now.

  He was not. He was tired.

  Lu Yuxin pulled out his spare, auburn robes and threw them over his shoulders. With no eye for tea or greens, he turned for the door again.

  “Find him, Lu Yuxin.”

  The tiger turned.

  “And you?”

  Huijin took too long to answer. In the end, he drank his now cold tea in just two mouthfuls and turned to follow the other man.

  “And I,” he breathed.