Master Qian Xuegang could not be found within his residence. The servants at the door told Ming-zongzhu that their master had left to ward the nd he owned with prayer talismans. Above his door and on his nterns, many such slips of inscribed paper had been hung.

  Yin Yue had hesitated then, for the memory of the sughtered sheep was like a fresh wound. Yet, after some thought, the boy decided to look for the ndowner on the pastures, for the sun still stood high and the day was mild and pleasant.

  As they looked for their man, Huijin was lost in his thoughts, his head bent in his habitual manner. Master Qian had done it all by the ledger, it seemed. He had a good reputation, a generous word to his name. He was concerned with his losses, he was considerate to his farmhands, he had shown grief for the hermit he cimed to have been his friend. No fault could be found in his conduct, and so the servant began to doubt himself.

  Did he think too much? Was the injury he had seen truly older than the ndowner had cimed? His mind was a vile one, he knew. Harsh tongues had once called it a serpent’s den. Did he then see deceit where there was no such vice to find? Had he become fearful of mere shadows?

  The boy did not like the man, but his Yin Yue was still a child, prone to fits of temper and grief after his brother’s death.

  Neither of them were good judges of character.

  “Yue’er,” said he as they walked, “speak to this man as you deem best. I— I will trust your judgment.” You have a good head when you are calm, he did not say. “But remember, do not make it known that we doubt his sincerity. And remember that we could be mistaken about him.”

  The boy bowed his head, silent. Still did he wilt under this sudden doubt, and what little courage he had mustered fell apart before him.

  He could not endure that the thought of his st fit of temper; could not bear the thought that Huijin doubted him and saw him an ill-bred runt. Unbearable was it to think that his ashen one could see him as his shifu saw him; thought of him as he was, and not what he could be. And so did he turn his thoughts to other concerns.

  “Yes, Huijin,” came the beted agreement. “What do you suppose is the significance of sheep and clover?”

  The ashen one followed with an iron-gray heart, his embers of doubt now small fmes thick with bck smoke. What if he had misled the boy, and sowed suspicion where it ought not be? What if he had sndered a good man and indulged a child’s disdain born of some broken cn token? It would not be the first grief his mere presence has caused the boy.

  “I do not know,” he answered. “We may ask the ndowner.”

  Not long after did they see him; Qian Xuegang stood before a white ash as he fastened a paper talisman to the tree.

  At the mere sight of him, Yin Yue’s face tightened with displeasure. A shadow fell over his eyes. It took him a little while to compose himself, but when he at st drew nearer, his steps were quick, much too quick. He bore down on the ndowner as a swordsman charges his foe.

  Qian Xuegang turned then, a stack of talismans in his hand. He raised his chin, his face aloof as he greeted them.

  “Ming-zongzhu. Huijin of Ming.”

  “Qian-gongzi,” cried Yin Yue in return. Though he no longer hid behind his servant’s back, he was no talented mummer. Before this deplorable man, this wretch who had broken his brother’s token, his inexplicable rage and disgust was stoked with wild abandon. “A fair day greets us. I see that you have come to ward off evil!”

  Too sharp was the voice, too curt the words. The ndowner’s face hardened, but he answered with pcid patience.

  “Yes. Lu-gongzi recommended it to me. I would be unwise to not listen to his counsel.”

  So shifu has visited this vilin, thought the boy. His smile was as wooden as the white ash.

  “Good! How good of you,” began he, then fell straight in, “I say, may I see the token my brother gave you?”

  A few steps away, Huijin stood quiet. Come what may, he allowed the boy to take the lead and softened Ming-zongzhu’s ck of tact with a courteous bow of his own. He kept his head lowered, unable to scold the child, but studied the ndowner’s face through his own dark shes.

  Displeasure was there in the man’s set jaw, though the rest of his face remained unperturbed at this insolence. A smile was there as well, well-worn and polite. With unaffected ease, the man drew the one-winged crane from his pouch and revealed it. The porcein gze shone in the sun’s radiance.

  “Here it is, Ming-zongzhu,” said he, “I keep it on me always.”

  Yin Yue reached for it, and though Qian Xuegang tensed when the boy’s hand brushed the leather sachet where it had been stored, he surrendered the token.

  “Careful,” he pleaded, “it is most dear to me, you see.” While Yin Yue studied the crane, he paid no heed to the servant. His eyes followed the white bird, and when the boy scraped the chipped wing with his nail, the ndowner’s hand twitched as if he thought to reach for it.

  But Huijin watched them both. Since the boy had decided to forfeit tact, he too resolved to stir the hornet’s nest, and thought he might also distract the ndowner from Ming-zongzhu’s insolence before the mutual dislike between them hardened.

  His was a shot in the dark, but he was curious to see where his arrow might nd.

  “It has been a while since I saw such a token,” he began. “The te Ming-zongzhu once told me he did gift one such in this corner of the realm, though it was given to a hermit.”

  At first did Qian Xuegang not stir, his full attention on the white crane. But when he heard a hermit mentioned, the white-haired master of the nd turned for the ashen one with earnest wonder. “A hermit? What do you mean the former Ming-zongzhu bestowed such a token to a hermit?”

  The shadow of guilt did not steal upon his face, and yet was there some wisp of concern in the undercurrents. If the ashen one’s arrow had not stricken at the heart of the truth, it had at least grazed some other, nebulous secret.

  “He gifted it to a recluse not too far from the vilge, Master Qian,” said Huijin with gentle calm.. “It is curious that you too would have such a token. The te Ming-zongzhu must have held the vilge in particur esteem.”

  While they spoke, Yin Yue turned the token and looked at the leather envelope. His breath hitched, for there he found the cn emblem of Ming singed into the leather. Underneath was his brother’s signature penned in golden ink, as was the name Qian Xuegang. He frowned, but remained undeterred, devoted to his suspicions still. The name proved little; the leather sachet could have been stolen and the ndowner’s name added ter.

  Qian Xuegang himself stood bewildered. Then, he cleared his throat and turned to face the servant at st, a wary edge in his gaze.

  “You do not refer to my te friend, Shang Hansheng?” Again and again did his eyes flit to the token as he spoke. “He was the only hermit I know who dwelt near Caodi. But there must be some mistake, for though he too did avail the former Ming-zongzhu in his plight, he was not rewarded with such a token. Rather than the emblem of Ming-zongzhu’s gratitude, he wanted a patch of nd. His cottage was his chosen reward.

  Huijin frowned at this. He had come here prepared to correct his judgment, admit to himself that he had erred and wronged this man, but still he stood unconvinced. Qian Xuegang’s demeanor was beyond fault; his words gave no cause for mistrust. Why then did he seem so insincere?

  Is it me? He wondered. Am I so ungracious, so sour-hearted that I insist to be right, and so must make of this man a vilin?

  He faltered and lowered his gaze to the ndowner’s boots.

  “I must misremember,” he admitted. “Forgive me.”

  “No need,” came the courteous answer with no warmth, “it was a long time ago. Time muddies even the clearest waters.”

  Beted, Yin Yue returned the token. Clouded were his eyes then. All anger had fled him. His grief had swelled to take wrath’s throne. But even now was he reluctant when he id the keepsake in the man’s hand.

  Qian Xuegang returned it to his sash. The faintest sigh of relief escaped him.

  “In truth,” he began, his composure restored, “the te Ming-zongzhu was not yet zongzhu when I did him a service. He must have been younger than this young master here.”

  “Yes,” agreed Yin Yue, “my gege’s signature was pin, like he used to write it before he inherited the cn. But I don’t see why you should keep the crane on you day and night, Qian-gongzi. It has been damaged, and there are precious few left in this world.”

  Qian Xuegang closed his eyes at the rebuke. He appeared to have expected it; yet he bowed his head, and his face clouded with acceptance of this admonition.

  Huijin remained quiet, head bent in demure resignation. Better let the boy speak, he reminded himself. Do not breed foul and wrongful fancies in the young master’s head, he reminded himself. But a thousand questions swelled in his silence. Where was this cottage? In which way had Shang Hansheng served gege? What was this Qian Xuegang’s true retionship to the hermit?

  The man’s fear and relief did not pass him by. And he could in some way understand; the crane was a precious token; not a mere token of Cn Ming, but gege’s token.

  But is it not strange that he should be so afraid to let the younger brother hold it, whispered his tumultuous mind.

  “I have kept it well for all these years,” answered Qian Xuegang. “I beg Ming-zongzhu’s pardon. It was the ghost beast which damaged it.”

  At least there shone some truth; the ndowner’s voice was pained, threaded with rage and regret. Yin Yue kept quiet, his eyes hard. No deceit could he find on the tanned face, no lies in the lilt of his voice, no treachery in his pale eyes. He looked away then, for though the man’s pain was sincere, his own vehemence remained unsked.

  “We came to ask you about the spirit,” he murmured. “I hope we can vanquish it soon and restore peace here.”

  The ndowner gave a solemn nod. “When you do, it will fall to me to build a burial shrine for Shang Hansheng. I cannot do so before I know that his spirit will rest in peace.”

  Huijin stole a look at Yin Yue’s face, torn between reproach and the nails of his own doubts. Sharp and thin were they, yet they burrowed into his heart. He looked at the boy as he once used to cast his eyes upon the older brother to read his thoughts and wants. In those days, he could augur the man’s needs from his face and draw from it a warm pleasure; make himself useful, be the right step to the te Ming-zongzhu’s left. There had been little need for words then. Their eyes had spoken with richer depth than their mouths.

  Yin Yue was not his brother, but the ashen one’s habit had not yet wilted.

  “Qian-gongzi,” he said all of sudden, “why did this beast attack your friend?”

  The ndowner stirred. The first shadow of suspicion darkened his eyes. Tense was his answer,

  “The spirit beast assaulted me. My friend defended me and lost his life for his efforts.”

  Yin Yue looked up. Though his face could not be read as well as his gege’s, and though his thoughts were not as clear, his verdict was pin. He thought the man a liar.

  And that was enough oil to set the ashen one’s suspicions abze. Where was the ndowner’s stab of grief? Where is the pain at the corner of your eyes, thought he. Where is the clench of your teeth, the tremor in your voice? I know such grief as you could not conceive, but you bear not as much as a pale shadow of it.

  He made himself small and meek; hid his face in his hair so their eyes would not meet. “I understand; my condolences. Shang Hansheng was a brave —,”

  If Qian Xuegang was at all a cultivator, he proved himself to follow the Path of the Viper, for he took a sudden step closer to the gray one, his face tight with rage.

  “I believe I told you this much when we met st night. Why these questions, servant of Ming? Cn Ming does not keep those of blunt wit within their ranks, so why these questions?” he hissed in one breath. “Is there perhaps some other question you wish to pose, but which you dare not? An accusation perhaps? Yes, I was the st one to see Shang Hansheng alive, but I will not stand to be sndered!”

  Huijin took a step back, his countenance stricken, almost fearful. An old fear was this; a child’s fear, unfit for the face of a grown man.

  Some temper, he thought when he could shed that brief spur of dread, for a man held in such esteem in his vilge.

  He bowed, about to speak, but Yin Yue acted first. As the ndowner drew nearer, he stepped in between, his eyes wild, his wrath abundant, the knuckles whitened on his sword-hand.

  They stared at each other, reflections of each other’s rage. Never before had Yin Yue of Ming shown such inclination to draw his bde; never before has he shown any desire to wield it against another man.

  No, screeched the servant’s thoughts. No, no no. His hand shot forth, and a light plea of a touch nded on the boy’s wrist. Then he bowed deep, just short of a kowtow, and his voice was at once threaded with deep humility.

  “This one begs your pardon, “Qian-gongzi,” he breathed, “our road had been long that day, and you came upon us unaware. Forgive me. I must have misheard or forgotten what you told us. And please, do not provoke Ming-zongzhu. We mustn’t feed our resentment with a malevolent spirit around here.” Before the boy could speak, he ran on, “you might not know this, Qian-gongzi, but our Ming-zongzhu despises raised tempers and quarrels most of all. I am afraid you have caused him offense. If I could offer to compensate you—,”

  A quaint look came upon the ndowner’s face. Anger remained, accompanied by the disdain of an offended man, and yet did fear also nest on his brow. Not a man’s mortal fear when faced with a superior foe was this; Yin Yue, though the head of his cn, was shorter and slighter. No, this was the fear of a man who gazed upon a future ruined; a man who had just come home to an empty abode and a lone letter from his wife. A man who had shaken his coffer and heard cold silence instead of the awaited ctter of coins.

  He was quick to master himself. With a hand upon his brow and a voice of raw regret, he admitted without deceit; “I ask you to forgive me, Ming-zongzhu. You could not know, but even before my friend’s death, my days have been hard here. The crane token had earned me respect for years, but these days, some have taken to see it as a bck stain upon my name. I fear I have become sensitive. No ill was meant. In my temper, I forgot I spoke with a representative of Cn Ming, and—,”

  The boy spoke then. Though the servant’s touch had stayed his hand, he had not shed any of his wrath. Hard as iron was his demand.

  “Apologize to Huijin.”