Little Wolf in the Storm: Volume 1
Author: Adik Graves
Date: 2026-01-13 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Mystery
Description: To the rest of the world, Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe are admirable Zheng Xiaolang is a handsome bachelor, an accomplished cultivator, a beloved sect leader, and the dutiful teacher of some adoring disciples; and Lei Wenhe is the selfless healer with the only cure to the mysterious “Golden Core Turns Black” disease. But both of them harbor dangerous secrets. In Lei Wenhe’s case, it’s that he wants to kill Zheng Xiaolang. When the object of his revenge shows up on his doorstep looking to hire his services, Lei Wenhe thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to enact his plan. Unfortunately, though Z

Copyright ©2026 by Adik Graves

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Adik Graves at adikgraves@gmail.com.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover Design by Adik Graves

Book Cover Illustration by @retired_peach on Instagram

Identifiers: ISBN 9798987144954 (ebook)

VOLUME 1

If he exalts himself, I humble him.

If he humbles himself, I exalt him.

And I go on contradicting him

Until he understands

That he is a monster that passes all understanding

—Pascal, Pensées

CHAPTER ONE

Little Wolf Takes a Bite

MUFFLED SHOUTING BLENDED with his dreams. The pleasant meadow that had so far consumed his consciousness turned into a battle scene that Lei Wenhe had so far only read about in books, in the old stories about the mortals in the other world his niang1 told him about. They were violent beasts, those ones, his niang said. They fight over every little thing. They could spend their short lives cultivating and making each other’s lives better, but instead all they did was fight.

In the dream, Lei Wenhe’s family cried out in pain. His niang, his die2, his uncles, his aunts—even little Lei Qiu and Lei Yun, who didn’t know what agony was yet. All he could do was watch them as they bled out across the grass, staining the meadow red. He reached out for them, but his hands couldn’t touch them no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t move. He was frozen, rooted to the ground.

The wetness woke him before the pain did.

He was unsure what was happening after the chaos of that dream. His first reaction was that his mattress had somehow become soaked with his family’s blood. He wanted to weep at the thought of it.

And then reality became lucid: the man standing above him, his fierce eyes, robes with colors reminiscent of the Yu clan—snow white with delicate gold accents.

Lei Wenhe tried to say, “Why are you in my room?” but when he opened his mouth only warm liquid spilled out. He choked on it. His chest felt numb. He tried again, tried to ask why, but again nothing came out but that liquid. Was he drowning? He didn’t feel like he was drowning. He felt cold. There was that wetness around him that had first woken him up. He could feel the warmth of it, spreading out across the surface of his chest, seeping into his sleepwear, soaking into the mattress against his back. Maybe he was drowning. He must be drowning.

There was a sound somewhere in the distance that made the other man lift his head. Dimly, Lei Wenhe became aware of the other noises beyond the walls of his room—the shouting, the clang of swords, the scattered screams. It was what had blended with his dream. But none of it sounded close enough to be his family. He was relieved.

The man cocked his head, listening harder.

And then the pain.

Lei Wenhe hadn’t even been aware of the sword until it was gone, but one moment his chest was numb and in the next it burned like fire, so hot and intense it made another stream of liquid cascade from Lei Wenhe’s lips, and the man standing above him was casually flicking red off a sword. Blood. It was Lei Wenhe’s blood. It was Lei Wenhe’s blood that bubbled up from the hole in his chest now, Lei Wenhe’s blood that dripped from his mouth and stained his lips, Lei Wenhe’s blood that soaked his clothes and his mattress.

The man didn’t look at Lei Wenhe again.

But Lei Wenhe looked at him. He memorized his face. He memorized every line of it, even as the man turned to leave: those fierce red phoenix eyes, the displeased curve of his mouth, the angle of his nose, the precise shade of his dark hair. If Lei Wenhe were to die here, his chosen death ripped away like that sword the man pulled from his chest, he was going to find that face in the next life and make him pay.

When the man was gone, Lei Wenhe gathered up the last bit of his strength. He bunched up his robes over the wound in his chest and pressed down, holding in the blood as best as he could, and pushed off his bed. Slowly—agonizingly—he limped out of his room. He needed to get to his family, needed to get help. His die was good at patching up wounds, he could help him—

He stumbled, fell. He couldn’t stay on his feet, but he needed to move. He needed to get to his parents. If he couldn’t survive, the least he could do was describe that monster who had been in his room. He clearly wasn’t in the Yu clan, no matter how well his robes matched, and from the color of his eyes and hair, he was mortal. A mortal had invaded their home and attacked him.

He made it to his parents’ room. The door had been torn apart. He didn’t go in. He could see all the red from the doorway, the way it crawled across the floorboards. He kept going, dragging himself along in the hallway. The next room, red. He was afraid to keep going. He stopped before he reached his younger siblings’ room and vomited blood onto the floor.

He could already smell death in their room.

He couldn’t bear to look.

His consciousness pulsed.

That man, whoever he was—

His hand fell, limp, to his side.

Whoever he was, Lei Wenhe was going to kill him. No, he wouldn’t just kill him; he would tear him apart. He would ruin him. He would hunt him down and he would make him pay for every single one of these deaths he caused tonight. He would make him regret not finishing the job, not driving that sword in deeper, not driving it in again.

He passed out there in the hallway and didn’t wake up again until the attack was long over.

CHAPTER TWO

The master healer was delivering instructions without batting an eye

IN THE SUMMER, when the ice melted some and the plants had survived the harshness of spring, the unoccupied northern lands were really quite beautiful. There were all sorts of trees that bloomed with the fierceness only those who struggled to survive could really understand. And the smell was incredible: all those blossoms turned the air sweet and floral, and with the way the petals would break away from the trees and drifted through the air, landing soundly on the hair and shoulders of the rich and poor alike, those unoccupied lands that so many avoided really became an unparalleled paradise.

The center of culture in these lands was a city called Si’en, which was small compared to the big bustling metropolises of the family territories. For people who had never gone into these territories, though, Si’en was as “bustling” as a city could get. In those summers, the streets of Si’en were stuffed full with all sorts of people, be they independent or aligned to some family clan, who wanted to sell and trade their goods without the laws of the clans restricting them. It was as colorful as a market could get. Certainly, other markets were busier, and richer too, but most everywhere one looked in those markets, they would see the same family’s colors, or the neutral colors of the peasant class. Only in Si’en were the streets filled with the colors of all the different families every which way you could see, with the neutral colors of the peasant classes, with clothing that you’d never seen in your life from offsets of families that you’ve never heard of. It was rather peaceful, too, Si’en—other markets might break out in fights and disputes over all these little disagreements and old grudges, but the markets of Si’en were ever moving, and everyone had another option they could go to. If you didn’t like one vendor, you could just go three stalls down and find what you wanted for just the right price.

Another colorful aspect about Si’en was the carpets. Other markets usually either stuck to neutral colors or more washed-out versions of the clan whose territory they were in, but Si’en’s vendors didn’t flaunt alignments so obviously. To protect from the cold and the wind, the vendors hung up thick and heavy carpets of all colors, turning the normally open streets into a maze of vivid patterns. A person could easily get lost in all of these carpets, but with all those blossoms floating around and the sweet floral smell mixing with the smell of all those fresh foods from the vendors, it wasn’t an unpleasant place to be lost in at all.

The vendors began setting up and opening their shops the moment the sun began to rise, and by mid-morning the market was already full. It was about this time that a young woman started stumbling through the crowd, pushing through this maze of carpets and people and stalls. She was somewhere in her mid-twenties, and anybody could tell from her robes and the sword she gripped on her right side that she was a cultivator, but that might have been hard to believe if you looked at any other part of her. Cultivators were supposed to be strong and confident and healthy, and this woman was anything but that. She looked so sickly and weak that it seemed she would collapse. Her skin was pale and yellowish. Occasionally she would stop and hack pitifully into her hand, and blood would spatter onto her skin and trickle from the corners of her mouth. When this happened, she hastily wiped her hand on her clothes and pressed on—if she found who she was looking for, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of this anymore. All those missions where something went terribly wrong and her core suddenly surged with energy or suddenly emptied all at once, all those nights where she stayed up until the sun rose, coughing and wiping blood from all seven of her apertures—they would be over if she reached her destination.

She had some idea of where she was supposed to be going. The answer to her problems was in the far northeast corner of the market, nestled against the big towering rocks against the river. The problem, of course, was getting there. Si’en’s market was designed for relaxed meandering and exploring, not for young cultivators with the mysterious “Golden Core Turns Black” disease needing the cure.

It took her the better half of a shichen3 to finally find the stall she was looking for. By this point, the cultivator’s chin was covered in blood and she’d given up on wiping it, but she could see the tell-tale snow-white carpet hanging about three zhang4 away from her, looking like a cloud in a sea of color. She all but crawled toward it and didn’t hesitate to push it aside with her bloodied hand.

The setting was remarkably different beyond the carpet.

For one thing, it was startlingly dark. The carpet acting as the doorway was snow-white—spotted red now thanks to her—but the carpet that hung above the space was ink-black. On either side of the cultivator were small tables with candles lined up on the surfaces, providing a dim, flickering light that illuminated the space. Beyond those little tables, she saw the shadow of a person. He was dressed warmly—a thick blue cloak covering his shoulders, gray robes underneath. Like most in these unoccupied lands, his hair was long and black and gathered in the hood of his cloak, but unlike many of those with long hair, he had done nothing to pull it up, and so it hung in long strands in front of his face. He sat absolutely still with his back to those big rocks, his hands in his lap, his eyes closed. He was rather ordinary looking, the cultivator thought, but the way he was sitting had a kind of unspoken grace to it, and the cultivator got a strange feeling in her chest, like she was watching a noble caught unaware.

And then she coughed again, and blood spattered onto her hand, and the silence broke. The man sitting in front of her opened his willow-leaf eyes.

“Hello. I’m sorry about the—” She stopped again in another coughing fit, but the man did not say anything. He simply waited. “I’m sorry about the rug.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was slow and calm. “Are you here to cure your ailment?”

“Yes. I can pay.”

“No need to pay. Please, have a seat.” He gestured in front of him and the cultivator saw that he had some cushions set out. The color was indiscernible in this dark light. She went to them and fell to her knees. “What are your symptoms, other than bleeding?”

“My core, it—it keeps changing. I still have control over my mind, so it isn’t deviation, but it will sometimes act up. It’ll get…stronger or weaker so suddenly. I can’t rely on it at all. I have to protect my town, my family, if I can’t—”

The man lifted a hand, and the cultivator immediately shut her mouth.

“Golden Core Turns Black,” he said, simply, and she nodded. “Why did you come to me?”

“I heard you can cure it.”

The man nodded. “That is what people keep saying. It is not the truth.”

“What?” The cultivator was horrified. All this effort, this long journey—and she wasn’t going to be fixed? Was she going to die like this, coughing up blood until something more important fell from her throat? Was her core going to fail her entirely? “I thought—I’d heard—”

“I know what you heard, but it isn’t entirely accurate. Indeed, I can stop the progression of your disease, but your core will never be able to grow again. To halt the deterioration is to prevent growth, as well. In a sense, I am freezing your core as it is. Is that acceptable to you?”

Prevent growth? The cultivator was so young. She’d had all these grand ambitions to climb to the top, to make her impression on the world, to improve the lives of everyone not protected by a clan. She was even planning to reach immortality, to halt her ageing maybe sometime in her thirties, when she was strongest and most beautiful, and she could become a role model to all the peasants who dreamed of becoming cultivators.

All those dreams, gone just like that?

“Wanbei,”5 said the man gently, “it is either this or your life. Which do you value more?”

She looked up at him and spit another mouthful of blood into her palm.

“Honor is not worth the suffering you will endure,” the man continued. “This disease will continue to eat away at your core. You will lose control of it, and you will lose control of your senses. Everything you were once capable of will feel like a mere fantasy compared to what you will become. Is all of that worth the honor you might be able to accomplish if you refused treatment?”

He was convincing. The prospect of losing everything was so much more frightening than never being able to climb higher.

She clasped her hands together and pressed her forehead to the floor. “Please help me,” she said. “Great Master, I’ll do anything you ask.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” he said. “Just hold still.”

She had never held more still in her life. A mountain would have been envious of her stillness in that moment. After a moment she felt a warmth against her back, and she knew it was the man’s hand. A strange sensation followed. She was familiar with the way her internal energy moved—she had to be familiar with it to cultivate properly—but the moment the man’s hand touched her back, something changed. The energy seemed to halt, shudder—and then it began to move in the other direction, on different paths. She gasped from the shock of it and almost jerked away, but the man’s other hand suddenly gripped at her shoulder, and he held her in place. She must have been weak from the change in her energy, because no matter how she thrashed, he did not budge.

Then everything quieted at once. The man released her, lifted his hands from her back and shoulder, and she collapsed.

She stayed on the ground for some time. Then, shakily, she lifted her head.

She did not cough blood. She did not feel weak. She felt…strange, but she also felt normal. Her strength was what it used to be. The energy in her core was what it used to be. She could not take hold of the way the energy moved in her body, but she thought that, with some meditation and time, she would be able to figure it out and move it herself if she really needed to accelerate healing.

In wonder, she looked up at the Master Healer before her and suddenly dropped down again, pressing her forehead into the ground as if she were trying to dig a hole with it. “Thank you, Great Master.”

“Ah, no need,” said the Master Healer, seeming a little uncomfortable. “As long as you feel better.”

“I do,” she said. “I really do. Please, if there’s anything I can do—”

“Go back home and protect your people. Consider this a gift from me.”

She did not stop kowtowing; in fact, she only pressed her forehead harder into the ground. “I will spread the miracle of your gift as far as I can.”

“I don’t really—”

But she would have none of his protests, and after another few minutes of back and forth like this, eventually she kissed the hems of his robes and burst back out of that little corner stall, covered in blood but looking much more energized than she had in years. As she ran back out into the market to frolic about and enjoy the festivities with the rest of Si’en, she bumped rather hard into a man who was walking in the opposite direction. Her appearance gave him pause; he stopped and turned to watch her bound away, his eyebrows drawing together. He must be going in the right direction, he thought. No person could be covered in that much blood around their qiqiao6 and be as joyous as that without some interference in between. That famous person he’d heard so much about must be nearby. The man continued walking.

He, like the young woman who had just left that Master Healer’s place, was a cultivator. He didn’t carry a sword like she did so obviously at his side, and the robes he wore were more of a peasant’s than a cultivator’s—long and impractical for fighting and dull in color—but there was a sort of aura about him that was hard to miss. No matter how much this man tried to dress himself up as a normal townsperson, anyone could see that he was someone important.

Firstly, he was impressively handsome. He was handsome in the way that would make many turn their heads to take a second look, just to make sure they’d seen him right. Second, the way he moved was as if he was full of strength and authority—not graceful like nobles, but confident, and confident in the way that felt like he had earned his confidence. Even if someone somehow missed that handsome face of his—those sharp angles, the red phoenix eyes, the almost delicate bow of his lips—they would turn around just because of this aura, just to see what kind of person could seem so powerful seemingly without even trying. Thirdly, well—these were the unoccupied northern lands. Directly to the west was Xie’s territory, and the northernmost and westernmost district in Xie’s territory, which lined up so nice and flush against these unoccupied northern lands, was Zheng Xiaolang’s. Anybody who had spent any amount of time in the north this far west could recognize that this handsome cultivator was Zheng Xiaolang.

Most sect leaders did not often leave their districts unless it was for political reasons, for diplomacy meetings and so forth, but Zheng Xiaolang was an outlier when it came to this. He distributed different sections of his districts—micro-districts, his disciples often called them—between some trusted cultivators under his authority, and then he split his time between those cities and the unoccupied lands. At first, many thought he must be traveling to these unoccupied lands so much because he planned to conquer them for Xie Rong, but the years passed and he made no attempt to do any such thing, and eventually the people of these lands accepted that he was functionally just another cultivator who came to help them sometimes.

Those who did not recognize him turned and watched him walk away; those who did recognize him clasped their hands together and bowed briefly, and he bowed in return. When he passed the cultivator who was running the other way, he walked for a few more steps and then stopped by a vendor for directions. The vendor pointed the right way. In another twenty paces or so, he was standing in front of that snow-white rug stained with blood. Careful so as to avoid the red spots, Zheng Xiaolang pushed it aside and ducked in.

The Master Healer was sitting precisely where the other cultivator had left him, but when Zheng Xiaolang came in, he did lift his gaze up, and a little smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“Master Healer,” said Zheng Xiaolang as greeting, and clasped his hands together.

“I’m no master,” said the Master Healer with a strange lilt to his voice. “How can I help you?”

Zheng Xiaolang was rather good with accents, but he couldn’t place the Master Healer’s. It didn’t seem influenced by any of the major families, but it didn’t exactly seem like something from the northern unoccupied territories, either. “I seek your services.”

“Ah. You have Golden Core Turns Black?”

Zheng Xiaolang’s eyebrows drew together. “I didn’t come for that,” he said.

“Oh? What do you need then? How can I help you?”

“You are considered the leading expert on qi. What is your experience with the mind?”

An interesting question. The Master Healer said, “I have some experience.”

“I’ve heard word of a demon in Liping who takes control of a person’s mind.”

“Cultivators, too?”

Zheng Xiaolang shook his head. “I don’t know that.”

“What treatments have been issued?”

“I don’t know that, either. I came here first.”

“Ah.” The Master Healer let out his breath and settled his hands into his lap, folding them together carefully. “You aren’t here for advice. You want me to go with you.”

“I can compensate you.”

“I’m sure you can, but I don’t need any sort of compensation.”

Zheng Xiaolang was immediately suspicious. “What do you want, then?”

“Nothing.” Then he seemed to change his mind, his head tilting and his mouth twisting. “Ah…well—”

Here it was, thought Zheng Xiaolang. This was what happened when he went to a healer he didn’t know anything about. He’d run into all sorts of people like this; they pretended they didn’t want anything from him, tried to impress him with their modesty and their selflessness. And then time would pass, and when they thought they’d properly gotten his guard down and his trust in them, they turned around and started making their demands. Zheng Xiaolang had come to understand a long time ago that people who didn’t make any demands at the beginning were hiding something. It was just that Lei Wenhe was getting to that point a little faster than anyone else.

“I am a little worried about the state of any cultivators who come looking for me. I don’t have much money and my handwriting is quite bad—could you make some signs for me? The rug isn’t always so easy to spot, so I’d like one that I could use permanently, but I also need one explaining that I’m away.”

Zheng Xiaolang was a little baffled. “That’s all you want?”

“I don’t live a very extravagant life, and I don’t need to buy medicine.”

Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t quite sure how to reply. “I suppose I could get you that,” he said eventually. He had been trained by nobles to have handwriting befitting of nobles, so of course it was an elegant and beautiful script. He hadn’t ever made a sign before—a cultivator training to be a sect leader wasn’t the sort of person who would spend his time making signs for street vendors, nor was a sect leader. “What would you like it to say?”

“Hm…Black Core Turns Golden?”

Zheng Xiaolang stared at him.

“Is that too on the nose?” asked the Master Healer after a moment of silence.

“Ah—no, I can do that. There’s really nothing else?”

“Nothing that I can think of, though I hope you can spare some room on your floor if we stop at an inn.” This sentence ended with a slight lilt at the end, turning it into a question.

“Buying you a room is a matter of course.”

The Master Healer nodded and smiled. “Then that’s all I need. Bring me the sign tomorrow, and then we can go.”

That almost felt like an order. There were not many people who could stand—or sit, he supposed—in front of Zheng Xiaolang and give him an order without stuttering a little over it or at least hesitate a bit first. The only exception was Xie Rong, his clan leader. But here this Master Healer was delivering instructions without batting an eye, and Zheng Xiaolang accepted it almost on reflex. After a moment, he also asked, as politely as he could, “Could I have your honorable name?”

“My surname is Lei,” the Master Healer said. “My name is Lei Wenhe.” He did not ask what Zheng Xiaolang’s name was, and he did not seem the least curious about it either.

Zheng Xiaolang waited a moment, giving him the chance, and then he said, “Have you ever thought about getting a cultivation partner?”

The Master Healer lifted his eyes, meeting Zheng Xiaolang’s gaze steadily, not wavering for even a moment. “No.”

“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Zheng Xiaolang.

“Yes.” Lei Wenhe dropped his gaze and folded his hands together. “I will see you then.”

CHAPTER THREE

Don't the people of Liping know who governs them?

THERE REALLY WAS this strange sort of air about this Lei Wenhe. Zheng Xiaolang spent most of his life trailing after nobles, getting used to the way they moved and spoke and carried themselves, learning how to mimic it for his own use. To most, he gave a convincing performance; most could assume that he had been born a noble, that this was his natural state, but it wasn’t true. Zheng Xiaolang had been born a slave. It was only because Xie Rong had found him before he shipped out with his family that he became anything but a slave.

So Zheng Xiaolang was familiar with nobles, but he was also familiar with people who mimicked nobles. He was constantly aware of the differences even in himself. Nobles were effortlessly noble—effortlessly “superior,” though Zheng Xiaolang would never use that word. When he saw his reflection, and when he saw anyone else who, like him, had to put on a performance to maintain their position, he could pinpoint the differences in an instant.

What was strange about Lei Wenhe—one of the things that was strange, at least—was that he seemed like the opposite of Zheng Xiaolang. Zheng Xiaolang was a peasant who pretended to be a noble; Lei Wenhe seemed like a noble who pretended to be a peasant. He had that unmistakable grace to the way he moved. He looked absolutely ordinary when he was holding still, but when he moved, he reminded Zheng Xiaolang of all those nobles. He was both impressed and angered by this. Lei Wenhe would have been enough of a mystery if he didn’t move like this, but now Zheng Xiaolang was left wondering even more intensely than before who exactly this man was.

They met at Lei Wenhe’s little stall again. Zheng Xiaolang held up the sign he brought as greeting, and Lei Wenhe thanked him with a smile and took it to prop it up by the door. It read “Black Core Turns Golden” and in smaller lettering toward the bottom, Zheng Xiaolang had written: “will return in two months’ time.” He did not know for sure that this was accurate, but Lei Wenhe suggested it wouldn’t take much longer, so Zheng Xiaolang made the sign like this.

“How is it?” asked Zheng Xiaolang as Lei Wenhe propped up the sign. He noticed, just past Lei Wenhe, the snow-white rug was gone of its bloodstains from the day before. So this Master Healer was good at cleaning, too. Even the servants in Zheng Xiaolang’s district, who had been trained specifically to remove blood from all sorts of cloth, couldn’t get a stain like that out of that kind of rug so quickly, or maybe even at all, no matter how long they scrubbed at it. He admired it for a moment, his careful eyes trying to find any remnant of the day before, and finally concluded that it was entirely possible that this Lei Wenhe character simply had more than one white rug.

“Anything else?” asked Zheng Xiaolang, and Lei Wenhe smiled and shook his head. He had a strange way of smiling, just to add to the list of strange things—everything else about him was so graceful that Zheng Xiaolang might have mistaken him for a cultivator if he could sense any kind of power within him, but this polite smile that he turned toward Zheng Xiaolang was tight-lipped and strange, like he was only doing it for the propriety and was really not at all pleased with anything Zheng Xiaolang presented to him. If he didn’t like the sign, Zheng Xiaolang thought, well—that was just his problem. The strokes of the characters he’d written were inarguably magnificent, so if there was any problem with the sign, the problem was in what Lei Wenhe had asked him to write.

“You don’t know yet whether I’ll actually be able to help you. If it turns out that I’m helpless against this Liping demon, I’ll try to compensate you for your efforts and time.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s “efforts” in making this sign were just going to a nearby vendor and asking if they had a plank of wood they could spare. This Lei Wenhe really was a conundrum, but Zheng Xiaolang accepted that answer for what it was with a nod. “Then, when can you be ready?”

Lei Wenhe gave him that smile again and spread his hands. “I’m ready now.”

Zheng Xiaolang looked him up and down. The Master Healer was still in those warm peasant clothes, which looked even more worn in the light—the sleeves were full of holes, and the cloak slung over his shoulders had big patches of fur missing from the hood. Most peculiar of all, he only had a single water flask at his hip and a small pack slung over his shoulder, which Zheng Xiaolang had earlier seen him stuff with an assortment of dried fruits and nuts. “Is that all you’re bringing?”

“I don’t have much else to bring.”

Zheng Xiaolang was almost tempted to drag him through the market to a vendor who could give him better clothes. “Those will keep you warm?”

“We northern folk aren’t so delicate as you think, Daxia.7 The closer you get to the glaciers, the more immune you are to the cold. Besides, it’s warming up anyway.” With this, he started weaving through the market, and Zheng Xiaolang fell into step beside him.

“Do you live closer to the glaciers?”

Lei Wenhe glanced at him. “Is that what I said?” he asked, bland, and once again Zheng Xiaolang was at a loss for words. Then Lei Wenhe must have taken pity on him, and added, “I lived in Guangning for some time. If you stay there long enough, the cold doesn’t bite anymore.”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know if he believed that, but he tried not to let the doubt show on his face. “Is that where you grew up?”

“Ah, I’m not so important that someone like the great Zheng-zhangmen8 would need to know so much about me.”

That startled Zheng Xiaolang out of any more questions. “So you’ve known who I am all along.”

“Of course. Everyone in Si’en knows who Zheng-zhangmen is. The great cultivator who is so selfless he even helps the ones who aren’t aligned to the Xie clan.”

His words had a strange bitterness to them, but Zheng Xiaolang was unsure if he should mention it. “My reputation precedes me,” he said instead.

“Ah, most reputations do.”

Zheng Xiaolang really had no idea how to talk to this person. He’d mastered talking to all sorts of people—nobles, of course, who he had been raised to imitate; slaves, who he had endured a childhood with and who could see that he understood them and wanted to help them; townsfolk, who loved that he treated them with the same respect he gave to nobles; his disciples, who did all he asked. But Lei Wenhe, this Master Healer? He didn’t seem pleased no matter what Zheng Xiaolang said. It might be the case that Zheng Xiaolang had finally met his match. “What else have you heard about me?”

“Nothing in particular.”

Zheng Xiaolang decided to shut up after that.

They traveled for a few days together, stopping at night to set up camp or hire a couple rooms at the local inns. Zheng Xiaolang found himself thinking that Lei Wenhe, though he was difficult to talk to, wasn’t a bad person to travel with at all; he didn’t demand conversation, he didn’t pester Zheng Xiaolang about this or that, and he didn’t complain no matter how long they walked. He padded along behind Zheng Xiaolang quietly, sipping at his water and snacking on his dried fruits and nuts when the mood hit him, stopping when Zheng Xiaolang stopped and moving again when Zheng Xiaolang moved. If they needed to stop and talk to the locals, Lei Wenhe was full of knowledge, but kept his answers only as precisely long as they needed to be.

In some time, they reached a little town a few hours outside of Liping. Zheng Xiaolang found an inn and told Lei Wenhe to wait outside for a minute while he went to fetch his disciples.

“Oh, you brought along disciples?” Lei Wenhe asked, and settled himself comfortably against a nearby tree.

“I usually bring a few with me,” Zheng Xiaolang replied. “They’ll be able to protect you if anything goes wrong. They’re all capable.”

“I hope so,” said Lei Wenhe. “I really am useless in a fight.”

Zheng Xiaolang went into the inn. He found Xie Huiyan first in the main room. She was a sturdy young woman with strong arms and a slender waist, and her triangle eyes held the same ferocity as the rest of the Xie family, though she would never admit to it. At the moment Zheng Xiaolang walked in, she was having a conversation with the innkeeper about their meals for the night, and the innkeeper, who had gathered by this point that Xie Huiyan was an important person or at least connected to important people, was doing his best to give her the answers she wanted. Unfortunately for the innkeeper, Xie Huiyan had little patience for people who danced around what they really wanted to say instead of saying it outright, and was maybe two more exchanges away from abandoning the conversation entirely.

“Xie Huiyan,” said Zheng Xiaolang, and Xie Huiyan started and turned away from the innkeeper, immediately falling into a ninety-degree bow with her hands cupped.

“Shizun.”9

“Where are the others?”

“Lai Liu-shimei is resting. Hou Conglin-shidi is practicing his sword.”10

“Fetch them. We should leave as soon as possible.”

She bowed again. “Yes, sir.”

“And, Xie Huiyan?”

“Yes, Shizun.”

“Any news on Su Daihan?”

Xie Huiyan bowed again. “My apologies, Shizun. We haven’t heard anything.”

“Hm. Very well. Go get your shidi and shimei.”

Zheng Xiaolang went back outside. Lei Wenhe was still against that tree, his head leaned back and resting against the bark. He looked peaceful. Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt that peaceful. No—he didn’t know if he’d ever been that peaceful at all. “Lei Wenhe,” he called out, and Lei Wenhe opened his eyes but didn’t move. “Do you need to eat before we keep moving?”

“I have food,” said Lei Wenhe, and lifted his bag for Zheng Xiaolang to see. In their travels together so far, Zheng Xiaolang still had yet to see him refill it.

“Is money the problem?” Zheng Xiaolang decided to just ask outright. “I can purchase you something.”

“I don’t eat much. Don’t spend your money.”

“Money isn’t an issue. Do you want me to buy you some meat?” Surely a man couldn’t survive off just fruits and nuts.

“No, no need. I don’t eat meat.”

Apparently a man could, in fact, survive off just fruits and nuts.

Zheng Xiaolang’s little disciples were all ready to go and outside in just ten minutes. He made quick work of the introductions. Lei Wenhe, predictably, waved away Zheng Xiaolang’s title of “Master Healer,” but when Zheng Xiaolang wouldn’t accept his insistence the disciples just call him “Lei Wenhe,” he accepted “Lei-xiansheng”11 instead. Xie Huiyan was really unconcerned with whomever or whatever Lei Wenhe might be, as she always trusted Zheng Xiaolang with these matters and didn’t bother asking questions or pressing any further than she absolutely needed to. Lai Liu was more curious, and studied Lei Wenhe up and down a few times like she was trying to memorize him, which Zheng Xiaolang wouldn’t exactly put past her. Hou Conglin took Lei Wenhe in with his chin tilted up and his arms crossed, that problem child, probably assessing him for how much of a threat he might be. But they were all at least polite, and Lei Wenhe was polite in return, and after a few words they were all on their way to Liping.

Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe led the way. Right behind Zheng Xiaolang was Xie Huiyan, who spent some time recounting the last few days for Zheng Xiaolang, and Lai Liu and Hou Conglin walked in silence behind them. By the time they all reached Liping, Xie Huiyan had thoroughly sung the praises of her fellow disciples, who she had somehow found impressive in the short time they’d been apart from their teacher. Zheng Xiaolang told her to be quiet and took them to a nearby inn to eat and get information. They hadn’t traveled all that much since the last inn—only half a day—but he ordered a proper feast for them and several jugs of wine. Hou Conglin and Lai Liu obediently dug in. Xie Huiyan nursed a small bowl of rice. Lei Wenhe picked at his dried fruits and didn’t even try to touch any of the impressive spread in front of them.

When Zheng Xiaolang felt he had ordered enough and they’d all properly established themselves and customers, he flagged down the waiter one more time.

“I’d like you to tell me about the demon,” he said. The waiter went pale.

“Ah, Daxia, I’m really not allowed to talk about that.”

“Not allowed?” said Zheng Xiaolang. “Why not?”

“Well…there have been a few cultivators who came through here already, and none of them survived. I’m told to send you all on your way so you don’t get hurt too.”

“Do you know who I am?” asked Zheng Xiaolang.

“Sir, it doesn’t—”

“I’m Zheng Xiaolang.”

The waiter blinked a few times at the cultivator, seeming a little baffled, but in that silence it was Zheng Xiaolang that ended up looking more confused.

“Don’t the people of Liping know who governs them?”

The waiter blinked a few more times. If someone were to pass by, they might think he had something in his eye that was terribly bothering him. After another terrible silence stretched out, the waiter said, “Su Daihan?”

Zheng Xiaolang just looked at him. The waiter rubbed at his face and tried again.

“Uh…Xie Rong.”

Xie Huiyan slammed a hand onto the table and shot to her feet. Lai Liu reached up and took her wrist in one hand, and Zheng Xiaolang held up his hand too. Slowly, Xie Huiyan sat back down. “You’re in Zheng Xiaolang’s district,” she said, and her voice seemed to struggle to fit through the tightness of her throat. “Show some respect.”

Lei Wenhe seemed to be totally unbothered by the scene in front of him. As Zheng Xiaolang’s disciples looked icily at the poor waiter, who was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on and why everyone was so upset with him. Lei Wenhe sat there in total silence, happily chewing on his fruits, his gaze flitting leisurely between all these characters. The waiter, who at this point had a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, fell to his knees in front of the table and clasped his hands together.

“That’s my mistake for not recognizing Zhangmen.”

“Su Daihan is under my charge,” said Zheng Xiaolang, “but this is my district. And since it’s my district, it’s my responsibility to take care of all its problems. Now, tell me: what do you know about Liping’s demon?”

The waiter turned the question over in his mind a few times. Then he said, “I don’t know much…just some rumors.”

“What sorts of rumors?”

“I know it’s been getting worse. It started with just some peoples’ livestock getting injured, and then suddenly…well, one of my neighbors was taken in by the demon.”

“Your neighbor?” Zheng Xiaolang prodded.

“Her name was Guo Meirong. Before everything happened, she was a kind woman. She had three strong sons and a husband who treated her well. But one day it was like she’d just lost her mind. She was out working in the field with her two youngest sons. In one moment, she was planting seeds like nothing was wrong, and in the next she was attacking her son like she was an animal, tearing at his face, clawing at his eyes—the poor boy had no idea what was happening to him, and could only sit there in shock while his mother tore him apart. By the time her other son got there to help, the boy was already dead, and Guo Meirong was going to turn her attention on him. He didn’t have any choice but to kill her.”

Zheng Xiaolang considered all of this. “Guo Meirong’s older son—what’s his name?”

“Guo Li.”

“How did he kill Guo Meirong? Did he catch her off guard, or did he have any kind of training? Surely a woman who can tear apart a young man with her bare hands wouldn’t have any difficulty fighting against a farm boy.”

“I’m not sure about that, Zhangmen. I’m terribly sorry. I only know the gossip I’ve heard.”

“You didn’t see any of this for yourself?”

“No, sir, I really am sorry.”

“Can you tell me where this Guo Li lives?”

Zheng Xiaolang dismissed the waiter after he got this information and indicated everyone eat their fill before they got moving again. When they left the inn, Zheng Xiaolang tried to ask Lei Wenhe’s opinion on the information the waiter had been able to fork over.

“My opinion?” Lei Wenhe shook his head. “Surely you know that’s not nearly enough information to say anything for certain.”

“Shizun.” Xie Huiyan walked a little faster to catch up and fell into step beside her teacher. “Doesn’t it almost sound like Quiet Death? Shouldn’t we be worried?”

Lei Wenhe held back a scoff, and she gave him an offended look. This Master Healer might have been talented enough for her shizun to bring him along, but that didn’t mean she respected him the same amount.

“Lei-xiansheng, what do you mean by that?”

Zheng Xiaolang was also a little curious, but he wasn’t about to aggravate Lei Wenhe any more than he already had, so he just walked along and looked to Lei Wenhe for the answer. As always, the Master Healer was strolling along as if completely without worry—as if they weren’t walking through a town now that might have something that could kill him.

“You only have a small piece of information, which is that the woman went mad. There are all kinds of explanations for that. Think about it—Quiet Death is so far only known to be in Qian Dong’s district in Shen and Cao Meilin’s district in Cao, and both districts have closed their borders. For this person to have Quiet Death, the disease would have had to not only get past those borders, but also travel for weeks to get here, and somehow leave no evidence in its wake. And if it was contagious like Quiet Death, wouldn’t it have affected more people in Liping by now? In fact, wouldn’t it have overtaken all of your shizun’s district? So, if not disease, what else is left? It has the same end result as a serious qi deviation, for one. Even if the people of Liping don’t have strong cores like the ones I’m sure you’re surrounded with, qi deviation can occur in anyone who has even the most imperceptible of spiritual cores. Maybe this Guo Meirong was cultivating on her own. A curse is just as likely—perhaps she upset someone who used their means to punish her for it. The explanation that the waiter and your shizun believe is that it’s related to a demon, but the waiter’s story didn’t include any kind of demon, so what can you conclude from that? Does the demon have the means to affect from a distance? Does it have the intelligence to target certain people, or does it select people at random? Can it only affect one person at a time? Is that why it didn’t go after either of the sons present, or did it, and no one noticed? Or could you instead conclude that the matter of Guo Meirong isn’t related to a demon at all, and isn’t related to anything strange, and the woman just went mad for no reason at all?”

All of that thoroughly shut up Xie Huiyan. She respected this Master Healer a bit more, but she also liked him a lot less. Zheng Xiaolang laughed out loud while she sulked.

“I hope you learned from that generous explanation, Xie Huiyan. This Master Healer knows what he’s talking about.”

The Master Healer just glanced at Zheng Xiaolang. He didn’t say anything more.

Guo Li lived on the far east end of Liping, so far it almost couldn’t be considered still part of Liping. The Guo family had a nice little plot of land with a reasonable variety of crops, probably providing both for the family’s food and for their income when they sold their goods at the market. At second glance, though, one could see the crops weren’t getting taken care of. The fields had begun to be overrun with weeds, some of the crops had been abandoned halfway through planting and only grew in a couple rows, and some parts of the fields hadn’t even been plowed properly. On one side of the field, right against the road, was a young man with his outer robe removed and his underclothes pulled down to his waist. It wasn’t hot out, but he must have been working for a while now, as he had a thin sheen of sweat over his skin. He didn’t notice any of them approach—he was too busy pulling at the weeds. Xie Huiyan made a small distressed sound and grabbed at Lai Liu, pulling her back as if getting any closer to the half-dressed man was going to scandalize them both.

“Are you Guo Li?” Zheng Xiaolang asked as they approached. The young man looked up, pausing the weeding to wipe at his forehead. He looked alright enough; nothing to glance twice at but certainly handsome enough to not have issues finding a spouse when he needed one. But he was also very solemn, and could not muster up a smile even to be polite. He only nodded. “Your mother was Guo Meirong?”

Something passed over Guo Li’s face. He nodded again, a muscle in his jaw working.

“My name is—”

“It doesn’t matter who you are,” Guo Li said. His voice was very soft, almost impossible to hear. It didn’t seem to match the hard-earned muscles of his body at all. “I’m tired of talking about what happened.”

“You won’t have to talk about it anymore after this,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“En. That’s what everyone else said, too. My mother is dead. There’s no bringing her back.”

Xie Huiyan sneered from where she was standing back with Lai Liu. “Is your only motive for helping other people to benefit yourself? If we all thought that way, where would society be?”

Guo Li looked at her and his lip curled up. “What do you know?”

Zheng Xiaolang put a hand on Xie Huiyan’s shoulder, stopping her from talking. It seemed that stopping Xie Huiyan from making a mess of things was one of his primary skills. “Guo Li, I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry you’ve felt so bothered by the cultivators coming to speak to you.” He went on to explain a bit about who he was—that this was his district, that it was his responsibility. Guo Li listened with that same expression on his face. “In any case,” Zheng Xiaolang concluded, “I am not a normal cultivator, I brought a healer who can help, and my disciples are more than capable of protecting everyone who needs help. Any information at all that you can offer will really help us.”

Guo Li studied Zheng Xiaolang, then looked at Lei Wenhe with a furrowed brow, then looked at the disciples one by one. Then he said, “It was my understanding that Su Daihan-daxia was in charge of protecting us.”

“I’m not sure where he is. That’s why I’m here.”

Guo Li: “My family was really hurt by this thing. If you’re even in charge of Su Daihan-daxia…that’s your failure as a leader.”

Xie Huiyan seemed to get over her desire to stay away from this shirtless man and started forward to defend Zheng Xiaolang, her eyes fierce. Zheng Xiaolang said, “You’re right. That is my fault.”

Xie Huiyan stopped.

“So I’d like to get reparations.”

“What would you like?”

Guo Li gestured to the field behind him. “We’re losing out on crops because of…everything. And we’ve lost a person to help us work the fields.”

“I’ll compensate you for the profit loss and provide you two workers to help you for the next ten years.”

Guo Li’s eyes narrowed. “Slaves?”

“No. You should at least know that slaves are illegal in my district. I’ll give you two workers and provide their salary.”

Guo Li seemed satisfied with his answer. He nodded. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about that day.”

“Nothing interesting. I was working on a different part of the fields, away from my mother and Xiao Wei. I didn’t notice anything was wrong until I heard Xiao Wei scream, but I was too far away.” He rubbed his mouth and it took a few minutes before he was able to compose himself again. “My mother…there was something wild in her eyes. It was like she couldn’t recognize me. For a moment, it was like she couldn’t even see me at all. I tried to—I tried to calm her down. I wrestled a lot with Da-ge12 when I was younger, so I was able to put her in this—in this choke hold, but I think it was too tight, and she—” He stopped again and shook his head. “I don’t know what else to tell you. None of the other cultivators could make sense of it.”

“Did she complain about anything before that day?” Lei Wenhe asked. “Maybe a headache, or a ringing in her ears?”

Guo Li shook his head. “No. Not that I know of.”

Lei Wenhe and Zheng Xiaolang glanced at each other, both a little relieved. Maybe Xie Huiyan’s theory was indeed unlikely. Lei Wenhe asked another question: “What about her relationships with other people? Did she have a tumultuous relationship with anyone?”

“My mother barely left the farm. She needed everything to be perfect, so she was always finding something to do. If anybody left, it was me or Xiao Wei.”

“What about your father?” asked Zheng Xiaolang.

“He’s a fisherman. He and Da-ge spend most of the year in Ningbo and travel back every fall to spend the winter with us.”

They work in Ningbo? That city was nearly two weeks’ travel from Liping. “Why don’t you all just live in Ningbo then?”

Guo Li shook his head again. “It’s too expensive, and this was my mother’s farm anyway. She wanted to stay here for as long as she could. I was worried before you came that we would have to sell.”

“Does your family have any enemies?”

Guo Li’s head must have been on some kind of mechanism that just turned it left and right, left and right. “We’re just simple farmers. Even if someone viewed us as competition…no, even then, there are other farms that have a lot more than us. There’s no reason someone would come after us first.”

Lei Wenhe crouched down and brought up a handful of soil close to his face, seeming almost as if he were examining it, or maybe even smelling it. Zheng Xiaolang wondered if he should do the same, but he had no idea what Lei Wenhe was doing anyway, and knew that he would just make a fool of himself if he crouched down too and sniffed some dirt. He opened his mouth to ask what the Master Healer’s goal was, but then Lei Wenhe was speaking again: “Do you know about anyone else who’s been attacked?”

That wasn’t at all what Zheng Xiaolang thought he would say. He wasn’t going to mention the soil? Zheng Xiaolang glanced at Guo Li and Hou Conglin; they both looked just as perplexed.

“Ah,” said Guo Li, composing himself, “I know of a few. Just some people across town—I didn’t really know them.”

“No connection between Guo Meirong and them?”

“Not that I know of. I mean, we might have sold them goods, but like I said she didn’t really go into town much, so it was probably me or—me or Xiao Wei who was selling to them.”

“Why do you think it’s a demon?”

Guo Li blinked. His gaze darted to Zheng Xiaolang, who just crossed his arms and nodded for him to continue. He was curious about the same, even if he was still wondering about Lei Wenhe’s handful of dirt. “Well…some people saw it.”

“Some people?” Zheng Xiaolang repeated. “Who? What did they see?”

“I’m not sure of all the stories. I’ve just heard whispers around the market.” Guo Li started to feel a chill at this point, and tugged up his inner robes to cover his exposed chest. Behind Zheng Xiaolang, Xie Huiyan visible relaxed. “It started with just calling it an omen—a dark shadow in the corners of your eye. And then people were complaining about their animals dying. They were violent deaths too, their fields covered in blood, the animals torn apart…when people started to lose their minds, what other conclusion were we supposed to reach?”

“This shadow,” Lei Wenhe said, “it was humanoid?”

“It was said the creature crawled on all fours, but it was otherwise human. Some even said it was wearing robes.”

Lei Wenhe’s hand moved, his fingers stretching out and releasing the soil. “What kind of robes? What color?”

“I don’t know that,” Guo Li said, and then hastily: “Not a cultivator’s robes! They were a peasant’s colors. We thought it might be trying to imitate us.”

“I imagine your mother’s body is long gone,” said Lei Wenhe, and Guo Li gave him a look so dismayed that Lei Wenhe waved his dirty hand. “Never mind.” He clapped his hands on his robes, knocking off the rest of the dirt. Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to apologize for him. “Have you had any cultivators in the family?”

An even more baffling question, still nothing to do with dirt as far as Zheng Xiaolang could tell. Guo Li scratched the back of his neck. “…No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay.” Lei Wenhe was apparently satisfied with this answer, and promptly reached into his bag with his dirty fingers to pull out a small handful of his food, which he began to place into his mouth one by one.

Guo Li: “…”

Zheng Xiaolang: “Can we come back here if we have any more questions?”

“When can I get what you promised me?” Guo Li asked.

“I’ll send a message to my sect tonight, but it might take up to a month for them to arrive.”

“Fine. Come whenever you like, then.”

Zheng Xiaolang sent his disciples along to ask all the other people of Liping about the demon and Su Daihan. Lei Wenhe stayed at his side, first watching Guo Li move further down the field as he tried desperately to repair what had been so neglected, then paying attention to Zheng Xiaolang as he gave instructions to his disciples. It seemed like he wasn’t ever phased by anything, and that he wasn’t ever interested in anything. When Zheng Xiaolang was done and began to walk back toward the center of Liping, Lei Wenhe simply followed after him.

“What do you think, after that?” asked Zheng Xiaolang.

“I agree with them. I think it’s a demon.”

Zheng Xiaolang glanced backward; Lei Wenhe still didn’t seem concerned, and just moved his head about like he was enjoying the scenery. “You asked a lot of questions back there,” he said. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I’m not sure about the reasoning behind a few of them. Do you mind explaining?”

“No need to be embarrassed. What does Zheng-zhangmen need to know?”

“I’m curious about why you were examining the soil. I also want to know why you wanted to see her body, and why you wanted to know whether there were cultivators in his family.”

“Ah.” Lei Wenhe put on that tight-lipped smile again. “Well, the reason why I looked at the soil is best explained if Zheng-zhangmen examined it himself.”

So Zheng Xiaolang should have knelt next to him and picked up the dirt, even if it meant he would’ve made a fool of himself.

“As for the other things…hm, well, I think I have a theory as to what this demon is attracted to. I don’t want to make any assumptions before I have more information, though.”

“You already have a theory? What is it?”

“Check the soil,” said Lei Wenhe.

Apparently this Master Healer valued people figuring things out for themselves over just handing them the answers. As a teacher, Zheng Xiaolang was the same way, but it had been a long time since he’d last been the student. A little grumpy with this sudden power shift, he stopped and knelt at the edge of Guo Li’s property, took a handful of dirt, and lifted it to his face in the same manner he’d seen Lei Wenhe do it. For a moment, he didn’t see what the big deal was—it was dirt. It was dirty. It was making his hand dirty. It smelled rich, as all farming soil should. But—

“Ah, does Zheng-zhangmen understand now?” Lei Wenhe knelt beside him. Zheng Xiaolang looked over at him, amazed.

“There’s traces of spiritual power.”

“Mn.”

How had Lei Wenhe noticed something like that? It was almost imperceptible to Zheng Xiaolang even while he was holding it, but Lei Wenhe had known to check the soil while he’d just been standing above it? He truly had an unmatched talent when it came to spiritual energy.

“So this has something to do with qi,” said Zheng Xiaolang. He dropped the dirt back on the ground after some examination of it and brushed his hands off. “That’s your theory?”

“More or less.”

“And you thought…” It occurred to Zheng Xiaolang then suddenly, clicking into place in his mind like his sword into its holster: “You thought that Guo Meirong might have had spiritual power.”

“She might not have noticed, and since you don’t make it regular practice to seek out people to serve in your sect, she probably went her entire life without ever knowing.”

“Do you think she was powerful?”

Lei Wenhe made another sound, murmuring under his breath, and then louder: “No. If she had the opportunity to cultivate, or if she had decided to teach herself, it would have taken a lot of work to get to a place where she could use it effectively.”

“But this demon—do you think it could sense her core?”

“All demons are hungry for something. This one might be hungry for spiritual energy. It might even have some manner of control over its own core, and uses it against others.”

All of this, just from dirt and a couple of questions? Su Daihan, with whom Zheng Xiaolang had originally intended to work, would only have been capable of healing those who’d gone mad—and Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t even sure of that. Where was Lei Wenhe from and what all did he know that such deductions were so easy for him?

“If it is attracted to spiritual cores,” Zheng Xiaolang said, “then we won’t have to hunt it down. Even if other people in Liping end up having spiritual energy that they aren’t aware of, the demon will end up being drawn to me or one of my disciples.”

“En. If it’s following instincts alone, it might go for whoever is closest, but if it has intelligence, I imagine it will come for you.” He reached into his bag again and pulled out a small pinch of his snacks. “I hope your disciples will be able to handle themselves without your help.”

“They should.” But Zheng Xiaolang was still a little worried; he had no doubt that the three he’d brought with him were powerful youths, and compared to their peers were really quite exceptional, but he didn’t yet know just how powerful this demon was—if it could affect a person without being seen, and if it was responsible for Su Daihan’s disappearance, could it sneak up on those three without being detected?

“If you’re worried about them, you can come up with a plan,” said Lei Wenhe, and then without waiting for Zheng Xiaolang to do exactly that: “If you’re all in one place, it doesn’t matter who the demon comes for, and surely the concentration of energy with the four of you together will be too much for it to resist. Then, if I’m there, as long as you make sure I’m not injured, I can heal any injuries that might occur.”

Zheng Xiaolang was getting the feeling that, of the two of them, it was Zheng Xiaolang who wasn’t needed here. Lei Wenhe seemed fully capable of putting Zheng Xiaolang’s disciples exactly where they needed to be and would just need to worry about staying out of the way afterward. All Zheng Xiaolang was doing at this point was getting pulled along behind Lei Wenhe. “I’ll call my disciples back,” he said. “We can set up somewhere more isolated and wait for the demon there.”

“Zheng-zhangmen doesn’t want to try to confirm my theory first?”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed. “You sounded so sure. I think we can gather everyone together and move on from there.”

Lei Wenhe gave him an odd expression, like he wasn’t sure how to figure Zheng Xiaolang out. As if Zheng Xiaolang was the perplexing one here. “If you say so,” he said.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Demon of Liping

LIPING WAS A small farming town. No one really bothered to stop by and explore a town like Liping—it was almost exactly halfway between Si’en in the unoccupied lands and Anlu, where Zheng Xiaolang’s sect made its home, and it was off the main roads, too. Even the people who lived in cities and towns near Liping had no reason to go. The market that Liping offered was really only useful to the people who lived there. They had only exactly what they needed and nothing more; if anyone wanted something from anywhere else in Xie, or if they wanted something from another territory, they would have to travel to Si’en or Anlu.

This was precisely why it took so long for Zheng Xiaolang to hear about the demon in Liping. They were all self-sufficient; what they couldn’t procure for themselves they got from each other. Only rarely did a little town like Liping have people who ventured beyond the city limits to seek something more—people like Guo Li’s father and older brother. It took one of these rare adventurous people to spread the word that something was terribly wrong in their town, and by that time so much harm had already been done.

The first cultivator to come by and check on everyone, while the demon was still only attacking livestock, had in fact been Su Daihan, but he hadn’t solved the problem at all, and only promptly disappeared soon afterward. Then other cultivators had come by to see what they could do—independent cultivators who roamed without family ties as well as cultivators aligned to Zheng Xiaolang or one of Xie Rong’s other sect leaders. All six who showed up lost their lives, but they’d lost their minds first—and had taken out more before their bodies had given up. Any normal person would shudder to think what a cultivator affected by qi deviation could accomplish, but these townspeople had seen it happen again and again. It was really no wonder that the people of Liping wanted Zheng Xiaolang to leave so quickly. He’d brought along four people; if all those people lost their minds to the demon, there was no telling what kind of damage they would cause.

Xie Huiyan delivered all of this information to Zheng Xiaolang when they all found each other again. Hou Conglin and Lai Liu had gleaned much the same from their own interrogations, and only nodded and agreed to confirm everything Xie Huiyan was saying. Zheng Xiaolang told them a little about what he and Lei Wenhe talked about. “I’m not sure how it’s traveling or how it’s stealing the energy, so you need to be careful and keep an eye out. Lai Liu, set up some talismans around us and give Lei Wenhe something to protect him.”

Each of Zheng Xiaolang’s disciples had their own specialties. Some sects liked to have one thing all their disciples would concentrate on; Long Feifei’s sect, for example, primarily focused on straightforward attacks and warlike combat, which was fitting for a sect under such an ambitious woman like Long Qingge. Chen Tian in Cao’s district placed importance on grace and effectiveness as individuals; he stressed that disciples should not expect to lean on each other, and that if they did not have enough strength and talent to operate independently, then they were simply not good enough yet. Zheng Xiaolang, who was an exceptionally talented cultivator, who had reached immortality exceptionally young, who had been the leader of his sect for almost a hundred years now, who had a myriad of talents that would take a lifetime to list, was much more flexible in his approach. If a disciple had a particular talent, he would encourage them to pursue it, as long as they kept up in their studies in other areas. Someone like Lai Liu could keep up with the other disciples in a sword fight, but it was talismans that she excelled in. Likewise, Xie Huiyan knew the basic talismans and could easily do what was needed when it was needed, but she shined when it came to combat. With a teaching approach like this, Zheng Xiaolang’s sect was one that was all-encompassing in its talents. If you didn’t know what exactly you need but knew that a cultivator would help, two or three from Zheng Xiaolang’s sect probably had the necessary talents to take care of your problems.

Lai Liu made herself busy drawing up talismans. Compared to Xie Huiyan, she was willow-thin, and looked almost as if she might break if you looked at her the wrong way. She had dark peach blossom eyes that seemed incredibly intelligent, hollow cheeks, and a solemn expression on her face that many mistook as disdainful. In reality, it took quite a lot of effort for Lai Liu to look anything but disdainful; only people like Xie Huiyan or Zheng Xiaolang, who she trusted, would see those peach blossom eyes turn into crescent moons, see her mouth spread into a smile, see her let loose a little laugh that was surprisingly infectious. For everyone else, she was just like this: her eyebrows slightly drawn together, her thin lips shut tight, silent and concentrating. Lei Wenhe watched her for a while out of pure curiosity, then wandered over to see what the others were doing. Zheng Xiaolang was giving some instruction to Xie Huiyan and Hou Conglin, wondering about how best to react to a sneak attack, debating the most likely way the demon would approach. After a few minutes of listening to this talk, Lei Wenhe felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down to see Lai Liu and her big, solemn eyes. She held out a thin piece of yellow paper with red writing on it.

“What’s this?” Lei Wenhe asked.

“For your protection, Xiansheng.” It was the first time Lai Liu had spoken to him. Her voice was quiet and serene, each word formed like she had carefully considered it before she let it leave her mouth. “Put it on your person. It will protect your qi.”

Lei Wenhe tucked the talisman under his robes. “Are you making the same for everyone else?”

“No. It’ll hinder our ability to fight.”

So this was the kind of talisman that was like a double-edged sword: it would protect a person’s core, but it would also prevent them from using it. In that sense, it was like a temporary version of Lei Wenhe’s “cure” of Golden Core Turns Black.

“Sorry for all the trouble,” said Lei Wenhe. Lai Liu shook her head.

“It’s our duty, Xiansheng. Please be careful to stay out of the way when the demon arrives.”

Lei Wenhe wanted to laugh and tousle her hair. “I’ll do my best, Lai Liu.”

Lai Liu’s cheeks turned pink. She wasn’t the sort of person who got teased, especially by strangers. She’d cultivated this reputation that made her an untouchable jade of a person; she thought she was unapproachable and intimidating, but Lei Wenhe wasn’t affected at all. With nothing else to say, she ran off to join the other cultivators.

The way they all ended up was like this: in an unoccupied field, Lei Wenhe stood in the middle. Zheng Xiaolang stood a few steps in front of him and a little to the left. Directly to Lei Wenhe’s right was Xie Huiyan, and behind Lei Wenhe was Lai Liu. It looked less like they were using themselves as bait and more like they were using Lei Wenhe as bait, but Lei Wenhe didn’t seem to mind. In fact, earlier he’d tried to make himself comfortable on the soil, but Zheng Xiaolang gave him a stern look and he’d laughed and stood right back up. Now they were all just standing in one place, Xie Huiyan warily holding onto her sword, Lai Liu rubbing thin strips of paper between her fingertips, Zheng Xiaolang seeming relaxed but in reality constantly scanning his surroundings, constantly trying to sense in some way the demon that would inevitably approach them. He had a couple ways of doing so: firstly, he had incredibly heightened senses; if the demon made any sound, if it had any trace of a shadow, if it had the faintest of smells, Zheng Xiaolang would detect it. Secondly, he was exceptionally good at sensing a person’s spiritual core, which meant that he could casually stand next to a person and know precisely how powerful a cultivator they could become. In this case, he thought he should be able to sense a demon that had that much control over spiritual cores. That energy had to be going somewhere, after all.

Some distance away, Hou Conglin had all the people of Liping gathered in one place and was pacing a careful circle around them, his careful eyes watching, waiting. Of the three disciples that had come with Zheng Xiaolang, Hou Conglin was the most balanced of them. He couldn’t win a sword fight against Xie Huiyan, and he couldn’t outsmart Lai Liu, but they also couldn’t adapt like he could, switching tactics as easily as breathing, willing to give up his sword to fling a talisman if the situation called for it, or pulling out his sword in a battle of wits to end the battle a little faster. Naturally, since Zheng Xiaolang needed to be present to protect Lei Wenhe, Hou Conglin was the top choice to protect the rest of Liping. If the demon happened to sense one of the townspeople first despite the concentration of spiritual power, Hou Conglin could lead it back to the others.

The first couple hours were uneventful. Lei Wenhe was thankfully not the sort of person to demand conversation, but that meant the four of them were just standing in that empty field in total silence. An outsider walking by might think they had gotten lost, or maybe they had gotten into a fight and were refusing to talk to each other now. It might have been a little funny if the mood wasn’t so somber.

Then Zheng Xiaolang lifted his head, his nostrils flaring like he smelled something. He said, “Watch out. It’s getting closer.”

Xie Huiyan straightened and her hand tightened around her sword.

A tense silence followed.

Zheng Xiaolang kept slowly rotating in place, scanning the field, waiting for something to make an appearance. If even the smallest shadow was out of place—

And then everything erupted at once.

Zheng Xiaolang only sensed the thing a moment before it appeared. He spun around, his gaze focused, but before Lei Wenhe could ask him what was wrong, there was something springing up from the ground only a few steps from the Master Healer and lunging toward him. Lei Wenhe made a surprised sound and took a step backward. It seemed like the demon was going to catch him for a terrifying moment; it was as fast as lightning, and as soon as it came up from the ground was next to Lei Wenhe before Lei Wenhe could even blink. But just as fast as it had appeared, there was Zheng Xiaolang appearing between the demon and Lei Wenhe, and the demon flew backward. To the indiscernible eye, it looked like Zheng Xiaolang and the demon had just blinked into existence right next to Lei Wenhe. This was a battle between masters—even Xie Huiyan, who was the only one who could really hold her own in a fight against Zheng Xiaolang, could not follow their movements at all, and quickly realized that her shizun had held back in every little spar he’d had with her. He moved like a storm, and those eyes that she’d gotten so used to seeing kindness in were dark and fierce, intensely concentrated. He hadn’t even pulled out his sword yet—the demon had flown back just from a bare-handed hit to the shoulder.

And now it was gone.

Zheng Xiaolang immediately moved closer to Lei Wenhe, using one arm to push him back and behind him, shielding him with his body as he began to slowly rotate again. “It travels through the ground,” he shouted. “Lai Liu, put down a talisman to block it when it comes back up. We need to limit where it can go. Xie Huiyan, tell Hou Conglin what’s happening and pay—” He cut himself off and pushed at Lei Wenhe, so hard and sudden that Lei Wenhe went tumbling down. The demon had sprung up again directly in front of Zheng Xiaolang and swiped at him. Zheng Xiaolang leaned back, narrowly avoiding its claws. “Lai Liu, now!”

Lai Liu threw a talisman onto the ground and there was a brilliant flash of light. The demon screeched. Now that it couldn’t go back into the ground, the details were a little clearer—one might be tempted to call it humanoid, but any closer examination would presently rid them of any temptation to compare it to humanity. Its skin had turned gray and smelled of rot. Its spine had elongated and curved inward, so that it looked like it was hunching its shoulders. All fingers and toes had grown longer and sprouted sharp claws. Perhaps most horrifying was its head: the hair had fallen off in big chunks and only remained in patches, the teeth had blackened and decayed, and the eyes were pale white, giving the illusion of blindness. There was intelligence in those eyes, but there was no humanity in them. It just looked hungry. And, with its mode of transportation cut off, it looked angry too.

The demon hissed and jumped back from Zheng Xiaolang, landing on all fours and arching its back like a frightened cat. Zheng Xiaolang kept his eyes on it. Every time it moved, he took steps to match it, making sure it could never get to Lei Wenhe without getting through him first. “Xie Huiyan, come up from behind Lai Liu and set up a circle of protection around Lei Wenhe.”

Xie Huiyan obediently pulled out her sword and approached the demon from the back. Its full attention was on Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe, or maybe it was just Lei Wenhe—there was something about the Master Healer that the demon was attracted to. Perhaps some part of it could understand that someone with Lei Wenhe’s talents was its only chance at surviving. Zheng Xiaolang, Xie Huiyan, Lai Liu—they were all effectively the same as beasts to this creature. Lei Wenhe was a healer through and through. Perhaps, if Lei Wenhe put his hands onto its gray back and reached into its poisoned core the same way he had reached into so many cultivators’ cores, the creature would not be so hungry.

Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t about to let the thing test its theory out.

Xie Huiyan was getting closer. Her steps were careful and silent, and did not make an indentation in the soil. It might even be the case that she wasn’t touching the ground at all, but merely floating over it. She lifted her hand and her sword shot forward, too fast to follow with one’s eyes. The demon shrieked again and dove to the side. Its reaction time was really remarkable.

“Zheng Xiaolang,” said Lei Wenhe, who was still in the process of getting up after having been knocked down, “it has some intelligence.”

“I know that,” Zheng Xiaolang snapped.

“It also has some energy in its core left.”

Zheng Xiaolang let his senses expand some, beyond just paying attention to the demon’s movements; Lei Wenhe was right, but it wasn’t just “some.” It had the amount of energy one would expect from a cultivator—someone who had spent years building their strength. What did that mean? He reached back, his fingers tracing against the handle of the sword on his back. Did intelligence warrant mercy? Did a core mean something? Was Lei Wenhe trying to say that this thing was a Bai Wen? Was it more powerful than it seemed?

“If you let me touch—”

“No,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “We aren’t risking that.”

“Then you do it,” said Lei Wenhe. “Overwhelm its core. Its constantly hungry and constantly feeding on qi, but if you give it too much at once—”

“You want me to give it more power?” Zheng Xiaolang, even while remaining on the defensive against this thing, managed to give Lei Wenhe an incredulous look. “My disciples can barely handle this thing as it is, and you want me to give it more power?”

Xie Huiyan and Lai Liu, who were both Zheng Xiaolang’s top disciples, might have been offended at his saying this if they weren’t so concentrated on not getting torn apart by the creature’s claws.

“It’ll overwhelm its core and shock its meridians. You have plenty of qi to spare, don’t you?” There was a clever twist at the corner of Lei Wenhe’s mouth as he said this, almost like he was making fun of Zheng Xiaolang. “Try it. If it doesn’t work, I’ll prostrate myself at your feet.”

That wasn’t something that Zheng Xiaolang wanted, but if something went wrong, he still figured he could make do and take care of the demon afterward. He took a step forward, finally separating from Lei Wenhe, and reached out a hand.

Lai Liu let out a cry and collapsed.

“Lai Liu!” Xie Huiyan was immediately concerned, and rushed to her fellow disciple’s side, brandishing her sword at the demon in the same manner Zheng Xiaolang had been protecting Lei Wenhe before. The demon hadn’t touched Lai Liu, nor had it gone anywhere near her, but it had a self-satisfied smile on its face and was licking at its rotten lips like it had just eaten a good meal. “Shizun, Lai Liu—!”

Lei Wenhe had already surged forward, dancing out in a wide circle around where the demon and Zheng Xiaolang were standing. His steps were quick and graceful, landing so lightly on the soil they hardly made footprints, but not so fast that one couldn’t follow with their eyes. It looked absolutely effortless, like he was just taking a stroll, but anyone who was capable of the same would know how much talent it took. Zheng Xiaolang rotated to follow, his back against Lei Wenhe, his hands held out in front of him toward the demon. In a few steps, Lei Wenhe was at Lai Liu’s side. The sudden loss of qi had already caused a small deviation, but Lai Liu was making a valiant effort to gain control again; her eyes had rolled back in her head and she was trembling, her limbs jerking, her hands clenched at her sides. When Lei Wenhe put his hands on her, he felt that the energy was moving jerkily through her meridians, unable to cope with the sudden loss. He pushed in a steady stream of qi, gently incorporating his own energy into hers, and drawing out what she had stored in her golden core through the rest of her body. In a few minutes, Lai Liu had accrued enough qi to gain control again, and was able to sit up again and support herself.

Meanwhile, with both Lai Liu and Lei Wenhe protected behind the capable Xie Huiyan, Zheng Xiaolang was able to concentrate his full energy on the demon. He did as Lei Wenhe recommended, got close to the demon, and put his hands on it. Lei Wenhe had gently pushed that steady stream into Lai Liu; this qi that Zheng Xiaolang poured into the demon was more like a tsunami. Only a moment later—only a small fraction of the qi that Zheng Xiaolang held inside of him later—the demon froze, and it straightened onto two legs like a human again. It was unnerving to see it like that, poised like any of the other villagers. From afar, it probably looked like it was human. But then its jaw dropped unnaturally low, and it let out a faint screech, and after a moment its neck twitched to one side. Zheng Xiaolang prepared to grab hold of his sword again. He took a small step back, watching the demon warily.

An odd gurgle bubbled up from the demon’s throat.

Zheng Xiaolang pulled out his sword and cut it down.

They disposed of the body outside Liping, burning it and then covering the ashes in soil. Lai Liu was weak but more or less recovered, and decided to retire a little earlier at the inn while the others cleaned up.

“You were right,” said Zheng Xiaolang. His qi had already recovered from the loss, and he was at full power again. It was probably the case that he had barely felt the loss at all—this fight was not a struggle because the demon was exceptionally strong, but rather because Zheng Xiaolang was simultaneously protecting three others. “How did you know?”

Lei Wenhe shrugged. “It’s clearly hungry for qi, but every person’s body has a limit on how much qi it can handle. You wouldn’t understand with your own body, but any normal cultivator would feel overwhelmed with the amount of qi you have in your body at any given moment.”

“Cultivator?” Zheng Xiaolang repeated.

“Or demon,” said Lei Wenhe. “What about your missing cultivator?”

“Su Daihan? I don’t know. I’ll keep looking for him, but it looks like he moved on from here.”

“And your disciple?”

“Lai Liu will recover. You were essential in her gaining control again. If the demon had affected her any longer, the cultivation world would have really suffered a loss. Are you sure you aren’t looking for a cultivation partner?”

Hou Conglin, who had been quietly walking behind them, said, “Shizun, this demon—was it really so powerful?”

“Not so much powerful as it was fast,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “It could easily keep up with me. If I had spared a moment for any precise attacks, it could have gotten the better of me or one of your shijie.”13

“Where did it come from?”

Zheng Xiaolang shook his head. “Where does any demon come from?”

Hou Conglin was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Was it a Bai Wen?”

The Bai Wen—the white lips—were creatures living in the glaciers. As legend said, the Bai Wen looked like frozen corpses with white hair, ice-blue eyes, and great cultivation power. They devoured any humans they caught. They were unkillable. Some said they were the base form of humanity—humanity before morality and civility, and therefore that much closer to nature and the gods, and that much more powerful.

“No,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “It was just a demon.” He hadn’t ever seen a Bai Wen in all his years, and didn’t put much merit in their existence. He knew those who believed they were the base form of humanity worshipped them, but he had the suspicion that many of the creatures people thought were Bai Wen were really just normal demons. “It was unusually fast, but it was just a demon.” He patted Hou Conglin on his shoulder. “Go back to the inn and join your shijie. I’ll take Lei Wenhe back to Si’en.”

Hou Conglin gave Lei Wenhe a glance over. He hadn’t seen Lei Wenhe in the fight and so still wasn’t very impressed with him, though with his personality he wouldn’t have liked him even if he had seen him in the fight. Hou Conglin was the kind of man who only liked those who seemed to serve some kind of purpose in the world, but what was Lei Wenhe doing? Just an independent cultivator, no alliances of any kind—what was he doing with his life? Even if he could heal that whatever-whatever disease, why wasn’t he doing anything with that knowledge? According to Hou Conglin’s shizun, he didn’t even charge for his services.

“He isn’t coming to Anlu?”

“No.” Zheng Xiaolang didn’t explain at all, and just nodded for Hou Conglin to move along, who cupped his hands and obediently left.

“You are a good teacher,” said Lei Wenhe once Hou Conglin was gone. Zheng Xiaolang was surprised. Was that approval in Lei Wenhe’s voice?

“I try to be,” he replied carefully.

“They trust you.”

Zheng Xiaolang felt a curious pang somewhere in his chest. He remembered a flash of his own days as a disciple all those years ago—Xie Rong teaching every little move, coaxing the qi through his meridians until he understood the way the energy needed to move. He shook his head, chasing the memory away. “Is there anything you would like before we return to Si’en? We’ll stop at the inn outside Liping. I can get you anything you need.”

“No, no need. We finished very quickly. I would like to return as soon as possible.”

Any other person, especially one who had already gained the favor of someone as important as Zheng Xiaolang, would have milked this relationship for all it was worth. Zheng Xiaolang had suspected in the beginning that maybe Lei Wenhe was just biding his time and was waiting until the very end, when Zheng Xiaolang owed him for all his help, to reveal what he really wanted, be it money or power or whatever, but he still wasn’t asking for anything.

They traveled back to Si’en together. With Lei Wenhe’s help, they moved through the carpeted maze much faster, and then Lei Wenhe was happily covering up the “back in two months” and propping the sign right back up by his snow-white carpet. “Well then,” said Lei Wenhe, and cupped his hands. “Pleasure to meet you, Zheng-zhangmen. Please take care.”

That was it? He wasn’t going to ask for anything at all? He wasn’t going to even say “see you again”?

“Wait a moment,” said Zheng Xiaolang, and Lei Wenhe paused with the carpet lifted up in his hands.

“Is something the matter?”

“There’s a competition in half a year’s time, in the capital district of Shen.” Zheng Xiaolang paused, searched Lei Wenhe’s face—but saw nothing he could read, as per usual. “Will you be going?”

Lei Wenhe gave him that tight-lipped smile. “Zheng-zhangmen, this humble one is just a healer who specializes in a single disease. How could I possibly presume to have a place at such a prestigious event?”

“You’re the only healer who can heal Golden Core Turns Black,” said Zheng Xiaolang, “and your understanding of and sense for qi is superior to anyone else I’ve met. Even if you weren’t so impressive, we’ll need healers to tend to the competitors.” He reached into one of his sleeves and pulled out a wooden disk about the size of his palm, which had the character for ‘Xie’ carved onto its surface and a golden tassel dangling from one end. “Take this,” he said. “This will act as your invitation. It will also provide you safe passage through all of Xie.”

Lei Wenhe took it and turned it over in his hands curiously. “You want me to go?”

“I think it would serve the cultivation world if you went,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “That place will be filled with people wanting to hire independent cultivators and healers like you and bring them into their territories as permanent residents, or even into the capital city. It will give you a safe place away from the demons here and will get you out of the cold.” He nodded at the badge he’d given Lei Wenhe. “In thanks for your help, please feel free to travel through the Xie territory and use the badge for any resources or access you need. It’ll be safer than traveling through lands with Snow Fever or through the glacier.”

Lei Wenhe tucked the badge into his sleeve and gave Zheng Xiaolang another bow. “Then, thank you, Zheng-zhangmen.” And he ducked inside without waiting for an answer.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lei Wenhe bit his tongue

ZHENG XIAOLANG’S DISTRICT was totally absent of slaves. This wasn’t an accident; he was born a slave, and he knew just how miserable it was like to be in a situation like that, absolutely devoid of power and helpless to anything anyone wanted to do to you. So, even as Xie Rong was the leading power in the slave trade—even as that was precisely how her family and territory gained all that power—Zheng Xiaolang did not permit the ownership of slaves in his district, punishable by imprisonment or a heavy fine, but usually both. Xie Rong conceivably would have an issue with this, as it would mean for her a loss of profits, but Zheng Xiaolang made up for the loss in another way: he poured his own spending money into the slave trade, freeing people left and right, and then used the rest of the money that wasn’t going to his sect to set up those people in the unoccupied territories right outside his district. When push came to shove, Xie Rong hardly had any kind of profit loss at all, so she left Zheng Xiaolang and his peculiar laws alone. Other than the Wu territory, his was the only land that had these kinds of restrictions, so it also became a kind of tourist attraction for some people.

If someone was coming in from the unoccupied territories, where most people were too poor to afford slaves, or had never gone far enough into any of the occupied territories to purchase a slave, traveling into Zheng Xiaolang’s district was nothing particularly noteworthy. It just seemed like any other kind of land: there were farming towns, there were cities, there were long stretches of land where there was nothing at all. It was only when you traveled further south, into Peng Fa’s district or into Shen territory, that the differences became obvious.

Lei Wenhe waited some months in Si’en, healing cultivators as he usually did. When the time came, he got help from another vendor to add a note to the bottom of the sign that Zheng Xiaolang had written for him—the new handwriting looked pitifully shabby compared to Zheng Xiaolang’s elegant script—draped his small sack of nuts and berries over his shoulder, and set off for Shen’s capital district. He traveled through Zheng Xiaolang’s district, stopping briefly in Anlu to refill his water and buy some more walnuts for his dwindling supply, but otherwise continuing without stopping. Those differences became obvious when he went into Shen. It seemed like the quality of life dropped suddenly. There were slaves everywhere, plodding along behind the people who had purchased them, weighed down by all the items they could never hope to earn. Lei Wenhe flicked his sleeves distastefully, drew up his hood, and continued with his head down. He didn’t often stop at inns for rest, as he didn’t have much money, but here in Shen he did so even less often, and instead just set himself up on the side of the road with his food settled in his lap. He was unafraid of anyone coming to try to take advantage of him: he only had that small sack of food and the clothes on his back. If someone was so desperate that they needed to take any of those things—well, Lei Wenhe would say, they could go ahead, and he would just make do with what they were generous enough to leave him.

He arrived in Shen’s capital district with about a week until the conference Zheng Xiaolang had told him about, and then arrived in the capital city of Yingde with one day to spare. The badge Zheng Xiaolang had given to him, which was still tucked into his pocket and had yet to see the light of day since it was passed over, was unneeded for his entry; as soon as Lei Wenhe said his name, the cultivators at the capital city gates were already moving aside and ushering him in. Someone named Shen Shi met Lei Wenhe at the gate only a few steps in. He introduced himself as the youngest son of Shen Guozhi, the family leader of Shen, and said he would do the duty of taking Lei Wenhe around and introducing him to everyone.

“I don’t need special treatment,” Lei Wenhe said with some alarm.

“Then Shen family insists. You’re a guest of honor, Lei-xiansheng.” He wouldn’t hear any of Lei Wenhe’s protests that he would just explore on his own, and dragged him along into the main area of the conference. The Xie colors were gold and white, so that was how the cultivators dressed, but the Shen family wore this bright blue, the same color as the sky on a sunny day, with black belts and underclothes. Surrounded by these colors, Lei Wenhe got a sour taste in his mouth.

There were seven noble families in this mortal realm: Long, Cao, Qin, Xie, Yu, Shen, and Wu. Of those families, six had stolen customs and colors directly from the noble families of Murmuring Springs. Long mimicked the Hai family; Cao mimicked the Lei family; Qin mimicked the Bo family; Xie mimicked the Yu family, Yu14 mimicked the Huo family, and these Shen “nobles” mimicked the Xue family. When Lei Wenhe was younger, he remembered walking through the streets and seeing these familiar colors move by him—and his best friend, Xiao Suyin, wore those “Shen” colors, that brilliant blue and deep black, her smile as wide and bright as the sun. Xiao Suyin, who in the prime of her youth was cut down by mortal swords.

Looking at this entire mortal family—this poor imitation of the family Lei Wenhe grew up alongside—he wanted to lash out at them, wanted to take Shen Shi by the throat and drag him to Shen Guozhi and demand an apology. If he cared about his son, maybe he would get the apology, but did Lei Wenhe want to stop there? No, an apology wouldn’t be enough. He would want to climb whatever steps it took to get to Shen Guozhi, tear him limb from limb. He’d want to hear Shen Guozhi beg for mercy, which was far more mercy than he and his mortal soldiers had granted the people of Murmuring Springs—far more mercy than he and those mortals had granted Xue Suyin.

“Do you have any food preferences? Our chefs can prepare anything you like.”

Lei Wenhe forced himself to come out of this fantasy and gave Shen Shi as pleasant a smile as he could muster. “I only eat fruits and nuts. There’s nothing Shen-gongzi15 needs to prepare.”

Shen Shi laughed and waved his hand. “I’ll tell them to prepare some simple vegetable dishes for you, then. Perhaps you would like to try some of Yingde’s famous walnuts?”

“If Shen-gongzi insists,” said Lei Wenhe. “You’re too kind.”

Yingde was a much bigger city than Si’en, and much bigger than Zheng Xiaolang’s Anlu as well. Since it was the capital city of Shen, that meant two important things: firstly, it was the cultural center of Shen; secondly, it was where the Shen family lived. On any normal day, it would be a busy city, with little flags in Shen colors floating above the streets and cultivators walking every which way, but now it was even more colorful than usual, with cultivators from every family walking alongside them, and where the streets usually had any kind of vendor with goods to sell, now the city was only permitting the best—the best food, the best goods, the best services, all to impress those who traveled to Yingde for the conference. Shen Shi didn’t pay much attention to these streets, and instead took Lei Wenhe directly to the great manor in the center of the city, which was surrounded by a towering wall that only cultivators could hope to scale—and, even then, Lei Wenhe suspected it was heavily guarded enough that even cultivators with extraordinary qinggong16 would have a hard time sneaking in. At the gates of these walls, Shen Shi waved the guards inside and led Lei Wenhe in. He pointed out some different attractions as they walked: there were the training grounds, there was archery, there was the area for meditation, there were some hot springs, there was the place Lei Wenhe would be staying. Lei Wenhe made for the room he pointed out, pleased that it was close enough to the hot springs that he wouldn’t have to walk very far—there weren’t many hot springs near Si’en worth visiting, and he had no illusions of visiting the hot springs of Murmuring Springs anytime soon—but Shen Shi would not permit escape, and just kept pulling him along.

“This way is where the rest of the independent cultivators and healers are staying.” Shen Shi pointed out a line of rooms against the eastern wall, which were significantly simpler than the little house Lei Wenhe had claim to.

"Why aren’t I staying with them?”

“Oh, surely Lei-xiansheng must know that you’re more important than them. Everyone is interested to see what you’re able to do.”

Lei Wenhe wasn’t sure about being treated so differently. He already wasn’t the kind of person who wanted a lot of attention at this stage of his life, so being set up separate from the others and given an escort of the clan leader’s son…this was really too much.

“The healers are gathered this way,” said Shen Shi, “but I’ll take Lei-xiansheng to the sect leaders first.”

“Is Shen-gongzi a sect leader?” This was mostly just Lei Wenhe’s attempt at polite conversation, but he’d apparently struck a nerve with Shen Shi, whose face darkened for an imperceptible moment before it cleared right back into that sunny smile from before.

“No, I’m not strong enough to be a sect leader. My Shen Ying-dage is a sect leader, but not me. You’ll meet him soon enough.”

Some distance away, across the walled area that was Shen Guozhi’s manor and surrounding property, Zheng Xiaolang had already arrived and was speaking to a woman named Yu Yunmi. West of those unoccupied northern lands where Lei Wenhe had set up his shop was Zheng Xiaolang’s district in Xie territory; east was Yu Weizhe’s territory, and Yu Yunmi was his daughter. She had an elegant, serene appearance; some time ago, she had a youthful glint in her eyes that invited others to join her in her seemingly boundless energy, but a few years back she’d lost some of that luster. She’d grown more serious, the corners of her mouth turned down, and much of her day was just spent turning over strategies in her mind. When anyone talked about impending war, Yu Weizhe’s territory was invariably a part of that conversation, and by extension so was Yu Yunmi: though Yu Weizhe was the family leader, it was Yu Yunmi who managed the military and handled much of the politics even alongside the management of her own sect. As Long Feifei of the Long family moved further into the Yu territory, it was Yu Yunmi who had the responsibility of dealing with it, deciding how far they should be allowed to go, and when the Yu family should declare war.

Zheng Xiaolang had known Yu Yunmi for years now—she was about fifty or sixty years younger than him, but she was always at gatherings like this, and he’d grown a little fond of her. The other nobles had that air to them, and certainly Yu Yunmi had it as well, but she seemed a little more grounded, a little more connected to her people. She had grown up in luxury, loved by her parents and respected by her people, but she had always spoken to Zheng Xiaolang with great respect. Because of such a nice upbringing, those first years of her life naturally gave her a bright disposition, and even now with all of the stress and responsibility landing heavy on her shoulders, she was still nothing but respectful toward Zheng Xiaolang, and treated him as a qianbei.17

Currently they were discussing the matter of juniors: she and Zheng Xiaolang, despite both being powerful enough to hold their own in most fights, were given the arduous task of directing the juniors through their events. While the other sect leaders and assorted cultivators mingled and shared stories around food and drink as they waited for the tournament to begin, Zheng Xiaolang and Yu Yunmi were busy rounding up the juniors of various sects and organizing activities for them to do to enrich and entertain them. These juniors had the option, of course, to participate in the ranking tournament, but there was a very small chance they would be able to make any kind of dent in the rankings. Entering the tournament prematurely if you were too weak was a sign of over-eagerness and naivety, but entering the tournament prematurely if you were too young was a sign of arrogance, and that was the kind of label that wouldn’t escape a person for a very long time. It was better to wait, to bide your time, and to learn everything you could before you went to fight the tigers of the cultivation world.

For those with no intention to make a fool of themselves in the official tournament, Zheng Xiaolang and Yu Yunmi planned a mini version of the tournament between the juniors, a monster-hunting competition, and a few lessons of techniques both sect leaders were willing to indulge. Otherwise, they tried to encourage the disciples to socialize as they pleased and get to know the cultivators they would one day be leading alongside—to form alliances and, if necessary, determine who exactly they know they would never be able to get along with. Zheng Xiaolang’s own disciples were doing reasonably well; the top disciples he’d brought with him to deal with the demon in Liping were expectedly socializing with the top disciples of other sects: Hou Conglin liked to be around powerful people, Xie Huiyan was more natural around nobility no matter how much she disliked her own family, and Lai Liu was satisfied just behind Xie Huiyan, neither sociable nor antisocial, only speaking when she needed to in that careful way of hers.

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know that Lei Wenhe had arrived. Truth be told, he’d more or less removed the matter of Lei Wenhe from his mind. Yes, he did remember who he was, and yes he would be able to recall almost every conversation he’d had with the Master Healer should anyone suddenly demand it of him, but after six months of being apart—and only a few weeks together—anyone would allow their mind to wander toward more important, pressing matters. Lei Wenhe had so far posed no dramatic threat to Zheng Xiaolang, his sect, or his goals, nor had he made any attempt to swindle, hurt, or manipulate them in those few weeks they spent at each other’s sides, so he determined only a few days after he’d departed Si’en that he’d not worry about Lei Wenhe again until it became directly relevant. If he knew that Lei Wenhe was here, he would only be curious as to what the Master Healer was up to; but, then again, he really was very busy with the juniors.

“Do we need to go catch some low-power demons?” Zheng Xiaolang asked as he perused a map of Yingde and the capital district. “With the two of us, it shouldn’t take very long. We can section off this area here and lock them in with a few talismans.”

Yu Yunmi glanced over the map. “We should clear the area first. We don’t know what else is here. If we clear it of all the more powerful demons and take inventory of the easier ones, we’ll know exactly what we’ll be sending them into. How are your disciples with talismans? We can ask a few to make talismans to keep better track of the score.”

Zheng Xiaolang called over Lai Liu and Yu Yunmi called over a couple of her own disciples. They gave some instruction, and then set off together for the area they’d decided would serve as the epicenter of their monster-hunting competition.

Meanwhile, Lei Wenhe was climbing up the steps to Shen Guozhi’s manor. Shen Shi was still chattering away, the slight of mentioning his sect leader status—or lack thereof—all but forgotten in favor of optimum hospitality. The front doors pushed open into a great hall, the center of which had a long Shen-blue carpet that stretched for more than fifty paces, leading the eye right to the golden throne at the end. Lei Wenhe wanted to laugh; did this Shen Guozhi think himself a king? He was just the leader of a cultivation family, nothing more. It was abhorrent that he would spend his money building this makeshift castle and sit on his makeshift throne when he could be funding the advancement of the land he claimed to rule. Why was he serving himself like this when there were still slaves in his territory?

Lei Wenhe cupped his hands and bowed to Shen Guozhi. “Shen-zongzhu.18 This humble one is Lei Wenhe, a healer from Si’en.”

Shen Guozhi let out a little laugh. He was an older man; if he wasn’t a cultivator, one might think he was somewhere in his fifties. That meant that it had taken quite a while before he had cultivated into immortality, but that wasn’t so uncommon among the clan leaders. He had a wispy beard at the end of his chin and wise eyes, and along with the rich Shen-blue fabrics he had about ten pounds of gold in rings, necklaces, and arm cuffs decorating his body. When he laughed, though, there was a kind of weak cough underlying it, but it was quiet enough that only Lei Wenhe was able to notice it. “I know who you are, Lei-xiansheng. It’s a great honor to be able to host you in my humble manor.”

Lei Wenhe bowed again. “You’re too polite.”

“I hope the house I set up for you is to your liking. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything you want while you stay here.”

Lei Wenhe knew all these niceties were just a farce; as far as Shen Guozhi knew, Lei Wenhe was merely a fraud who convinced random cultivators to spread the word that he could heal Golden Core Turns Black. If that was true, he wouldn’t have been the first person to do it—there had been a handful of schemers who’d tried to take advantage of the cultivation world by claiming that they could cure the mysterious ailment. Some had been so bold as to walk straight into the capital cities of different clans’ territories and announce their “capabilities”—of course, eventually their lies were brought to light, and some sect leaders weren’t so forgiving. If Lei Wenhe was the same as these scam artists, and didn’t really have any kind of cure to speak of, he’d at least been more subtle about it, staying in the north and healing the independent cultivators that came to him instead of demanding attention from more powerful people. In any case, if there was the smallest chance that the opposite was true, and Lei Wenhe really was a miraculous healer, Shen Guozhi couldn’t pass up the chance. He had to treat Lei Wenhe as graciously as possible to get in his good favor. Then, if it turned out that Lei Wenhe was lying and he’d convinced those cultivators to pretend they’d had Golden Core Turns Black and then been suddenly healed from it, then Shen Guozhi could simply say that he was taking a chance on a stranger, that his heart was too good for this otherwise cruel world, and so on. Either way, Shen Guozhi came out on top.

But Lei Wenhe bit his tongue and smiled and placated Shen Guozhi for the length of their conversation, and when Shen Guozhi said he needed to go some other place to do some other thing, he followed Shen Shi to the sect leaders. The introductions were so quick Lei Wenhe was hardly able to process them: here was Duan Ya of Long, Chen Tian and Cao Meilin of Cao, He Zhenzhen of Shen, Xie Mei and Peng Fa of Xie, Yan Yixue of Yu, Wan Bolin and Qin You of Qin, Yan Tao and Shi Huang of Wu. None of them made any kind of impression on Lei Wenhe; they were all reasonably polite and gave him bows when introduced, but nobody had much to say. They were in the same boat as Shen Guozhi—Lei Wenhe had the potential to be a significant figure in the cultivation world, but so far no one of any importance had been healed by him, and so his reputation and trustworthiness was still questionable.

He didn’t spend long with the sect leaders. After the introductions were finished, Shen Shi moved him along to conclude the tour, finally leaving Lei Wenhe alone when they reached the healers with explicit instructions to please contact him or any of the servants if he needed anything at all. Mostly, Lei Wenhe was relieved that he had a moment where he was no longer the center of attention, but that didn’t last long. The healers realized very quickly that it was none other than Shen Guozhi’s youngest who’d dropped off this new healer, so all of their attention promptly turned to Lei Wenhe to see what was so important about him. Lei Wenhe only provided his name and his occupation when they asked, and for another minute or two they just looked at one another, wondering if they should recognize the name.

Some time passed before one of them was finally able to put the pieces together. He suddenly said, “You’re the healer who can cure Golden Core Turns Black.”

Lei Wenhe feigned embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck and looking this way and that way. “Oh, it’s not really a cure, just a way to prevent any more injury…”

All the healers leaned forward eagerly, chattering about how it was still brilliant, it was extraordinary—far more than they could accomplish. One asked, “This technique, what do you call it?”

“Black Core Turns Golden,” said Lei Wenhe.

The healers all fell into silence. There was no proper response to a name like that.

Then one was shameless enough to tentatively ask, “Lei-qianbei, could you share the secrets behind Black—behind this technique?”

Lei Wenhe had expected this. Even if the healers weren’t concerned with the wellbeing of the cultivating world, they would want the knowledge purely for the prestige. Lei Wenhe could share his secrets with all of the present healers and it would still be rare enough that the healers could charge whatever they wanted for the service.

Of course, Lei Wenhe had no intention of sharing Black Core Turns Golden. His position as the only one capable of it gave him the kind of access to cultivators that he needed. No one knew who he was or where he had come from; if all these other healers had the same cure as him, it didn’t really matter how rare it was—the cultivators would almost invariably pick a healer they knew over a mystery like Lei Wenhe. But then there was the matter that Lei Wenhe was from Murmuring Springs, not a mortal like them; his understanding of spiritual energy was on another level, and his way of thinking about golden cores and meridians was totally different. He was absolutely capable of explaining it in terms the healers would understand, but instead he used this different manner of comprehension to his advantage, and spent a few hours using his foreign terms to describe the process and feeling of Black Core Turns Golden. When he was finished talking, the healers were all confused into silence, and had no idea what to do with everything Lei Wenhe had just told them.

“I hope that’s helpful,” said Lei Wenhe, and rubbed at his neck again.

“Ah…” said the healer who’d asked him to explain, “You really are on a different level from us.”

Lei Wenhe feigned surprise. “Did what I said not make sense?”

The healers looked at each other again. How could they admit that none of what he said made sense? Wouldn’t that be admitting a deficiency in their ability? So they laughed a little more and said that they would think it through and try to understand, and before Lei Wenhe could comment on their inefficiency, began to shower him with compliments on his fantastic ability—we hope to learn from you, Lei-qianbei, please teach us~

Eventually Lei Wenhe was able to figure out how to nudge the topic of conversation in a different direction, and by dinnertime he and the healers were happily chatting about some new medicine used to treat Snow Fever. They joined some other cultivators in the dining hall; Lei Wenhe browsed the food for some time, turning up his nose at the strange mortal flavors, but settled for some congee and simple side dishes so nobody would ask too many questions.

“Excuse me, Lei-xiansheng.”

The voice behind him was quiet but familiar. Lei Wenhe put down his bowl of congee and twisted around to face the person who had spoken to him; it was Lai Liu, the young cultivator he knew was Zheng Xiaolang’s student.

“Lai Liu. Have you recovered?”

She nodded a few times. “I recovered well, and I recovered quickly.” Then she bowed, deep and respectful. “Thank you again for your help, Xiansheng.”

“I’m glad I was there.” Lei Wenhe paused, thought about how he should approach this conversation. “Did you come here for the tournament, or do you have other business?”

“The tournament. There is a smaller version for the younger disciples. I should be making talismans for Shizun to help, but I’d heard that Lei-xiansheng was here and…” She broke off, her cheeks turning pink, and looked away. Lei Wenhe didn’t have any misgivings about whether this blush was because she had a crush or anything similar; he knew that she was just a shy young woman, and didn’t know how to interact with people she wasn’t very familiar with.

“Thank you for stopping to say hello. I can rest easier knowing that you’re better. Your shizun never updated me on your health.”

“Oh, yes, he’s been…busy.” She twisted her hands together, still not meeting his eyes. “He’s in charge of the events for the juniors. I’m sure he would’ve come by if he knew you were here…”

“No worries,” said Lei Wenhe. “Why don’t you sit down and eat? I’m sure your work can wait for a few minutes while you fill your stomach. The others are still working on it, anyway.” She disappeared for a while, then came back with a couple bowls of marinated meats, cat’s ear noodles, and sauteed vegetables, which she set up in a half-circle next to Lei Wenhe before she dropped down beside him.

“Have you been busy as well?” Lei Wenhe picked up his bowl of congee again and sipped at it. Lai Liu shrugged.

“Just as busy as ever. Shizun has been sending the three of us on more independent missions that he knows we’ll be able to handle, but we can’t take all of them. He has to divide everything between all of us disciples.”

“The three of you—do you mean you, Hou Conglin, and Xie Huiyan?”

“En.”

“Zheng-zhangmen mentioned you were his top disciples.”

Lai Liu nodded a few more times. “We have a long way to go, but the three of us are the top scorers. Maybe you can come by the training grounds and say hello to Hou Conglin-shidi and Xie Huiyan-shijie and meet the rest of them.”

“I might. If you would like, you can tell your shizun where I’m staying.” Lei Wenhe drew out a little map on the table with his finger to indicate where his house was in relation to the dining hall. “If he’s busy, though, I understand.”

“Did the two of you get along?” Lai Liu picked up a piece of meat with her chopsticks and inspected it before she popped it into her mouth.

“We got along alright.” Truthfully, Lei Wenhe thought any interaction with Zheng Xiaolang that didn’t result in him diving over and ripping out his throat was successful, so even if he and Zheng Xiaolang had been bickering and wrestling since the moment Zheng Xiaolang came into his stall, he would really have the same answer for Lai Liu. “He’s charismatic, then, your shizun?”

Lai Liu’s nod this time was much more enthusiastic. “All of us disciples love him. Though, sometimes…” Now she hesitated and picked up another piece of her meat, using it as an excuse to stop talking.

“Sometimes?” Lei Wenhe prompted her.

“Sometimes, with his seniors, or with his peers…sometimes he can be a little strange.”

Lei Wenhe pretended to hide a smile. “Ah, you mean those proposals he makes.”

Her cheeks flashed bright pink and she immediately averted her eyes. “He asked you, too?”

“Mn. Twice.”

Lai Liu looked like she wanted to hide behind her food. “It used to be worse. People had all kinds of nicknames for him. Now, Shizun…well, he says that he’s looking for a rival. Someone who can keep his pace. But he’s in a tight spot, because the only people who can really keep up with him are other sect leaders and the clan leaders, and—”

“And he has the political aspect to think about,” Lei Wenhe finished for her, nodding.

“Yes. So Shizun says he’s just asking whoever he meets now, to see if they can keep up with him. But I think maybe…I think maybe he’s just doing it because it makes people uncomfortable. I hope you won’t hold it against him, Lei-xiansheng.”

Lei Wenhe wanted to laugh. He gave Lai Liu a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold something so trivial over someone as esteemed as your shizun.”

Lai Liu looked relieved. “Thank you, Xiansheng.”

“Don’t worry about that. Could you perhaps tell me a little more about this event? Your shizun invited me, but he didn’t tell me much, and I think everyone is assuming that I know what’s going on…it’s terribly embarrassing.”

His play at bashfulness worked: Lai Liu relaxed even more now, probably thinking that, in some ways, she was the qianbei here—the more experienced one, the teacher of this particular situation. Even if Lei Wenhe was older, it was she who had been to these sorts of events, and it was even her shizun who was responsible for organizing some of the elements of this event. Lei Wenhe was basically a no-name healer who’d only been able to come here because he had, by chance, been able to meet someone as important as her shizun and get into his good favor.

“The main thing you need to know,” Lai Liu said, “is the purpose of the tournament. Every ten years, the leaders of the cultivation world hold this event to determine who is most powerful. The noble families will record the top ten cultivators and keep those names in their library; the top one hundred are more for peoples’ personal growth and determination of how far they need to go, so those aren’t really kept in the official records.”

“The top ten…who were they last year?”

Lai Liu got a strange expression on her face. “Number one was Long Qingge-zongzhu. All of the clan leaders were in the top ten, and so were Yu Yunmi-zhangmen, Long Feifei-zhangmen, and Mao Lan-zhangmen.”

“Your shizun wasn’t in the top ten?”

That strange expression again. Lai Liu put her chopsticks down and pressed her lips together. “No. He was in the twenties.”

Interesting. From what Lei Wenhe understood, Zheng Xiaolang was powerful enough to hold his own against most if not all of the clan leaders. How could it be that, not only was he not in the top ten, he wasn’t even in the top twenty? There was something strange there. Lei Wenhe said, “Will he be participating so he can make it into the top ten?”

Lai Liu seemed to have given up on her food; something about the new topic of conversation had spoiled her appetite. “No, he isn’t participating.”

“Is he worried he won’t make it into the top ten?”

Her lip twitched. She stood and gathered her dishes. “If you’ll excuse me, Lei-xiansheng. I should get back to work.”

Lei Wenhe watched her go, his eyebrows drawn together. Then he quietly finished his congee, stacked up his dishes, and left the dining hall.

CHAPTER SIX

If I'm in danger, I'm sure Zheng-zhangmen would come to save me

THE TOURNAMENT WAS going to start early in the morning, but Lei Wenhe didn’t want to waste time while he was in Yingde; he wasn’t here to relax, and unfortunately he wasn’t here to enjoy the hot springs, no matter how tempting they looked. Instead of going back to sleep or meditate after dinner, he went to explore the grounds without a young master constantly hovering over his shoulder. He made a quick stop at the room the Shen family set up for him and picked up a cloak they’d laid out. The one he’d brought from Si’en was travel-worn and recognizable—no one wore fur in Yingde, and he’d already introduced himself to everyone wearing that cloak. With this new cloak, he could cover his clothing, which meant he wouldn’t stand out as the miraculous healer of Golden Core Turns Black, and it was Shen-blue too, which meant he wouldn’t stand out as a visitor either. He could simply blend in with the crowd.

He went back near the healers first, just hovering nearby them without interacting. If a person wanted information about clans, they didn’t ask the people who were in those clans—they asked the people who moved in and out of those clans, who had no real alliance to those clans, whose friends tended to be people just like them. These healers who had yet to secure a permanent job in any sect were the perfect people to listen to if Lei Wenhe wanted information—and, of course, he was looking for information on Zheng Xiaolang.

But it quickly became apparent that these healers really did not know a thing about the man.

Zheng Xiaolang was famously generous to everyone; he freed slaves left and right, he set towns up for those freed slaves in unoccupied territories where they would feel no pressure to align themselves to him, he treated townspeople like they were equals—he was famous for all of these things. But he was not famous for being a trusting person. It was possible for a man to be incredibly generous and incredibly closed off at the same time, and if Zheng Xiaolang was good at anything then he was especially good at this. All of these healers who had gained for themselves a reputation in the cultivating world present at this event, and none of them had managed the prestige of being invited to work within Zheng Xiaolang’s sect. Indeed, the only information that Lei Wenhe could gather on the man was that he had private healers who he hired personally through sources that he trusted. None of them had been able to get close enough to even be considered.

He did learn quite a bit about some other sect and clan leaders though, which wasn’t necessarily useless information: the clan leader of Long had a suspicious relationship with Mao Lan, who was a sect leader and her older brother’s wife; Shen Guozhi’s eldest son, Shen Ying, was in love with a slave-turned-cultivator; the eldest son of the Qin clan leader was involved with his sworn brother; and so on, and so forth. It was the kind of information that didn’t seem useful in the moment, but Lei Wenhe knew that sometimes social weaknesses were just as powerful as physical weaknesses. Long Qingge, for example, wasn’t the clan leader of Long for nothing—surely she was a very powerful woman, and might even be able to hold her own in a fight against Lei Wenhe. But how long would she last if Lei Wenhe threatened her lover? He might have been an honorable man once, but those times had passed. If he had a way of gaining the advantage over his enemies, he would snatch up the opportunity in a heartbeat.

Lei Wenhe stayed for some time near the healers, then moved on to explore the rest of the grounds. They were vast, and every four steps Lei Wenhe was met with another servant or slave. After what the cultivators had stolen from Murmuring Springs, they still had yet to improve? Were they really only concentrating on the self—and not just that, but they were only concentrating on the self within the cultivating world? He bit back his disgust and kept moving. As much as he disliked this, it would have to wait. He couldn’t do anything about it without people taking notice, and that wasn’t the kind of attention he could deal with right now.

He went onto the archery grounds. He also wanted to see the training grounds, but he worried people might be training there, and the more people were there, the more likely Lei Wenhe would be recognized. For now, he just needed to become comfortable with his surroundings. If anything were to happen, he needed to be able to make a quick escape.

There was also the matter that Lei Wenhe quite missed archery.

In his youth, he’d been talented with it—a prodigy, even. The people of Murmuring Springs had long since surpassed the need for weapons, but they liked to use weapons anyway both to cultivate another method of self-discipline and keep themselves entertained. Lei Wenhe had to take some time getting used to the sword, but archery had come naturally to him. He’d never felt more at home than he had with a bow in his hands, his family by his side…

Lei Wenhe forced himself to concentrate on what was in front of him. The Shen family’s archery range was large and impressive, with several options for range and size of target. He didn’t know much about the Shen family, but it might be the case that they had an impressive group of archers within their ranks. He wondered, after all this time never touching a bow, if he would still be able to compare.

He itched to just go up to the shelves at the entrance of the range, take up one of the bows they had hanging there, sling a quiver across his back—

“Lei-xiansheng, is that you?”

Lei Wenhe froze. He had the Shen-blue cloak on, and his hood was up. Slowly, he turned. Zheng Xiaolang was standing in front of him in his white and gold Xie robes, a Shen-blue sash tied around his left arm. Lei Wenhe dipped his head and cupped his hands. “Zheng-zhangmen.” After a moment to get over the initial shock of seeing Zheng Xiaolang so suddenly, he noticed someone was standing at Zheng Xiaolang’s side: a young woman with intelligent eyes and the same sash tied around her arm. Her robes, though, were a rich purple with a smattering of white accents. “Yu-zhangmen,” he said, and bowed again.

Yu Yunmi smiled graciously and bowed back. “Lei-xiansheng knows who I am, but I’m afraid I’m not so knowledgeable. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“This is Lei Wenhe,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “He’s the healer who can cure Golden Core Turns Black.”

Yu Yunmi’s eyes widened a little. “Is that so? Then, it’s an honor, Lei-xiansheng. Do the two of you know each other?”

“He helped me with a demon in my district. He’s a talented healer in other areas, as well.”

“Zheng-zhangmen is too kind.”

Yu Yunmi studied Lei Wenhe for a moment. She had the same intensely intelligent gaze as did Lai Liu, so once again Lei Wenhe was feeling a bit as if he were being picked apart, examined, and put back together again. He knew this woman was, in every way but on paper, the political and military leader of the Yu clan; she was probably a bigger threat than Zheng Xiaolang when it came to perception. He felt a little uneasy. Then Yu Yunmi said, “Zheng-zhangmen, I’ll keep walking. Please feel free to speak with Lei-xiansheng.”

“Oh, that’s not—” But Zheng Xiaolang was unable to say whether it was necessary; Yu Yunmi made a quick getaway and left them alone. He sighed and turned back to Lei Wenhe. The other man was watching him with his willow-leaf eyes narrowed, his lips pursed—but when they made eye contact, his entire demeanor relaxed, and he gave Zheng Xiaolang that odd smile of his.

“I saw Lai Liu earlier. She told me you were responsible for some of the events here.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Lai Liu had told him she’d run into the healer, and Zheng Xiaolang had decided he would deal with the matter when he saw Lei Wenhe. He hadn’t expected to run into him so soon.

“Do you know why you and Yu-zhangmen were selected for the task?”

“I think we’re just both good with the disciples,” Zheng Xiaolang said. The real answer—the one that wasn’t supposed to be said out loud—was that Zheng Xiaolang and Yu Yunmi were both political threats, they both commanded more loyalty from their people than their respective clan leaders, and they were both talented strategists. Giving them another task and moving them out of the way was officially requested by Shen Guozhi, but it was probably orchestrated by several of the family leaders. If it was really about being good with the disciples, then Zheng Xiaolang would probably be working with someone like Cao’s Chen Tian—someone who concentrated more on the development of his disciples than politics, in which Yu Yunmi was constantly embroiled for several years now. But he couldn’t tell any of this to other sect leaders, much less a nobody like Lei Wenhe. He changed the subject. “Are you any good at archery?”

Lei Wenhe put a faint smile on his face and looked out toward the range. “I’ve never had a knack for weaponry. If I had such talents, I wouldn’t be so helpless in a battle.”

But…he wasn’t really that helpless in a battle, was he? Zheng Xiaolang had only seen him in danger that one time, and though Lei Wenhe’s face had twisted with worry, there was no fear in his eyes, and his movements were so quick that it was hard to believe he would ever get hurt in a fight, even if he couldn’t fight back.

“What about Zheng-zhangmen? Are you an archer?”

“I like to keep in practice,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “Walk with me?”

He retrieved a bow and a quiver, then went with Lei Wenhe to set up in front of one of the targets. Lei Wenhe stood some distance behind him with his hands folded together, watching patiently as Zheng Xiaolang nocked his arrow and pulled it back.

“May I ask Zheng-zhangmen a question?”

Zheng Xiaolang let loose the arrow and nocked another one. “Please feel free.”

“Lai Liu was telling me about the ranking system within the cultivation world, as the northern territories don’t exactly involve themselves in such matters. I had been under the impression from what I’d heard that you were a powerful cultivator, so it was a little surprising that…well…” Lei Wenhe didn’t finish, and Zheng Xiaolang’s lip curled up.

“Xiao Lai didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t seem like she wanted to.”

Zheng Xiaolang sighed. The arrow flew from his hand and embedded in the target a hundred paces away, only a hair’s width away from the last arrow. “It’s a touchy subject for her. Anytime anyone is treated differently because of their slave status, she loses some of her reason.”

“You’re ranked so low because of your slave status, then?”

“Even if I hadn’t been a slave when Xie-zongzhu found me, I wouldn’t place in the top ten. I’ve advised my juniors against discussing these matters with others so they wouldn’t display an open bias, but it’s really an open secret among cultivators. Every clan leader is guaranteed a spot in the top eight. Every sect leader who’s related to those clan leaders are guaranteed spots right after that. Then the other sect leaders are ranked normally, and then sect leaders who used to be slaves, and then independent cultivators.” He looked over his shoulder at Lei Wenhe, but as per usual he could not read the expression on his face. “If it’s any consolation, I’m at least ranked at the top of the former slaves. Number twenty-three. It’s an honorable number.”

“I hope Zheng-zhangmen doesn’t think he’s effectively hiding the bitterness in his voice.”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed. “I would never dare to hide anything from you, Lei-xiansheng.”

“Is someone keeping a more realistic rank elsewhere?”

Zheng Xiaolang thought it over for a moment, then dropped the bow to his side and smiled at Lei Wenhe. “Come over here. I can teach you how to shoot.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s—”

“It’s useful to at least be passable in a weapon, Lei-xiansheng. Whatever would happen if you found yourself in danger and couldn’t protect yourself?”

Lei Wenhe put on a pretty smile—nothing like those tight smiles Zheng Xiaolang was only barely getting used to. It was gentle; his eyes closed slightly, his head tilted, and his mouth was relaxed. “If I’m in danger, I’m sure Zheng-zhangmen would come to save me.”

“Lei-xiansheng.” Zheng Xiaolang put one hand over his heart, feigning bashfulness. “Have you changed your mind about becoming my cultivation partner?”

Lei Wenhe just kept smiling at him.

“Anyway.” He gestured for Lei Wenhe to come closer. “I’m teaching you whether you like it or not.”

“Can you not turn off this teacher persona of yours?”

“No, why should I?”

Lei Wenhe rolled his eyes and came closer. “Don’t blame me when I make a fool of myself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Here, put your hand here.” Very slowly and patiently, Zheng Xiaolang instructed Lei Wenhe on how to hold the bow, then helped him nock the arrow. It took a few tries before the arrow stayed, and then Lei Wenhe was able to pull back a little on the string.

“It’s harder than I thought.”

“Use your muscles here.” Zheng Xiaolang put one hand on Lei Wenhe’s arm. “Take a breath, and then pull back.”

Lei Wenhe pulled back on the string. His arm shook a little, but otherwise he held it steady. He released—and the arrow flew right past the target. “Ah, you see?” He held the bow out toward Zheng Xiaolang. “I don’t have any kind of talent for this sort of thing.”

“Try again.”

Lei Wenhe sighed. “Then why don’t you answer my question while I make a fool of myself?” He took the arrow Zheng Xiaolang passed over to him and clumsily nocked it. “Or was all of this supposed to make me forget that I asked in the first place?”

Zheng Xiaolang was beyond thinking he could pull one over on Lei Wenhe. Maybe it was that he’d spent his life in the unoccupied lands—did a place like that harden a person? But Zheng Xiaolang had spent a lot of time in those lands too, and he’d yet to meet anyone like Lei Wenhe. “I’ll answer your question. Shoot again.”

Another arrow flew by the target, even further than the last.

“Aim a little more to the left next time?”

Lei Wenhe’s lip twitched. “I did.”

“It looked like you aimed more to the right.”

“Well, you saw wrong.” Lei Wenhe nocked another arrow.

“There are people who make a more…accurate rank than what the noble families keep. It’s not something that’s easy to get to, and it’s not something that is easy to calculate, either. A lot of the people who should rank closer to the top put no interest in proving their strength.”

“People like you?”

Zheng Xiaolang shook his head. “My situation is different. I’m more talking about…do you know who Xiong Ju is?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Xiong Ju is an independent cultivator who’s been operating in the wildlands of Yu for a while, under the explicit permission of Yu Yunmi. Occasionally, she’ll also travel to unoccupied lands or more unpopulated areas of occupied lands to help people there, but lately she’s been in a closed-door meditation. In the unofficial ranking—the more accurate one—she’s ranked at the top. Everyone who is in that unofficial top ten knows her name and knows how powerful she is, but beyond that?” He shook his head again. “She has no need to prove her strength because she already knows how powerful she is, and the others in the unofficial top ten have no desire to prove their strength against her because a battle like that—the public wouldn’t be able to miss it. Long-zongzhu may be first in the official ranking, but she’s second in the unofficial ranking. That bothers her to no end, but what can she do about it? The fight alone would acknowledge Xiong Ju’s strength and disturb the power of the nobles, not to mention the consequences for if Long-zongzhu lost.”

“Hm.” Lei Wenhe still hadn’t released his third arrow. “Have you met this Xiong Ju?”

“Once, a long time ago.”

“Do you think you would be able to defeat her?”

Zheng Xiaolang, defeat Xiong Ju? When he’d met her, her power had been so overbearing that all the years he’d spent cultivating an iron countenance had seemed for naught; he’d felt the same thing he’d felt when he first met Xie Rong—like he was facing off against the sun itself. But how long had it been since he’d seen Xiong Ju? Had he gotten powerful enough since then that he wouldn’t feel so intimidated? “Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know about that.”

“What’s your unofficial rank?”

“Third.”

Lei Wenhe raised an eyebrow. “You dropped from third to twenty-third?”

“I don’t really care about that.”

Now Lei Wenhe scoffed. He pulled back on the string, let loose. It struck at the very edge of the target, almost too close to the edge to even stay put. “No, because after being looked down by the entire cultivation world for being a former slave, why would it bother you that the noble families made you drop twenty ranks just so they could maintain their status quo?”

Zheng Xiaolang chuckled. “You don’t need to get angry for me, Lei Wenhe.”

“You mean to say you have no intention to prove your strength? Couldn’t you win against most of the family leaders?”

“Maybe. Lift up your arm more when you’re aiming.”

Lei Wenhe lifted his arm, but he’d lifted it too high. When he released this arrow, it flew right above the target. “So why don’t you?”

“What would it accomplish? I don’t need to prove myself to them. Plus, even if I did, do you think they would have let that stand?” He reached out and took the bow in his hands, but didn’t pull it away from Lei Wenhe. “It’s better to keep my head down and take care of my disciples.”

He was only half a step away from Lei Wenhe. Lei Wenhe lowered his eyes and went to release the bow, but Zheng Xiaolang’s hands slid right on top of his, holding him there.

“Lei Wenhe,” he said softly. “Who are you really?”

Lei Wenhe didn’t meet his gaze, but he gave just as soft of a laugh and pulled his hands free. “Zheng-zhangmen, how many times do I have to say it? I’m just a healer from the north.”

So that’s how it was. Zheng Xiaolang studied Lei Wenhe for a moment longer, just taking him in. What was it about Lei Wenhe that was so mesmerizing? He wasn’t even that good-looking. He was plain, he rarely had deviations in his facial expressions, and the way he spoke, though the words were polite, always felt like he was bordering on disdain.

“I should get going,” said Lei Wenhe after a moment, and stepped back from Zheng Xiaolang. “I appreciated…the target practice, but I think we both need rest before the competition starts.”

Zheng Xiaolang watched him move away. He said, “Sleep well, Lei-xiansheng.” And Lei Wenhe looked over his shoulder and nodded at him, but he didn’t say anything in return.

…

Lei Wenhe woke early in the morning. He put on the Shen-blue cloak again, ate a small bowl of rice from the dining hall, and then headed out to where the tournament would be. The stands were already filled with spectators—cultivators who had just come to watch the chaos without actually wanting to participate in it. If someone was determined to be higher than they’d been before, well—that would be something to behold. If someone beat one of the sect leaders who were participating, that would be even more splendid. It was indeed true that the official rankings were determined by the noble families, but, even if the cultivators were aware of this fact—subconsciously or consciously—they wouldn’t particularly care, and it wouldn’t really take away the thrill from the fight. The first thirty-four ranks might be filled up with the clan and sect leaders and a couple independent cultivators, but everything after that was free reign. Not to mention, if you were actually able to defeat one of those sect leaders in front of everyone, then the nobles would just have to move you up a rank, right?

He stayed for a while, watching different nameless cultivators duke it out in the fighting area, but got bored after the third fight’s hundredth move. There were only so many interesting things that a group of mediocre cultivators could do before they ran out, and Lei Wenhe found most mortal moves boring anyway. They were basic and uninspired. He abandoned the fights and went to go check out the juniors’ competition. They might all know less, but they also tended to be a little more innovative, from his experience; older cultivators were stuck in their ways, but younger cultivators, when faced with problems, usually tried a few more things before they gave up. If anything else, he figured, they would provide more entertainment—and there were already plenty of healers watching the main competition anyway. They wouldn’t need him there.

The juniors’ area was a little ways from the main competition. Zheng Xiaolang and Yu Yunmi had reserved an area with Shen Guozhi’s permission. While sweeping that area, they’d killed the demons that would be too powerful for the juniors, then put talismans on the rest of the lower-level demons as well as some they’d brought in to keep track of scores and the like. Juniors were split up and sent into this area of demons by sect, but killing the demons gained points for the entire clan. Of course, the individual and sect scores were also recorded—even if your clan ultimately lost, your sect might get some sort of prize for being the highest-scoring among sects, or you as an individual might win a prize for killing the most demons. It was a good system, one that encouraged these young cultivators to do their best not just for themselves, but for their sects and clan as well. Pride in the self became strong, but so did pride in the sect and the clan.

Zheng Xiaolang must have been elsewhere, because only Yu Yunmi was visible at the entrance of the competition area. She spotted Lei Wenhe as he came closer and waved him over. He arched his hands at her.

“I didn’t expect you to come this way, Lei-xiansheng. Was the main competition not to your liking?”

Lei Wenhe smiled politely. “I usually find the fights of younger cultivators more compelling.”

Yu Yunmi’s smile was pained in return. “I’m glad.”

“Has the competition already started?” Now that Lei Wenhe was looking around, he was seeing that all of the cultivators nearby were too old to be participating in this competition.

“Just a few minutes ago.” Yu Yunmi pointed out a board to the side, which had a collection of talismans stuck to its surface. “When someone gets a kill, the demon’s matching talisman will burn with the color of their clan.”

“What about individual or sect scores?”

“We keep track of those separately.” She glanced over at him. “Are you wanting to volunteer as one of the healers?”

Lei Wenhe blinked at her.

“You don’t have to, of course. Your presence alone is enough.”

“No, I can help. I’m happy to help. Where should I go?”

Yu Yunmi sent Lei Wenhe a little ways into the competition area, where Zheng Xiaolang was waiting. He had two cultivators next to him, neither of whom Lei Wenhe recognized. He cupped his hands at them and introduced himself.

“Yu-zhangmen sent me to help,” Lei Wenhe said. “Please take care of me.”

The competition went on without issues for some time, the talismans quietly burning away one by one on the display board. Lei Wenhe asked about Zheng Xiaolang’s missing cultivator at some point, but Zheng Xiaolang still didn’t have any answers after so many months. He’d even appointed some of his cultivators to work in Su Daihan’s “micro-district” to make up for his absence as well as continue to work for Su Daihan.

“What sort of person was he?” Lei Wenhe asked. “This Su Daihan.”

“A good man, and a talented cultivator.” Zheng Xiaolang didn’t move his eyes away from the training arena. They could see some young cultivators in the distance fighting against a mid-level demon and struggling a bit, but Zheng Xiaolang didn’t seem concerned. “He was my shixiong.19 When Xie-zongzhu gave me my sect, he came with me to help set up and keep everything under control.”

“Zheng-zhangmen said he was a healer?”

“Yes. He wasn’t the best, but he had a good understanding of qi.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Not as good as yours, of course, but I don’t think anyone’s is.”

“Zheng-zhangmen flatters me.”

Zheng Xiaolang smiled wider. “I don’t think you’re nearly as modest as you pretend to be.”

“I don’t know what Zheng-zhangmen means.”

Zheng Xiaolang just smiled and shook his head.

“There’s no trace where he’s gone?”

“No. The last anyone ever saw of him was in Liping. It’s possible the demon got to him…maybe it’s just that no one found the body.” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice and smile made it seem like he didn’t think any of this a very big deal, but Lei Wenhe knew better than anyone how to recognize that look in his eye—he was deeply hurt by this disappearance. Lei Wenhe wanted to laugh. He wanted to rub it in his face. He wanted to keep bringing up this Su Daihan, again and again, until Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t hide his pain anymore and it started to twist his features.

“Zhangmen, one more point for Hou Conglin,” said the cultivator beside Zheng Xiaolang.

“Is he in the lead?”

“Second place,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “First place is a young woman named Zheng Ai. She’s in Chen Tian’s district.”

“What about Lai Liu and Xie Huiyan?”

“Also near the top. They’re doing well for their sect and for the Xie clan.”

Lei Wenhe had no doubts about this. He hadn’t seen Hou Conglin in action, but Lai Liu and Xie Huiyan were both talented cultivators who had remained totally calm in the face of danger. “How many demons are out there?”

“About a hundred.”

“You caught a hundred demons so fast?”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed and shook his head. “No, Shen Guozhi-zongzhu had some that he’d kept for this purpose. Most of what Yu Yunmi and I did was just clear out the area.”

“Still impressive, that you could clear out such a big area in just one day.”

“If you had more experience with fighting, you would be able to do the same.”

Lei Wenhe felt a little shock of fear but managed to suppress it. “I’m afraid I don’t know what Zheng-zhangmen means again.”

“I just mean that your qinggong is impressive.”

Ah. Well, that was something that Lei Wenhe could easily explain away. “If it’s impressive, it’s only impressive because I couldn’t cultivate my fighting ability.”

Zheng Xiaolang seemed to accept this, but of course he had more to say: “I would love to know who your shifu is. Maybe I can get some pointers from him.”

Lei Wenhe should kill him just for that.

…

In the fighting arena, Xie Huiyan was leading four of her fellow disciples through the maze that their shizun had set up. If the arena had been left as it was, and the demons had just been released to run about, it would be too easy for all of them; the demons, the land, their shifu, and the other disciples would all be in full view. The competition would be over in an instant.

They were all doing pretty well. Xie Huiyan wasn’t keeping track of the score—she thought it would be too distracting—but she knew that, between the five of them, they were keeping themselves near the top if not at the top. She had confidence that they would at least place in the top three of the sects, and that their Hou Conglin would probably place near the top when it came to individual scores. She and Lai Liu were still keeping up just fine, and certainly holding their weight, but Hou Conglin-shidi was just better at adapting immediately to the situation. She admired that about him.

They finished off another low-level demon—the kind that their shizun would have brought to them when they were still learning how to fight. It was an easy, simple kill. The demon barely had awareness of its own surroundings, and just seemed to follow the scent of blood; one of the other disciples in their group had gotten a small injury before, so they hadn’t even needed to seek the thing out. It just came to them, and Xie Huiyan told Hou Conglin to take care of it so he could climb further up the ranks. She wasn’t concerned about getting one of the top scores; in fact, she would prefer that she didn’t. If she did, it would just get more attention from her so-called “family” in the capital district, and there weren’t many things she wanted less than seeing those people again. No, if she gave more kills to Hou Conglin, he could get the prestige he wanted, and Shizun’s sect would get more attention. Splitting the kills among them, be it for “fairness” or whatever else people would come up with, wouldn’t accomplish anything more than letting disciples of other sects climb the ranks instead.

Hou Conglin flicked the black-ish demon blood off his sword and glanced back at Xie Huiyan. “Any more?”

Xie Huiyan turned to Lai Liu, who was holding a small compass in her hands. She’d fastened a talisman to it that made the compass turn toward malevolent energy instead of the north, but it only worked if they were within a certain radius of that energy. The compass wasn’t moving with any vigor, and instead swung back and forth lazily, nothing to attract or excite it.

“Nothing yet,” said Xie Huiyan. She looked over her shoulder and gestured to the other disciples behind her. “Come this way! Let’s keep moving.”

The maze walls were made of a strange stone-like material, but Xie Huiyan knew they probably weren’t stone. It was possible that her shizun knew of some kind of talisman that could construct something like this—nothing they’d learned in class yet, of course, and even if they had, Xie Huiyan doubted she would have any kind of propensity for it. If he ever did deign to teach them, she could always get help from Lai Liu.

“It’s moving,” said Lai Liu suddenly. Xie Huiyan held up a hand, stopping everyone in their tracks. Lai Liu turned slowly, moving this way and that, letting the compass determine where exactly the energy was. “It’s…northwest.”

“I figured.” Hou Conglin was a little further ahead than the rest of them, having decided that he wanted to lead the way and get a start on any demon they ran into. He pointed northwest, then cupped a hand around his ear. “Listen.”

The party fell silent, straining their ears.

Screams.

Xie Huiyan’s eyes widened. “Who is that? Are they from Xie?”

“I don’t recognize the voice,” Hou Conglin said. He put his sword on his shoulder. “It’s your call, shijie. I say we just keep going. There aren’t any demons here that they shouldn’t be able to handle. Involving ourselves would just help them get the kill.”

“It doesn’t sound like they’re handling it,” Lai Liu said, quiet next to Xie Huiyan. Xie Huiyan agreed. Those screams didn’t sound like they were dealing with a low-level demon. And if they were, they were entirely unprepared for it.

“We should go anyway,” said Xie Huiyan. “We’ve been doing well with our kills. It won’t hurt to make a quick stop.”

Hou Conglin shrugged. “Shijie’s call,” he said again.

“Shijie.” One of the shimei behind Xie Huiyan spoke up, a little tentative. “Should I go ahead?”

Hao Lanqiao, the tentative shimei, was the best healer in their group, but not a particularly strong fighter. It wouldn’t be a good idea to send her right into the fray when they didn’t know what was happening. “Wait until the demon is defeated,” Xie Huiyan said. “Hou Conglin, Lai Liu—the three of us will help against the fight. Everyone else, see if you can find any of the wounded and get them out of the way. You can work on healing then, Lanqiao.”

“Yes, Shijie.”

They moved on ahead, following Lai Liu’s compass, weaving through the maze with speed and efficiency. The screams became louder and more frequent the closer they got, but even more horrifying—sometimes the screams would cut off sharply, silenced maybe forever, and then someone else would start screaming. Xie Huiyan was starting to sweat. They should have rushed here as soon as they heard the screams, not taken that moment to debate whether it would be worth it to sacrifice the time.

The screams were coming from a clearing in the maze, a square maybe three zhang wide. In the center was a demon, one that immediately sent a chill up Xie Huiyan’s spine—it was even more powerful than the one that her shizun had faced in Liping. It stood on two legs, and though it hunched over it was still unnaturally tall, its shoulders intimidatingly wide. Its skin, hair, and eyes were all as white as snow, and seemed even whiter under the glare of the sun. The young cultivators surrounding it were making a valiant effort to hold it back, but it wasn’t nearly enough—Xie Huiyan recognized only Zheng Ai, the top disciple of Chen Tian-zhangmen’s sect. She was a little older than Xie Huiyan and immensely talented, but even she was having trouble holding back a powerful demon and protecting her fellow cultivators at the same time.

Lai Liu shuddered. “Bai Wen.”

Xie Huiyan was thinking the same, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. She knew how her shizun felt about the Bai Wen—he said they were myths, that he’d been alive for so long and he’d never seen one—but she didn’t know how to explain this thing. It was Bai Wen. White lips, white hair, white eyes. Humanoid, but something distinctly off. Something inhuman. And it was so powerful too—anyone would have issues fighting so many cultivators at once, no matter how powerful they were. Even her shizun would be annoyed by this many cultivators. But the Bai Wen was just fighting them all with ease, blowing them all back with just a flick of its wrist. Xie Huiyan shook off her shock quickly and started giving orders.

“Hou Conglin, circle around and help Zheng Ai from the front. Meimei,20 come with me to attack from the back. Hao Lanqiao, take the others to rescue the injured and take them out of the maze.”

“Out of the—Shijie, we can’t leave you here!”

“Take them out of here and get Shizun! We’ll hold it back until then.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, Xie Huiyan dove into the fight, Lai Liu beside her, Hou Conglin flying ahead. Zheng Ai shouted a thanks at them. The Bai Wen hissed. Its white lips curled back. Xie Huiyan felt even more uneasy. Those teeth were too long, but they were still human—most demons had unnaturally long teeth, but they were sharp too, sharp enough to tear into flesh without a problem. She didn’t like how human these teeth were.

It really was a Bai Wen.

She charged forward. Behind her, she knew Lai Liu was going to back her up with talismans. That was always how they operated: Xie Huiyan and Hou Conglin attacked with their swords, and Lai Liu supported them with her talismans. It was a comfortable arrangement. It was what Xie Huiyan was used to. With Zheng Ai by their side, they shouldn’t have any issues.

They shouldn’t—

The Bai Wen flipped its hand and Xie Huiyan went flying. She hit the wall on the other end of the square with a hard thud. All her breath came out in a woosh.

“Shijie!”

“I’m fine!” Xie Huiyan pushed herself to her feet and drew a quick summoning seal with her hand. Her sword came flying back into her grasp. “Try to stop it for a moment!”

“I’m trying! It’s too fast!”

Xie Huiyan wanted to start back toward the Bai Wen, but she stopped. Her meridians felt strange. She stopped and spat blood onto the ground. For a moment she was overcome with fear—the Bai Wen—the blood—she had Golden Core Turns Black?—no, she was just disturbed by the Bai Wen, just thinking about how Lai Liu had met with and talked to that Lei Wenhe, just temporarily injured from hitting the wall. There were no other signs. There was none of the qi fluctuations. She was fine.

She wiped the blood from her mouth with her sleeve and started forward again.

The Bai Wen was quick—faster than all of them. Its attention never stuck on one person, no matter how fiercely Hou Conglin and Zheng Ai attacked. Xie Huiyan had been hoping two strong attackers from one side would distract it, but it concentrated on each of the disciples only as much as it needed to, and swung between each of them with ease. Xie Huiyan wasn’t naïve. Only if all four of them were at full power and made absolutely no mistakes would they be able to defeat this thing, but even if all that were true—

Xie Huiyan gritted her teeth. They needed to all attack at once, over and over—it could block one, two, three of them, but surely it couldn’t block all four at once, not if they were all attacking at the same time. At the very least, they needed to keep it busy, keep it inside this square. The four of them were at least powerful enough to stay alive, if only for a few minutes. If only until someone else could arrive. “All at once!” she shouted. She knew that Hou Conglin and Lai Liu would understand, but Zheng Ai, she wasn’t used to fighting with her. She didn’t know if—

But Zheng Ai was flashing her a smile, quick and stunningly bright, almost like she was baring her fangs, and shouted an answer: “On your count!”

“One, two, three—now!”

They all attacked at once. Only Lai Liu stayed behind, just close enough to get her talismans to it. Hou Conglin, Zheng Ai, and Xie Huiyan were in its face in an instant, brandishing their swords. It screamed at them. It dropped its jaw low, all the way to its chest, and screamed.

All four of them flew backward. Xie Huiyan crashed into the wall. Next to her, Lai Liu collided against the same wall with a sickening thud, making her cry out. Xie Huiyan scrambled toward her before she even looked back at the Bai Wen.

“Lai Liu! Lai Liu, are you—”

Lai Liu spit up blood. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“Hou Conglin?”

“I’m okay!”

“Zheng—Zheng Ai-qianbei?”

“I’m fine. Are any of you good at talismans?”

The Bai Wen was spinning around in a circle, trying to decide which one to attack next. Which one was most threatening. Xie Huiyan put her hand on her sword and held it tight.

“Lai Liu is the best, but we all can,” she heard Hou Conglin say.

“Which one of you is Lai Liu? Help me set up a perimeter. Can the other two keep fighting?”

Lai Liu started to get up, but Xie Huiyan grabbed her hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“Be careful.”

Lai Liu’s face was white. She looked toward the Bai Wen and swallowed hard. “You too,” she said. “Don’t get hurt.”

The Bai Wen was like a storm.

Xie Huiyan knew how powerful her shizun was, but she only knew it because of the stories. The great Zheng Xiaolang-zhangmen. The man who’d been gifted since the moment he’d been born. The man who’d been so lucky as to be found by Xie Rong-zongzhu herself. The one who’d been Xie-zongzhu’s righthand man, who’d received the title of “sect leader” sooner than most thought it possible, who reached immortality before his skin had even thought of beginning to wrinkle. He was incomparably talented and terribly powerful. Rumors even said that he would be able to hold his own against clan leaders without batting an eye.

But she didn’t really know it.

There was only a brief moment that she thought she’d maybe gotten a taste of how powerful he really was. It wasn’t when he was sparring with any of his disciples—he always held back with them, only going just far enough to keep them challenged but not so far that they felt totally helpless—and it wasn’t when he was fighting with that demon in Liping. It was when they’d first met. Xie Huiyan had been nine years old. Shizun was already a sect leader, and had been for a hundred years. He was visiting Xie Rong-zongzhu after some mission he’d done for her, and Xie Huiyan was visiting with her family. She happened to go to talk to Xie-zongzhu on behalf of her mother just as Shizun was leaving. He’d seemed…infinitely tall. Infinitely powerful. Xie Rong-zongzhu softened herself when she was around Xie Huiyan and her family; later, Zheng Xiaolang did the same around his disciples. But in this moment, he wasn’t holding back at all. He glanced down at her and Xie Huiyan felt like she was facing off against the sun itself, like the rays of an entire day’s sunlight was hitting her at once. She felt dizzy. She felt amazed.

Zheng Xiaolang glanced down at her.

And he smiled at her.

Xie Huiyan wanted to just turn on her heel and follow him down the hallway.

That was the only moment she’d seen his power in all his glory, when he hadn’t been hiding it, when he hadn’t been trying to be a little more approachable and charismatic. She never forgot it.

And the Bai Wen now, which was howling, which she was charging toward with Hou Conglin coming from the other side, was giving her that same feeling.

She had no idea if that meant the Bai Wen was just as powerful as Shizun—in her mind, no one was—but it didn’t matter in that moment. She felt hopeless.

The Bai Wen was howling.

Xie Huiyan and Hou Conglin drove their swords toward it at the same time.

It spun to one side, swinging out its arm. Hou Conglin twisted his sword around just in time and blocked the attack, but it knocked him back several paces. Xie Huiyan was left alone and exposed, but she wasn’t going to stop. They needed just one hit, one injury. That was all.

The Bai Wen, instead of knocking her back, grabbed her arm. Its skin was like ice. Not the sun at all. Not the sun at all.

It opened its mouth, jaw unhinging like a snake.

Xie Huiyan twisted her sword around and swung it awkwardly toward the Bai Wen. Her hands were shaking so bad it was a shallow cut, but it still broke skin—about a hand’s width wide, right on the shoulder. The Bai Wen didn’t even react. It sank its teeth into Xie Huiyan’s arm.

She screamed.

Her sword clattered to the ground.

The pain was blinding. Dimly, she could hear Lai Liu calling her name, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. The scream was caught in her throat, escaping in bursts.

And then nothing. No pain.

It felt like she hovered in the air for a moment, absolutely weightless, and then she hit the ground again, her head knocking against the soil. She saw a blur above her—white and gold. She knew in an instant it was her shizun.

She smiled and closed her eyes.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Zheng Xiaolang was the last person who should be judging anyone for being a little secretive

IT WAS CHAOS when they arrived.

A cultivator had shown up in front of Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe totally out of breath. She was young and plain-looking, and had the air of a healer about her. When she spoke to Zheng Xiaolang, she called him “shizun.” She babbled about an attack, about a Bai Wen, about injuries and blood and danger and desperation.

Zheng Xiaolang was moving in an instant, and Lei Wenhe followed close behind. Instead of navigating through the maze, he simply jumped to the top and moved above it, stepping on the tops of walls only every five zhang.

When they arrived, two cultivators, one of them Lai Liu, were setting up talismans at every exit from the square, probably trying to block the demon in and make their escape afterward. In the middle of the square, keeping the demon semi-occupied, were Hou Conglin and Xie Huiyan. Hou Conglin had probably been pushed away from the main fight in some way, and was getting back to his feet to get going again. Xie Huiyan was right next to the demon—no, she was in the demon’s grasp, her legs kicking desperately beneath her, her sword on the ground. The demon’s teeth were in her upper arm.

There was a split moment where Lei Wenhe just wanted to sit back and smile. There was blood all over this area, spattered against the floor and the walls. He could see someone had dragged an injured cultivator out one of the exits and left a streak of blood behind. All this carnage…didn’t they deserve it? Didn’t these bastards deserve it?

Zheng Xiaolang moved forward in a blur. Lei Wenhe moved after him on instinct, scooping up Xie Huiyan as Zheng Xiaolang delivered a blow on the demon and moving her out of the way, then going to Hou Conglin, grabbing his collar, and dragging both young cultivators toward where Lai Liu and the other cultivator were still working on the barrier. Within half a breath, he’d gotten all four of them out of the square and into one of the passages leading out.

He looked at the injured juniors in front of him.

He could just let them all die. Or he could kill them here. Zheng Xiaolang surely hadn’t gotten the extent of how much they’d been damaged in that flash of a moment he’d looked at them—how would he know that Lei Wenhe had dealt the final blow? At the very least, he could kill Xie Huiyan. She was unconscious still. Lei Wenhe could just say that he’d tried to heal her and couldn’t. After all, he’d only established himself as a qi expert, so it wouldn’t be totally surprising if he couldn’t navigate physical injuries as well. Why should he show mercy on them just because they were young? They hadn’t shown any mercy on the people of Murmuring Springs.

“Lei-xiansheng?” Lai Liu spoke up tentatively. She looked a little pale and her hands were shaking. She looked back and forth a few times between Lei Wenhe and where Xie Huiyan was crumpled in his arms. “Is she…”

No. No, Lei Wenhe couldn’t kill them. None of them had been involved in the attack. None of them had even been born—their parents probably hadn’t even been born. They probably didn’t know anything about the attack in the first place. They were just a part of the system those monsters had created, were just benefiting from that system—but it didn’t mean they should die for it.

He smiled at Lai Liu, gently.

“Your shijie will be fine. She’s just unconscious from the shock.”

“And Shizun—”

“Your shizun will be fine, too. Here, will you help me? Do you have anything to put under your shijie’s head?”

Lei Wenhe lowered Xie Huiyan to the ground and Lai Liu bundled up her outer robes underneath Xie Huiyan’s head.

“What about the rest of you? Are any of you hurt?”

The cultivator with them that Lei Wenhe didn’t recognize cupped her hands. “Xie Huiyan is the worst of us, Xiansheng. Please treat her first.”

Lei Wenhe looked at her for a moment. She was tall—almost taller than Lei Wenhe, and probably still growing—and had a strong, resilient face. She had the features of someone who had gone through great tribulation to get to where she was. She also looked like a well-balanced fighter, stronger and more experienced than Hou Conglin. “What’s your name?”

She cupped her hands again, so respectful even though she didn’t know who Lei Wenhe was. “My surname is Zheng. My name is Zheng Ai.”

“You’re Chen Tian’s disciple.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lei Wenhe had only met Chen Tian for a few moments. He was probably about the same age as Zheng Xiaolang, but Lei Wenhe wasn’t sure whether he’d been a part of the attack. It was better that Lei Wenhe had his disciple here, just in case he had in fact been a part of it. “You’re bleeding,” he said. “Come away from the opening. Leave Zheng-zhangmen to deal with the demon and rest a moment.”

“I can fight still,” Zheng Ai said, her expression becoming determined. “If Zheng-zhangmen needs my help—”

“He won’t,” Lei Wenhe said. “Zheng Ai, you’re a brave young woman, but Zheng-zhangmen is a very powerful cultivator, more powerful than you give him credit for. He has a handle on this situation. It’s only a matter of time before he defeats it.” He put two fingers on Xie Huiyan’s wrist. He felt for a moment, then moved his fingers along Xie Huiyan’s limbs, then her ribs, feeling for any fractures.

“Is she really okay?” Lai Liu asked.

“She’ll really be fine. It might be a little worrying to look at, but cultivators get injuries like this all the time. Soon enough, wounds like this won’t even make your shijie blink.” Lei Wenhe dug around in his bag and brought out a bottle, which he readily uncapped and began applying to the open wound on Xie Huiyan’s shoulder.

Lai Liu looked green. “Xiansheng, that’s not comforting.”

“Hahaha, I know. All I mean is that she—and all of you—will be able to handle things much worse than this in the future. At her current stage, this kind of injury won’t bother her for a week.”

“It was a Bai Wen.” Hou Conglin suddenly spoke up from behind Lei Wenhe. He was holding his sword in one hand, his grip so tight his knuckles had become pale. “That demon, it was a Bai Wen.”

Lei Wenhe put the medicine bottle down and put his fingers against Xie Huiyan’s wrist again. He didn’t say anything while he pushed qi into her meridians.

Lai Liu, timidly: “Does Lei-xiansheng believe in the Bai Wen?”

Lei Wenhe smiled. “Is it a matter of believing?”

“So Lei-xiansheng does believe.”

“It depends on what you consider a Bai Wen.” Lei Wenhe reached down, tore a strip off his Shen-blue cloak, and wrapped it around Xie Huiyan’s bite wound. “Some consider them gods…some say they’re just powerful demons. Here, give me your wrist.”

Lai Liu presented her wrist to Lei Wenhe. He put two fingers against her acupoint.

“You’re okay. Your head will hurt for a while.” He dug around in his bag again, sifting through the collection of fruits and nuts he kept in there, and produced a small bottle of pills. “Take this twice a day until they’re gone and meditate afterward. It should help with the pain.”

Lai Liu put her lip between her teeth and nodded. “Thank you, Lei-xiansheng.”

“Now, Zheng Ai and Hou Conglin—which of you is more injured?”

…

Zheng Xiaolang was indeed more powerful than the demon in the square, Bai Wen or not. But just like he’d been held back in Liping with too many people around, he was being held back a bit now too—he had no idea what was behind all of these walls. It was helpful that Lei Wenhe had gotten everyone out of the square, and Zheng Xiaolang knew which exit he’d taken all the juniors out of, but what about the other exits? What about behind the walls? What if Zheng Xiaolang dealt too powerful a blow and sent the thing flying through a wall that had unsuspecting cultivators behind it?

The damn thing was a biter, and persistent too. Every time it sent an attack toward Zheng Xiaolang, it would try to get toward that exit Lei Wenhe had escaped through. Even if Zheng Xiaolang wanted to clear out a bigger radius, there was no way he could do so without losing control of the demon. No, somehow he needed to ensure both that the demon would not hurt anyone else and that he wouldn’t hurt anyone either.

And Lei Wenhe, alone with his disciples—

He sent the demon flying upward, let it writhe in the air for a moment, and then jumped up to meet it and slam it back into the ground. It screeched at him and clawed for his legs.

His disciples had been bleeding.

He hit the demon again, right into the ground, making a deep crater in the dirt. Then again. This one couldn’t travel through the ground, not like the one in Liping—it was just abnormally strong. And somehow it had—what, escaped Zheng Xiaolang’s and Yu Yunmi’s thorough search of the area? It had gotten through the protective talismans they’d put up?

He hit it again. It made a desperate, gurgling sound in its throat and reached up with one hand.

He snapped the arm, hit it again.

It didn’t make another sound.

He hit it again.

It didn’t move.

He jumped into the crater and put two fingers against its cold skin. No energy at all. It was dead.

He went over to the corridor Lei Wenhe and his disciples were in. Xie Huiyan was on the ground, her eyes closed, Lai Liu kneeling next to her. Lei Wenhe was standing with his back to Zheng Xiaolang, his hands on the wrist of Hou Conglin, but he let go as Zheng Xiaolang came closer and patted Hou Conglin on the shoulder.

“You’re going to be fine. Meditate as much as you can when you get back. Can you meditate instead of sleeping?”

“Yes, Xiansheng, thank you.” He noticed Zheng Xiaolang a moment later and immediately rushed toward him. “Shizun! Is it over? The Bai Wen is dead?”

“It’s not a Bai Wen,” Zheng Xiaolang said. He wiped blood off his face with the back of his hand. “But yes, it’s over. Are any of you injured?”

“We all had small injuries, except for Shijie,” said Lai Liu, “but Lei-xiansheng helped us.”

Zheng Xiaolang glanced over at the healer. He looked perfectly normal, not shaken at all by everything he’d just witnessed. The only evidence that he’d been even remotely involved in any of this was a small strip that he’d seemed to have torn from the cloak Shen Guozhi had given him, which had been subsequently wrapped around Xie Huiyan’s shoulder. “Did he, now?” he said.

Lei Wenhe took a step toward him, one hand held out. “Are you injured? I can—”

Zheng Xiaolang sidestepped him. “I’m fine. I’ll get checked out by my own healers.”

A strange expression flickered across Lei Wenhe’s face. “After all we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me?”

Zheng Xiaolang decided to just be honest. “No. Of course I don’t trust you. We’ve hardly spent any time together, and I still don’t know who you are.”

“Shizun!” Lai Liu protested quietly, but Zheng Xiaolang ignored her.

“All of you, follow me out of the maze. I’ll clear a path ahead, so don’t fall behind.”

“Shizun, Xie Huiyan-shijie—”

Lei Wenhe bent down and scooped Xie Huiyan into his arms. He gave Lai Liu a sunny smile. “Don’t worry about your shijie, Lai Liu. I’ll watch over her.”

That sunny smile toward his disciples, but Zheng Xiaolang only ever got that tight-lipped expression—

“We can go ahead, Zheng-zhangmen,” said Lei Wenhe. “Don’t worry about us. I’m sure, if anything happens, your capable disciples can protect me.”

Did his disciples need to protect Lei Wenhe? Or did they need to be protected from Lei Wenhe?

Zheng Xiaolang pushed the thought out of his mind. Lei Wenhe hadn’t done anything wrong. So what if Zheng Xiaolang still didn’t know anything about him? Most of the world didn’t know much about Zheng Xiaolang either, at least not anything that really mattered. Zheng Xiaolang was the last person who should be judging anyone for being a little secretive.

They left the maze without incident and Zheng Xiaolang put an end to the event. He and Yu Yunmi made sure the maze was totally cleared out of both demons and cultivators, and then launched an investigation into how the powerful demon had gotten in without anyone noticing. Xie Huiyan, though she’d been properly tended to by Lei Wenhe, went in for further checkups, Lai Liu went with her, and Hou Conglin and Zheng Ai went back to their respective residences. With nothing to do, Lei Wenhe tried visiting the main competition again, but he got bored again. Eventually he just decided to take a nap under one of the trees until the feast started that night.

And what a feast it was—the hall was packed to the brim with cultivators of all ages and all levels of experience. Lei Wenhe hadn’t yet gotten himself a new cloak, so his makeshift disguise didn’t do much anymore; the strip he’d torn off identified him as the healer who’d saved the juniors, and then once one got closer they could also recognize him as the healer who could cure Golden Core Turns Black. Even if the feast hadn’t had so many people, Lei Wenhe would have felt like it did anyway; at any given moment, there were a dozen people crowded around him, each trying to get on his good side, each trying to see if he would divulge to them the secrets of Black Core Turns Golden. He gave them the same nonsense answer he’d given to the healers before—an explanation using terms and analogies they would never understand, a bashful smile at the end to placate them. They were simple, these mortals. They were all greedy to fix the power they never should have had in the first place, and now Lei Wenhe wasn’t about to let them have even more of that power. If they really wanted that information—if they really wanted help—then they could go back to Murmuring Springs, could try to beg for forgiveness, beg for Lei Wenhe’s people to save them. It wouldn’t work, and they would probably be killed for trying, but Lei Wenhe would…he might feel a little more satisfied then. He might feel better after watching them grovel instead of whatever this was, the way they laughed when Lei Wenhe spoke even though he wasn’t being funny, the way they would compliment him and praise him, all empty words, all just trying to make sure that he would heal them if and when they, too, succumbed to the disease and were powerless to stop it. He didn’t regret helping Zheng Xiaolang then with the juniors—it was necessary to gain his trust, and it was getting increasingly apparent just how hard Zheng Xiaolang’s trust was to earn—but he didn’t like how much attention it was getting him. He needed a break from all of these mortals, even just for a moment—

Finally a moment appeared that distracted his new devotees: Yu Yunmi went in front of everyone and started some announcements about the juniors’ events, and Lei Wenhe slipped away. He didn’t have anywhere in particular that he wanted to go—he just looked for someplace with less people, or at the very least hopefully people who didn’t want to immediately jump into his good graces. He had expected some level of brown-nosing, but he hadn’t expected it to exhaust him so quickly. The people of Murmuring Springs weren’t anything like this. If they wanted something, they were so much more straightforward about it, and upon refusal they simply accepted it and stepped away.

Well, Lei Wenhe thought, there was no sense in comparing them to the people of Murmuring Springs.

“Lei Wenhe-xiansheng?”

Lei Wenhe inwardly cursed, but he put on a pleasant expression and turned around right afterward. It was a woman in Shen-blue robes, her hair done up neatly in a way that no cultivator would take the time to perfect. She was mortal “nobility,” Lei Wenhe concluded, but not a cultivator. Probably the wife or daughter of one. He cupped his hands. “I’m afraid madam knows my name but I don’t know madam’s.”

“My name is Liang Xingrong,” said the woman. She kept her voice quiet, and her gaze kept moving, occasionally landing on Lei Wenhe but usually looking around him, scanning their surroundings for bystanders who might be listening in. “I’m Shen Guozhi’s wife. Could I have a moment with Lei-xiansheng? I need to speak to you in private.”

Shen Guozhi’s wife? It was no wonder she looked so furtive. She was probably being just as careful as Lei Wenhe to not be noticed. But why was she here, talking to Lei Wenhe now? Did she suspect something? No, he hadn’t done anything suspicious. All he’d done so far was heal a few people, and the seeds he’d planted hadn’t “sprouted,” so to speak. Did they know he was from Murmuring Springs? Even if they did, again—they didn’t have any proof that he’d done anything wrong. He bowed again. “Whatever Lady Niang needs. This humble one is at your disposal.”

She led him to one of the back gardens, away from the main feast and only accessible through a locked gate. If any of the cultivators wanted to get to this area, certainly they could jump over the gate, but it would be conspicuous, and there really wasn’t anything in this back garden that would be desirable enough to risk angering Shen Guozhi.

“I’m sorry I had to take you away from the feast,” Liang Xingrong said. “There’s an important matter I need to discuss with you.”

“Please speak freely.”

“My husband…” She hesitated, glanced around once more, and then lowered her voice. “I heard you can cure Golden Core Turns Black. Is that really true?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Lei Wenhe. “I can stop the progression. Think it akin to cutting off a limb to stop an infection from growing. It won’t ever be what it used to be, but it will prevent death.” He’d determined by now that it was better to be honest about what he could do. If he presented Black Cure Turns Golden as a cure-all, the cultivating world would only be disappointed by the results. It was better to present it modestly, almost bashfully—no, he couldn’t cure it, but he could at least help!—and the cultivators would be thankful for what they could get. It was also better, he found, to present it this way, because an “I can stop the progression” was much more believable than what all those scam artists had proclaimed, which was more of an “I can return you to even better than before!” Lei Wenhe had already more or less gathered what this conversation was going to be about; this discreet meeting place, the way she’d started her sentence, even the few minutes he’d stood in front of Shen Guozhi—Shen Guozhi was sick with Golden Core Turns Black, and it was probably debilitating at this point. There was a reason he hadn’t made many appearances so far. There was a reason Yu Yunmi was the one giving announcements and not him, who was hosting the event.

“If you’re lying,” Liang Xingrong said, and then she stopped, her fists clenching and unclenching.

“I’m not lying, Lady Liang,” Lei Wenhe said. “There isn’t much I can do to convince you, but…if Shen-zongzhu is sick, and if I can do nothing to help him, it is absolutely understandable if you expose that information to the rest of the world.”

Liang Xingrong was still considering it. “My husband…”

“Please let me try to help, Lady Liang. How sick is he?”

“Lei-xiansheng absolutely cannot let anyone know. You must understand, my husband is a very important man, he—if anyone were to find out that he was weak, there would be chaos. My son isn’t ready to take control yet, and we are still trying to deal with the isolation of Qian Dong’s district—”

“Lady Liang, please rest assured, I won’t tell anyone about this.” It wasn’t as if Lei Wenhe wanted to tell anyone, anyway. The chaos of the mortal world didn’t mean anything to him if he wasn’t able to orchestrate it somehow, and the Shen clan having some inner turmoil wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him. “If it comforts you, I can stay in your sights until Shen-zongzhu is recovered. You can ensure that way that I won’t be going to anyone with this information.”

That seemed to relieve her a bit. She nodded a few times, then summoned over a servant and exchanged a few words with her. To Lei Wenhe, she said: “I’m bringing over my son. You understand, don’t you? I would just like…someone to be there, just in case.”

So she needed him, but she didn’t entirely trust him yet. That was fine. She wasn’t a cultivator, and she was bringing a stranger into her home to treat her sick husband. Who knew if Lei Wenhe was going to attack any one of them?

Shen Shi arrived a few moments later. He didn’t say much, just arched his hands politely at Lei Wenhe and then followed behind as Liang Xingrong led them both to her husband. Shen Guozhi was in bed, his head propped up and a blanket draped over him. He was much more feeble than he’d been when Lei Wenhe met him yesterday, but he’d been putting on an act then. Here, in the assumed privacy and safety of his private bedchambers, he let himself relax into the weak and tired old man he really was.

“If there’s anything you can do,” Liang Xingrong said. Her voice was shaking. She went to her husband and clasped his hand between hers, her lips pressed tightly together.

“Ah-rong, what are you—” Shen Guozhi had woken up. He noticed his wife first, then Lei Wenhe, then his son by the doorway. “What’s going on? Lei-xiansheng, I don’t—” He coughed suddenly, spattering blood across his blanket. When Lei Wenhe’s expression didn’t change, he said, “So my wife told you.”

Lei Wenhe nodded. “I would like to try to help, if Shen-zongzhu would permit it.”

Shen Guozhi managed a weak smile. “I’m honored that Lei-xiansheng is willing to try. You’ll have to forgive me for not standing up and paying my proper respects.”

“No need.”

“Is there anything I need to do?”

“I just need your wrist.”

Shen Guozhi, weakly, held out his arm for Lei Wenhe.

Lei Wenhe smiled.

He felt better once Lei Wenhe was done. Of course he felt better. Lei Wenhe gave him some warnings about how the movement of qi would feel strange for a while, how he should get comfortable with his level of power now because it wouldn’t be getting better, and so on. Shen Guozhi’s power now was probably the same as Shen Shi’s, but that wasn’t something that should be said out loud. In any case, the improvement of Shen Guozhi’s health was immediately apparent. He got up from his bed, even though he was only in his sleepwear, and even though he had what was basically a stranger in his room, and moved around the room, twisting his limbs around with a big smile on his face. After a few minutes he stopped and turned to Lei Wenhe, his eyes shining with a new light, and said, “Work for me.”

Lei Wenhe tilted his head. “Shen-zonzhu, that kind of offer isn’t necessary.”

“Please think about it. You’ve not agreed to work with anyone, have you? We can give you a residence here. If you work for our Shen family, you have our protection. No one would dare to mess with you.”

Who would dare to mess with Lei Wenhe now, as the only person who could cure Golden Cure Turns Black?

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” Shen Guozhi said. “Please take your time to think about it. Whatever you like, I’m sure we can get it for you. If the residence isn’t to your liking, we can build you something else. If the food isn’t to your liking, we can hire a special cook. If—”

“Fuqin,”21 said Shen Shi, and Shen Guozhi stopped and rubbed his face.

“You’re right. Lei-xiansheng, I don’t mean to overwhelm you, but please think about it. Naturally we can pay you a generous salary.”

Lei Wenhe hadn’t expected to get such an offer so early, but he also hadn’t expected to get the opportunity to heal someone like Shen Guozhi so early. What would happen if he stayed? He would be limited in how many people he could reach and how many places he could go. He would probably be monitored. But on the other side—he would have the trust of the entire Shen family, and access to all of them, and it wasn’t as if they could prove that he was doing anything wrong until the very moment he revealed himself. To top it all off, too—being the official healer of the Shen family meant that he was recognized by mortal “nobility.” That meant that other families would trust him too, or at least trust that he could cure Golden Core Turns Black. That meant, if any of these other “noble” family leaders had Golden Core Turns Black, they would know Lei Wenhe had already healed Shen Guozhi, and they would go to him for the same.

…

Meanwhile, Zheng Xiaolang was also making a valiant effort to avoid the crowd. He wasn’t having nearly as much of a problem as Lei Wenhe; he was a mystery too—unknowable might be the best word—but there were some things, at least, that people knew about him: he was generous, he was kind to everyone, he had the only slave-free district within an otherwise slave-filled territory, and so on. Lei Wenhe didn’t have that much information. He had the cure to Golden Core Turns Black, he was from the north, and that was it.

Zheng Xiaolang also had the advantage that he was a famously powerful cultivator, and one who didn’t open up to people. Everyone knew that many people over the years had tried to get close to him and failed. If you wanted Zheng Xiaolang to be kind and polite to you, that was easy. If you wanted him to give you that half-smile and flirt with you, all you had to do was be talented in some matter. If you wanted him to tell you about himself, tell you about his past, tell you about what he was thinking or what he was up to or about anything else he’d done under Xie Rong’s orders—you were going to get nothing out of it, and by the end of the conversation you probably would have forgotten that you’d even tried to ask.

He went to the feast after checking up on Xie Huiyan, who was resting in the room Shen Guozhi had given to Zheng Xiaolang’s disciples. She was awake, and Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary with her—or with Lai Liu or Hou Conglin, who had also been healed by Lei Wenhe. It wasn’t as if anyone else was nearly as wary of Lei Wenhe as was Zheng Xiaolang, anyway. He could very possibly just be too paranoid in this instance.

At the feast, the only people who tried talking to him were a few of his disciples and Yu Yunmi. He couldn’t help but notice that Shen Guozhi and Shen Shi were both missing from the feast, as was Shen Guozi’s wife, Liang Xingrong. These kinds of gatherings, especially after a fiasco like what had happened with the juniors’ event, required the host family to show their faces. But, then again…

Zheng Xiaolang had had the suspicion for a while that there was something going on with Shen Guozhi. He was doing incredible work hiding it, truly, but there was only so much a sick man could do to hide his sickness. There was already political unrest in Shen, what with Quiet Death eating away at their southern border and Qian Dong isolating his district to stop the spread. There was also the matter that Quiet Death had begun in Cao, which strained the relationship between Shen and Cao—and where had Shen Guozhi been to deal with all of this? He’d come out briefly, according to everything Zheng Xiaolang had heard, to meet with Lei Wenhe, but he hadn’t done so to mingle with the sect leaders because he’d been “busy.” Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t know what all of that meant. It was so obvious that even the other sect leaders and maybe even some of the disciples would have picked it up by now. Shen Guozhi was sick, and he was sick with Golden Core Turns Black, and it was too severe to hide. It was probably only a matter of time before he graciously passed on the role to Shen Ying.

He noticed, too, that Lei Wenhe was gone—he’d seen him in the corner of his gaze a few times earlier in the evening, constantly surrounded by at least half a dozen people who were all vying for his attention and favor. Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t wanted to approach him then because he hadn’t wanted the attention, but now Lei Wenhe was nowhere to be seen. When had he left?

“Excuse me, may I have everyone’s attention?”

Zheng Xiaolang, surprised, looked up from the bottle of wine he was nursing. It was Liang Xingrong. Shouldn’t she be with her dying husband now?

“Please don’t worry. The festivities can resume soon enough. My husband would like to say a few words.”

Husband—there was no way that Shen Guozhi, in this bright lighting, would be able to hide his sickness, especially in front of all of these cultivators. Clever disguises could only go so far.

But, no, there was Shen Guozhi coming out in front of everyone, standing perfectly straight and looking perfectly fine, his head held high and his eyes bright. He gave some kind of speech about the feast, about the main competition, about the fiasco with the juniors. The last time Zheng Xiaolang had been so close to the man was several years ago, and he seemed eons better now than he had then.

Then—

“One more announcement, before I leave you to enjoy the food,” Shen Guozhi said, and he gave a broad smile to the crowd. “Some of you may have heard the name Lei Wenhe. He hasn’t been in the cultivation world for very long, but he’s already made a name for himself as the only healer who can save those affected by Golden Core Turns Black from death. Tonight, I am pleased to announce that Lei Wenhe will be taking up a residence in Yingde, and will be working and healing cultivators here and into the foreseeable future.” He gestured behind him—Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t even seen that Lei Wenhe was standing there, still in those shabby robes and his torn cloak, that same unreadable expression on his face. “I hope we can all make Lei-sanren22 feel welcome.”

Sanren? That was generous, to call him a cultivator. But what Zheng Xiaolang was really stuck on was Shen Guozhi’s presence, and the announcement itself. It was obvious that Lei Wenhe had healed Shen Guozhi, but…

Maybe Zheng Xiaolang was old-fashioned, and maybe he was paranoid. But was it too much to demand more of healers? Shen Guozhi trusted someone he had never met until very recently to touch his acupoints, get into his meridians, get into his core. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t even want to touch someone with such talent in qi, much less give them access to his core. Even if Shen Guozhi was on the verge of death, wouldn’t death be preferable to whatever Lei Wenhe might be capable of? Nobody knew where he was from, who had trained him, what his motives were…he could keep saying that all he wanted to do was help people, but that was bullshit, wasn’t it? No one did anything out of the pure goodness of their heart. Everyone had motive. Everyone had a reason for everything. Lei Wenhe wasn’t going to be the one exception out of everyone else Zheng Xiaolang had met in all the long years he’d been alive.

He caught Lei Wenhe some minutes after he and Shen Guozhi had both gone into the crowd to mingle with the other cultivators. There were naturally more people than there had been before trying to get on Lei Wenhe’s good side, but Zheng Xiaolang going over to Lei Wenhe and standing next to him with a dangerous look on his face gradually made them politely excuse themselves.

“Zheng-zhangmen.” Lei Wenhe took some nuts out from his bag and smiled at him. Zheng Xiaolang had a moment then where he wanted to ask what exactly was in Lei Wenhe’s bag; he’d thought it was just food, but according to Lai Liu there were also medicine pots in there. What else was in that bag? “I trust your disciples are well.”

“They are. Thank you again for your help.”

“I couldn’t stand by and watch such promising young cultivators get hurt. Are you enjoying the feast?”

The corners of Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth twitched. “Just as much as you, I assume.”

Lei Wenhe gave him his tight-lipped smile. “How can I help you, Zheng-zhangmen? Have you changed your mind about me healing you?”

“No, that’s not it. I’ve already handled that.” Zheng Xiaolang glanced toward Shen Guozhi. “I assume you’ve healed Shen Guozhi.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t say anything.

“If you can’t say so, that’s fine. It’s just that there were some of us who noticed he was sick some time ago. He looks better now.”

“Mn. I’m glad you think so.”

What a vague answer, but what about Lei Wenhe wasn’t vague? “This news about you working for the Shen family…”

“Oh, yes. It’s good news, isn’t it? I’m a little closer to civilization now. Cultivators won’t have to go so out of their way to use my services.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s left hand curled into a fist. “You decided you didn’t want to be independent, then. I didn’t think you would align yourself to a family so quickly.”

Lei Wenhe arched an eyebrow. “I am still independent, and I haven’t aligned myself with anyone. In fact, that was one of my stipulations for coming to live here. I told Shen Guozhi that I would live here and be at the Shen family’s beck and call, but that I would not belong to the Shen clan, and that I would still be available to other cultivators should they need me. He agreed without any hesitation.”

On the surface, such a deal sounded greatly disadvantageous to Shen Guozhi. He would have to provide food and shelter for Lei Wenhe, but what did he get in return? No assurance that Lei Wenhe would stay around for any length of time, certainly, and he couldn’t even get to say that Lei Wenhe was the Shen clan’s healer. At most, he could say that he was “hosting” Lei Wenhe. But this was also Lei Wenhe, whose name alone was eye-catching enough to get people to flock toward him—so that meant people bringing their business to Yingde and their money to Yingde, and Shen Guozhi might even charge people to come see Lei Wenhe. That wasn’t taking away his availability, just restricting it, so it marginally escaped going against Lei Wenhe’s demands. Still though, even if he had the cure, and even if this deal gave him the opportunity to make money from Lei Wenhe, was Shen Guozhi really going to trust him that much?

“You have an interesting expression on your face, Zheng-zhangmen. Do you not approve?” Lei Wenhe paused a moment, smiled, then said: “Is it his decision to take me in that you disapprove of, or is it my decision to accept his proposal?”

“Do what you like,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “It’s irrelevant whether I approve.”

“Maybe I’d like to know what you think.”

“You know what I think.” He dipped his head. “If you’ll excuse me.”

…

In the morning after the feast, Lei Wenhe found a new cloak as well as an entire outfit waiting for him just outside his room, folded up neat and smelling freshly washed. He pulled off everything he was wearing and put on the new outfit instead—same Shen-blue cloak, same color for the underclothes, black robes, Shen-blue accents. If not for the ornate little decorations along the belt and collar and the silk-soft texture of the fabric, it might have been a modest outfit.

He didn’t have high hopes for the competition again, but he didn’t want to seem like he was clinging to Zheng Xiaolang—it was abundantly clear, even if Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t told him so, that Lei Wenhe had a long way to go before he had Zheng Xiaolang’s trust—so he went to the archery range first, settled himself in one of the seats, and watched the cultivators compete for the best score. Would he ever be able to shoot like that again, not worrying about who was looking or whether he was shooting in a believably bad way—or did it not even matter? Was that something he shouldn’t be worrying about? Was his longing for days that were long over selfish of him? It was his family that was important, not his feelings. Not his comfort. Not his nostalgia.

“Lei-xiansheng, was it?”

A vaguely familiar voice, right behind him. Lei Wenhe turned. The cultivator in front of him looked like a man in his early thirties but had the aura of someone much older, much wiser. He was about half a hand’s length taller than Lei Wenhe, and handsome, with fox eyes and a full mouth.

“Yes,” Lei Wenhe said. “You’re…Chen-zhangmen?”

Chen Tian nodded. He wasn’t one for smiling, it seemed, but those eyes did curve slightly upward. “You recognized me. Please feel free to speak casually.”

“Likewise. I’ve heard good things about you.”

Chen Tian came up beside Lei Wenhe and sat in the seat on his right, folding his hands together and looking out across the range. “You’ve been talking to some strange people, then. Not many have good things to say about me.”

“Mn…and Zheng Ai?”

Now Chen Tian had a small smile on his face. “Yes, I heard that you’d offered to help her. Thank you for that.”

“I was surprised she turned me down.”

“Please don’t feel offended. That early in their development, I encourage them to remain as independent as possible. Unless she was in life-threatening danger, she would have never accepted your help. In that case, she determined she would be able to properly treat herself, and thus refused your offer. I hope she did so kindly.”

“Of course. Even if she refused me, it was a pleasure to offer. She’s a clever cultivator. I expect she’ll go far.”

“I think the same.” He glanced at Lei Wenhe. “Are you an archer?”

“Not at all. I just think it’s more interesting to watch than…” He stopped, feigned regret, but Chen Tian just let out an amused puff of air.

“Than the competition? I don’t really blame you. I don’t stop my disciples from watching, but I do try to warn them that there isn’t much to learn there. It’s all just mediocre cultivators trying to make a name for themselves.”

An archer pulled back their string, released; the arrow sang through the air and embedded itself right in the center of the target ahead. Cheers erupted from the people surrounding the archer.

“If you and Zheng Xiaolang decided to duel at this competition, who would dare stop you?” asked Lei Wenhe.

“Who would dare? Well, any of the noble families. Cao Feng would take away my title in an instant. Xie Rong wouldn’t be pleased with Zheng Xiaolang either—he’s meant to be the obedient one. But who would be capable—well, that’s another matter. If they were just stopping me, Shen Guozhi might be capable, and so might Yu Yunmi. Zheng Xiaolang, though? At his full power, very few people can bring him down.”

Lei Wenhe was a little surprised that Chen Tian was so frank about the disparity between the official and actual rankings. Zheng Xiaolang had also been frank, but Lei Wenhe had at least asked a question to prompt it.

“Are you in the top ten?”

“Do you mean in the official rankings?”

“I assume you aren’t in the official top ten.”

Chen Tian let out that puff of air again. “You would be correct. But, no, I’m not in the top ten in either ranking. Number eleven in the unofficial ranks…twenty-four for the official rank.”

“Twenty-four? Just below Zheng Xiaolang.”

A moment passed. Chen Tian studied him. “Are you close with Zheng Xiaolang?”

“I wouldn’t say so. He’s just the only person I really know here. He was the one who invited me. He gave me this.” Lei Wenhe brought out the token Zheng Xiaolang had given to him and showed it to Chen Tian. “I’m wondering when I’m supposed to give it back…I suppose, under Shen Guozhi’s employment, I won’t need it.”

“May I see that?”

“Oh, sure.” Lei Wenhe passed it over and Chen Tian examined it, turning it over in his hands several times. “Do you have things like these?”

“I have some, but they wouldn’t have nearly as much reach as these. Xie Rong’s influence really can’t be underestimated.” He passed it back to Lei Wenhe.

“If I may be at the risk of sounding a little rude,” Lei Wenhe started. Chen Tian waved it off.

“Speak freely. I already said you should speak casually.”

“Then, is there a reason you came to speak to me? Do you need something from me—perhaps my healing services?”

“No, nothing like that.” Chen Tian tilted his head backward, turning his face into the sun. He really was handsome, but handsome in a way that would be easily outshined by people like Zheng Xiaolang. He was too modest to stand out. Here, though—alone, next to a mediocre person like Lei Wenhe, he shined. It was undeniable that he was someone great. “I just noticed that you’re alone. That might be because you wanted to be, but if you didn’t want to be…I know what it’s like to be alone, and I know what it’s like to know the only thing people want from you is what you can accomplish for them.”

“Chen Tian—”

“We have a guest,” Chen Tian murmured. A moment later, a shadow fell over them both.

“Are you back for some more archery practice, Lei-xiansheng?” Zheng Xiaolang, without waiting to be invited, dropped down on Lei Wenhe’s other side and stretched his legs out carelessly. He leaned forward only then, pretended to spot Chen Tian for the first time, and said, “Ah, Chen Tian. How are you this morning?”

There was something like a smile on Chen Tian’s face. “Just fine. And you?”

“Can’t complain. Who’s winning?”

“There’s a fairly talented cultivator at the end there who hasn’t missed a shot yet. I think he’s Shi Huang’s.”

“Hm…too much to hope that one of my cultivators would be winning, I guess.”

“It’s usually like that. Maybe they feel more pressured when they know you’re expecting something from them. Shi Huang hasn’t been around to check progress—I think she’s been treating this event as a retreat.”

Lei Wenhe listened to this conversation quietly, just trying to absorb any information that might be useful later. He didn’t know much about Shi Huang—only that she was from Wu. Did this mean that she was careless? Her disciple was first, but was that because the disciple was talented of his own merits? Was it because Shi Huang was a good teacher? Was it because she knew how to delegate training to the right people?

“Hah, I wish I could treat this place as a retreat too, but Shen Guozhi had other plans for me.”

Were Chen Tian and Zheng Xiaolang friends? Zheng Xiaolang didn’t seem like the type of person to have friends, at least not real ones. Maybe they just had a good working relationship. Maybe Zheng Xiaolang had held back on the flirting enough for Chen Tian to put up with him, or maybe Chen Tian was just patient enough to deal with it, or maybe it wasn’t a matter of putting up with it or not and Chen Tian had to play friendly simply because Zheng Xiaolang was a sect leader, and a sect leader under Xie Rong, no less.

“I would offer to help, but I think it would be more insulting than it would be considerate. You and Yu Yunmi are probably the most capable people here.”

“Chen-zhangmen, offering to spend time around people he doesn’t know and disciples who aren’t his? I’m shocked.”

Chen Tian let out a soft laugh, and Zheng Xiaolang waved a hand.

“There’s no need to get involved. I know how you are with strangers, anyway. I was surprised when I saw you were conversing so happily with Lei Xiansheng.”

Oh, now Lei Wenhe was being brought back into the conversation. He’d been pretending to pay attention to the archery range, but it seemed that soon enough he wouldn’t be able to avoid participating anymore.

“I thought he might like to get to know a few of the other sect leaders,” Chen Tian replied easily. He looked back toward Lei Wenhe. “Working for the Shen family is going to expose you to a lot of important names. It’s good to get familiar with them early.”

“Speaking of working for the Shen family.” Zheng Xiaolang gave Lei Wenhe a broad smile. “Xie Rong already heard about your new job.”

“Oh? Is that because you told her?”

Zheng Xiaolang ignored that question. “She was especially interested in the fact that you haven’t officially aligned yourself to Shen Guozhi. Does that mean you haven’t given him a minimum amount of time you would be living here in Yingde?”

“That’s…true.”

The smile got broader. Zheng Xiaolang brought his legs back up and leaned closer to Lei Wenhe. “Then I might have a proposal for you.”

Lei Wenhe’s earlier prediction had been accurate: it was Zheng Xiaolang who had contacted Xie Rong with the news of the Shen family employing Lei Wenhe. Xie Rong had naturally heard of Lei Wenhe before, but, like the rest of the family heads, did not put much merit in his abilities or the rumors surrounding him. Shen Guozhi personally asking Lei Wenhe to work for him, though—that was something serious. That was something to pay attention to. And it was an insult to someone as powerful as Xie Rong that Shen Guozhi, who she felt was beneath her, had snatched up Lei Wenhe’s talent sooner than she had. If he was the real deal, she had to have him. At the news, she told Zheng Xiaolang to offer Lei Wenhe a better deal—convince Lei Wenhe to leave behind the Shen family and come work for Xie Rong instead. Almost any offer would be fine with Xie Rong, just as long as Zheng Xiaolang came back with Lei Wenhe.

Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t been open to the idea. Not that it mattered, of course—he was a mere sect leader, and a former slave at that—but he was displeased anyway. The Shen family was being foolish enough giving Lei Wenhe such free reign over their health, and now Xie Rong wanted to do the same? It would be a good opportunity to get more information out of him, to learn more about him, but was that worth the risk?

“Xie Rong would like you to come work in Xie instead.”

Lei Wenhe started shaking his head. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“Hear me out first.” If Lei Wenhe accepted this—and Zheng Xiaolang expected he would—then he could confirm that Lei Wenhe was involving himself in all of this because of money or influence or power. Everybody was in it for one of those. “She’s willing to give you your own residence in the capital and pay you a monthly stipend that would make most clan leaders jealous. Since you’re on the coast, you’ll be getting a lot more cultivators coming to you, and because you’ll be under Xie’s employ, you’ll have a lot more influence than anything Shen Guozhi could give you. You would naturally have the ability to travel freely within—”

“Zheng-zhangmen, I can’t accept.”

“—the Xie territory, and have Xie Rong’s blessing throughout the rest of—what?”

“I can’t accept. I’ve already said I would work for Shen Guozhi. Even if it’s only for a year, that would be better than turning him down right after accepting.” Lei Wenhe had already expected offers like this. He didn’t expect them from Zheng Xiaolang, necessarily, but he’d expected them, and he already knew how he needed to respond. It would be too suspicious to suddenly switch deals, and he didn’t want to fall out of favor with the Shen family and lose the access to all of those cultivators. Besides, no matter what noble family he worked for, he would have access to Zheng Xiaolang. “If you or Xie-zongzhu request it of me, I would be more than willing to come to Xie.”

Chen Tian put a hand over his mouth, which was either an innocent gesture or a way to hide his smile.

“Why don’t you reconsider?” Zheng Xiaolang asked. “Xie Rong has a lot to offer you.”

“I don’t need to reconsider. Again, if you or Xie-zongzhu requests it of me—”

Zheng Xiaolang waved his hand. “Enough, I understand. You don’t want to come work in Xie.”

“I can return your name card, if you need—”

“No, no.” He waved again. “Feel free to keep using it.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Eventually Chen Tian’s disguised laughter died off enough and he could drop his hand from his mouth, settling it again at his side, and they watched the archers together.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What's Your Relationship with Zheng Xiaolang?

THE TOURNAMENT CAME to an end some days later. The cultivators that filled the walls of Yingde slowly filtered out, heading back to wherever they belonged. Zheng Xiaolang too, after he and Yu Yunmi made the efforts to clean up after the maze, took his disciples and left. Shen Guozhi moved Lei Wenhe from his impressive little house to an impressive palace instead, full of servants who waited on Lei Wenhe’s every move. Lei Wenhe asked if he could be moved back to the house. Shen Guozhi let him move into a slightly smaller palace. Lei Wenhe asked him to take the servants away. Shen Guozhi took away all but three. He asked for the rest to be taken away. He took away two more. Lei Wenhe gave up.

About a week after the tournament ended and everyone had left from Yingde, and after the servants had finished cleaning up after everyone, Lei Wenhe went to Shen Guozhi with a proposal. It was later in the day, around when everyone was starting to prepare for dinner, but Lei Wenhe was able to get some alone time with Shen Guozhi to talk to him.

“I want to know about Quiet Death.”

Shen Guozhi looked up from his meal. He was already halfway done with his plate, even though dinner hadn’t started for anyone else—he ate earlier than the others both to reduce risk of poisoning and so that he wouldn’t have to eat while socializing. When Lei Wenhe stepped up to him, he stopped chewing and blinked up at Lei Wenhe with his brow furrowed.

“It’s invading Zongzhu’s territory, isn’t it? What does Zongzhu know about it?”

Shen Guozhi wiped off his fingers on a napkin, very calm. Then he rearranged his bowl, twisting it around until it was linked up perfectly with the edge of his napkin.

“Shen-zongzhu?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever Zongzhu can tell me.”

“That isn’t much. You might have better luck speaking to the healers of Shen.”

This was almost a refusal, but Lei Wenhe waited patiently.

“The Quiet Death originated in Cao, in an island controlled by Cao Meilin, and spread to Shen through the trading system we have working between our territories. As far as anyone can tell, there’s no cure.” He started again on his food, all neat and careful like he felt nobles should be.

Lei Wenhe folded his hands together. “What about symptoms? What is the survival rate?”

“It has a low survival rate, only one or two are surviving out of every ten. I don’t know much about the symptoms.” He delicately picked up something green between his chopsticks, turned it over as if inspecting it, and then placed it between his lips. “I know hallucinations are involved at some point, and so is fatigue. Beyond that…” Then he looked back at Lei Wenhe, his eyebrows drawing together again. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s infected your territory, is it not? I would like to see what I can do to help.”

“Mn. You can’t go into Qian Dong’s district,” Shen Guozhi said. “We’ve already closed the borders. Nobody in or out.”

Of course Lei Wenhe already knew that. Everybody knew that—nobody really talked about it, because Quiet Death was something intimidating and terrifying and unknowable and uncurable, but everyone knew that Quiet Death had utterly consumed Qian Dong’s district and Cao Meilin’s island right off the coast of Cao. Everybody also knew that both locations had quarantined themselves to try to cut off the disease from spreading further inland. But even if closing the borders saved people living inland, the people within those closed borders were still suffering and dying from the disease. “Can’t you make an exception for me?”

“No, especially since it’s you.” Shen Guozhi stood and brushed off his hands, his face settling into something absolutely serious. “You’re the only person who has the cure to Golden Core Turns Black. What happens if you catch the Quiet Death and can’t survive it? What is the cultivation world to do then?”

Truth be told, Lei Wenhe was pretty certain that a mortal disease would have no effect on him. He almost wanted to say this. He also almost wanted to say something like, “Why should I care what the cultivation world will do?” He didn’t say either. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw. “So you’ll just leave them all to die?”

“It’s a conundrum, certainly. Do I open my borders and try to help them? Do I send in resources and healers? But what then if Quiet Death makes its way back out?—any opening in the border, even to let people into the infected area, is an opening all the same. Am I not responsible, then, for all the people who die because of my actions? What happens when the disease spreads out of Shen, and then not only are my people dying, but others as well? What happens when it infects the other territories?”

“But if you just open it once, let me in, let me try—”

“As I said, you’re an exceptionally important person. If I send you in and you get infected with Quiet Death, all those cultivators you might have saved are on my consciousness. How can I let you heal me and then immediately send you away, removing that opportunity from everyone else? That would be selfish.”

His logic was so roundabout. If Lei Wenhe was a different person—if he had any amount of respect or revere for Shen Guozhi—then he might have taken him in for his word and just accepted what he said, bowed his head, shuffled out without further argument. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—Lei Wenhe was not a different person. “But what about if I am able to accomplish something while I’m there? What if I can save people?”

“And what if you can’t? I’m sorry, Lei-sanren, but I have to say no. Even if this decision makes you want to leave prematurely, I cannot open the borders for you.”

Lei Wenhe knew there was nothing else to say to someone like Shen Guozhi. He was the kind of person who couldn’t be argued with simply because he’d been in a position of power for too long. If a person went so long without anyone questioning them, at some point they’re not even going to hear when the questions are being asked at all. The same had probably happened to Zheng Xiaolang, who seemed more baffled every time Lei Wenhe didn’t do what he asked.

Could he sneak into Qian Dong’s district? Physically, that was probably a yes. He’d managed to sneak out of Murmuring Springs without anyone noticing, after all, and Murmuring Springs was full of people much more experienced and talented than any person one could find in all of Shen Guozhi’s territory. But—

It was the same issue as accepting Zheng Xiaolang’s offer to work with Xie Rong. If Lei Wenhe accepted, he would get incredible opportunities, but he would also be throwing away the relationship he’d so far established with Shen Guozhi and his family. It would be better to wait a bit, maybe even a few years—spend as much time as he could with the Shen family and gain all their trust, and then he could move on. What were a few years to someone like Lei Wenhe, who’d been waiting for so long already?

“If the issue is that you want the opportunity to leave Yingde,” Shen Guozhi said, “I have some news that might interest you.”

“The issue isn’t—”

“Yu Weizhe is thinking of inviting some healers to go to his capital city, Qingyuan, in a few years. He says it’s some kind of healer convention.” He smiled then, but it seemed sardonic. “Who’s to say, though, if Yu Weizhe isn’t just trying to seize the opportunity to employ you?”

“I know how to turn down an offer I don’t want,” Lei Wenhe said. “Are you suggesting I go to this convention?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, merely mentioning it. I don’t want you to feel trapped in Yingde.”

“That isn’t the issue,” Lei Wenhe said. “I just think I might have a chance to make a difference.”

“In any case.” Shen Guozhi waved him off. “It’s too much of a risk. But, if you would like to go to Yu and attend Yu Weizhe’s conference when the time comes, I’ll provide you with everything you need.”

So it was fine to go to a conference that might not serve any purpose—and might not even happen at all—but attempting to heal a disease that was killing innocent people was too much? Lei Wenhe had been in the mortal world for a year or two now and he’d yet to be impressed by mortal values. These were Shen Guozhi’s people they were talking about—even if they weren’t, they were all still people; even Lei Wenhe, who hated the mortal world, had enough empathy and understanding to want to try to help.

“What if Yu Weizhe offers me a job there, and I decide to take it?”

Shen Guozhi smiled and dipped his head. “If he can offer something better, I would of course like the opportunity to try to convince you to stay, but our agreement says you can leave whenever you like. Who is this lowly cultivator to try to stop you?”

As if Lei Wenhe accepting Xie Rong’s offer through Zheng Xiaolang wouldn’t have absolutely destroyed Shen Guozhi’s opinion of him. Lei Wenhe gave him a tight smile and dipped his head.

“Then I’ll take my leave, Shen-zongzhu.”

“Please feel free to explore. You have access to almost anywhere in my territory.”

Almost, of course, being the key word.

“Before you leave,” Shen Guozhi said, just as Lei Wenhe lifted his foot toward the threshold, “What’s your relationship with Zheng Xiaolang?”

“With Zheng Xiaolang?” Lei Wenhe tilted his head. “We’re just acquaintances. Why do you ask?”

…

After a few years of working with the Shen family, eventually Yu Weizhe’s conference arrived; whatever he was putting off—and it was frankly obvious what it was he was putting off, especially to Shen Guozhi and Lei Wenhe—could not be put off anymore, and he started requesting for Lei Wenhe to start his journey toward Qingyuan, where he would be waiting for him. Shen Guozhi sent his eldest son, Shen Ying, with Lei Wenhe to journey to Qingyuan.

Over those last few years, he’d met all of the important members of the Shen family, and of course that had to include Shen Ying. They got along okay. A few times, they’d even gone on little demon-hunting missions together. Shen Ying was a capable enough cultivator, but in the grand scheme of things he was not very spectacular at all. When Lei Wenhe investigated, he found that Shen Ying was officially fifteenth in the ranking, so he couldn’t imagine how far down he was in the actual rankings. He wished he could ask someone like Chen Tian, who knew the actual rankings and would be willing to share where everyone was ranked without worrying about reputation. But Chen Tian was still in Cao, and busy with his own things, and the two of them hadn’t been in contact since that day at the Shen family’s competition.

The journey to Qingyuan was going to be a long one. There were two options to get there: firstly, they could travel north, enter Xie, travel the entirety of Zheng Xiaolang’s district, pass through the unoccupied territories where Lei Wenhe used to live, enter Yu from its westernmost point, and then travel through Qiu Fu’s district until they could reach the capital district of Yu. The other option was to travel eastward through Cao, through Cao Meilin’s and Chen Tian’s districts, and reach Yu directly that way. The latter option was shorter, and would certainly be easier since they wouldn’t be traveling too far north, wouldn’t be passing by the glaciers, wouldn’t be going too close to anyone affected by Snow Fever, and wouldn’t have to go through the unoccupied territories where demons ran rampant and unchecked by everyone but independent cultivators and Zheng Xiaolang. But the former option—well, it might be worse in almost every way, but Shen Guozhi was concerned with things like politics. He felt like his relationship with Cao Feng had gotten a little tumultuous recently, what with all the nonsense with Quiet Death, and he knew from some rumors here and there that Cao Feng was even talking about closing the border between Cao and Shen. Lei Wenhe offered up the little name token he’d gotten from Zheng Xiaolang as a part of the advantages of going northward, since the list really was quite low, but ultimately they ended up going eastward anyway, and Shen Ying came along to iron out any diplomatic problems that may arise.

“Yu Weizhe didn’t make it clear how long this convention would last,” Shen Ying explained to Lei Wenhe. “I’ll try to stay for as long as I can, but I can’t stay longer than a month. If it does end up lasting longer, I’ll try to arrange for someone else to come to you and escort you back.”

Lei Wenhe smiled politely at him. Shen Ying laughed.

“All this time you’ve been with my family, and we still can’t get along.”

Lei Wenhe smiled again. “I don’t know what you mean, Shen-zhangmen. I thought we got along very well.” He said this with the kind of natural cadence that made Shen Ying feel as if he were the one who got it wrong after all, and had imagined everything. But Shen Ying knew that he hadn’t imagined it.

“I suppose you get along with me just as well as anyone else,” Shen Ying said. “How many years have you been working with us now? Five?”

“Six,” said Lei Wenhe.

“Six years, and I don’t think anyone can call you a friend.” He paused, thought about it, and then laughed again. “Well, my fuqin would probably call you as such, but I think that’s more his shamelessness than it is a genuine friendship.”

“I’m not very sociable,” said Lei Wenhe. “People tend to think I’m a little strange.” As if proving a point, he reached into that trademark bag he always kept at his side and pulled out a handful of nuts. Lei Wenhe had changed his clothes a lot over the year, always willing to put on a different robe, a different cloak, different underclothes, and he even changed his hair when different trends came about—he was willing to do whatever it took to fit in, not so stylish that he would catch attention but stylish enough that he kept with the trends. The thing that never changed though, other than his appearance, was that same sack that he carried around slung on his shoulder. It was worn in appearance but had no holes anywhere to be seen, and Shen Ying had never seen him refill it, nor had he ever seen him run out of its contents. There was some part of him that made him want to reach over and take the bag, open it up, peer inside—he was just a healer, wasn’t he? How could he stop someone like Shen Ying?

But, no—he wasn’t just a healer. He was the healer. He was the only healer who could cure Golden Core Turns Black. He was Shen Ying’s father’s most prized…could he be called a possession? He wasn’t officially under their employ. He just lived in Yingde. And somehow, even after living in Yingde for so long, Shen Ying knew…well, he didn’t know anything about him at all. He was a total mystery. It had taken a few weeks after the competition before he was able to go meet the famous healer, and by the time that moment arrived, Shen Ying had heard all kinds of rumors about Lei Wenhe—that he was mysterious, that he was unknowable, that he was all kinds of strange, but Shen Ying hadn’t put much merit in those rumors. Of course the man would be strange—he knew how to administer a cure that no one else could even begin to comprehend. But then he met him, and everything made sense. He was very strange. The way he spoke was strange, the way he moved was strange, the way he navigated any social situation was strange. Shen Ying could never quite put his finger on it. Lei Wenhe was just…different. He seemed to care little for any of the riches Shen Guozhi tried to bestow upon him. He refused any servants he could. He didn’t spend hardly any of the money Shen Guozhi gave to him. When he healed people—even powerful people like Shen Ying—he didn’t ask for anything in return. Shen Guozhi probably would have given him the world for the cure, anything he wanted. Shen Ying would have been willing to do quite a bit for him as well, just to get on his good side.

But there was no getting on Lei Wenhe’s good side. There also seemed to be no way of getting on his bad side, not that anyone wanted to try. Everybody was just…neutral, all the time, at least to Lei Wenhe. It seemed every person around him was just that: a person. It didn’t matter if they were a sect leader or a clan leader or a servant; Lei Wenhe treated them all the same. If it were a servant coming along with Lei Wenhe right now, or a nameless cultivator, or Shen Guozhi himself—it would probably all be the same to Lei Wenhe, and he would treat them with the same mild pleasantness that he was treating Shen Ying with right now.

It all made for a very tense journey.

Lei Wenhe was perfectly content just camping on the side of the road, but Shen Ying both thought that it would be very difficult to protect him like that and that it would be uncomfortable to sleep on the side of the road. He was a young lord of the Shen family, after all; unless it was absolutely necessary—and it very rarely was—someone like him didn’t do anything remotely similar to “camping.” Shen Ying therefore made his best effort to move them between towns and inns, stopping early when he thought it would take too long to get to the next town and stopping late when the town was just a little too far away. Lei Wenhe, even though he was traveling with a cultivator who no doubt had stamina a thousand times better than his as well as the advantage of a golden core to keep his blood moving even when a normal person would want to collapse, had no problem keeping up with Shen Ying. He voiced no complaints and no desires to stop at any point, only smiling and replying with ease if ever Shen Ying had a question for him and waking up bright and early to start walking again with Shen Ying. It was unnerving. Unknowable, indeed. Sometimes Shen Ying doubted if he was even human.

There were…rumors, of course, that he wasn’t. That he was something else. Something beyond humanity, something beyond cultivation. That wasn’t true. Shen Ying liked to entertain the thought sometimes in his head, but really anything that Lei Wenhe was up to could be explained away with a strange personality and exceptionally good stamina. The biggest mystery at this point was figuring out how Lei Wenhe was able to have so much energy when all he ate was fruits and nuts.

He glanced back at Lei Wenhe, who was plodding along steadily behind Shen Ying, looking around as if he was enjoying the frankly dreadful scenery that was the southern half of Yu. It was all grasslands. Not very different from Yingde, of course—not very different from most of Shen—but dreadful all the same. What was the man possibly thinking? Everyone else would try to make conversation with Shen Ying. Why wouldn’t he say anything?

“What do you think…Yu Weizhe is hosting this conference for?” Naturally it was Shen Ying who broke first, just like he had every day of their travels so far.

The corners of Lei Wenhe’s lips twitched upward. “I think he’s hosting the conference for the same reason that anyone wants me to come visit them.”

“For the cure, you mean.”

Lei Wenhe dipped his head in affirmation.

“So is Yu Weizhe the one that’s sick? Or maybe Yu Yunmi? No, Yu Yunmi is leading troops against the Long invasion…If not Yu Weizhe, maybe one of his family members, he still has a wife…”

Lei Wenhe offered no input. He just smiled.

“If it’s Yu Weizhe…” Shen Ying didn’t know where he was going with this, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure if he should say it out loud. If Yu Weizhe was sick with Golden Core Turns Black, didn’t that mean that he was vulnerable to attack? Yu Yunmi might be able to hold back Long Feifei and her forces, but she couldn’t hold them back forever. Eventually—surely—Yu Weizhe would have to take charge, but would he be able to if he was sick? No wonder he was so desperate to get Lei Wenhe to his side. What might he offer him in order to get the cure? Would he try to snatch Lei Wenhe away from the Shen family?

“Whoever it is,” said Lei Wenhe, for once taking the initiative to continue the conversation, “I will do my best to help.”

Of course Lei Wenhe would answer like this.

“Is there anyone you wouldn’t help?”

Lei Wenhe gave a light, dry laugh. “Are you asking me, Shen-zhangmen, if there is anyone that I hate? So straightforwardly?”

“Ah—no, of course not.” But that was precisely what Shen Ying had wanted to know. “Just wanted to know if you had…standards.”

“Standards? I only want to heal those who need healing.”

“And why don’t you take payment?” Shen Ying reached out to the side of the path and trailed his hand along the tall grass growing alongside them, letting the blades tickle his palms. “Shen-zongzhu pays you so generously, but you let the money sit in your house.”

“I was intending to discuss that with Shen-zongzhu. I thought perhaps it would be a good idea if we could donate the extra money to Qian-zhangmen’s district to help with Quiet Death.”

Shen Ying was so surprised by this statement that he didn’t notice Lei Wenhe hadn’t answered his question. “Qian Dong?”

“They need funds, don’t they? Shen-zongzhu won’t let me go down there to help.”

Shen Ying rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…the borders have to be closed, you know. We can’t let anyone in or out.” He had his own thoughts about helping Qian Dong, himself—after all, the two of them were best friends throughout childhood, Qian Dong a servant his father had taken in to be Shen Ying’s companion. It didn’t seem right to leave a friend like that to fend for himself against such a deadly disease. He Zhenzhen thought the same, and constantly tried to get Shen Ying to do something about it—but Shen Guozhi had ordered the borders to be closed, had ordered Qian Dong and his people to be quarantined. There was nothing Shen Ying could do.

“What about funds? Can we send them funds?”

“I don’t know how we would, or if it would even help…they can’t trade anymore with anyone. If it was an issue of famine, the funds would really make a difference, but I don’t think it can really help if everything is blocked off like this.”

Lei Wenhe pressed his lips together and nodded. It occurred to Shen Ying then that this was the first thing Lei Wenhe had really obviously cared about and made an effort toward. Maybe there was someone he cared about in that district that he wanted to save? Maybe he knew Qian Dong somehow, and Shen Ying just hadn’t heard about it until now?

“We’ll put the funds aside for now and you can decide what to do with them later,” Shen Ying said, trying to comfort him. “You don’t have to spend it right away, you know. Maybe one day you’ll decide you want to get yourself a nice house somewhere else—”

But the end of the conversation was effectively over, Shen Ying knew. He wasn’t very charismatic in the first place, and Lei Wenhe wasn’t a good conversationalist even if you were the best at talking.

The journey continued.

Shen Ying thought a bit about what kind of person Lei Wenhe got along with. There were some whispers that he got along with Zheng Xiaolang okay, or at least that Zheng Xiaolang knew how to talk to him, but Shen Ying didn’t dare dream about being as good as Zheng Xiaolang. He might be higher in the official ranks, but he knew just as well as everyone else did that he was much lower than Zheng Xiaolang not only in terms of strength, but also in terms of intelligence, of leadership, of cultivation—everything. He surpassed Shen Ying in everything but age.

There were…many people, including Shen Guozhi, who believed in things like noble superiority and slave inferiority. That was where the “official” ranking came in the first place; no matter how good a slave was, they could never be better than a noble. Shen Ying hadn’t learned about these things until later in his adolescence, but by then he had already met He Zhenzhen, and such prejudices wouldn’t quite stick. So what if they were slaves? He Zhenzhen was talented enough to become a sect leader. Zheng Xiaolang—well, Shen Ying had only met him a few times by that point, but he knew that Zheng Xiaolang was better than him in every way, and Zheng Xiaolang had been a slave too. Shen Ying was one of the few nobles, he thought, that didn’t have the same kind of bias against slave-borns. He even got along okay with Chen Tian—that was an accomplishment.

Maybe that’s what the issue was. Maybe Lei Wenhe only really got along with outsiders. Maybe Shen Ying fit in too well for either of them to understand each other. The only thing that really set Shen Ying apart was that he was involved with He Zhenzhen.

It was mid-summer when they arrived in Qingyuan. When they’d set out, the sun was just beginning to rise a little earlier, and the temperature was just beginning to burn at their necks when the sun was at its highest. When they arrived in Qingyuan, the weather had gotten almost unbearably hot; Shen Ying carried a small umbrella with him that he propped over his shoulder, and Lei Wenhe pulled up his hood to protect himself from the sun. It seemed unimaginable that he would be able to wear a cloak in this heat. Even if he was wearing lighter summer clothes underneath, a cloak was a cloak.

“Do you want to change before we go to meet Yu Weizhe?”

They’d reached the heart of Qingyuan. Yu Weizhe’s palace was still some ways away—maybe a quarter of a shichen or so—but there were a lot of inns, and a lot of clothing shops too, and Shen Ying and Lei Wenhe both had plenty of money.

“Should I change?” Lei Wenhe adjusted the hood on his cloak and squinted out toward the bustling streets.

“I thought you might be sweating.” As these words came out of his mouth, Shen Ying had the thought that perhaps Lei Wenhe was incapable of sweating.

“Ah…if you think it’s a good idea. I thought it might be better to wait until we got to the convention. Yu Weizhe might want to make it obvious we’re from Shen.” Now Lei Wenhe went over to a vendor who was selling walnuts and examined their goods. Shen Ying got strangely excited—was he going to see Lei Wenhe refill that sack he always brought with him?

“That might be a good idea.” Shen Ying went to join him. He’d never liked walnuts himself—he’d grown up on a noble’s diet, and had been eating as such for over a century now, so he craved things like succulent meats and tender vegetables and wonton soups with broth so rich with spices that they warmed the throat and the chest. Things like nuts, no matter how divinely roasted or seasoned or carefully taken from their shell, would never appeal to someone like Shen Ying. “Did you want to buy some?”

“Oh, no, I still have plenty. Do you want any?”

“No. I’ll get something to eat later. Yu Weizhe has cooks who will be able to cook us whatever we want.” Again, as soon as these words came out of his mouth, Shen Ying had an immediate and contradicting thought: Lei Wenhe never asked for any meals while he was in Yingde, even though he must have known how splendid Shen Guozhi’s cooks were. “What about anything else? Did you want to get anything at the market before we went to go meet him?”

“No need. We can go on ahead.”

Yu Weizhe’s palace was not nearly as extravagant as Shen Guozhi’s. One might think, since Yu was so large and covered so much of the continent, that Yu Weizhe must be rich and powerful, but Yu Weizhe’s land was mostly just empty grasslands that no one wanted to move to—the coast access was minimal, the monsters in less populated areas were almost as rampant as an unoccupied territory, and Yu Weizhe was frankly…underwhelming as a clan leader. At one point, before Shen Ying’s time, the Yu family must have been impressive and powerful. After all, the Yu family gained control of that big chunk of land, so they had been formidable once, but now Yu Weizhe was at the bottom of the rankings, his people were controlled by his daughter Yu Yunmi—ranked right below him, maybe only because the clan leaders were all guaranteed the top seven spots.

They were greeted at the doors by a handful of servants. Shen Ying was pretty sure that Lei Wenhe, even before he was verified as the only genuine healer of Golden Core Turns Black, was greeted by Shen Ying’s didi,23 a gongzi of the Shen family—and the Yu family only sent them servants? He wanted to scoff at this blatant sign of disrespect. “I guess the great Yu-zongzhu doesn’t have anybody else to send to greet us,” he murmured to Lei Wenhe, keeping his voice low so the servants couldn’t hear.

“I don’t know what Shen-zhangmen means,” Lei Wenhe replied. Shen Ying suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Why had he expected Lei Wenhe to understand? He’d never held interest in any of the noble matters of the Shen family. Naturally he wouldn’t understand social propriety. “Are the servants not to your liking?”

He said all of this so loudly that the servants glanced backward, their eyebrows drew together, and then glanced quickly forward again. Shen Ying sighed.

“I just mean that—never mind.” There was no use explaining it, and now Shen Ying had seemed rude in front of these servants.

After a few minutes of walking, they came to Yu Weizhe’s throne room. It was small and modest; Yu Weizhe’s throne wasn’t even in a higher position than the rest of the room. What was the point of a throne, then? Shen Ying didn’t know. He’d met Yu Weizhe a few times before at various diplomatic meetings and always thought him rather ordinary. His opinion didn’t change at this meeting. It was obvious, standing in front of him now, that he was sick with Golden Core Turns Black. Shen Ying had seen Golden Core Turns Black in his father too, so he recognized it in Yu Weizhe in an instant. He wanted to say something, or at the very least give Yu Weizhe a little knowing glance, but he knew it might cause trouble for Shen Guozhi.

“Yu-zonghu.” Shen Ying cupped his hands and bowed, and Lei Wenhe did the same next to him. “This humble one introduces you to Lei Wenhe, the Shen family’s resident healer.”

Yu Weizhe was a little older than Shen Guozhi in appearance. He had black hair that had grown white at the temples, and his beard and mustache had become completely white. He had the air of someone powerful but not the air of a fighter—anyone would be able to tell that. He might be technically powerful, and he may have a good core, but he wasn’t very talented otherwise, and would probably lose in most fights unless his opponent was totally incompetent.

“Shen Ying-zhangmen. It’s good to see you again. And Lei Wenhe-xiansheng, it’s truly a pleasure to meet you.” Yu Weizhe rose from his throne and dipped his head down—just at Lei Wenhe, of course, not Shen Ying. “I’m honored that the two of you have come to my humble conference. I’ll have my servants escort the two of you to your rooms. The conference won’t begin until tomorrow, so please feel free to explore as you like.”

Shen Ying rubbed his mouth. This was probably too much, but—“Yu-zongzhu, before we go, there wasn’t anything you wanted to ask Lei-xiansheng?”

Yu Weizhe smiled pleasantly at him. A moment passed, then he dipped his head down again. “I’m not sure what you mean. We can get to know each other later.”

Shen Ying wanted to laugh.

“Then, I’ll leave first. If you’ll both excuse me.”

Lei Wenhe watched him leave. Then he looked back at Shen Ying with a raised eyebrow.

“What? I just thought he would ask you to heal him right away. He probably just wanted to save face.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t say anything. When the servants indicated they would lead Shen Ying and Lei Wenhe to their rooms, Lei Wenhe trailed after them obediently without a word.

Sometimes Shen Ying wondered if all of this was worth putting up with someone like Lei Wenhe.

CHAPTER NINE

Shen Ying Remembers a Healer

THE CAPITAL CITY of Yu was called Qingyuan. Shen Ying had been thinking this since the moment he and Lei Wenhe first arrived, but Qingyuan compared to some of the other capital cities was…really not much to look at. Compared to the rest of Yu, certainly, it was something impressive: a sprawling city, people everywhere you looked, markets full of a variety of goods. And then in the center, of course there was the palace—an estate with buildings bigger than any of the surrounding buildings, more expensive than any other resident could hope to afford. But anything could seem impressive with comparisons like these. If one compared Zheng Xiaolang to someone like Long Qingge, they might come away thinking that Zheng Xiaolang was an incredibly admirable person. If they compared Liping to a no-name town closer to the glaciers, it too would seem impressive and populated.

Compared to the rest of Yu, yes, Qingyuan was something of note. To a person like Shen Ying, it was pathetic. To someone like Lei Wenhe…

Well, he didn’t care either way. Human cities were all the same to him.

The room they set him up in was actually much more comfortable than the room Shen Guozhi had given him, though Shen Ying would never agree. There wasn’t too much space, there weren’t servants swarming around him at every moment, and it had good light coming in through the windows. Shen Ying made a face as they had initially approached these rooms, but Lei Wenhe went inside with absolute satisfaction and went to sleep.

One of the most notable things about Qingyuan, aside from the fact that it was the capital city of Yu and that it was the home of Yu Weizhe, was the road that came through it. This road had no official name, but many cultivators called it “The Sunlit Road.” Aside from only Long, whose capital had moved some time ago, and Wu, which was on an island, the Sunlit Road connected all of the capitals together, making it easy for anyone to navigate between them. From Qingyuan, if one took the Sunlit Road east, it would take them into Long, and then eventually end in Qin’s capital, Shajing. If one went south from Qingyuan, they would find Tieli, Cao’s capital, and then Yingde, and then finally Xie’s Yilan. When Shen Ying and Lei Wenhe traveled to Qingyuan, they’d moved along this main road once they got into Chen Tian’s district, and used it all the way until they arrived in Qingyuan. That length of Sunlit Road was dull, but eastward?

That was a different story.

About a week’s travel east, and a few days northward, there was a camp full of cultivators from Long, and with those cultivators was the man named Zheng Xiaolang.

Some time before, about when Lei Wenhe and Shen Ying were preparing to depart for Qingyuan, Xie Rong gave Zheng Xiaolang another order: go to Long. More specifically, go to Long Feifei. Usually she was in her own district, busy with her own affairs, but fairly recently she’d been given new orders from her mother to slowly move troops across the border into Yu, to push the limits of what Yu Weizhe—or, more honestly, Yu Yunmi—would be willing to put up with. Eventually, though, just like with everything else, the Yu family’s limits were found and promptly breached, and now Yu Yunmi was starting to fight back.

Long Feifei was doing alright, all things considered—just her and her people against the entirety of Yu—but it was still good to have someone else on her side, if only just to have someone powerful and intelligent with whom to discuss things. Zheng Xiaolang was the perfect choice. For Long Feifei, choosing Zheng Xiaolang meant that she had a capable cultivator, an accomplished strategist, someone who wouldn’t detract from the Long family’s power by taking away a sect leader from their territory, and someone who was under Xie Rong, which probably meant loyalty to Long Qingge too, considering how close the two of them were. She was also more or less friends with him, or at least she thought so—they’d known each other for decades upon decades, and she thought they were pretty amicable through all of it.

In reality, well—

Zheng Xiaolang was just there because Xie Rong told him to be. He would have much rather been in Anlu or anywhere else in his territory, minding his own business and taking care of his own people. What business did he have involving himself in a war?—but Xie Rong had told him to show up and help Long Feifei, so here was Zheng Xiaolang showing up to help Long Feifei.

He didn’t even like Long Feifei.

Even if he didn’t know that she was connected with her mother—if he didn’t know that she was connected with the Long family, that she was the heir to the Long family, that she was a noble participating in a system that killed thousands in exchange for power and influence—she would still be unbearable. She was a haughty woman. It was obvious even without anyone saying so that she had grown up in power, that she’d been told all her life that she was powerful and was destined for more power, that no one had ever looked her in the eye and told her no. “I’m better than you”—that’s what everyone heard whenever they looked at her, whenever she existed next to them. She was superior. She made you feel like it, too.

Zheng Xiaolang hated her.

He didn’t hate her as much as he hated some of the other nobles. If he had to choose between killing her or any of the noble family leaders—not including Wu Enlai, naturally—then he would choose the noble family leader in a heartbeat. But Long Feifei was not only part of the system that Zheng Xiaolang hated—she was an heir to it. She was willing and wanting to carry it forward into the future, whenever the time came that her mother wanted to step down. If she wasn’t the first on his list, right next to the noble family leaders, then she was right underneath.

It was no matter. He’d gotten along just fine with people he hated more.

He traveled initially to the northernmost part of Long, then went with some of Long Feifei’s new cultivators to meet her where she was camping out. She’d set up a massive camp: there were dozens of tents, all full of cultivators or soldiers under Long Feifei’s command. Zheng Xiaolang got more or less the same treatment as Long Feifei: the best tent available, servants trailing after him, the entire army under his control as long as it didn’t conflict with whatever Long Feifei was telling them.

Zheng Xiaolang helped Long Feifei push everyone further in.

He wasn’t sure whether Yu Yunmi knew he was there. He wasn’t sure how he felt if she did. Yu Yunmi was the daughter of nobles too—an heir just like Long Feifei, an heir who was already taking many of the responsibilities of a clan leader—but his relationship with her and his opinion of her was very different than that of Long Feifei. If she knew he was fighting with her…

Long Feifei was standing in front of Zheng Xiaolang now, a map spread between them. The Long-green robes she wore, deep and rich like the forest, were absolutely pristine, nothing like the robes Zheng Xiaolang had passed on the way to this tent. Everyone else in this camp was weary from travel and fighting, but of course Long Feifei still had to look like a noble.

“It was smart to stay off the main roads into Qingyuan at first.” Long Feifei’s finger traced one of these main roads, her brow furrowed. “We were able to avoid detection for a while, but now that Yu Yunmi has declared war, I don’t think there’s any reason to continue.”

“Isn’t that what she’ll be expecting? I wouldn’t be surprised if Yu Yunmi has people waiting for us just a few days’ travel ahead. She’s had all the time in the world to set up an ambush. Not to mention, we’re still in Fu Huang’s district, and we have yet to see him or his people. If we move along the Sunlit Road, it’s possible Yu Yunmi will meet us in the front and Fu Huang will attack from the back. He’s low ranking on his own, but his numbers will make a difference.”

“Is that how you would do it?”

Zheng Xiaolang thought for a moment, then nodded. “It’s the smartest move. The Sunlit Road is the easiest way to get into Qingyuan. If they can protect that, overtaking Qingyuan and the rest of the capital district will be much more difficult.”

“So what do you suggest instead?”

Zheng Xiaolang tapped on the capital of Fu Huang’s district. “We take An City. If they’re preparing to fight us elsewhere—if they’re assuming we’re going to take Qingyuan—then they’ve probably left An City mostly unguarded. If we take An City, we take Fu Huang’s district. Then Yan Yixue’s capital is just southwest of that.”

One of Long Feifei’s generals grunted. “Then what about Qingyuan? We’re supposed to give up on that because you’re afraid of a little conflict?”

Zheng Xiaolang was used to this kind of pushback. He may be a sect leader, and he may have been given authority almost equal to Long Feifei, but that didn’t change the fact that most of these people still viewed him as a former slave. Long was even more progressive than all the other territories that allowed slaves, and released them after seven years of service, but former slaves were former slaves for the rest of their lives. “Of course we’re still going to go after Qingyuan. But it’s just one city—if it’s left alone for a while more, it won’t make a difference.”

“You think leaving the capital alone won’t make a difference?” The general rolled his eyes. “Do you think it’s just the capital in name?”

“In the case of Yu,” Zheng Xiaolang said, “that’s exactly what I think, just like I think Yu Weizhe is only the clan leader in name. Yu Yunmi is the heart of the Yu territory and the Yu family. Even if we can push through Yu Yunmi somehow, or even if she hasn’t set a trap for us like I suspect, concentrating all our efforts on Qingyuan might just give Yu Yunmi time to get all of the other sect leaders into action and fight against us.”

“They could isolate us weeks away from reinforcement,” Long Feifei said, nodding. “But if we get control over the other sects first while they’re still divided, or while they still think that we’re trying for the capital, we can be the ones to isolate the capital.”

“It doesn’t have to be all the other sects.” Zheng Xiaolang pointed at the map, his finger touching each of the districts surrounding the capital. “If we get Fu Huang’s district, Yan Yixue’s district, and Li Fengwen’s district, we’ve separated the capital from Yu Yunmi. Even if we don’t have total control over any of those, we can place cultivators along the major roads without too much of a fight and have them report whenever Yu Yunmi’s people are moving.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“If he’s wrong, we’ll handle it accordingly. I’m not so weak a leader that a change in the plan will immediately make me fail.” Long Feifei lifted up the weights holding the map down and it promptly rolled back up. She caught it with her other hand before it rolled off the table. “We’ll rest here tonight and move in the morning to take An City. Zheng Xiaolang, take some cultivators southward toward the Sunlit Road and see if you can get any information. Try to confirm whether there really is an ambush waiting for us.”

Long Feifei trusted him, but she didn’t trust him enough to just take his word for it. For now, she was dangling bait in front of the beast and waiting for something to snap. If the beast snatched up the bait—well, no loss for her, but now she knew exactly what she was facing. If the bait caught sight of the beast in the water and came back with a description, then that was even better.

Zheng Xiaolang dipped his head in acknowledgeable. “What cultivators would you like me to bring with me? I’ll need people who can operate discreetly. If we’re caught prematurely—”

“I’ll make you a list before the end of the night. Is six enough?”

“Six is plenty.” Maybe too much. Zheng Xiaolang would rather nobody came along, but it couldn’t be helped. Long Feifei didn’t want Zheng Xiaolang to operate independently while he was under her command, so now Zheng Xiaolang had to figure out how to keep six people he barely knew alive, undetected, and under his control.

“I can also send some slaves to—”

“No need.”

Long Feifei’s eyes flashed. There was a moment of silence, and then she smiled. It was a cold smile. “Ah. I almost forgot. The great Zheng-zhangmen, too high and mighty for slaves.”

“Being high and mighty has nothing to do with it.” Zheng Xiaolang cupped his hands and gave a short bow. “I should make preparations, so I’ll go first.”

Normally something like “preparations” would mean that he was going to go get the necessary people together, gather whatever supplies he needed, and so on and so forth. But instead, Zheng Xiaolang went into his tent and pulled out a small incense cone. He set it up on a small table, glanced around one more time to make sure no one was nearby, and then lit it with a snap of his fingers.

Smoke curled out from the top. In that smoke, an image flickered—and then there was Xie Rong in her throne, resting her chin in one hand while she looked through a scroll. On her side, the smoke came out of nowhere, spiraling out from a single smoke and then Zheng Xiaolang’s image became clear—she glanced up, quirked one eyebrow, and said: “You must be busy.”

Zheng Xiaolang cupped his hands and bowed. “Xie-zongzhu. I have some updates.”

She rolled up her scroll, put it next to her, and picked up another one. “Speak.”

Zheng Xiaolang updated her on the new plans.

“Then Qingyuan—?”

“Qingyuan won’t be taken for some time.”

“Then Qingge didn’t prioritize taking over the capital…” Xie Rong thought for a minute. Out of all the clan leaders save for Wu Enlai, Xie Rong looked the youngest. One might even mistake her for a young woman at first glance—but, make no mistake, Xie Rong was just as old as the rest of the clan leaders, and more powerful than all but two of them. She was a formidable cultivator and a fiercely intelligent leader. “You haven’t heard yet what their motivation is?”

“I suspect the same as Xie-zongzhu. If Long Qingge had no motivation to become emperor, there’s no reason she should invade Yu. There’s nothing of value here.” He paused, then: “But, no, Long Feifei hasn’t revealed anything to me. I don’t know if it’s her that doesn’t trust me, or Long Qingge. Either way, I’m about to be separated from her.”

“What is your plan if you run into Yu Yunmi?”

Zheng Xiaolang clenched his jaw. Of course Xie Rong would ask this. She wasn’t so naive that she would miss the significance of Zheng Xiaolang actually meeting one of his friends in a situation like this. Perhaps the only thing that would devastate him more would be meeting Chen Tian, who he not only liked but related to. “I don’t know yet.” The incense was almost burnt out. They only had a few more minutes.

“Not fighting will only raise suspicion.”

“I’m aware. But if Yu Yunmi becomes aware that I’m helping the Long family, I would be unsurprised if she took that as the final push to start summoning other clans in for help. Qin wouldn’t take long to get here, and at this point we don’t know whose side Cao will take.”

“Yu Yunmi won’t call for help.”

Zheng Xiaolang blinked. “What does Xie-zongzhu mean?”

“If she was permitted to call for help, she would have done so already. I don’t doubt that she’s been keeping in contact with that Yu Weizhe this entire time—if he really took the invasion seriously and wanted it stopped, he would have contacted Qin Ye the moment Yu Yunmi started to fight back.” She finally looked up from the scroll she was on and looked right into the smoke, right into Zheng Xiaolang’s eyes. “Your mission there is to determine whether Long Qingge is planning to become emperor, not to maintain relationships.”

“Yes, Zongzhu.” The incense was about to burn out. Zheng Xiaolang had one more question. “About the matter we discussed before—”

“Long Feifei is useless as a hostage. The only hostage that would work with that woman is Mao Lan.” There was a deeply bitter expression on Xie Rong’s face. She waved a hand dismissively—and the smoke dispersed. The connection had been broken.

…

Some days passed like that. Lei Wenhe lingered with the other healers for a while, explaining his cure to Golden Core Turns Black in the way only he could—and even going so far as to demonstrate it to a few of them, moving his qi through their meridians so they could get a feel for it. Of course, none of them could really figure out how to comprehend it; it was one thing to have it explained and have it done to them, but it was another thing to be born as a person of Murmuring Springs. They couldn’t ever grasp the intricacies of the cure like Lei Wenhe could, especially when Lei Wenhe was deliberately altering the cure when he administered it to them so they couldn’t somehow figure it out by luck.

Not for lack of trying, of course—those who had given up to save face in Yingde weren’t about to make that mistake again. Now that they’d met the great Lei Wenhe who was now backed by Shen Guozhi, they had to learn all they could from him in order to advance their own careers. If all of the healers present were able to learn the cure, it would still be a rare commodity—“the only healer who could cure Golden Core Turns Black” would become “the only twenty healers who could cure Golden Core Turns Black.” Only a slight increase, in the grand scheme of things—they could still charge whatever they wanted in exchange for their services. But only if they could learn the cure.

Shen Ying didn’t bother hanging around all of these healers. He had Lei Wenhe under his—or rather, his father’s—employ already, and besides Lei Wenhe they had at least a dozen accomplished healers, so there was nothing for him to gain by making friends with any of these people. He also didn’t like any of the Yu family much, so even though Qingyuan wasn’t very exciting, he spent his time exploring the city and buying little trinkets that he would take back to He Zhenzhen. He could already picture her expression—a moment of surprise, then a smile splitting her face, her eyes shining… With all of He Zhenzhen’s responsibilities, she couldn’t get out of her district very much, so she would be so pleased. Whatever money Shen Ying would have to spend to see that, it would be worth it.

When he got back, however, mingling with them was inevitable. They ate dinner in the evenings together, gathered around the same table, Lei Wenhe surrounded by all of those healers who wouldn’t stop asking him questions. Shen Ying resisted rolling his eyes. His father had tried something similar with Shen’s own healers, but it had never worked. Normal people just couldn’t comprehend Lei Wenhe. Even healers couldn’t comprehend Lei Wenhe. If Shen Guozhi’s healers couldn’t get the cure—

Wait. Shen Ying stopped with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth and squinted at the healer who was talking with Lei Wenhe. She looked…familiar. Why did she look familiar? Her name was—it was Wang something. She was smiling and touching Lei Wenhe’s arm. She probably thought that if Lei Wenhe didn’t give her the cure before, he would give it to her if she seduced him. In all the years he’d been working for the Shen family, Lei Wenhe hadn’t looked twice at any of the beautiful servants or cultivators or slaves that Shen Guozhi had sent his way.

Wang—

Yes, Shen Ying remembered now. She was a healer he’d met maybe sixty years ago, at a healer convention in Xie. At the convention, representatives from each family showed up to hire new healers to bring into their territories. Who was it that hired this Wang woman? It was Yan Yixue. Yes, it was Yan Yixue—sect leader of Yu. Which meant that this healer was an official healer of Yu.

Shen Ying examined the rest of them. A few more of the faces seemed familiar, not all of them, but enough to confirm his suspicions. These healers, not just the woman trying to flirt with Lei Wenhe, were Yu’s healers. Wasn’t this a healer’s convention? Shen Ying had been wondering why so few people showed up, but he’d assumed it was just because no one had wanted to come to Qingyuan. Now that he thought about it, why wouldn’t they show up? Especially if Yu Weizhe said that Lei Wenhe himself was coming, there should be entire crowds of people showing up to get his knowledge. No, if Yu Weizhe had really sent out invitations to everyone, not just Lei Wenhe, then Qingyuan would be full of healers. The only way for there to be this few people was if it was just Yu’s healers here.

There was a funny feeling in Shen Ying’s chest. What did that mean for him? For Lei Wenhe? For Shen? Could Yu Weizhe failing to mention that only Yu healers would attend be lying? Was that something that Shen Ying needed to be concerned about?

He needed to investigate. If Yu Weizhe was up to something, Shen Guozhi needed to know—even if that “something” was just Yu Weizhe trying to snatch up Lei Wenhe as his own healer. After all, that meant that Yu Weizhe was actively working against Shen Guozhi, and trying to take something that was his. That was cause for some political conflict.

After dinner, Shen Ying went to go find Lei Wenhe. He usually went straight to his room for…something, Shen Ying never figured out what, after he ate, so Shen Ying assumed he would be doing the same here in Yu. Sure enough, he found Lei Wenhe right outside the room he was staying in, just about to reach for the door.

“Lei-xiansheng!”

Lei Wenhe stopped. He glanced over his shoulder at Shen Ying, made eye contact with him—there was a pause. And then he turned and bowed. Shen Ying didn’t know why that pause was so unnerving. “Is there anything I can do to assist Shen-zhangmen?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Lei Wenhe gave Shen Ying that stiff smile of his. “Please feel free to come in.”

The inside of their rooms looked much the same—a bed on the far end, a writing desk to the side, and a small table with an assortment of snacks, teas, and incense sticks. Shen Ying tried looking around to see if there was anything that gave a hint into Lei Wenhe’s character but, just like in Shen, Lei Wenhe had barely touched the room. It didn’t even seem like he’d used the bed. “I won’t waste your time,” Shen Ying said. “I have some concerns about Yu Weizhe’s motives for bringing you here.”

Lei Wenhe very calmly stripped off his cloak. He was startlingly slender underneath it—Shen Ying hadn’t ever seen him take it off, but it didn’t occur to him how much it bulked the man up until now. “Do you mean that he wants the cure to Golden Core Turns Black beyond just to be used on himself?”

“Well…” So Lei Wenhe had known all along.

“That’s not something to be concerned about, Shen-zhangmen. Most people who contact me are only looking for one thing.” These words might have sounded bitter or resigned coming from anyone else, but Lei Wenhe said them matter-of-factly, almost pleasantly. “If that’s all—”

“That isn’t all. Don’t you think it’s strange that there are so few healers here?”

“Not particularly. I rather prefer it when there are less people.”

Shen Ying wanted to shake some sense into him. Lei Wenhe was such a powerful, important person in the cultivation world, and would remain so until Golden Cure Turns Black was no longer a problem. He needed to get some political awareness before it was too late. “All of the healers here belong to Yu Weizhe. He didn’t tell any of the other sects that you would be coming.”

Lei Wenhe shook out his cloak a couple times and then hung it up by the window, where it would be able to air out. “You’re concerned that he’ll try to hire me?”

“I don’t know what his motive is. I think he’s trying to get control over the cure in some way, whether that’s getting you on his side or getting you to give your methods to his healers and his healers only.” Shen Ying feared, too, that once Yu Weizhe’s healers got the cure, that he would kill Lei Wenhe afterward—but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. He didn’t want to frighten the man. “I’m going to investigate. Once I can figure out more, I’ll contact my father and see what he recommends. He might want us to come back earlier than we intended.”

Lei Wenhe was rooting through his bag for something. When Shen Ying stopped speaking, he glanced up at him and pulled out a single round red berry, which he slipped into his mouth like a pill. “That’s fine. Let me know either way.”

How did Shen Ying explain to him that he needed to be more concerned about this? Should he explain at all, or should he just leave Lei Wenhe in his blissful ignorance? Was it Shen Ying’s responsibility to protect someone like Lei Wenhe from reality? How old was he anyway?

Shen Ying was getting a headache. He left Lei Wenhe there and went back to the main palace, using his qinggong to lightly hop onto the walls and move over them. He wasn’t very talented when it came to things like this—he’d always been better at fighting—but he was already inside the grounds. The guards were more concerned with people getting in than what people were doing once they were already inside. As long as he didn’t draw any attention to himself, he would be fine.

Yu Weizhe’s throne room was near the front of the palace. Just like the rest of the buildings, it had a tile roof that, despite being unimpressive, was well-kept. Shen Ying jumped onto this roof, found where he thought the throne might be, and pried open one of the tiles. If he angled himself right, he could just barely see Yu Weizhe seated on the throne and a handful of people in front of him, kneeling with their hands put together. When he put a talisman close to the hole he’d created, he was able to hear what they were saying.

“Has Yu-zongzhu heard from Yu Yunmi-zhangmen?” one of the people kneeling asked.

“Not recently.” Yu Weizhe’s brow was furrowed. He lifted one hand to his head, but stopped as soon as his fingers touched his hair, and then he dropped it back to his lap.

“Does Yu-zongzhu worry perhaps that—”

“She won’t have lost a fight to Long Feifei. She’s more powerful than Long Feifei.”

Shen Ying’s heart seemed to skip a beat. He leaned closer, even though that wouldn’t help him hear any better—did they say Long Feifei? Why would Long Feifei fight with Yu Yunmi?

“According to the last contact, Long Feifei took An City. If we don’t move now—”

“She’ll be able to take it back.”

“Zongzhu, this lowly one believes…” The cultivator paused, grimaced—but Yu Weizhe wasn’t interrupting him this time. He was just looking down with a muscle in his jaw working. “This lowly one believes Zongzhu should contact Yu Yunmi. This war will just keep going if Zongzhu doesn’t take a stand.”

Shen Ying’s hand was pressed against his mouth. Long Feifei had gone further into Yu? She was—the invasion—it had turned into a war?

His feet slipped out from underneath him and kicked at the tile he’d tugged loose, sending it to the ground below with a loud clatter. All the heads he could see through the window he made immediately looked upward, and he jerked backward on instinct. He had to get out of here, he had to—he needed to tell Shen Guozhi. If Yu Weizhe was hiding a war, that was a much bigger deal than Shen Ying thought.

He could hear, below him, Yu Weizhe sending orders to investigate, and he escaped before any of the guards could catch up. He might not be very talented in qinggong, but normal people like them couldn’t imagine keeping up with a cultivator who was in the top fifteen. In his room, he found an incense cone and lit it. His body had broken out into a cold sweat. For almost his entire life, the cultivation world had been peaceful. But now—the clan leaders lying to each other, a disease wracking their bodies, a secret war. It had been over a hundred years since anything this big had happened, and now it was all piling up at once.

The smoke curled out from the cone, but no connection formed. Shen Ying frowned. He burned another cone, but still nothing. If he couldn’t form a connection, that meant something was blocking it—an array of some sort. He didn’t know how big it was. Maybe just the palace grounds. Hopefully just the palace grounds.

He had to go all the way out of Qingyuan.

Standing just off the Sunlit Road, the incense cone stuck into a dried out old stump of a tree, Shen Ying finally got a hold of someone in Shen. The image became clear after a moment, but it wasn’t Shen Guozhi.

“Shen Shi?” Shen Ying was perplexed. “What are you doing in the throne room?”

“Da-ge!” Shen Shi looked out of his element, and the hair that was normally tied neat at the back of his head had become loose and frenzied, loose strands sticking everywhere like he’d been constantly pulling at it. “Where have you been? We’ve been trying to contact you for days!”

“What is—where is Fuqin?”

“Busy. With everything that’s been happening with Cao, and He Zhenzhen-zhangmen, he’s been trying to get everything under control, and he put me temporarily in charge of you—”

“He Zhenzhen? What happened with He Zhenzhen?”

Shen Shi looked at Shen Ying helplessly. “Da-ge, she opened her borders to Qian Dong-zhangmen. Quiet Death is spreading in Shen again.”

CHAPTER TEN

A Peaceful Retreat

LEI WENHE HAD a routine in Murmuring Springs, before everything happened. He woke early in the morning, early enough that it still felt like night. He dressed in the quiet darkness of his room, then went into the next room, woke Xiao Qiu and Xiao Yun, and took them outside to watch the sun rise together. There was nothing more peaceful than that. When they were smaller, he would hold Xiao Qiu and Xiao Yun in his lap, one in each arm, and rest his chin on the top of one of their heads. They always smelled like plum blossoms, sweetly fragrant. Sometimes they would fall asleep again in his arms and not stir again until he gently shook them back awake.

Once the sun was risen, Lei Wenhe would go to make breakfast for his family. Xiao Qiu and Xiao Yun came along to help him, chopping vegetables whenever he passed some over and stirring pots whenever he asked them to. They all ate together in the family hall, quietly, sharing smiles over the food. After breakfast, they all went to walk their own paths of that day. Lei Wenhe usually went to the archery range of his family’s grounds and shot arrow after arrow into the targets that were almost too far away to see. Other times, he went to visit his friends, usually Xue Suyin or Huo Tao, and they ate lunch together under the shade of the trees. In the afternoon, he went into the forests around Murmuring Springs and cleared the walking paths between all of the families’ grounds.

Those were better times. The people of Murmuring Springs knew what was most important in life, and that was all they pursued. Disagreements were not nonexistent, but longstanding disputes were, and violence was, and it wasn’t until the mortals stormed their home and ripped them apart in their sleep did they remember what it meant to hate.

Lei Wenhe…well, at this point, it was hard to remember what it felt like to not have that hate inside of him. The memories of waking up early with Xiao Qiu and Xiao Yun felt like some kind of fantasy he constructed, like he’d heard a story about a happy family and inserted himself just to feel better. How many years had he had with them? Maybe twenty-five? And what about without them?—it dwarfed those twenty-five years. It swallowed them whole. He had twenty-five years of peace and then the rest of his life was just about hating the mortal world. Hating Zheng Xiaolang.

He had a routine in Qingyuan, as well.

He still rose before the sun. He lit a stick of incense and dressed in the same Shen-blue robes he always wore. He slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped outside and breathed in the fresh air. Breakfast didn’t start until later, so he spent some time just walking around the grounds and getting familiar with it again. After a few days, he could navigate the place with his eyes closed, but he kept walking anyway, familiarizing himself not only with the paths but with the buildings as well, with the height of the walls, with the way different trees would mask different roofs of the buildings. He didn’t expect that he would need any of this information, but if something did happen—if he needed to protect himself, or make an escape—then he wanted to be familiar with all the places that would make that possible. When the time for breakfast came, he went to the hall and ate with all the other healers, smiling politely when the mood called for it and answering any questions they pushed at him. So what, he thought, if they were all from Yu? So what if Yu Weizhe lied to Shen Guozhi and was trying to manipulate Lei Wenhe into teaching all of his healers Black Core Turns Golden? It didn’t change the outcome. Lei Wenhe was still going to get access to Yu Weizhe, and the healers were still going to come away from the experience with nothing more than confusion. Why did it matter if Yu Weizhe was trying to play him when Lei Wenhe was playing the entire cultivation world?

Shen Ying still hadn’t returned.

Lei Wenhe didn’t miss him, but he still thought it a little strange. Shen Ying was a sect leader and the heir to the Shen family. He took his reputation seriously. If propriety demanded he make an appearance every morning and pay his respects to the Yu family, then he would feel compelled to do so—but it had been three days now and Shen Ying still hadn’t shown his face. Lei Wenhe suspected he’d discovered something while he was investigating Yu Weizhe. If Yu Weizhe was really as malicious as Shen Ying thought, perhaps Yu Weizhe had done something to him. Or perhaps Shen Ying was still investigating. Or perhaps he just found somewhere else he needed to be.

After two weeks like this, it seemed like Yu Weizhe couldn’t wait any longer, and finally he called Lei Wenhe in. He’d probably been putting it off as much as possible for his healers to learn Lei Wenhe’s techniques, but he could only wait so long before the effects became too much to bear.

Lei Wenhe, standing in front of the throne with his hands cupped together, waited for Yu Weizhe to speak. He hadn’t said anything since Lei Wenhe first came in here. In fact, he might have been incapable of it, and was trying to gather up the strength to speak—he was slumped in the throne, his jaw slack, his breathing labored.

Then Lei Wenhe spoke first: “Did Yu-zongzhu call me here today for healing?”

Another moment passed, and then Yu Weizhe feebly nodded.

“Then, if Yu-zongzhu permits it…” Lei Wenhe moved slowly up to the throne. He helped Yu Weizhe sit up and put his hands against his back.

“It wasn’t this bad…yesterday…”

“This humble one understands. Yu-zongzhu doesn’t need to explain.”

He pushed his qi in.

Yu Weizhe shuddered as the foreign energy moved through his meridians. Lei Wenhe hid his smile.

“Lei-xiansheng, truly—the cultivation world owes you a huge debt.”

Lei Wenhe’s hands stilled. He said, carefully, “I am only doing what I should.”

“What do you desire, Lei-xiansheng? I can give you anything in the world.”

Having a man like this say that to him made Lei Wenhe feel like throwing up. “I don’t—”

“Don’t say you don’t desire anything. Everyone desires something.” Yu Weizhe turned his head and looked at Lei Wenhe over his shoulder. “Whether it be something tangible, like a palace or money, or something intangible, like freedom or power. What is it that you want, Lei Wenhe?”

Lei Wenhe’s hands dropped away and he took a step back from the throne. Yu Weizhe took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders. He stood up. There was a smile on his face.

“What do you want, Lei Wenhe? I can give you anything and everything you want.”

“I’ve been told the same by a few people,” Lei Wenhe said.

“And none were able to give you what you want?”

Lei Wenhe just looked at him.

“If there is someone out there that you’re waiting for, who can give you what you want,” Yu Weizhe said, “then tell me that, too. I have the power to get you whoever you want.”

Get me Zheng Xiaolang.

Get me Zheng Xiaolang and let me tear him apart with my teeth.

Get me Zheng Xiaolang and let me make him pay for everything he did to me, to my family, to my parents, to my younger siblings, to the world that was so peaceful. Get me Zheng Xiaolang and make him pay for ripping my home to pieces.

The words were boiling inside his chest.

He forced himself to relax. The smile he gave to Yu Weizhe was gentle and serene. “There’s no one, Yu-zongzhu. I’m sorry I don’t have an answer for you.”

Yu Weizhe was looking at him like he could see right through him, but Lei Wenhe knew that he couldn’t. No one in this world was ever going to understand Lei Wenhe. “There isn’t anything at all?”

“I’m not one for desires,” Lei Wenhe said. “I’m content just…going with wherever the flow of my life takes me.”

“Then,” said Yu Weizhe, “may I ask something else of you?”

Lei Wenhe cupped his hands. “Please, Yu-zongzhu should speak his mind.”

“Oh, there’s no need to pay me so much respect anymore. I think at this point we’re friends.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t think so.

“I’d like you to stay in Yu longer. The other healers have a lot more to learn from you, and Yu has more than enough resources to keep you entertained and well-fed. What does Lei-xiansheng think?”

“I don’t know if I can make any promises. Shen-zhangmen will determine when I return to Shen. If he doesn’t want to stay any longer, then I’m afraid it’s out of my control.”

“Ah, if Shen Ying is the problem, then I guess you haven’t heard the news.” Yu Weizhe was moving around the room, like he was testing out the durability of his body with the cure now administered, occasionally stopping to trace a finger over different things he might not have appreciated while he was sick. “There were some people who saw him leaving Qingyuan and heading south a few days ago. He must have something to attend to in Shen.”

Something to attend to? The last time Lei Wenhe spoke to Shen Ying, he’d been investigating Yu Weizhe. What would he have to do in Shen that would overpower that?

“Shen Ying will return for you, I’m sure. Why don’t you stay here until then?”

The only reason why Lei Wenhe would stay is if he had access to more members of Yu, but, unlike Shen, the sect leaders of Yu were weeks’ travel away from each other. They didn’t often visit each other. In fact, during the entirety of this conference, Lei Wenhe hadn’t encountered any of them. He’d already gained Yu Weizhe’s trust by healing him and trying to teach his healers—what was the point in staying longer and pretending to teach Yu Weizhe’s healers? “I’m not sure. If there was something important to attend to in Shen, perhaps I should be there as well.”

“Lei-xiansheng, forgive my forwardness, but I don’t know how you would get back to Shen. I worry you may be attacked or taken advantage of on your journey. Not to mention, if they needed you in Shen, don’t you think they would have contacted you by now to come back?”

Lei Wenhe didn’t know if that was just Yu Weizhe faking his worry, or if it was a threat in disguise. Was he trying to say that Lei Wenhe would be attacked if he tried to leave Qingyuan early? “Then, perhaps I can stay a week or so, and then Yu Yunmi-zhangmen can escort me back? I haven’t seen her since Shen Guozhi’s competition.”

Yu Weizhe got a strange expression on his face. “Yes, perhaps we can arrange that.”

Lei Wenhe looked at Yu Weizhe for a moment, the pride in his eyes, the arrogant tilt of his chin, absolutely convinced that he could make Lei Wenhe do whatever he wanted and believe whatever he wanted him to believe. With just a twist of his hand, a spell so simple it didn’t need writing, Lei Wenhe could make Yu Weizhe tell him whatever he wanted. He could make Yu Weizhe drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness for daring to lie. No—no, it was too early. He’d only really made a dent on Shen, and he hadn’t even gotten close to Zheng Xiaolang. He could wait. He needed to wait. He could find the information another way.

“Then, maybe I’ll take some time to explore Qingyuan. I haven’t had the opportunity yet.” Lei Wenhe turned to leave, but he moved slowly. Yu Weizhe was about to make another objection, in three…two…one…

“Actually, Lei-xiansheng, I had an idea that might help you pass the time.”

Lei Wenhe stopped. He smiled, suppressed it, and then turned.

“There are some hot springs here in Qingyuan. I thought it might be a good idea for you to go with the other healers into the hot springs for a couple weeks and teach them all you can. How does that sound?”

How transparent did he have to be? He was so desperate for Lei Wenhe not to leave that he wouldn’t even let him off the palace grounds. “Yu-zongzhu, I don’t know if I can commit so much time to solitude. If there are other people out there that I can help—”

“Just a few weeks, that’s all.” The gaze Yu Weizhe had trained on Lei Wenhe was intense, hungry, desperate. “I can’t miss the opportunity to make people capable of healing like you do.”

A few more weeks…it wasn’t like Lei Wenhe had anywhere better to be, or anything better to be doing. If he left before Yu Weizhe wanted him to, would that remove his access to Yu’s sect leaders? How important were they? The only real threats were Yu Yunmi and Yu Weizhe, so as long as he got the two of them, he could have Yu under his control. If he waited around and taught those healers some useful things, he could eventually get access to Yu Yunmi, the real political leader of Yu.

“I can stay for two weeks,” Lei Wenhe said. “After that, I hope you can give me an escort back to Shen.”

A smile broke out across Yu Weizhe’s face. “That can be arranged.”

…

Zheng Xiaolang’s quality of life had significantly decreased since parting from Long Feifei. She’d permitted he take along the cultivators and a few weeks of supplies, but without servants they had to carry all those supplies on their own, which meant most of them were just sleeping under the stars now. No tents, no comfortable beds, no big pot to cook delicious food. But Zheng Xiaolang had lived much worse than this when he was younger, and he’d lived much worse than this even a couple months ago, and it was much better than having to look at Long Feifei every day. The biggest problem was dealing with Long Feifei’s cultivators making vague complaints toward Zheng Xiaolang every move he made. He wouldn’t mind so much if they were just spying on him—couldn’t they shut up in the process?

He was standing guard tonight. It was warm enough at night that none of them were want for blankets or a fire. While the other cultivators slept, Zheng Xiaolang leaned against a nearby tree and scanned the horizon. Long Feifei had sent a message earlier today—An City was hers. Zheng Xiaolang and his company were just outside Xin City, which was down the river from An City—even if Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t heard about it from Long Feifei, he would’ve heard about it eventually from one of the many times he had someone sneak into Xin City. As for Zheng Xiaolang’s mission, he’d yet to hear where Yu Yunmi’s forces were. In the morning, he would be taking the cultivators and traveling further along the Sunlit Road to look for where she might have put her forces. If he was right, he would be the first one who ran into Yu Yunmi.

He didn’t want to run into Yu Yunmi.

He sighed and moved his attention to the cultivators sleeping around him. They slept well, like soldiers. They fell out of consciousness quickly and came back to it just as quickly. Zheng Xiaolang had learned things like this before he even became a cultivator. His mother had taught him. That was how people like them survived, she said—they had to be ready for anything. They had to be ready to run. They also needed to get as much rest as they could whenever they could. After Xie Rong found him, she taught him to do the same thing while he cultivated his core. It was always about survival. It was always about being ready.

He had a strange thought then—he wouldn’t have to do things like this if he was like that Lei Wenhe. No allegiances, no expectations to be in any particular place, no “former slave” status. If he was like Lei Wenhe and Xie Rong tried to give him an order like this, to go against a friend no matter what he wanted…if he was like Lei Wenhe, he could just tell Xie Rong no. If he was like Lei Wenhe, nobody would have the audacity to order him around again. If he was like Lei Wenhe—no, Zheng Xiaolang could be even more powerful, because Zheng Xiaolang was a powerful cultivator, as well. One day, he would get to a position where none of the people who pushed him around would be able to say a word against him. One day—

Zheng Xiaolang stilled and put one hand on his sword. There was someone creeping along the road, maybe fifty paces away. Zheng Xiaolang expanded his senses. They were…coming closer to the sleeping cultivators, hunched over, sticking to the longer grass on the side of the road. Their steps were careful, certainly, but the way they moved their feet—they weren’t trained in martial arts, and probably weren’t a cultivator.

Zheng Xiaolang let go of his sword and flew forward to meet them instead, catching them by their collar and yanking them out of the grass before they even processed that he’d appeared behind them. It was a young man, maybe in his late teens. He yelped when Zheng Xiaolang pulled him up and threw him onto the road.

“What are you—I wasn’t doing anything, I swear! I’m just a messenger!”

“A messenger sneaking around in the middle of the night?” Zheng Xiaolang said. “I find that hard to believe. Anybody in their right mind would know that nighttime on the Sunlit Road is the worst place to be. That’s why it’s called the Sunlit Road, isn’t it? Nighttime can only mean death for a lone traveler like you.”

The young man scrambled backward, a nervous laugh escaping from his lips. “Maybe I’m…not in my right mind?”

Zheng Xiaolang pointed the end of his sword’s scabbard at him. “Try again.”

“I swear I’m just a messenger, Daxia.”

“Then why so secretive? Don’t tell me.” The corner of Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth twitched upward. “You’re actually a talented cultivator who can hold his own. Is that what it is? Should I address you as my qianbei?”

The young man’s cheeks darkened under the dim moonlight. “N-no, I don’t—I was just asked to deliver the message without—without getting…caught.” The more he spoke, the slower the words came out, until the last word was mumbled right under his breath so quietly that Zheng Xiaolang probably would have had to strain to hear it if his hearing wasn’t exceptional.

“You did a wonderful job,” Zheng Xiaolang told him, and the young man’s cheeks got darker. “Where are you taking this message?”

“Qingyuan, Daxia.”

“To the palace?”

The young man hesitated and then nodded a few times.

“Tell me the message.”

“I don’t—”

“Tell me the message, or I show you what this sword looks like outside its scabbard.” Not that he needed the sword to do any damage.

“It’s just—they said that Long Feifei’s forces are making more progress than expected, and that it’s possible they’ll make it into Qingyuan, and that they should get someone out of the city by then.”

“Someone? Who?”

The young man avoided Zheng Xiaolang’s eyes. Zheng Xiaolang put the end of his sword against his throat.

“Now.”

“Lei Wenhe! It was Lei Wenhe.”

Zheng Xiaolang almost dropped his sword to the ground. “You said Lei Wenhe?”

“I didn’t recognize the name, but that cultivator seemed really concerned about it. It was like…life and death kind of thing, you know?”

Zheng Xiaolang knew. But it wasn’t just life and death for one person—it was life and death for the entire cultivation world. If Lei Wenhe was somehow killed in the invasion, that meant the cultivation world no longer had a cure for Golden Core Turns Black.

But Lei Wenhe, in Qingyuan? When did he arrive in Qingyuan? The last time Zheng Xiaolang saw him two years ago, he was still in Shen and had no apparent intention of leaving anytime soon. And now he was in Qingyuan? There was no way Yu Weizhe didn’t already know how close Long Feifei was getting to Qingyuan, so why did he still have Lei Wenhe in his city?

“Daxia…” The young man had broken out into a cold sweat, unnerved by the sudden intense look in Zheng Xiaolang’s eyes.

“Ah. How much were you paid to deliver the message?”

The young man’s hand scrambled to dig through his pockets. He brought out a small handful of coins, which he presented to Zheng Xiaolang with his gaze lowered. Zheng Xiaolang threw a small pouch at him.

“Take this and get out of Yu.”

“Daxia?”

“Travel along the Sunlit Road for a while more and then go north out of Qingyuan, through Qiu Fu’s district.”

“But isn’t Cao…closer? And safer?”

“Cao closed their borders. You won’t be able to get in, and you’d be trapped in Yu. The unoccupied territories are ungoverned, but take shelter in the cities as you travel and you’ll be fine. Zhangde isn’t too far inside Zheng Xiaolang’s district. It’ll be a good place to settle.”

“Daxia is just letting me go?”

“Leave before I change my mind.”

The young man tripped over his own feet trying to get away, but Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t concerned with him anymore. Lei Wenhe was in Qingyuan. It wasn’t any secret, at least to those who paid attention, that Yu Weizhe was sick with Golden Core Turns Black. But the cure only took minutes, as far as Zheng Xiaolang knew—he should have been able to get the cure and send Lei Wenhe on his way, and then Lei Wenhe would be…not safe in Shen, because Shen was overrun with Quiet Death now. He would be trapped in the capital.

He glanced back at the sleeping cultivators and rubbed his chin.

Xie Rong sent him here with a very clear mission: help Long Feifei and Long Qingge with their invasion until the precise moment it was more advantageous to stab them in the back. Long Qingge was obviously aiming to become emperor and wanted her first step toward that power to be gaining total control of Yu. Even if the land itself wasn’t valuable, the amount alone would be an incredible increase in power—not to mention it would give her direct access to the unoccupied lands against Xie as well as newly direct access to Cao and Wu. Expansion by land beyond that point, especially in combination with Long’s exceptionally powerful navy, would be easy. The only person who was standing in the way of that happening was Yu Yunmi, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once. All Long Feifei had to do to get the advantage was split up her troops, and Yu would be in an even worse state if any of the other sect leaders from Long came to help. Qingyuan would eventually be taken over, and Lei Wenhe would be…

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, and he had a million and one questions he wanted to ask Lei Wenhe that would never be answered, but he didn’t want him dead. Even someone as paranoid as Zheng Xiaolang knew that Lei Wenhe was immeasurably important to the cultivation world. He was the only one of his kind. If Zheng Xiaolang traveled all night at his fastest and sneaked into Qingyuan, he would be able to get Lei Wenhe out, but what then? He would have exposed himself then to all of Long Feifei’s cultivators she sent with Zheng Xiaolang to spy on him, and sneaking to Qingyuan of all places—she would assume that he was going to see Yu Weizhe, and then she would tell Long Qingge, and Long Qingge would think that Xie Rong was working against her, and then it would be war. Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t be responsible for starting a war, not at this stage. He also couldn’t let Lei Wenhe die.

He went back to the sleeping cultivators, looked them over, and then nodded to himself. Yes, there was one option here that might end well—not just for Lei Wenhe, but for Zheng Xiaolang, for Xie Rong, for Long Qingge, and even for Yu Weizhe and Yu Yunmi. It would be difficult to handle the aftermath, but he could handle that when he got to it.

He burned a cone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

He had a very slender waist

IN LONG, THERE were three things to know in order to really thrive: firstly, slaves were released every seven years in an event called the New Life Festival. This did not mean that slaves were released after seven years of work, but rather that all slaves, every time another seven years had passed since the last festival, were released. This was a great cause for celebration in Long; each time this momentous day came, the streets filled with the newly released slaves and vendors looking to profit off of them. Of course, this meant that, on that seventh year, anyone who owned a slave had to then replace those slaves, and so the next day was always a stark contrast to the one before it—so many more were entering into seven more years of servitude.

The second thing to know was that crossing the Long family—or anyone directly connected to the Long family—was something that should be avoided at all costs. This was not just because they were sect leaders. Long Qingge was ranked first in power among the cultivators. To the people who knew that there was another, more accurate ranking, she was the second. Beyond that, she was a famously authoritarian woman, especially focused on loyalty. If someone betrayed another clan leader or sect leader, that person might be thrown in prison for their crimes, but Long Qingge? It was always execution. This extended to the sect leaders beneath her—Long Feifei, the talented war-mongering daughter; Duan Ya, the woman she raised from childhood as a daughter, whose battle understanding was unmatched, who would be unmatched in battle too if her core could keep up; and Mao Lan, the wife of her younger brother, the unmatchable deadly beauty. They might not be as strict as Long Qingge, nor as unforgiving, but Long Qingge took her family seriously. If a person might even think about betraying one of these people, they were no better off than they would have been betraying Long Qingge directly—in fact, their deaths might be even more cruel than if the betrayal had been direct. It was better to avoid the Long family entirely. If one wanted to enjoy the prosperity and lovely scenery of Long, they needed to keep their head down and not involve themselves in anything that might bring them close to any of the sect leaders.

The third thing to know was that Xie Rong had almost as much of an influence on the Long territory as the Long family did. For one thing, she controlled the entire slave trade—so every seven years, just as everyone was celebrating new freedom or mourning new imprisonment, Xie Rong was raking in just as much money as the Long territory was. For the other, well, everyone knew that Long Qingge and Xie Rong were close friends. Both were powerful cultivators when they were younger, and after a few competitions their friendly rivalry turned into a long-lasting friendship. Whenever either of them wanted something of the other, they were bound to get it—which was why Zheng Xiaolang was sent to help Long Feifei, and why Long Qingge was willing to hear Zheng Xiaolang out when he so boldly decided to contact her.

She was in her gardens when the smoke started drifting around her. The moonlight was just enough for them to see each others’ faces, but Long Qingge barely looked at him as she tended to her plants. “Xie Rong often said that you were gutsy, but I didn’t think you were so gutsy that you would call me directly like this.”

“It’s important enough that this…humble one deemed it necessary.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Long Qingge’s lips. She’d heard the hesitation in his voice, the way he stumbled when he had to refer to himself like that. Zheng Xiaolang was Xie Rong’s loyal dog, but Xie Rong had never been able to beat the defiance out of him. “Speak. What do you want?”

“Lei Wenhe is in Qingyuan.”

Lei Wenhe…Long Qingge had heard the name a few times already. It would be impossible for someone as important as her to have missed the news of his entry into the cultivation world. She’d thought about sending someone to investigate in Shen but didn’t want to risk getting so close to Quiet Death. It was a good decision on her part, thinking about it now. It had spread even further thanks to He Zhenzhen.

“I—this lowly one believes Long-zongzhu should make a deal with Yu Weizhe.”

That piqued her interest. A deal? “Keep going.”

“Continuing the invasion like this could either result in Lei Wenhe disappearing from the cultivation world again or him dying in the attack. If Long-zongzhu is proactive and contacts Yu Weizhe first, Long-zongzhu can both prevent the loss of Lei Wenhe and gain control of him at the same time.”

Long Qingge in most cases would reply with something like, “So what Lei Wenhe might die or disappear? What does that have to do with me?” It was the kind of response that would remove any doubt from her opponent’s mind on whether the subject—in this case, Lei Wenhe—was something that Long Qingge desired, and therefore something they could use to control her. But this was different. Lei Wenhe’s value was obvious and undeniable. Anyone who had control over Lei Wenhe would have control over the cultivation world. To deny interest in him would only be reaffirming how much she wanted him for herself. She said, “Doesn’t Lei Wenhe belong to Shen Guozhi? Yu Weizhe might hesitate to use Lei Wenhe as a bargaining chip and ruin that relationship.”

Zheng Xiaolang shook his head. “It isn’t a contractual obligation, nor is it ownership. Rather, Lei Wenhe only agreed to stay in Shen because Shen Guozhi was the first person to ask him. And, even if Yu Weizhe believes Shen Guozhi will be slighted, it’s hard to believe upsetting Shen Guozhi will seem as important when he’s faced with losing his entire territory. If Long-zongzhu offers, say, stopping the invasion before reaching the capital district or Qiu Fu’s district in exchange for Lei Wenhe, it’ll be especially hard for him to resist.”

Long Qingge was starting to understand just why exactly Xie Rong had sent over Zheng Xiaolang. She’d wanted to complain at first—just because Zheng Xiaolang was powerful didn’t mean that Long Qingge wanted him around. But he was proving his worth again and again, not only with Long Feifei but with Long Qingge now too. But giving up any part of Yu, especially the northwestern section… “Do you know how to contact him? Perhaps I can offer him something in exchange for coming to me of his own will.”

“I don’t know what Long-zongzhu can offer that will make it worth it to him. Xie Rong already told him years ago that she would give him whatever he could possibly want, and he turned her down with only the excuse that he’d already agreed to work with Shen Guozhi. As far as I’ve heard, he continued to live modestly in Shen. He ate his own food, and if he ate the food Shen Guozhi provided, it was only rice or simple vegetable dishes. He refused any servants and lived in the smallest house he could get. What could anyone offer a man like that?”

It was certainly a conundrum. A man like that was hard to come by, hard enough that even in all the years Long Qingge had been alive, she’d never met anyone like him. Anyone bowed to the promise of money, power, or prestige. But Xie Rong could have given him any of that. There wasn’t much that Long Qingge would be able to offer that Xie Rong couldn’t. Long Qingge hated to admit it, but Xie Rong could probably offer more.

“What about freedom, safety? Contact him, tell him that Feifei’s forces are coming, that there won’t be a way out, tell him that you can get him out of there and take him to safety before he gets caught in the fray.”

Zheng Xiaolang was shaking his head again. “I don’t have any way to contact him.”

“Burn a cone.”

“I tried that already. There’s something blocking the connection. I suspect Yu Yunmi was having the same problem—I found out Lei Wenhe was in the capital because I intercepted a messenger on his way to Yu Weizhe. She suspected Long Feifei would get to the capital soon and was trying to urge Yu Weizhe to get Lei Wenhe out of the city before then.”

Long Qingge laughed. “He probably put wards around the palace to prevent Lei Wenhe from finding out about the war and running away scared. He’s thrown away all his rice just to keep his chicken, and he’s about to lose that too. I’ll tell Feifei to send someone ahead into the city to negotiate. If everything goes well, someone can escort him back to Long.”

“Understood.”

The incense cone had burnt out fully now. The smoke dissipated into the foliage of the garden.

Long Qingge smiled.

…

The exhaustion felt like it was swallowing Yu Yunmi whole. It had been a while since she was exhausted like this. It was just one fight after another—waking up and fighting and then passing out again in whatever spot she could find. The cultivators under her command moved around her worriedly. In the beginning, they asked if she was doing alright, if she needed anything, if she wanted them to do anything. But those questions died down after a week or two. Yu Yunmi didn’t have any answers for them. There was nothing she could say to any of them that would make this situation better.

She was out of incense cones. Those had run out eventually, too. For some time, in the beginning of all this—in the first couple weeks after Long Feifei moved too far into Yu for Yu Yunmi to ignore—her father answered her steadily, reliably. He had answers for her when she needed them. Even if he largely left the decisions to her, he was at least available whenever Yu Yunmi wanted to consult with him. But then another piece of news came: Yu Weizhe had brought Lei Wenhe into Qingyuan. Yu Yunmi was appalled. Out of all times to bring someone like Lei Wenhe into Qingyuan, this wasn’t it. But only a few days after that, Yu Yunmi couldn’t contact him anymore. She burned a cone every day, just in case. It never went through. When things got even worse, she sent a messenger to deliver her concern in person. There was still no reply.

She wanted to send another message too—a simple one, but the most dangerous, and the hardest one: they were going to lose the war. She felt it in her bones. She loved Fu Huang and Yan Yixue and Li Fengwen, but any amount of “trust” that she extended to them was only on a personal level. Sure, she could trust them as far as friends trusted each other, but as a cultivator, and as a leader…they couldn’t hold their own against Long Feifei. Out of all the sect leaders, clan leaders, and most powerful independent cultivators, the three of them were at the bottom. Against someone like Long Feifei, they were like children against a tiger.

But to admit it to her father? It wasn’t about pride—Yu Yunmi had never struggled with being a prideful person, else the fact that she was the “real leader of Yu” would have gone straight to her head. No, it was that she didn’t want to admit that her failure was reality. As long as she held off on sending that message, she thought, the defeat would still be merely a possibility, nothing more. Her father, too, was denying what was really happening in Yu: the fact that he had brought Lei Wenhe into Qingyuan at a time like this was confirmation enough.

One of Yu Yunmi’s cultivators had been approaching, but she stopped a few zhang away from Yu Yunmi and bent her waist into a bow, her hands clasped together in front of her. They’d forgone tents a while ago—the weather would still be good for a while, and Yu Yunmi didn’t want to exhaust her people just so some of them didn’t have to sleep under the open sky. Still, the cultivators she commanded made great efforts to still give Yu Yunmi her privacy and, just like they would have lingered at her tent door, they always stood some distance away and waited for permission to approach. The only difference, really, was that there was a little more transparency in what Yu Yunmi was doing with her time. There was no more crying in private for Yu Yunmi.

She waved a hand. “You can come closer.”

The cultivator took a couple more steps forward. “There’s been news from Qingyuan.”

“Qingyuan?” Her spirits lifted a little.

“Not Yu-zongzhu. Han Chunhua has family near Qingyuan. Her father works in the palace. They’ve been very secretive about what comes in and out of the palace, but…”

Yu Yunmi refused to let her spirits fall again. “But?”

“He overheard something. Long Qingge sent a messenger to Yu-zongzhu to make a deal—”

“A deal? Do you know the details?”

The cultivator shook her head. “Just that Yu-zongzhu turned it down.”

If Yu Weizhe turned it down, that meant it was something he couldn’t accept. Long Qingge was probably offering to end the assault—what could possibly be so valuable that it didn’t make sparing their peoples’ lives worth it?

“Yu-zhangmen…”

“Thank you. I will…” She didn’t know what she was going to say. What was she going to do with this information? It wasn’t as if she could contact her father and ask him what was going on. What she really wanted to do was chase after Long Qingge, see the deal for herself and, if the price wasn’t too great, take the deal. Anything to save her people. Anything to prevent more death. “I will…” She was trying to hold it back, but this news had made it hard to breathe. There was a way out of this, a way out of all the fighting and the death—and her father hadn’t taken it.

If only she could acquire more cones somehow—or had saved some, at least. If only she could start desperately reaching out to anyone she knew, throwing aside her and her father’s pride to plead for help—maybe Zheng Xiaolang, who had always been kind to her; or Chen Tian, who had strong morals beyond all that unapproachability; or Wu Enlai, who she’d never interacted with but had always publicly disliked Long Qingge, so maybe she had a chance. Anyone would do, as long as they could help her. As long as someone stood by her side.

“If there’s any more news from Han Chunhua, I’ll have her tell you.”

“Yes,” Yu Yunmi said faintly, “Thank you.”

Han Chunhua didn’t get any more news. After a week more of war, Yu Yunmi met Long Feifei. Then it was a fight between two cultivators in the official top ten—it was a fight that could last for days, but between them it only lasted twelve hours.

After that, the victor of the war was decided.

Yu Weizhe found out a few days later. It was only two days from Lei Wenhe getting out of his “retreat” in the hot springs with the rest of the healers, and Yu Weizhe was already worried about that—he didn’t know how to make him stay. The arrays blocking the incense communications, too, were fading, and he didn’t know whether he should set them back up or let the communications start flooding in. If Lei Wenhe learned what had happened in Shen, it would make sense that he would decide to go back. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to; immediately upon returning, Shen Ying had opened his own borders to help He Zhenzhen, and now every part of Shen but the capital was infected with Quiet Death. And, because Shen Guozhi thought placing his capital district right in the middle of Shen Ying’s district would give him a tactical advantage with all of the protection, that meant the capital was totally surrounded. Lei Wenhe wouldn’t be able to get back to Shen Guozhi whether he wanted to or not.

Then the news came; a message was able to break through what was left of the array. It was flickering, unsteady—but it was clearly Long Qingge’s image, and clearly Long Qingge’s voice that came through.

“So you took the array down.” There was an amused twist to the corner of Long Qingge’s mouth. “Is it because of your daughter?”

Yu Weizhe, for reasons yet unknown to him, broke out into a cold sweat. Though he’d been cured by Lei Wenhe for a while now, he even felt ill. “My…daughter?” He didn’t mean for that to come out like a question—he hadn’t meant for it to come out at all—but he hadn’t been able to stop it. Long Qingge laughed. She was holding a bowl of wine in one hand, which she swirled a couple times before she lifted it to her mouth and swallowed it down.

“Have you not heard? Our daughters finally had their showdown.”

“They…” Yu Weizhe didn’t know that they’d met at all. “They had their—?”

Long Qingge bared her teeth into what was almost a smile. “Would you like to guess who won?”

Yu Weizhe wanted to just wave the smoke away—to put up an array, to make Long Qingge disappear in any way that he could. If he didn’t hear the answer, maybe…

“Long Feifei has control now over Yu Yunmi’s poor abandoned district. At this very moment, she is in negotiations with your surviving sect leaders.” She poured more wine into her bowl and titled it toward Yu Weizhe, like she was toasting him. “What do you think they’ll say when she offers them a deal?”

The last time Yu Weizhe spoke to Yu Yunmi, he told her she had nothing to worry about, that she was powerful enough to defeat the likes of Long Feifei. He’d even set up the array afterward to block off all other communication because he’d been so convinced that Yu Yunmi wouldn’t have any issues. Yu Yunmi had been so good at taking care of Yu that Yu Weizhe had become complacent. He’d thought her victory would be inevitable.

Yu Yunmi, dead?

“I thought my offer might seem a little more appealing to you now,” Long Qingge said. “What do you think, Yu Weizhe?”

His chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. His daughter—

“What is your offer?” His voice sounded far away.

“I want Lei Wenhe. Give me Lei Wenhe, and I’ll tell Long Feifei to spare your capital.” She paused, then smiled. This seemed gentler than the last smile on the surface, but it was the kind of smile a hunter might give to their prey while slitting its neck—something hungry and satisfied and powerful and condescending. “I do feel a little sorry about losing Yu Yunmi. She was talented. Her loss will bring some sorrow to the cultivation world. How about I give you Qiu Fu’s district, too, as compensation?”

Everything had fallen apart.

“How do you want me to send Lei Wenhe?” Yu Weizhe asked.

…

Lei Wenhe still hadn’t heard anything about the war.

As far as retreats went, this was one of the best ones he’d ever been on. The healers constantly crowded around him were an unwelcome addition, but Lei Wenhe knew how to speak in just the right way that they gave up after a few minutes. After that, he could relax as he pleased in the hot springs. If he was gaining Yu Weizhe’s trust at the same time he soaked in some hot water and combed through his hair, then all the better for him. It was only for these two weeks. After that, he could just go back to Shen and do as he pleased.

A couple days before he was supposed to be retrieved again, however, a servant came into those secluded springs and quietly exchanged a few words with the other healers. They stole some glances at Lei Wenhe—he wasn’t looking at them, but he could feel their eyes on him, raking over him. He was used to them looking at him. He was, after all, the mysterious healer of Golden Core Turns Black; even if he made himself look this mediocre, it would be strange if they didn’t try to steal glances to see if they could figure him out. But these gazes…they felt different. He rose from the hot springs, fetched a robe, and wrapped it around himself. By the time he’d tied it closed, the servant had come over to speak with him.

“Lei-xiansheng, I’m sorry, but…” The servant seemed nervous to finish.

“Go ahead,” Lei Wenhe said.

“Well, the thing is, you’ve been [x]ed.”

That last word was totally incomprehensible, even for Lei Wenhe. It was like the servant let it tangle up in his mouth and hadn’t bothered to translate it before it fell off the tip of his tongue. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yu-zongzhu has…sold you.”

Lei Wenhe thought he was joking at first. “Is this Yu-zongzhu’s strategy to keep me here? I’m sorry, but that won’t work.”

“I’m sorry, Lei-xiansheng, but he really has.”

“Sold me? He can’t sell me. He doesn’t own me.” Nobody owned Lei Wenhe. Nobody would ever own Lei Wenhe.

“This lowly one does not know the details. I am just here to deliver the news and to tell Lei-xiansheng to…to get his things together and follow me. Long-zhangmen is waiting for you at the palace.”

“Long-zhangmen? Do you mean Long Feifei?”

The servant nodded. “If Lei-xiansheng could…hurry, I think—“

“Yes, yes. I’ll get my things together.”

Lei Wenhe wasn’t going to be owned by anybody. But to be sold to the Long family, of all people? Long Qingge was the strongest of all the clan leaders. If he could take advantage of this, he very may well turn the situation in his favor. Plus, if he was being forced to go to Long against his will, then Shen Guozhi couldn’t kick up a fuss about whether Lei Wenhe went back on his word. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, Lei Wenhe could say. How could he say no to Long Qingge?

Long Feifei was waiting in the throne room. She was a proud woman even at first glance—her posture was straight and stiff, her hands folded behind her back, her chin tilted back, her gaze laser-sharp but refusing to focus on any of the servants that moved around her. Yu Weizhe, who normally wore the rich purple of the Yu cultivators, was dressed in all white this time. His skin looked pale and sallow, and he looked as if he might have just finished throwing up somewhere. Hadn’t Lei Wenhe fixed him before he went on his retreat?

“Ah, you must be Lei Wenhe.” Long Feifei broke out of her rigid posture and came to greet Lei Wenhe, though she didn’t bow and only clasped her hands together. “You’re coming with me to Long.”

At least the other cultivators had tried for some semblance of respect. It wasn’t that Lei Wenhe needed it, but it just made him hate this cultivator even more.

“Are we in such a hurry?” Lei Wenhe returned coolly. “Excuse me. This…lowly one…needs to greet the clan leader first.”

Long Feifei caught his arm before he could move toward Yu Weizhe. He looked down pointedly. “Look,” Long Feifei said, ignoring him, “I was just as much against this as you probably are. I could have taken the rest of Yu without a problem, but my mother was too concerned you would get hurt in the fray.” She didn’t bother lowering her voice, but Yu Weizhe seemed unbothered by such a declaration in his throne room. “Just come with me and don’t cause any trouble.”

Lei Wenhe wanted to say: “And what if I don’t?” But he’d made himself a reputation on simply going along with whatever he was told to do—on being mild and agreeable. Especially against a family like Long Feifei’s, Lei Wenhe couldn’t afford to offend. Instead, he just said, “I’ll pay my respects and then go with you. I would like to leave on good terms, if that is alright with Long-zhangmen.”

Long Feifei studied him for a minute. She looked at him with the same eyes as most of these nobles did—curiosity, but superiority too. Like she wanted to know all of his secrets but thought she should have the right to them instead of asking for them. Or perhaps like he was merely a fascinating animal worthy of study, worthy of hunting. She said, “Fine. Go say your goodbyes, and then we’re leaving.”

Yu Weizhe didn’t look up when Lei Wenhe approached him, nor did he acknowledge him when Lei Wenhe bowed and told him that he would be leaving.

And then Lei Wenhe was leaving with Long Feifei.

They traveled along the Sunlit Road again. Lühe was the only capital other than Songjiang in Wu that wasn’t connected to the Sunlit Road, but it at least took them all the way to Long; Long Feifei, Lei Wenhe, and some of Long Feifei’s people stayed on the Sunlit Road until Long, and then went south.

…

Zheng Xiaolang stayed in Yu for a while longer.

Since he was known for being acquainted with Lei Wenhe—the first cultivator who got his hands on the healer, so to speak—he wasn’t permitted to be the one to escort Lei Wenhe to Long, even though he would have really liked to have a word with him to explain the situation a little. He was probably perplexed at this change of events, if Yu Weizhe hadn’t explained anything to him. Plus, even if Zheng Xiaolang didn’t trust him, he felt a lot better if he was able to keep his eye on him.

Since Long Feifei was instructed to take Lei Wenhe instead, and since that meant there was no real authority figure left to command Long’s forces in Yu, it was Zheng Xiaolang’s job to go from district to district and get the sect leaders of Yu to sign over everything to Long Qingge. He suspected Long Qingge had done this on purpose or was at the very least pleased with the outcome—after such a blatantly obvious invasion of Yu, it was important for Long to make sure no one came against them to retaliate. By putting Zheng Xiaolang at the front and center of the power transfer, it was like saying to the world: go ahead, attack. We have Xie on our side too. Do you really think you can win against both of us? Little did Long Qingge know, though—Xie Rong was just waiting for the right moment to take her down.

It took a month or two to get that done and over with. Then Zheng Xiaolang went to go meet Long Qingge. She framed it as a formality—a thank you for his help in the invasion—but Zheng Xiaolang knew that it was just reinforcing the same message communicated in helping with the power transfers. It was one thing to be a liaison; it was another to show up in person to the capital and stay there for a while. It made it seem like Zheng Xiaolang was working with Long Qingge to further invasions or something similar.

Long Feifei came to meet Zheng Xiaolang at the entrance to the palace. She waved away the servants that came to attend to him and walked with him herself.

“Am I so important I need Long-zhangmen herself? I thought I could have found my way.”

Long Feifei threw a glance over her shoulder at him, careless. Most cultivators looked very different from when they had been at war—when they got back, they were much more put together, much more polished. But Long Feifei looked exactly the same. She’d been totally put together in war, and she was totally put together now. “Long-zongzhu wants you to attend a dinner. I’m escorting you there now.”

As if that would warrant a sect leader’s personal appearance. “A servant couldn’t have done that?”

“You’ll get your fair share of servants later. Attractive ones, if you request it. But for now, I wanted to discuss some things with you. Namely…” She glanced backward again, but this time there was something troubled in her expression. “You heard about Yu Yunmi.”

Zheng Xiaolang had, indeed, heard about Yu Yunmi.

“I just wanted to make sure that won’t cause issues between our families. I know you were friendly with her.”

It wasn’t that Zheng Xiaolang had assumed that Yu Yunmi would be able to defeat Long Feifei if it came to a fight. In both the official and unofficial ranks, they were right next to each other—when people were that close, any number of circumstances could switch them. Between Yu Yunmi and Long Feifei, it was anyone’s game. He’d been more concerned about running into Yu Yunmi himself, explaining to someone who looked up to him so much why he was helping a woman like Long Feifei, but now that she was dead…

“It won’t cause problems,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “You did what you had to. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Good, then. Long-zongzhu had been concerned.”

Yes, that made sense. Long Feifei wouldn’t ever worry about whether she ruined her relationship with Zheng Xiaolang because she simply didn’t care either way, but Long Qingge was someone who would think about the political ramifications of turning two friends against each other. Unfortunately, however, Long Qingge was worried about the wrong thing: Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t going to betray her for killing Yu Yunmi. He was going to betray her because Xie Rong told him to.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”

“You know Lei Wenhe, correct?”

Ah, this conversation. “Yes. And no, before you ask, I don’t know the secret behind Black Core Turns—his cure.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that.” Long Feifei grabbed the handles to the entrance of the palace gardens and pushed the doors open. “As you know, I had to escort Lei Wenhe here. He was very…”

Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t help but laugh. “Very what?”

“He was strange. We spent several weeks together, and he barely said a word to me. How much do you know about him?”

It was entirely possible Lei Wenhe didn’t want to say a word to her because he’d been used as a bargaining chip against his will. “Not very much at all. I first met him in Si’en, and he said that he lived in Guangning for a while.” He also knew that Lei Wenhe had exceptional qinggong and was startlingly intelligent, though he wasn’t about to admit that to Long Feifei. He had to keep some things close to his chest. Lei Wenhe was an enigma, but he was an enigma that Zheng Xiaolang wanted to be the first to understand. “I only worked with him for a short time and, as you probably noticed, he doesn’t share much of himself.”

Long Feifei let out a frustrated huff. “He’s barely left his room since we brought him here. Muqin keeps offering him the finest food and he just keeps turning it down.”

“Yes. Fruits and nuts, that’s all for him. I heard he did the same thing in Shen. Have you tried contacting Shen Ying? I’m sure he knows much more than I do. Lei Wenhe lived with his father for several years, after all.”

“There’s no use contacting Shen Ying. He’s busy enough with the disaster he and He Zhenzhen caused. I was hoping to get more information from you.”

Zheng Xiaolang lifted his hands and smiled. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “He’s as much of a mystery to me as he is to anyone else.” He ducked underneath a plant stretching over the walkway. The Long family gardens were famous for how luscious they were, but he didn’t know how impressive that was if only the Long family and their guests were able to see it. “Why do you need to know so much about him? With the deal Long-zongzhu made with Yu Weizhe, don’t you own him?”

“Yes, but it’s always good to know more. Here, this way.” She’d navigated them to a building in the center of the garden that Zheng Xiaolang assumed was reserved only for the most special of guests, but she paused before going in with one hand on the door. “If you get the chance to get any more information from Lei Wenhe, Muqin will greatly appreciate it.”

They were looking for ways to blackmail Lei Wenhe. Honestly, Zheng Xiaolang would love for a way to blackmail Lei Wenhe—or really any way to understand Lei Wenhe. For himself, of course, not for Long Qingge. Once he had some kind of hold on Lei Wenhe…he would, what? Threaten him for even more information? Zheng Xiaolang just wanted to understand him, that was all.

The doors opened into a great dining hall big enough for a hundred people, and filled with food for the same amount. But there were only two people at the table: Long Qingge and Lei Wenhe. Long Qingge sat at the head of the table and Lei Wenhe sat at her left, dressed in dark green. Zheng Xiaolang had never seen him without a cloak masking his figure. He had a very slender waist.

“Zheng Xiaolang.” Long Qingge stood, smiling. “You’ve made it. I’m glad.”

Zheng Xiaolang bowed. “I’d hoped I would be able to make myself presentable before coming to meet Long-zongzhu.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You look as handsome as always.” It was an empty compliment in multiple ways; for one, Zheng Xiaolang had been on the road for weeks and definitely looked it—his normally pristine white and gold robes were covered in dust and dirt and grime, and were probably torn and spotted with blood in a couple places as well. Then there was the matter that Long Qingge, famously, had absolutely no interest in men, and had only ever had eyes for one woman. “I’ve heard you already know Lei-sanren, so there’s no need for introductions.”

Zheng Xiaolang made eye contact with Lei Wenhe. He looked as plain as ever—a little more put together than when he’d last seen him, of course. His hair was combed neatly, half of it put into a bun at the top of his head and secured with a metal headpiece twisted into a dragon, a green jewel in its eye. Maybe not totally plain, then. His face seemed ordinary still, but the rest of him was finally matching what Zheng Xiaolang had felt about him all along: that he was elegant, that he had the air of royalty, and that he belonged in clothes and environments that fit that.

Lei Wenhe nodded at him. Zheng Xiaolang nodded back.

“Please, take a seat. Wherever you like.” Even as she said this, she gestured directly to the seat next to Lei Wenhe. Zheng Xiaolang knew how to take a hint. He sat next to Lei Wenhe, and Long Feifei went to sit at Long Qingge’s right. “I hope your journey wasn’t too strenuous.”

“It wasn’t an issue.”

“And the negotiations? Here, have some wine.” She poured some into the bowl in front of Lei Wenhe. Zheng Xiaolang lifted his bowl and she filled that, too.

“I made the deals just fine. I don’t know if I could call them negotiations, but they’re done. Fu Huang, Yan Yixue, and Li Fengwen all belong to you.” He knocked back the wine. It was sweet.

“Good. I’ll be sure to send my thanks to Xie Rong for your time. Please, eat your fill.”

There was so much food. Didn’t Long Qingge know that Lei Wenhe wouldn’t eat any of it? But in a situation like this, when Lei Wenhe was placed at the same importance as two sect leaders…

Zheng Xiaolang took his chopsticks, picked up a few sprouts from one of the vegetable dishes, and dropped it into the bowl of rice in front of Lei Wenhe. Lei Wenhe blinked down at it. Then he looked at Zheng Xiaolang.

“You don’t eat meat, right?” Zheng Xiaolang gave him his most charming smile. “Long-zongzhu has shown us such generosity. I don’t think we should turn it down.”

Lei Wenhe looked at him for a moment longer. Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t read it in his face, but he knew Lei Wenhe was probably feeling conflicted right now—it was one thing to refuse to eat the provided food when he was eating on his own, but to refuse it now would be a blatant rejection of Long Qingge’s hospitality. If there was one thing Zheng Xiaolang knew about Lei Wenhe, it was that he hated to make waves.

A muscle in Lei Wenhe’s jaw worked. He picked up his chopsticks, took the sprouts and some rice into them, and lifted them to his mouth.

Zheng Xiaolang laughed and helped himself to the meat.

They ate silently for a few minutes. Then, for the first time, Lei Wenhe spoke. “Long-zongzhu, about Shen—”

“I thought we already discussed this, Lei-sanren.”

Lei Wenhe’s hand tightened, almost imperceptibly, around his chopsticks—Zheng Xiaolang suspected he might have missed it if he wasn’t sitting right next to him. “I made an agreement with Shen Guozhi, Long-zongzhu. I’m concerned Shen Guozhi will think I’ve gone back on our agreement.”

Long Qingge just smiled and moved the meat around in the bowl in front of her. “From what I understood, you didn’t sign any kind of contract. So what’s the issue?”

“It’s a matter of principle. Disappearing without a word is inconsiderate of the time we spent together.”

The time they spent together? Zheng Xiaolang was fairly sure that “time” had garnered a relationship between Shen Guozhi and Lei Wenhe no different than that between two strangers meeting for the first time in the street.

“Even so, it isn’t something with which you need to be concerned. Shen Guozhi doesn’t have the time to worry about you.”

Lei Wenhe’s hand tightened around his chopsticks before he very slowly put them down. “Quiet Death,” he said.

“Mn. No one can get into Shen now. Even if you wanted to, you can’t travel by land. Cao Feng closed his borders. You would have to travel by sea, or go all the way around and sneak through Xie. And then what?” She reached over and refilled his bowl with more wine. “Shen Guozhi won’t be thankful just because you showed up. He’s too busy to give you proper attention, anyway.”

“I would like to help find a cure for Quiet Death.”

Zheng Xiaolang, startled, froze. “Quiet Death doesn’t have a cure,” he said.

“Neither did Golden Core Turns Black, until me.” His voice was hard, his words absolute. He really did want to find a cure for Quiet Death. If he was so insistent on helping people, who was Zheng Xiaolang to stop him?

“Long-zongzhu,” Zheng Xiaolang said, turning to the woman at the head of the table who was watching the both of them intently. “If you would permit it, I can escort Lei Wenhe to Shen. We could sail around to Xie and then bring him into Shen from—”

“Lei Wenhe won’t be leaving Long.”

He stopped.

“He’s my healer now. There are things I want him to do here.”

“Sending me back to cure Quiet Death will improve relations with Shen,” Lei Wenhe said. “In times like this, isn’t that beneficial?”

“Times like this?” There was a dangerous look in Long Qingge’s eyes. Zheng Xiaolang reached out and grabbed hold of Lei Wenhe’s wrist, squeezing until Lei Wenhe looked over at him. Zheng Xiaolang shook his head. It didn’t matter that they were all thinking the same thing—Long wasn’t going to stop at just invading Yu, and the entire continent knew it. Long Qingge was going to need to consider her relationships carefully, certainly, but for Lei Wenhe to point that out was crossing a line.

“Muqin,” said Long Feifei, “will Mao-zhangmen not be joining us?”

It might have seemed like a good gesture, for Long Feifei to suddenly cut in like that. It might have seemed like she was trying to change the subject to protect Lei Wenhe from incurring her mother’s wrath. But Zheng Xiaolang knew better—she was only trying to protect her mother’s reputation. If she got on Lei Wenhe’s bad side now, they would never be able to get that weakness they were looking for.

“Not tonight. She’ll be arriving tomorrow morning.”

Lei Wenhe pulled his wrist out of Zheng Xiaolang’s grasp and picked up his chopsticks again. Since Long Qingge and Long Feifei were speaking now, Zheng Xiaolang took the chance to lower his voice and murmur, just loud enough for Lei Wenhe to hear it and nobody else, “Let’s talk after dinner. I’ll meet you at your place.”

Lei Wenhe nodded.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Dragon Jewel Eyes

CLAN AND SECT leaders were never going to understand that Lei Wenhe didn’t want impressive manors or attentive servants or long, complicated menus with the rarest of dishes. Zheng Xiaolang understood this when he first met Lei Wenhe in that back corner of the Si’en market, and he definitely understood it before Xie Rong decided to try to buy Lei Wenhe out of his agreement with Shen Guozhi. There was simply no impressing Lei Wenhe, at least with any material things. The only thing that Lei Wenhe had expressed outright desire in was going to save the people suffering from Quiet Death, but nobody wanted to give him that. If Zheng Xiaolang could give him that, what would Lei Wenhe give him in return?

Nevertheless, the house Long Qingge had given Lei Wenhe was one saved for only the most impressive and important of guests. Once the dinner with the Longs finally ended and Zheng Xiaolang was able to slip away with the excuse that he was going to get some early rest after changing his clothes, he found Lei Wenhe’s residence and knocked on the door.

Lei Wenhe opened it. He was still in those green robes that highlighted his waist. Zheng Xiaolang had the thought that a waist like that could easily fit into his arms. “Zheng-zhangmen. Please, come in.”

Zheng Xiaolang stepped in. “There’s no need for formalities.”

“At the Shen’s event, Zheng-zhangmen told me we weren’t even close enough for me to heal you. And now you’re asking me to speak casually?”

“Why not? Healing is one thing. Speaking is another.” Lei Wenhe’s room was neat, almost untouched. Zheng Xiaolang could see a faded cloak that looked like it had once been Shen-blue hanging in the corner, and a stick of incense was burning on the table that smelled like jasmine, but it looked almost as if Lei Wenhe, just like Zheng Xiaolang, was standing in this room for the first time.

“Zheng—” Lei Wenhe stopped when Zheng Xiaolang shook his head. He started again. “You said you wanted to speak to me about something?”

“Regarding your transfer here, I have to take the blame for it.”

Lei Wenhe’s expression darkened just the slightest amount, but before Zheng Xiaolang could get any real emotion out of it, he’d turned away and made himself busy tidying imaginary wrinkles on his bed.

“It’s not the ideal situation, but it was the only way I could think of to both ensure your survival and ensure Long Qingge wouldn’t move further into Yu.”

“You forgot one requirement,” said Lei Wenhe. He reached down and pulled out another stick of incense, which he lit and then held in his hand while it burned.

“What’s that?”

“You wanted to do something that wouldn’t upset either Long Qingge or Xie Rong.”

Zheng Xiaolang should have known that Lei Wenhe could see right through him. Did he show this kind of perceptiveness to Shen Guozhi, Yu Weizhe, and Long Qingge, or did he keep this part of himself in the dark? He felt like Long Feifei would have said something about Lei Wenhe being smarter than he looked when she was saying everything she knew about him. Maybe this was just for Zheng Xiaolang to see. He didn’t know why that made him so pleased.

“You’re right,” he said. “In my position, I can’t afford to upset either of them.”

“Mn…weren’t you also considering the possibility that, if Long Qingge got control of Yu’s capital and Qiu Fu’s district, she would have almost direct access to Xie?”

“Don’t you talk more than you used to?”

Lei Wenhe stuck the incense stick into a holder and turned to give that stiff smile to Zheng Xiaolang. “Didn’t you want me to talk more?”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed. “Well, that’s true. And it is true that I wanted to prevent Long Qingge from gaining access to Xie.”

“Xie Rong doesn’t trust Long Qingge, then. I thought they were friends.”

“They’re friends until it’s more beneficial to be enemies,” Zheng Xiaolang said. He studied Lei Wenhe for a moment longer, and Lei Wenhe calmly looked back at him. Zheng Xiaolang said, “I am sorry, though, about all the trouble this has caused.”

“I’m less concerned about the inconvenience and more concerned about Long Qingge thinking she owns me.”

Zheng Xiaolang grimaced. Lei Wenhe had identified precisely what bothered Zheng Xiaolang the most out of all of this. The concept of owning a person was the thing that Zheng Xiaolang most despised about the cultivation world. The idea that someone could be called a ‘hero’ and then go back home to a house full of slaves made him want to cough up blood, but now he was the one responsible for putting that mark of ownership on Lei Wenhe. Lei Wenhe, who had never been tied to anywhere or anyone, who had only ever gone where people needed him, was now confined within the palace grounds of Lühe. “Yes, that was…it was wrong of me, no matter how many excuses I can come up with. If there’s any way I can make up for it, please let me know.”

That stiff smile again. “You mean, anything that you can do to make up for it so long as it doesn’t upset Long Qingge or Xie Rong.”

A laugh. Zheng Xiaolang lifted his hands. “I’m glad you understand.”

“Then, can you give me information?”

Interesting. Lei Wenhe had wanted information in Shen, as well. Was this the way that Zheng Xiaolang could gain Lei Wenhe’s trust? But he couldn’t just give any information Lei Wenhe wanted—there were many things that Zheng Xiaolang needed to keep from him, and not just information regarding Xie Rong. There were things Zheng Xiaolang was even keeping from her. “What do you want to know?”

“Hah. So you aren’t going to agree to give me information until you know what information I want? Isn’t pushing me into being owned by a woman like Long Qingge reason enough to give me whatever information I want?”

Honestly, Zheng Xiaolang thought so, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He couldn’t give up his entire hand, no matter how terrible he felt about it. He’d done worse things, he thought. He could hold out on this. “You know very well I can’t tell you just anything, Lei Wenhe. I’ll give you more lenience than most, but there are some lines you cannot cross.”

“Fair enough.” Lei Wenhe went back over to his bed and sat down. “I want to know about Long Qingge.”

“Are you planning on escaping? You want to know her weaknesses, the best way out of the palace grounds, all that?”

Lei Wenhe was, as always, unreadable. “I don’t have any intention of escaping right now.”

“Right now?” Zheng Xiaolang held back a laugh. “Well, I’m not an expert on her, but I know some things. What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you can tell me.”

He was smart. He wasn’t limiting the knowledge to any one specific thing, nor was he exposing himself by revealing what exactly he wanted to know. If Zheng Xiaolang was a less suspicious person, he might have come to the assumption that Lei Wenhe simply wanted to know more about the person who now legally owned him. “Well, as I said, it isn’t much. She’s a cultivator who’s reached immortality, maybe almost two hundred years old now. She has a daughter from a husband she had when she was younger, but he died some years ago.” Zheng Xiaolang neglected to mention that half the cultivation world who was alive at the time of his death suspected that Long Qingge had murdered him. “When Long Feifei was a child, Long Qingge also brought in Duan Ya, who was the daughter of one of her close friends, and raised her as her own. Both became sect leaders.”

“Did she get married again afterward?”

“Ah…no. That’s maybe the most controversial thing about Long Qingge.” Zheng Xiaolang leaned against the wall, his ankles and arms crossing. “She’s only ever had one great love in her life, and it wasn’t her husband. As far as anyone can tell, she only got married to him to produce an heir.”

“So her love…?”

“Mao Lan,” Zheng Xiaolang said.

“Mao Lan? The sect leader?”

“Yes. She’s also Long Qingge’s sister-in-law.”

Lei Wenhe made a face. “Is it mutual?”

“Officially, it’s just a one-sided love, but that doesn’t fool anyone.”

“How does Long Qingge’s brother feel about it?”

“He looks the other way. His marriage to Mao Lan was one for politics, not one for love.”

Lei Wenhe let out his breath and leaned back on his hands. He was in the kind of position that felt inviting—like he wanted Zheng Xiaolang to go to him, to take him into his arms, to push him back onto the bed. What was it about him that was so enticing? He was so much plainer than any of Zheng Xiaolang’s previous…conquests, so why him? Was it really just the elegance? Was it the mystery of it? Was the outline of his waist all it took for all the “loose” tendencies he’d had years ago to come flooding back?

“What else do you know about her?’

“She’s powerful. On the official ranks, she’s first.”

“Ah, you mentioned that some time ago. And unofficially, she’s second?”

Zheng Xiaolang’s stomach turned over. “That’s right.”

“So between the two of you—”

“She’s higher.” What else could Zheng Xiaolang divulge to him? “She’s also famously tyrannical, and fiercely loyal. If you have any ideas about going after any of her family to threaten her, I would advise against it. It’s better to deal with Long Qingge directly.”

“I never said anything about trying to threaten Long Qingge.”

“Yes, of course. I was speaking hypothetically.”

They both looked at each other.

Lei Wenhe said, “Is there anything else?”

“Nothing of significance, not that I can think of.”

“But you’ll answer any questions I have in the future.”

Zheng Xiaolang should have expected Lei Wenhe wouldn’t just accept a single session of questions. “If I can. I’ll leave first, before anyone notices I’m here.” He straightened up and started toward the door, but Lei Wenhe spoke before he pulled it open.

“Is it such a burden, to be associated with me?’

“Not at all. I thought it would be easier for you if Long Qingge couldn’t use me against you.”

“I don’t think we’re so close that you could be used against me.”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t want to leave yet. “Is Long Qingge treating you well?”

Lei Wenhe blew air out of his nose, which was almost a laugh. “She’s treating me as well as you would expect.”

The man in front of Zheng Xiaolang now had the most valuable information in the cultivation world. Zheng Xiaolang had to hide certain things from him—things about politics, things about Xie Rong, things about himself—but the reality of the matter was, it was Lei Wenhe who was holding all the cards. He had the only cure to Golden Core Turns Black. He could charge whatever price he wanted for it. If he was able to share the cure with others—and Zheng Xiaolang thought that he could—then he could charge whatever price he wanted for that, as well. It would logically follow that such a position would make Lei Wenhe the most important and powerful person in the cultivation world.

But he was owned by Long Qingge now. Which meant that Long Qingge owned the cure, too. But she wouldn’t just be satisfied with that. It was one thing to have control over the cure—it was another to have control over a person. A cure couldn’t refuse to do your bidding, or protest, or go off and heal people without your permission. Zheng Xiaolang worried about what that would mean for Lei Wenhe, and had half a mind to just take Lei Wenhe and sneak out of Long altogether, but there was no conceivable way of doing so without turning Long Qingge against him and by extension turning Long Qingge against Xie Rong. A move like that could start a war.

“If anything happens…”

“Are you saying I can go to you for help?” The corner of Lei Wenhe’s mouth turned up, but not enough for it to even be called a faint smile. “Zheng Xiaolang, you should just decide whether you trust me or not.”

“I don’t need to trust you to protect you. Didn’t you say you wouldn’t learn how to fight because I can protect you?” Zheng Xiaolang could still feel Lei Wenhe’s hands under his, all those years ago at the archery range in Shen. He pulled open the doors before he could convince himself to turn around and go back to Lei Wenhe. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

Lei Wenhe’s voice floated over to him, calm. “I haven’t.”

“Then your answer is the same?”

“It will be the same no matter how many times you ask. I have no interest in being cultivation partners with you.”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed. “Then I’ll ask you again in a few years.”

…

Lei Wenhe had lied.

Long Qingge wasn’t treating him very well at all. She’d given him a good place to live and good clothes, but that was the extent of her kindness. In fact, today was the first time that Lei Wenhe had been permitted to leave this “good place to live”—she’d known that Zheng Xiaolang would expect to see Lei Wenhe when he arrived, so after two weeks of keeping him locked up in one place, she’d finally permitted him to go to the dining hall. Of course, he was only allowed to go with an escort, and then was returned to his room afterward with another escort. There were eyes on the manor at all times making sure he didn’t leave. Zheng Xiaolang might have thought he’d sneaked into Lei Wenhe’s room successfully, but the truth of the matter was that Long Qingge heard he was there probably before he even reached the door. The only comfort Lei Wenhe could find in this situation was that, because of the array Lei Wenhe had set up around his room, his guards hadn’t been able to overhear what he and Zheng Xiaolang discussed.

There were other advantages to Zheng Xiaolang coming, other than Lei Wenhe being able to leave his room. He also had the opportunity to ask Long Qingge about going to Shen in front of someone else. Now someone else in the world knew that Lei Wenhe had wanted to save lives, and that Long Qingge had refused it of him. Lei Wenhe might be able to use that in the future. In a situation like this, he needed to gather whatever advantages he could.

Every morning, Long Qingge went to Lei Wenhe’s room. Every morning, she asked him for the cure. Every morning, she told him that she wouldn’t let him go until he gave her the cure. Every morning, Lei Wenhe told her there wasn’t any conceivable way he knew how to give it to her.

“If you want me to cure you,” he always told her, “I can do that. But no matter how many times I explain it, you will never understand the cure.” Which was true, really, from several viewpoints. The cure that Lei Wenhe was administering wasn’t comprehensible from mortal perspectives. The real cure too, which would rid the problem at its source instead of just pausing the destruction like Lei Wenhe was doing, wasn’t something that Long Qingge would ever accept.

But Long Qingge, the powerful sect leader she was, first in the official ranks and second in the unofficial, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lei Wenhe wondered what was holding her back from just escalating the questioning—apparently, she had just been waiting for Mao Lan to arrive. While Zheng Xiaolang had what Lei Wenhe assumed was a peaceful breakfast with Mao Lan, Long Qingge, and Long Feifei, Lei Wenhe was being dragged to another part of the palace.

The second phase had begun.

Lei Wenhe’s next residence was below the palace, in a place where sunlight couldn’t reach. It was a stark contrast from the beautiful paradise that was his first room, from the manor Yu Weizhe had put him into, from the little house that Shen Guozhi gave him when Lei Wenhe asked to be moved to somewhere smaller. It couldn’t necessarily be called a dungeon, but it could certainly be called a prison cell—the barred doors locked Lei Wenhe in, and metal chains kept him shackled to a wall, but the floors and the walls were clean, and Lei Wenhe, other than the inconvenience of being chained, wasn’t all that uncomfortable.

Some time later, Long Qingge came in to talk to him. She asked the same question. Lei Wenhe gave her the same answer. She took a deep breath and folded her hands behind her back.

“Lei-sanren, I can’t keep asking you forever.”

“You don’t need to,” Lei Wenhe said. “I can just heal those who need healing.”

Long Qingge was either not listening to him or she just didn’t care about what Lei Wenhe had to say. “What do I have to do to get it from you? Do I have to torture you?”

Mortal torture was no different from the torture that would exist in Murmuring Springs, if its people ever needed to torture anyone. Both mortals and the people of Murmuring Springs felt pain. Both bled. But Lei Wenhe was not just any person from Murmuring Springs.

If Long Qingge decided to torture him, Lei Wenhe had no doubt that he would be able to stand it.

He said, “Torture won’t suddenly make the cure accessible to you.”

“I don’t think it’s an issue of accessibility. I think it’s an issue of willingness to share. You have a monopoly on the cure—why would you want to share that with anyone else?”

Lei Wenhe smiled at her. “Not everyone views the world in the same way as you, Long-zongzhu, always weighing pros and cons when peoples’ lives are at stake. I’m afraid to say my inability to pass on the cure has no scheming involved.”

Long Qingge returned the smile mockingly. “In any case, we’re left with two choices,” she said, and began to pace Lei Wenhe’s cell slowly, her hands still folded behind her back. To many, a woman like her might seem regal but, to Lei Wenhe—just like it had been in Shen, and just like it had been in Yu—her mimicry of the noble families of Murmuring Springs was more laughable than it was intimidating or admirable. “You can give me the cure to use as I please, or you can stay down here.”

The smile at Lei Wenhe’s lips twitched. “You mean to say that you’ll keep me prisoner until I give you the cure?”

“It wouldn’t be difficult. I own you. I already have you here. The only person who would have any reason to save you is Zheng Xiaolang, and a man like that is in a position where he can’t make such a drastic move.”

Well, there were actually two people who had motive to save Lei Wenhe—Zheng Xiaolang, and Lei Wenhe himself, who was absolutely capable of breaking these chains around his wrists, killing or at least injuring Long Qingge, and escaping. But it was far too early to show that much of his hand.

“Any people I want you to heal, I’ll bring to you. Servants can bring you whatever food you like. And it will stay that way until you give me the cure.”

“And if I can give you the cure,” Lei Wenhe said, “what’s to stop you from just keeping me down here? Or killing me?”

Long Qingge flashed her teeth. “My word?”

“I think we both know that isn’t worth much.”

That didn’t seem to offend Long Qingge. She just smiled wider. “Then I guess you can just give me the cure, then, and we don’t have to be worried about it either way.”

Long Qingge wasn’t asking to be cured.

If she was, things might be easier for Lei Wenhe—he could tell her he wouldn’t cure her unless she let him go. Instead, she was asking for the cure itself. The cure was the only advantage Lei Wenhe had in this world. He wasn’t going to give that up.

If she was asking to be cured, Lei Wenhe would know one of her weaknesses—if she was asking to be cured, that would mean that Lei Wenhe would at least have something to hold against her. But for now, he would have to get creative. Go along with this little power play. Pretend to be helpless against her.

Lei Wenhe turned his head away and clenched his jaw. “I can’t give you the cure no matter how many times you ask. It’s not something you’ll be able to comprehend.”

“And why won’t I be able to comprehend it?” Long Qingge moved so she was back in Lei Wenhe’s sight, even going so far as to bend over to get right in his face. She was smiling. “I’m the most powerful cultivator. Do you think there’s anything that you can do that I can’t?”

Lei Wenhe resisted the urge to spit at her. There were countless things that he could do that she could not—and would never—be able to do. “It’s not a matter of talent,” he said, and then: “As I’ve said before, if you need me to heal you, I can do that. If you need me to heal anyone else, I can do that too. But giving the cure is impossible.”

…

Zheng Xiaolang was considering going back to Xie. He knew he was supposed to be here for diplomatic reasons, but Long Qingge wasn’t exactly letting him be diplomatic anyway, and at this point he was just wasting away his days wandering this way and that way and eating this food and that food—he hadn’t even seen Lei Wenhe in days. He kept visiting that residence from the first night, but Lei Wenhe was never there, and the servants Zheng Xiaolang ran into just kept saying he was busy. Already? Zheng Xiaolang asked. But, after all, Lei Wenhe was an important man, and Long Qingge probably had lots of cultivators that she needed Lei Wenhe to help. It made sense that he would be this busy, even so early into his partnership with Long Qingge.

Still, Zheng Xiaolang wanted to talk with him more. Pick his brain about a couple things. Maybe learn some more about him.

In the few years since they’d met, Zheng Xiaolang had done some digging. Did anybody know anything about the person called Lei Wenhe? There were some cultivators—independent, mostly, other than the ones who’d gone through Shen—who had gotten healing from Lei Wenhe. None of them had any specific information to share, but none of them, even years after they’d gotten the cure, had any adverse side effects. It worked exactly as Lei Wenhe said it would: the progression of Golden Core Turns Black stopped, and so did their cultivation. They were left frozen in the moment Lei Wenhe healed them.

Even though no one knew Lei Wenhe’s past, some of them had smaller details—one confirmed that he had, indeed, lived in Guangning, but they didn’t know where he lived before that. One said that he acted like a noble, but, well, he didn’t really look like one, did he? One said that they remembered two things about him: that he was very plain, and that he was very kind. One said that he was always wearing those same clothes—the ones Zheng Xiaolang had seen him in when they first met. The healers from Shen said that he was talented in not just qi-related injuries, but in physical injuries as well, and when they were short on healers, sometimes they would ask Lei Wenhe for help, and he always did so without complaint. But the information on Lei Wenhe stopped there. Zheng Xiaolang could find traces of him going back maybe ten years, and then…nothing. Like he’d appeared out of thin air.

Which wasn’t necessarily suspicious in and of itself. It could be put alongside other elements and labeled as suspicious, but couldn’t it be possible that Lei Wenhe had lived a quiet, uneventful life before ten years ago, and that he discovered the cure to Golden Core Turns Black and only started making a mark then? Possible, yes—but Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t inclined to believe it. How would that explain the noble aura about him, that captivating way he moved and spoke? How would that explain his strange accent, his strange diet, his strange way of interacting with others?

That was what was most puzzling about Lei Wenhe—he was strange. Maybe not suspicious in any way Zheng Xiaolang could put into words, but definitely strange.

He wanted to ask him more—maybe see if he could power through whatever weird things Lei Wenhe said to him and get some answers. But Lei Wenhe was never anywhere to be found. Zheng Xiaolang even tried suggesting to Long Feifei outright that Lei Wenhe join them for dinner, and she just smiled and told him that he was still busy.

Still busy? He couldn’t see Zheng Xiaolang for even a moment? Zheng Xiaolang often shook his head at people who tried to imply that he and Lei Wenhe were close, but was this really all Zheng Xiaolang got? One refusal after another, not willing to spare even a few moments?

No, wait.

Lei Wenhe had met Zheng Xiaolang without complaint that first night. He’d spoken with Zheng Xiaolang just fine, with no obvious indications that he wanted to put a stop to the conversation or push Zheng Xiaolang out before he was ready to leave. Why would he push Zheng Xiaolang away now? Two possibilities: firstly, Long Qingge told Lei Wenhe something about Zheng Xiaolang that made Lei Wenhe disgusted with him. But Long Qingge was arguably worse, anyway, and everyone knew at least some of how bad she was. Second possibility: it wasn’t Lei Wenhe’s choice, and he was being kept away from Zheng Xiaolang. But to what end? Long Qingge already owned him, and she knew better than anyone that Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t steal Lei Wenhe away.

But again—having a cure was different from having a person. If Long Qingge didn’t think she could control Lei Wenhe…

He was on his way now to some other pointless bureaucratic meeting in Long Qingge’s throne room. As far as he knew, Long Feifei had gone back to her own district to tend to her own people—something that Zheng Xiaolang would really rather do. He’d gotten a couple messages from Xie Huiyan, updating him on the state of his district, but of course nothing was going to compare to being there himself. Why did he still have to be here if he couldn’t even see Lei Wenhe? But Xie Rong still wanted him to keep an eye on Long Qingge, and Long Qingge had never told him to leave, so of course Zheng Xiaolang had to stay.

Long Qingge was waiting in her throne room for Zheng Xiaolang, perched elegantly on that carved dragon throne. Its wooden body wrapped around what would be a normal throne without, coiling around the back of the seat and hovering its head right by where Long Qingge’s face was when she was seated, such that, when a person looked up to Long Qingge, a dragon with fierce jewel eyes would be staring right back at them. Zheng Xiaolang had always been a little intimidated by that dragon, ever since he was young. When he first came here at about twelve years old, it had seemed like that wooden dragon was staring right into his soul, like it would unwrap itself from around the throne and strike at his neck. It didn’t help that he’d wanted more than anything to get out of that throne room, to get out of the palace grounds, to go find his family—and that Xie Rong had not allowed him to leave her side even for a moment. It didn’t help afterward, when he had nightmares about never seeing his family again, that it was the dragon who appeared in his dreams, wrapped around his mother and siblings now, hissing at him so Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t come any closer. It didn’t help that that really was the last chance he would get to see his family.

He avoided the dragon’s jewel eyes, clasped his hands together, and bowed, and then he turned and bowed to Mao Lan. She was to the right of that dragon throne. Long Qingge was a beauty by any standards, but Mao Lan was famously the untouchable beauty of Long; Long Qingge looked sharp and dignified, but Mao Lan had the gentle, serene beauty of jade. Long Qingge was beautiful and powerful and intimidating. Mao Lan was the kind of woman that people wrote poems about. It was no wonder that Long Qingge was smitten with her.

“Sit,” Long Qingge said. She lifted a hand, indicating the small tables that had been set out on either side of the throne—one on the left and one on the right. Unless Lei Wenhe was coming to this little meeting—and Zheng Xiaolang doubted that he would, since Lei Wenhe didn’t have any political power here—then that other table was only symbolic. Xie Rong would be attending using some incense smoke, and, even if she wouldn’t be able to use the table, it would have been rude to treat her differently from Zheng Xiaolang.

He bowed again and made his way to his seat. It was strange being in a throne room like this. There were a lot less people than he was used to. While they sat there, servants drifted in and out with tea and food, but the only people who stayed in the throne room were Zheng Xiaolang, Mao Lan, and Long Qingge. In Xie, the throne room always had at least four of Xie Rong’s “partners” with her: two of whoever was most politically significant for that particular occasion on seats two steps below her, and two of her favorite lovers on seats one step below her, one of each on either side of her throne. Long Qingge stayed loyal to her not-so-secret lover, but Xie Rong didn’t even try remaining loyal to the person everyone knew she was in love with. If a marriage gave her more political power, then she got married. If she wanted to have a lover, then she got a lover. Most if not all of the powerful families in Xie were then connected to Xie Rong somehow, ensuring that, even if they wanted to fight against the Xie family at any point, their political power would belong to her regardless.

Across the room, the servants lit the incense. It was a much bigger cone than most people had, but those were intended to be able to travel—this one was only for events like this. With its size, it took longer to light, then after a few minutes Xie Rong’s image appeared in the smoke. She was on her own throne, unwilling to give any kind of visual advantage to Long Qingge. And they told everyone they were friends.

Xie Rong put her hands together. “I heard you took most of Yu. Congratulations.”

Long Qingge went for modesty: “It was all Long Feifei. She grew up to be a formidable cultivator.”

Xie Rong smiled. “Just Long Feifei? I’m disappointed my Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t able to make a difference.”

It had already begun. Zheng Xiaolang wanted to stand up and leave the room. He couldn’t imagine how palpable the tension would be if Xie Rong was actually here.

“Oh, I don’t mean to downplay Zheng Xiaolang’s involvement. He certainly lent a hand to Long Feifei when she asked for it. I wouldn’t have been able to make a deal with Yu Weizhe and get Lei Wenhe if he hadn’t suggested I do. Shame that I lost out on the last two districts, though.”

She was downplaying Zheng Xiaolang’s importance as much as she could, but Xie Rong didn’t take the bait.

“Ah, yes, I heard about Lei Wenhe, too. The healer, isn’t that right? I’m a little jealous that you got him before me.” She rested one elbow on the arm of her throne and dropped her chin into her waiting hand, all casual. “I made him an offer some years ago but he’d wanted to stay loyal to Shen Guozhi, of all people. What was it you offered him that made him change his mind? I have to know.”

Xie Rong knew well the reason why Lei Wenhe was in Lühe. She knew it wasn’t because any kind of offer Long Qingge had made to him. What she wanted was for Long Qingge to admit that she’d cheated—Shen Guozhi had gotten Lei Wenhe’s services because he’d been the first to get to him; Yu Weizhe had gotten his services because he’d asked Lei Wenhe to come and Lei Wenhe obliged, even if it was under false pretenses; but Long Qingge had purchased Lei Wenhe from a person who didn’t even own him.

Sure enough, a muscle twitched in Long Qingge’s jaw as she returned Xie Rong’s smile. “You must have heard. He was part of the deal to save Yu Weizhe’s skin. I own him now.”

“Own him? Do you really think you’ll be able to get any loyalty that way? I thought it was an unspoken agreement that we would all treat that man with respect.”

The look in Long Qingge’s eyes sent a chill up Zheng Xiaolang’s spine. “There won’t be any issues of loyalty once I’m done with him.”

Had Lei Wenhe lied when he said he’d been treated well? Or had he simply not known what was to come? The latter was, maybe unfortunately, hard to believe. Lei Wenhe was inarguably and startlingly intelligent, and would have been able to figure out somehow that Long Qingge had other plans for him. And still he hadn’t shared any of that with Zheng Xiaolang, even though he’d had the chance to Zheng Xiaolang’s first night in Lühe. Because he couldn’t trust Zheng Xiaolang. Because it was Zheng Xiaolang who had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Zheng Xiaolang felt a little nauseated.

“If you ever want to loan him,” Xie Rong said, “We’d love to have him here. There are a few people in Xie who would appreciate his services.”

“People like you?”

Xie Rong laughed. “No. Fortunately I’m not one of those afflicted.”

Zheng Xiaolang just wanted to leave. Why did he have to sit here, listening to these two women who told the world they cherished each other but fought constantly behind doors? Why did he have to watch them perform this little charade?

“Zheng Xiaolang. How are you doing there?”

Zheng Xiaolang swallowed tea to try to wash down the nausea. “I’m well, Xie-zongzhu. I’m eager to return to my district whenever you order it.”

“We wouldn’t want to impede on Long-zongzhu’s hospitality.”

“Impede? Not at all. Zheng Xiaolang is a wonderful guest.”

None of this politeness was real. Nothing in the entirety of the political cultivating world was real. Nobody actually cared about anyone here—not about each other, not about the cultivators they ruled over, not about the people who’d never formed golden cores—the people they were supposed to protect. It was all about gaining power.

But was Zheng Xiaolang any different? Didn’t he pretend to be nice just like them? Didn’t he fake smiles, fake kindness—all to move up in the world? He never had any illusions about separating himself from people like this, but what about Lei Wenhe? Not sharing things about himself and being strange wasn’t inherently suspicious, no matter how paranoid Zheng Xiaolang was. All he’d done, for all the years that he’d been in the cultivation world, was help people. That was it. And Zheng Xiaolang had gotten him tangled up with all of these people who couldn’t care less about all the lives being lost in the midst of their fighting.

After the meeting, Zheng Xiaolang walked alone back to his residence. Xie Rong still hadn’t told him to go back to his district. In fact, she’d probably gotten him to stay longer—implying that Long Qingge might be a bad host made Long Qingge want to prove that she was a good host, so now Zheng Xiaolang was stuck here for even longer.

Summer had come to an end in Long, but one couldn’t tell just by looking at the scenery. In a place like Lühe, the only trees that survived were the ones that didn’t change in the autumn, and stayed tall and vibrant and green year-round. It didn’t feel any cooler, either; it rained enough here that the humidity retained the heat for days at a time. Zheng Xiaolang’s clothing had plastered to his back when he arrived, and each time he used the hot springs or changed clothes they just plastered right to his back again. He missed the chill of his own district. At least he could use his golden core to warm himself if he really needed to—but there was no way a golden core could help cool him down, no matter how powerful that golden core was.

What he really wanted was another bath—something to get all this sweat off and help his muscles relax. In the past, this perfect evening could be punctuated by a pretty stranger with good hands—Zheng Xiaolang could lose himself in pleasure with them, use them to forget all those long months of war. But it had been years since he’d found comfort in debauchery, and though people could still joke and call him shameless all they wanted, Zheng Xiaolang was hardly even flirting with people now. Whether he had gotten over a phase or if it was just because he was too busy, Zheng Xiaolang himself did not know. He preferred not to puzzle over such innocuous matters.

He stripped off his clothes as he moved through his residence toward the private hot springs in the back, tossing them onto the floor without a care, and by the time he was at the water’s edge he could slide in without pause. The water felt good. It was so hot it almost distracted from the heat around him.

Zheng Xiaolang kept sliding in until the water was up to his chin. He closed his eyes.

He breathed.

Around him, the soft wind brushed through the trees, sending a surprisingly cool burst of air against his cheeks. When he got out of the springs, that air that had been incessantly sweltering him would feel cool in comparison, but for now he was just enjoying the way the heat crawled into his muscles, like it was unwinding every spot of tension. There was peace in these moments—real peace, nothing fabricated. Natural peace that had been preserved somehow in these palace grounds.

There was a rustle somewhere behind him. Zheng Xiaolang cracked open one eye. An animal? He didn’t think they would be brave enough to come this close, but he wouldn’t mind if one of them came poking their head out. It would feel even more peaceful that way.

But what came stumbling out of the greenery was not an animal.

First it was a bloody hand—as soon as Zheng Xiaolang saw it, he’d half-risen out of the hot tub in an instant, ready to fight or react to whatever situation he’d found himself thrown into. Then an arm, then—

“Lei Wenhe?”

It was the healer. His clothes were in tatters, barely hanging onto his body, revealing bloodied skin underneath. His hair was a mess around his face and, when he lifted it to meet Zheng Xiaolang’s gaze, what was visible through that mass of hair was all bruises and more bloodied wounds. He was barefoot. He was stumbling.

Zheng Xiaolang was out of the hot tub and catching Lei Wenhe just before he fell and hit the ground.

“Lei Wenhe, what is—”

“I—I need—” He cut himself off with some violent coughing, his body weakly leaning against Zheng Xiaolang’s naked chest for support. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have anyone else to go to.”

Zheng Xiaolang was a little bewildered. “Who did this to you? How did you find me?” He lowered Lei Wenhe slowly onto the ground so the poor man could rest. He was already fading in and out of consciousness, and the pulse that Zheng Xiaolang felt at his wrist was so unsteady it was a wonder he’d been able to make it here at all.

“I felt your—your energy and I followed it. I’m—I’m sorry.” Lei Wenhe’s eyelashes fluttered. This close, Zheng Xiaolang could see how long they were.

“Lei Wenhe.” Zheng Xiaolang shook him for a moment, his voice low. “Wake up.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t move.

Zheng Xiaolang swore under his breath. If Long Qingge’s guards came here looking for him, both of them would be in a world of trouble. He hooked his arms underneath Lei Wenhe and pulled him back toward the house. Before he worried about guards finding them, he needed to make sure Lei Wenhe didn’t die of his injuries.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Wenhe..."

WHEN LEI WENHE awoke, his chest was bare. He’d been stripped down to a little less than his underclothes—no, that wasn’t quite right. These weren’t even his underclothes. They were clean, whole. And various parts of his body had been wrapped with bandages and packed with different herbs and medicines. He would be impressed if he hadn’t immediately thought of whose hands had been on him to do this.

Gingerly, he started to sit up. He couldn’t recognize what building he was in now, but it definitely wasn’t the prison cell he’d just escaped from.

“You shouldn’t move.” On the far side of the room, Zheng Xiaolang was stepping through the doorway with a bowl of something held in both hands. He was dressed now—he hadn’t been when Lei Wenhe first found him. He’d been taking a bath. His skin, like so many cultivators, was marred with a myriad of scars—long ones, short ones, jagged ones, clean ones. Lei Wenhe didn’t have any of those scars as he grew up. Any injuries he might have gotten were healed and vanished in an instant. But now he was covered in scars too, all over his body. Zheng Xiaolang would be able to heal them with these medicines, but Lei Wenhe couldn’t make them totally disappear without seeming suspicious. The deep gouges on his wrists from the shackles, all the little places their swords had dug in, the arrows—those would all remain. Along with the scar he’d always kept.

“I was wondering.” Zheng Xiaolang stopped in front of Lei Wenhe, put the bowl down, and helped him sit into a more convenient position, and then picked up the bowl again. “I treated all of your wounds, but you have another scar. An older one.”

Lei Wenhe’s hand automatically moved to that wound on his chest, right at his sternum. “What about it?” His voice sounded odd—far away. From this distance, he could kill Zheng Xiaolang in an instant. He wouldn’t know what was coming. But Lei Wenhe had just escaped from Long Qingge’s grasp, and if they found Zheng Xiaolang’s corpse immediately afterward, especially if he hadn’t put up a fight…someone like Long Qingge or Xie Rong would be able to figure it out without much struggle. Lei Wenhe didn’t want to be the reason the mortals went back to Murmuring Springs. He didn’t want them to go back at all.

“I was just wondering where you got it. As far as I knew, you had a quiet life. Did someone hurt you?”

Lei Wenhe’s finger traced against the scar. It had been a clean, efficient wound. If Lei Wenhe hadn’t been conscious, and if he hadn’t known how to regulate the flow of his blood so it didn’t all come rushing out at once, and if Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t been called away before he could make sure he finished the deed, then Lei Wenhe wouldn’t have survived a wound like that. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “Is it important?”

Zheng Xiaolang considered it. He shook his head. “I guess not. Here, drink this. It’ll be bitter. I’m sorry.” He held up the bowl to Lei Wenhe’s lips. Lei Wenhe swallowed it down. It wasn’t any worse than any other mortal food he’d tried.

Almost a hundred and thirty years ago, Zheng Xiaolang was digging his sword into Lei Wenhe’s chest. The expression that Lei Wenhe had remembered on Zheng Xiaolang’s face hadn’t even seemed fierce. Would that have been better—if he was fierce? No, his face had been absolutely calm, like he did this every day, like he slaughtered innocent families as a way of life. Did Zheng Xiaolang have any regrets about that time? Did he ever experience anything like Lei Wenhe, who woke up every night with his breath caught in his throat, the taste of blood in his mouth, the sharp pain of steel in his chest? Did he ever think about driving that sword into Lei Wenhe’s younger siblings—into children?

And now he was kneeling in front of Lei Wenhe, his expression troubled, tipping a bowl full of medicine into Lei Wenhe’s mouth. Lei Wenhe wanted to take the bowl and dig its edge into Zheng Xiaolang’s bared neck.

“Who did this to you?” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice was quiet. He carefully placed the bowl onto the table at Lei Wenhe’s bedside. His hand, which he’d placed next to Lei Wenhe’s thigh on the bedside to balance himself while he’d fed Lei Wenhe medicine, lingered for a moment before it fell. He had been feeling guilty since Lei Wenhe had asked him for information, and, from the expression on his face, seeing Lei Wenhe show up in front of him all injured and bloody had made him even more guilty. He just needed a little more of a push.

“I don’t—I’m sorry for coming here. I shouldn’t have.” He tried to get up again, but Zheng Xiaolang caught at his shoulders, holding him down. Lei Wenhe didn’t even have to pretend to flinch at the contact. Zheng Xiaolang jerked his hand away again.

“I’m sorry. Please stay here.”

“If they catch me here—”

“I’m more important than you think. If I don’t permit them to enter my residence, they won’t be able to without, by extension, offending Xie Rong. This is the safest place you could have come to.”

Lei Wenhe let the bitterness of that medicine cloud his voice. “I don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble, Zheng-zhangmen.”

Zheng Xiaolang got a strange expression on his face. Had Lei Wenhe been too meek? Maybe pretending to be this timid had given him away—he hadn’t been anywhere near this timid until now.

But then Zheng Xiaolang’s expression crumpled into something like pain. He said, his voice even softer than before: “I thought I told you not to call me that anymore.”

Lei Wenhe just looked at him, his breath unsteady.

“This was Long Qingge, wasn’t it?”

Lei Wenhe’s gaze turned away. “Not…all of it.”

“But it was under her orders.”

He bit his lip and nodded.

“Why? Do you know?”

“She wants the cure. I can’t give it to her. Even if I could…”

Zheng Xiaolang understood even without Lei Wenhe having to finish. “She would be able to control the entire cultivating world with it. You did well.”

Zheng Xiaolang was praising him?

“I shouldn’t stay here longer than necessary. Thank you for your help, but I should—”

Zheng Xiaolang held up a hand. He didn’t try to touch Lei Wenhe again, which was a relief, but he was still going to do everything he could to stop Lei Wenhe from leaving. “I can’t let you leave.”

Lei Wenhe let shock settle on his face.

“No, please don’t misunderstand me. I won’t turn you in to Long Qingge. I just…you should stay until you’re healed more.”

“Zheng-zhang—Zheng Xiaolang, if you keep me here that long, they’ll eventually find a reason to get inside. It won’t matter how important you are. I might be clueless about the political world, but I know that no amount of respect for Xie Rong can protect you forever. Eventually they’ll find an excuse to force their way in.”

“Even so,” Zheng Xiaolang said, “I’d like it if you stayed a little longer. I can keep them out of here for a week, at least. That should be plenty of time to get yourself healed.”

“And then?” Lei Wenhe shook his head a few times, letting his hair fall around his face in a way that he knew probably made him look both very disoriented and innocent. “If they suspect that I’m still here, they’ll have increased their security to find me, and it’ll be harder than ever to get out. It’s better if I leave now.”

Zheng Xiaolang was clearly having an internal battle—not on whether he should turn Lei Wenhe in, which Lei Wenhe knew he wouldn’t do despite how he acted, but rather how much help he should give Lei Wenhe.

“In all reality, I shouldn’t have stopped in the first place…” Lei Wenhe let himself trail off and pulled his face into a grimace, one hand reaching up to grasp at one random injury at his shoulder. Then he glanced at Zheng Xiaolang, pretended to just notice him watching, and took his hand away again with a deep, shuddering breath. “Don’t feel as if you owe me, Zheng Xiaolang. Maybe in the future I’ll find you again and get the rest of the information, but for now you can consider that debt paid.”

That kind of statement made Zheng Xiaolang uncomfortable. “Lei Wenhe…why did you come to me first?”

The truth? The truth was that it was a totally calculated move on Lei Wenhe’s part—that he hadn’t been so injured to the point of collapse, that he could have escaped without stopping, that he sought out Zheng Xiaolang without letting the bleeding stop on any of his injuries precisely because he knew it would make Zheng Xiaolang more prone to help him. Lei Wenhe had cultivated for himself a very specific image—the image of a man who could hold his own in a fight even as he couldn’t fight, who stood strong in the face of powerful people who tried to intimidate him. If Zheng Xiaolang only experienced that, and then that same proud man came in front of him needing someone to lean on, then of course he would be a little bit mesmerized by that sight. If a put-together man like that was suddenly no longer put together, that seemed a lot more serious than someone who whined about this and that showing up for help.

Lei Wenhe said, “I don’t know. I even thought that I should escape, but I think…perhaps I just found myself drawn to the feeling of your energy.”

Was that enough?

Zheng Xiaolang sighed and passed a hand over his face. For a moment, his palm lingered over his mouth, his eyebrows drawn together. Maybe he needed more.

“If I may ask, Zheng Xiaolang…”

“Anything,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “Please speak freely.”

“Have you heard from Shen? Shen-zongzhu, Shen-zhangmen, He-zhangmen—are they alright? And if you know anything about Qian-zhangmen, I—well, I haven’t heard from Shen-zhangmen since—”

“They’re all alive, as far as I know,” Zheng Xiaolang said. There was another moment of silence, but Lei Wenhe saw from the other man’s expression that everything Lei Wenhe had done up to this point had worked. “Wenhe…”

His defenses were so totally down that he’d even even started being this casual. They weren’t so far down that Lei Wenhe would be able to reach over and get access to Zheng Xiaolang’s core without him noticing, but they were far enough down that he didn’t bat an eye at referring to Lei Wenhe by his personal name.

Another moment of silence, this one longer than the last. The guilt and the sympathy were overriding Zheng Xiaolang’s sense of reason. By all means, Lei Wenhe was not someone for whom Zheng Xiaolang should turn against his sect, against Xie Rong. But everything Lei Wenhe had done—the persona he put on at the beginning, then the bloody appearance afterward, his softened voice, the brief but agonized expressions he’d let flit across his face—had broken Zheng Xiaolang down. Only a moment longer—

Zheng Xiaolang: “I’ll get you some clothes to wear. We’re about the same size.”

“Zheng—”

“We’ll leave tonight, before anyone notices that you’ve gone. I’ll be able to get the both of us out of here without anyone noticing. I imagine it’ll at least be morning, maybe even a day or two, before they realize we’ve escaped together.”

Lei Wenhe widened his eyes and started shaking his head. “I can’t let you do that. The ramifications—”

“Let me worry about the ramifications. Whatever comes of this, I’ll take responsibility for it.” Zheng Xiaolang reached out and put his hand over Lei Wenhe’s, moving slow like he was trying not to frighten him away. “Get some rest. I’ll make the preparations.”

…

Lei Wenhe had a scar on his chest.

Zheng Xiaolang could recognize the wounds that he bandaged up while Lei Wenhe was unconscious—the wounds that Lei Wenhe had received from Long Qingge and her people. They were from an assortment of weapons—knives, swords, whips, a hot iron that had seared the small image of a dragon forever onto Lei Wenhe’s skin. Zheng Xiaolang, after all, had seen all sorts of wounds in all the years he’d been alive. So naturally he was able to identify that scar in an instant.

That scar in the center of Lei Wenhe’s chest, right in the middle of what had been unflawed skin until he met Long Qingge—creamy soft skin that seemed as if it would be bruised if Zheng Xiaolang pressed too hard—was the wound from a sword. Specifically, it looked like a cultivator’s sword. There was no way to tell whose sword it was or how old the scar was—it was impossible even to tell how old Lei Wenhe himself was. The scar looked like it hadn’t been stretched at all—so it might be concluded that he’d gotten that scar after he’d fully grown. Was that comforting?

Lei Wenhe had a scar on his chest.

Zheng Xiaolang kept thinking about it while he packed Lei Wenhe’s wounds with medicine, while he wrapped him up in bandages, while he spoke with Lei Wenhe after he woke up, and while he searched for clothes for Lei Wenhe to wear that wouldn’t make him stand out. Lei Wenhe had a scar on his chest. Why did he have that scar? Who had given it to him? Had someone in Shen done that to him? Had it happened earlier than then—in Si’en, maybe? In Guangning? The northern unoccupied lands were admittedly lawless, but Lei Wenhe was someone who could hold his own even against a demon. Maybe it had happened before he got comfortable with his qinggong. It was possible…but Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t been able to picture Lei Wenhe as anything other than composed before tonight, so picturing a version of him so defenseless as to let himself get stabbed like that was difficult.

He put two seals on the door before he left Lei Wenhe there—one to alert him if anyone came near, and another that would make the door exceedingly difficult to get through. Then he stealthily entered the servant’s quarters, found a spare uniform, and tucked it under his arm. Next, he went to the kitchens. It was late enough that there were only a few people working, so getting in and out without them noticing wasn’t an issue, either. With a bag full of food and clothing, he went back to Lei Wenhe. The healer was sitting up in Zheng Xiaolang’s bed, his face anxious. In those underclothes—Zheng Xiaolang’s underclothes—Zheng Xiaolang could see how slender his waist was, how long and shapely his legs were. Even as he was covered in bandages, his hair a mess around him, and even as his face was still nothing beyond ordinary, he looked terribly alluring.

“Did anybody come by?”

Lei Wenhe shook his head. “Did anybody see you?” His voice, as it had been since the moment he stumbled up to Zheng Xiaolang’s hot spring, was very soft, and trembled a little. The sound of it made Zheng Xiaolang want to wrap him up and protect him from the world.

“No. When I don’t want to be seen, even Long Qingge would have difficulty finding me.” He dropped the bag onto the table. “I got you some clothes. They’re servants’ clothes, so if anyone happens to see us on the way out, they’ll just think I’m walking around with a servant.” He almost apologized for bringing servants’ clothing, but he knew that this wasn’t a thing Lei Wenhe would take offense to. Sure enough, Lei Wenhe was pulling out the clothes with a pleased expression, his fingers touching the dull green fabrics and tracing the seams. “Will they do?”

“They’re just fine, as long as they fit.” Lei Wenhe pulled out the clothes a little and his eyebrows rose. “This—” With the clothes fell out a black cloak with fur along its hood. Lei Wenhe’s mouth opened a little, surprised. “This isn’t a servant’s cloak.”

“Ah, yes.” Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t help but smile a little. “I found that hanging outside the kitchens. I think one of the nobles left it behind after their meal. Is it to your liking?”

“It’s a very fine cloak.”

“There are also some nuts and dried fruits in there that I thought you would like for our journey.” Why did Zheng Xiaolang want a smile from him in thanks? And why wasn’t Lei Wenhe smiling?

“Thank you, really.”

“I understand you probably don’t know where your bag is, so you can use this one for now. I’ll give you the herbs I’ve gathered while I was staying here, too. They won’t replace what you had in that bag, but I hope they’ll tide you over for now.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Still no smile. Lei Wenhe braced both hands on the bed and started to push himself up, and Zheng Xiaolang rushed to support him.

“How about I act as your attendant for now?” He cast a meaningful glance toward the clothing, and Lei Wenhe nodded.

“That would be very kind of you.”

Zheng Xiaolang started to help him into the various layers. No matter what Lei Wenhe was wearing, it seemed, he always looked dignified. Always noble. “Is there anything else you want me to get you before we leave?”

“Nothing so important you should be put at risk for it.”

Lei Wenhe hadn’t had very many belongings, as far as Zheng Xiaolang remembered—just that bag, which Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t seen since they were in Yingde together, and the clothes on his back, which were obviously not going to make another appearance.

Zheng Xiaolang tied Lei Wenhe’s new robe together. “We’ll head out soon. I’m going to put up a couple more talismans before we go that will make it look like I’m still here, and then afterward we can probably head out the back. There’s some wilderness behind the bath that I haven’t seen very many people wandering around in. I think, if we go out that way, we can find our way to the East River.”

The East River was the aptly-named easternmost river of Long, and therefore, since Long was on the east coast, the easternmost river of this land. It ran through the center of Lühe all the way to the sea, which gave all the people of Lühe direct access to the rich overseas markets. If Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe got access to that river, they could sneak into one of the many riverboats and go out to sea.

“After that?” Lei Wenhe’s expression was glum as Zheng Xiaolang finished pulling the last layer over Lei Wenhe’s shoulders. “Xie Rong won’t let you go back if you do this.”

Zheng Xiaolang knew that. He had a vague plan of dealing with Xie Rong, and hoped that she would accept it, but, even if it went well, going back to Xie still wasn’t a viable option. His people—his sect—would have to hold on for a little while longer. “Where would you like to go?” he asked. “Do you want to go back to Si’en? It might be difficult, but we could find our way there eventually.”

Lei Wenhe shook his head. “I don’t have any sentiments toward Si’en. Rather, instead…”

“Speak your mind,” Zheng Xiaolang said.

“I’m still worried about Shen. Shen Guozhi and Long Qingge both—neither of them wanted me to do anything about Quiet Death, but…”

Lei Wenhe was about to go on the run for his life from a woman who was famous for being absolutely and totally unforgiving, and his first thought was still to go and save people. Zheng Xiaolang wondered if Lei Wenhe was disappointed that he couldn’t save anyone in Lühe.

“You want to go to Shen?”

“Not Shen, exactly. Though I wasn’t permitted to go anywhere near Quiet Death, I did do my research on it. Qian Dong’s district was the first district to be taken by Quiet Death, but it wasn’t the first place to be affected.” Lei Wenhe was fully dressed now, but Zheng Xiaolang moved to his hair without another word—nobody kept their hair unkempt in Long, especially in Lühe. If someone saw Lei Wenhe, it didn’t matter whether he was wearing servant’s clothes; his loose hair would give him away in an instant. “There is a small island nearby there. It is equidistant from Cao and Shen, but it belongs to Cao Meilin. As far as I can tell, Quiet Death began there. It just happened to reach Shen before it did Cao Meilin’s district, and she closed its borders before it could get to her.”

“You want to find the origin?” Zheng Xiaolang finished pulling the jade comb he’d found through Lei Wenhe’s hair and began gathering it all together in his hands. “Do you think finding the origin might give you insight into finding the cure?”

“Hm…”

There was something in Lei Wenhe’s voice that made Zheng Xiaolang know with absolute certainty that whatever came next would be incomprehensible. Sure enough—

“I’m not so sure that it’s a disease.”

Zheng Xiaolang had almost missed Lei Wenhe’s bland but cryptic answers. He fixed Lei Wenhe’s hair into its bun and tied it all together with a ribbon, then said, “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a little hard to explain. Everyone has assumed that it’s a disease, but I think it might be something else.”

This would sound odd coming from anyone else, but Zheng Xiaolang had spent enough time around Lei Wenhe by now to know that a statement like this had some significant merit. Lei Wenhe didn’t speak unless he had something important to say. He wasn’t the sort of person who would make up nonsense just to get a reaction. “What do you think it could be?”

Lei Wenhe shook his head. He didn’t know, or at least didn’t want to make a conclusion yet.

There wasn’t much else for them to talk about, at least for now, and they’d already decided more or less what their plan would be, so once Zheng Xiaolang had finished making Lei Wenhe look like a normal servant, he went to go put up the talismans, and then they were on their way.

They went out the back of the hot springs, like Zheng Xiaolang suggested. The palace was set up in such a way that each manor tried to have its own hot springs, and between each manor it was necessary to have some kind of winding path or garden to connect everything together. The manors that didn’t have hot springs were given their own amount of space and a bit richer of a garden. Naturally, there were some parts of the palace grounds that didn’t have those rich gardens or a personal hot spring, so there were stretches of land that only had forests—behind Zheng Xiaolang’s residence was one of these stretches of land. There was an area of at least fifty paces’ radius that was of little interest to the palace guards.

Zheng Xiaolang instructed Lei Wenhe to put away the cloak for now in the bag he’d brought for him, as it was too lavish not to grab attention. They moved together through the forest using their qinggong to quiet and quicken their steps. Lei Wenhe was moving a little clumsier than before, probably due to his injuries, but he still kept up with Zheng Xiaolang without much problem, as always without complaint.

They were almost out—almost to the wall—when someone found them. It was a palace guard, a woman of mediocre cultivation with a sword gripped in one hand.

“Who goes there?” She’d only vaguely sensed that someone was out there in the darkness, and that that person was of some level of cultivation, but she wasn’t at a level herself where she could tell any more than that from presence alone.

“Sorry, it’s me.” Zheng Xiaolang smiled and waved a hand at her as he came closer. In other places—and maybe this one, but he wasn’t entirely sure—he had a different name from “Zheng Xiaolang.” In the beginning, “Zheng Xiaolang” had been a play on words. Some would call it a mockery. He hadn’t been allowed a name as a child, just a nickname, and due to his mischievous and clever nature he was given the name “Xiao Huli.”24 After Xie Rong found him, she thought it would be funny to call him “Zheng Xiaolang,”25 which she said was both an homage and an upgrade. He wasn’t a mischievous little fox anymore—with her training, she said, he would be an upright little wolf. To Zheng Xiaolang, the nickname was just a constant reminder of who he’d been and all that he’d lost. And then he grew up a little more, and the charisma that had made him a little fox as a child became a powerful tool, and the people he charmed and seduced in various ways gave him a new nickname: “Zheng Selang.”26 None of these names—not Xiao Huli, not Zheng Xiaolang, and certainly not Zheng Selang—were names that he could be proud of; the first was his slave name, the second a mockery of his slave name, and the third a mockery of a mockery. But “Selang,” even if he’d long left that version of himself behind, was the kind of name that he could at least use to his advantage—it said that he was charming and seductive, and thus even before he opened his mouth, some people thought that he was charming and seductive. To this cultivator in front of him now, he flashed that smile that he knew had a part in giving him that nickname and put his hands together in a kind of lazy salute that could only be used by a person like him.

“Zheng-zhangmen?” Her eyebrows drew together and she returned the bow, but he could tell she was still wary. “Please forgive me. There aren’t many people who come out here so late.”

“I was just going out for a stroll.” Zheng Xiaolang jerked a thumb to Lei Wenhe behind him, who had his head lowered and his shoulders hunched. Even without Zheng Xiaolang asking him to do so, somehow Lei Wenhe had the sense to change his posture so he didn’t give off that elegant aura he usually did. “I brought along one of the people you gave me so he could carry around my snacks. It’s this one’s fault for startling you.”

“Zheng-zhangmen didn’t startle me,” she hurriedly said, distracted from examining Lei Wenhe too closely to brush off Zheng Xiaolang’s apology.

“Am I not allowed to be out here? I can take a walk elsewhere, if I’m making you uneasy. I understand you have a job to do. You shouldn’t bend the rules just for me.”

“Oh, it isn’t against the rules for Zheng-zhangmen to be here. This lowly one was just making sure there weren’t intruders.” She put her hands together again, her head lowering. “Long-zongzhu wants us to be extra careful right now.”

Long Qingge wanted them to be extra careful precisely because of the man who was standing right behind Zheng Xiaolang right now.

“If it causes you unease, then I’ll be on my way.” Zheng Xiaolang started walking again, but then stopped, smiled, and turned. “Sorry to trouble you again, but which way is the market? I wanted to get some trinkets for my disciples.”

“The exit is that way.” She pointed toward the south. “Though, I can’t say whether many markets will be open at this time.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Zheng Xiaolang made his smile wider, showing off all his teeth, and waved away her concern. “I thought I would get a hotel and then wake up early so I could have first pick of the goods. Should I get you anything?”

Maybe the tone of his voice or maybe the way he was smiling at her made the poor cultivator’s cheeks flush pink, and she immediately fell into another bow. “This lowly one doesn’t dare.”

Zheng Xiaolang hated when people acted like this to him. He also hated it when people acted like he was beneath them. “No need to be so humble,” he said. “You have a good night, Xiuzhe.”

“Zheng-zhangmen, as well.”

Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe started moving toward the exit together. When they were out of earshot, Lei Wenhe asked in a low voice: “Is that any cause for concern?”

“It won’t be until they realize you’re gone and that I haven’t come back.” Zheng Xiaolang sighed. “I would have rather we didn’t run into anyone at all, but it couldn’t be helped. If I had avoided being identified after she called out like that, they would have put up an alarm at once. It was better for me to be nonchalant about it.”

Lei Wenhe still had a troubled look on his face.

“I’ll get you out of here. Out of Long entirely,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

…

Lühe, on most days of the month, was just like any other city’s capital. It was perhaps most like Xie’s Ji’an, which was on the westernmost river, and got all imports from the west, but, just like any other capital, its market was rich and lively. Most of the merchant class, as well as anyone who had any sort of power in Lühe, wore the rich greens of Long; anyone else wore duller peasant colors, but still often liked to stick with some muted green anyway. Zheng Xiaolang disliked Long, and especially disliked Lühe, but there was one version of Lühe that made him feel even more conflicted: the New Life Festival. For all the people who had been serving as slaves for the past seven years, it was a joyous occasion—truly, a chance at new life. On the other side, there were so many people having to enter enslavement for the next seven years. It was a festival of a startling dichotomy, or at least that was the most marketable way of describing it. In reality, the former group—the one that was supposed to be stepping into a “new life”—was not nearly as hopeful as one might assume. A man who was freed during the New Life Festival was not a free man; he was only a former slave. The “new lives” they received were only that they were no longer legally owned. Their lives would still be extraordinarily difficult. Housing was not something that the Long family or the families that were releasing them provided, so the newly freed people had to found housing on their own. Jobs were not readily made available, since the new people coming in to be enslaved were usually from Xie and not from Long, there were no more jobs to be found. People who had been freed who somehow didn’t know about the state of Long found out very quickly that they had two choices: take their chances in Long and see if they could somehow find someone who wouldn’t drive them away and help them sneak into the job market, or leave Long and travel into Yu, Qin, or the unoccupied land to try to get better luck there. Some braved going even further to get into Wu, where slave- or former slave-discrimination was illegal, but getting a boat to get out to the island was difficult.

The last New Life Festival was six years ago. In almost a year’s time exactly, Lühe would go through another big change, another influx of slaves from Xie, another wave of unemployed masses who were doomed to die on the streets or work their way into sickness. But something was different this time: Long had a lot more land under its control. Zheng Xiaolang, even after all that he’d seen and experienced, was at a loss for what this would mean for the people freed in the New Life Festival. Did that mean that Long wouldn’t have to struggle to accommodate all the new potential workers—that those newly freed people could go into the new territories for work instead? Were the same laws going to restrict them as they went into Yu, preventing them from taking jobs even as all these new jobs became available? Were they going to be able to take advantage of the abundant unused land in Yu and farm it? Was Long Qingge going to reserve that land for the nobles and aristocrats, divvying it up as she saw fit, and preserving none of it for potential farmers? Would the people she gave it to want to hire former slaves to work the land?

“You’re lost in thought,” Lei Wenhe observed quietly from behind him, and Zheng Xiaolang was a little startled. They’d traveled together before, even if it was several years ago now—he’d never broken the silence first. That had always been Zheng Xiaolang’s duty. So much of their journey together that time had been silent because Zheng Xiaolang had no idea what to say to Lei Wenhe and Lei Wenhe seemed to have no interest in sparking conversation. But now he was speaking up first, however timidly, even reaching out one hand to trace his fingers along the fabric of Zheng Xiaolang’s sleeve.

“Ah, yes.” Zheng Xiaolang gave the most elegant of replies just to fill the moment afterward. Then, his thoughts a little more well gathered, he gestured to the quiet streets of Lühe and said, “I was thinking about the New Life Festival. It’s in a year from now. I was thinking it might have been nice to stay here and try to help the newly freed people through the process of starting their new lives.”

“The new land will be much to contend with,” Lei Wenhe said, and Zheng Xiaolang nodded.

“I’ve been in Long a few times for the New Life Festival. I take some funds with me and find some newly freed people and take them back with me to find them homes in the unoccupied lands next to my territory. It seems like this one will be the most important so far, but…”

“It isn’t too late,” Lei Wenhe said. “You can leave me here. I’ll go on my own, and you—”

“Enough. I’m not changing my mind.” Zheng Xiaolang smiled easily and draped an arm around Lei Wenhe’s shoulders, even as he felt the man flinch beneath his touch. “We’ll become fugitives together. I’ll think of it as a bonding experience.”

Lei Wenhe shot him a look that Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t quite read. “I don’t need to put your life and reputation at risk to trust you. Isn’t it you who doesn’t trust me? Why would you do this?”

“Well, earlier—”

“I hope you won’t say that it’s because you feel indebted. I told you that I only wanted information in exchange. This is far too much.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s gaze traced along the empty shops as they moved down the street. There were a few places open, just some inns and a handful of restaurants, but it wasn’t nearly an accurate representation of what Lühe’s streets usually looked like. Zheng Xiaolang felt uneasy with everything looking like this. It felt like he was walking in an echo of a city, and not the actual city. “I can’t stand wrongdoing,” he said. “I already wronged you, and then Long Qingge was wronging you. I couldn’t let it continue.”

Lei Wenhe just chuckled at him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A Message from the Capital

THIS LATE AT night, there weren’t any more river boats running. Zheng Xiaolang was uneasy about that. He’d hoped, in a city as big as this one, that the river boats would be running more frequently, even well into the night, but he’d thought incorrectly—such assumptions had come from his previous visits, but those had usually been during the New Life Festival, which was very different from a typical night in Lühe.

He decided to just follow what he’d told the cultivator in the palace walls and get an inn for the both of them. “Give me the cloak,” he told Lei Wenhe, who blinked at him a few times before reaching into the bag and pulling it out. “I need to hide these clothes. It’ll take them longer to find us, this way.”

“You mean, if Long Qingge’s people start asking questions.”

Zheng Xiaolang nodded. He pulled the cloak over his clothes, made sure it covered up anything important, and then started working his face into something more stiff. He was used to charming his way around people, but at some point it had also become one of the most recognizable things about him. Even with his clothes covered, if someone came around asking for a charming, good-looking man who was accompanied by a plain-looking man, then they would be found out in an instant. Zheng Xiaolang thought for a minute while he put on the cloak, then nodded and looked at Lei Wenhe. “Stay out here for a moment. In some time, walk around the building and look at all the windows. I’ll have one of them open to beckon you inside.” The reason why he was telling Lei Wenhe all of this, naturally, was because he didn’t want to leave any clues for Long Qingge’s people to find him if they came looking. They would ask for a charming man with someone quiet and plain-looking in tow, so if Zheng Xiaolang made it so he wasn’t charming, and if he didn’t have anyone with him, then it would take some reaching for the innkeeper to point Long Qingge’s people in his direction.

Lei Wenhe was agreeable, and made himself comfortable in some shadows outside the inn where it would be difficult to find him if no one was specifically looking. Zheng Xiaolang went inside and ordered a room, and when he got to the room, he pushed open the window and stuck half his body out. After a moment, Lei Wenhe was sliding through.

“Your qinggong really is impressive,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “Won’t you tell me your teacher’s name?”

Lei Wenhe was busy looking around the room. There was only one bed in the corner—it was a big bed, but it was one bed nonetheless. His eyebrows drew together. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

That gave Zheng Xiaolang a moment of pause. He didn’t have any qualms when it came to sleeping next to men—he’d done a lot more with men, after all—but Lei Wenhe was different. When Zheng Xiaolang had been purchasing the room, he hadn’t thought twice about it, but Lei Wenhe was—well, he was…

Lei Wenhe had one eyebrow arched.

“The bed,” said Zheng Xiaolang in what he hoped wasn’t a strangled kind of voice. “We can both sleep in the bed. There’s room enough for both of us.”

Lei Wenhe looked at the bed for what seemed like half the night, his lips pressed together. Maybe Zheng Xiaolang had offended him somehow. Maybe he had, like so much of the cultivating world, heard about what a “selang” Zheng Xiaolang was. Maybe he was worried that Zheng Xiaolang would make an advance of some kind on him.

“I won’t touch you,” said Zheng Xiaolang. He thought that saying so would bring some amount of comfort to Lei Wenhe, but the expression on the healer’s face just got stranger. Zheng Xiaolang made the quick decision, for some reason, to keep pressing the issue: “I’ll keep my hands to myself. In this sense, I’ve always been an honorable man.”

The knot in Lei Wenhe’s throat bobbed up and down. He cast his gaze downward and Zheng Xiaolang saw a quick, almost imperceptible moment where he clenched his fist into the cloth by his thigh. Then Lei Wenhe said, “Very well.”

“Should I order some food for us? I think the innkeep said the cook is still awake and can cook us some simple dishes, if we need.”

“No, there’s no need. I’ll go to bed first.” Lei Wenhe stripped off the outer layer of his clothes, tossed it to the table, and climbed into the bed.

Zheng Xiaolang stood for another moment, stock-still, his heart pounding in his chest. Lei Wenhe was lying on his side, facing toward the wall and away from Zheng Xiaolang. His breaths were steady, but they were always steady. There was no way to tell whether he had fallen asleep.

Eventually, Zheng Xiaolang stripped off his own outer layer, folded it up properly, and put it on the table. Then he folded up Lei Wenhe’s outer layer too and put it on top. After that, he climbed gingerly into the bed next to Lei Wenhe and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible, but it felt impossible. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding. It felt like it was thundering in his ears. Surely Lei Wenhe was hearing all of this.

An eternity passed, and at some point between then and dawn, Zheng Xiaolang had fallen asleep.

…

Lei Wenhe got about a shichen of lying still in that bed, but there was no sleep for him. He waited until Zheng Xiaolang got into the bed next to him, waited until Zheng Xiaolang’s breath slowed, and then waited a bit longer—and then, carefully, he sat up and crawled back out of the bed. He found where Zheng Xiaolang had folded his clothes, got dressed again, and then sat in the corner with his legs crossed and his hands over his knees. He meditated for another half a shichen. Afterward, he got up again, gathered his things, and went to exit by the window. Zheng Xiaolang was still sleeping behind him. Lei Wenhe glanced back. Something boiled in his chest. This was a good opportunity, but Zheng Xiaolang was the sort of person who circulated qi through his meridians in his sleep. He would notice if Lei Wenhe put his hands on him and interacted with that qi in any sort of way.

He climbed out the window and dropped down the two stories to the ground.

Zheng Xiaolang woke a little after the sun rose. He noticed at once that Lei Wenhe was gone, and when he patted his hand against the quilt, he felt that the bed was cold. Lei Wenhe was gone, and there was no telling how long that he’d been gone.

He was up in an instant to look around the room. Lei Wenhe’s things were gone, and there was no sign of struggle. Zheng Xiaolang would have awoken if there was a struggle, anyway. But where had Lei Wenhe gone? Had he gotten a river boat without waking Zheng Xiaolang up first? Was he trying to prevent Zheng Xiaolang from getting in trouble?

There was a knock at the door, startling Zheng Xiaolang right to his feet. The door opened, and a servant from the inn came in with a tray of congee and some vegetable dishes, which he put at the table, bowed, and backed right back out of the room.

Zheng Xiaolang’s hand slowly dropped from where he’d propped up his sword next to the bed.

Then a noise at the window made him pick it right back up again, brandishing it that way—

Lei Wenhe was crawling through the window frame. He glanced up, saw Zheng Xiaolang, and nodded. Zheng Xiaolang was so relieved he almost ran up to him and hugged him.

“Where have you been?”

Lei Wenhe pulled his bag off and dropped it onto the floor. “I went out to buy some supplies. I thought someone from the inn might come and deliver you breakfast, so it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to be here until they left again.”

“Did you run into any trouble?”

“No. I didn’t see any guards. It isn’t time yet for Long Qingge to visit, so she might not have noticed yet that I left.”

“Visit?” Lei Wenhe still hadn’t given any details on what Long Qingge had done to him. Even now, he just shrugged and waved a hand.

“Someone would come at fixed times every day. We have some time still before that happens, but I suggest you hurry through your breakfast so we can catch a river boat. One is leaving soon. It has quite a few people and some room to move around—if someone happens to catch up to us, I think we’ll be able to get out before they can figure out we’re there.” He bent down, picked up the tray of food, and brought it over to Zheng Xiaolang. “Here. Eat.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Lei Wenhe shrugged again. “Well enough, I suppose. There’s no sense in complaining about these sorts of things.”

Zheng Xiaolang ate his breakfast. “What about your wounds? Should we put more medicine on them?”

“They ache some, but it’s nothing to be worried about. I’ll look at them again when we’re somewhere a little safer.” He looked at Zheng Xiaolang for a moment longer, and said, “Do you…”

Zheng Xiaolang put the empty bowl down. “Hm?”

“Your disciples. Don’t you think you should go back to them, instead of doing this? They hold you in very high regard. If you do something like this…”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed. “They don’t have such fragile opinions of me that they’ll believe some baseless rumors.”

“But they aren’t baseless. In helping me, you’re betraying Long Qingge, and in betraying Long Qingge, you’re betraying Xie Rong.”

“Mn…well, that might cause them some distress, but I think they’ll be alright.”

Lei Wenhe still wasn’t sure.

“Actually, this is a good opportunity for Xie Huiyan. She should see how she can handle a leadership position like that if she can’t come asking me questions. Though, I think Hou Conglin might try to take advantage of the situation and—”

“This isn’t a laughing matter.”

Zheng Xiaolang put up his hands. “I’m not laughing.”

“What’s your plan? You’re just going to give up everything for me?”

“Not exactly. I might have to give everything up for a year or two, but it won’t last forever. In the grand scheme of things—”

“And how do you plan on getting Xie Rong and Long Qingge’s forgiveness?”

“I don’t plan on asking for Long Qingge’s forgiveness. As for Xie Rong, I don’t plan on needing it in the first place.” Zheng Xiaolang held up an incense cone and smiled. “Do you want to be a part of this conversation?”

Lei Wenhe paled a little.

…

Two days passed. In Zheng Xiaolang’s district, Xie Huiyan was in the middle of her morning practice. Well, as Lai Liu said, it couldn’t hardly be called “morning” practice—Xie Huiyan got up even before the sun and started her practice in earnest. She was very diligent. Zheng Xiaolang gave her a routine to follow when she was young, and even as all the other disciples had figured out their own way of doing things and their own schedules as the years passed, Xie Huiyan stuck rigidly to the original schedule and never once strayed from it, except for in cases that she was traveling. Of all Zheng Xiaolang’s students, she was the most studious, the most diligent, and the most devoted.

Zheng Xiaolang had been gone for over half a year now.

She missed him. He had a bit of a difficult personality, but he had been a steady presence in her life for a long time, and always had something helpful to say when she needed his advice. She knew, just along with everyone else, that he was one of the most talented cultivators alive. If she could even become as half as great as him, she would be happy.

Lai Liu got up about halfway through Xie Huiyan’s sword practice. She was a diligent student too, just not one that was quite up to Xie Huiyan’s standards. For a while, she stood off to the side and watched Xie Huiyan practice, then she sighed and took out her own sword and joined her. She might as well. If their shizun came back and she hadn’t made any progress on her swordsmanship, he would be disappointed in her. He wouldn’t do any kind of harsh punishment, but he would be disappointed, and that was worse.

Xie Huiyan beat her in their first sparring session. She always did. And beat her again in the second. By their third session, Hou Conglin had come out to join them, and gave Lai Liu some tips, and Lai Liu managed to get one hit in before Xie Huiyan beat her again. After that, she practiced by herself while Hou Conglin and Xie Huiyan sparred together. When they were done, they went to go eat breakfast together, and then headed toward the library for their other studies.

“When do you think Shizun is coming back?” Xie Huiyan asked the two trailing behind her.

“I don’t know,” Hou Conglin said. “Maybe never.”

Lai Liu glared at him. “Don’t say that. He hasn’t even been gone for that long.”

“If he did stay gone forever, who do you think would be the sect leader?” Hou Conglin always liked to pose questions like this. He had one specific answer that he wanted to hear, but he very rarely got it.

“Huiyan-shijie, if not one of his older disciples,” said Lai Liu. “There are loads of people who could act as sect leader.”

“None that could live up to him,” said Xie Huiyan. She cupped her hands at a couple juniors who bowed at her, but didn’t stop moving. “He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.” She knew only some of what he was doing—that he’d gone to help Long Feifei with the invasion of Yu—but the invasion had been over for a couple weeks now, so didn’t that mean that Long Feifei was done with him? He must be just doing the political work now, placating Long Qingge. Xie Huiyan had grown up in the Xie household; she was more than familiar with all of the empty intricacies of the political world. She was also more than familiar with her shizun, and perhaps knew better than anyone how much he hated that side of his position. The expression he had when he was with her aunt, with the other sect leaders—always that stiff, fierce expression, nothing like how he looked when he was at home with his disciples and the other cultivators of his sect. If all he had to do was take care of his sect, take care of his disciples, and take care of his people—Xie Huiyan thought that he would be very happy like that. If he never had to see Xie Rong again, Xie Huiyan thought that he would be very happy.

“Xie-shijie.” Hao Lanqiao came up in front of them before they went into the library and put her hands together. “I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“No need to apologize. What’s wrong?”

Hao Lanqiao still didn’t unclasp her hands, and she didn’t look up to meet Xie Huiyan’s eyes. “Xie-shijie has a message from the capital.”

Xie Huiyan felt a chill crawl up her spine. “Is it Xie-zongzhu?”

Lai Liu’s hand grasped at Xie Huiyan’s arm. “Shijie, do you think—”

Xie Huiyan cut her off before she could finish with a wave of her hand. “Lai Liu, Hou Conglin, I’ll go first.”

“You don’t want me to go with you?” Lai Liu asked worriedly.

“No. Go on and study. I’ll be fine.” Xie Huiyan sent her two friends on ahead and followed Hao Lanqiao to the main hall. Zheng Xiaolang rarely spent time in this place, so Xie Huiyan rarely spent time in it—it felt alien, how extravagant it was. There was nowhere else in all of Zheng Xiaolang’s district that felt this extravagant. Zheng Xiaolang’s district very often felt like a paradise, but this place just felt like a little piece of the capital.

Inside were a long line of servants, at the end of which—centered in the middle, like Zheng Xiaolang would be if he was here—was a palace official, dressed in the impractical palace uniform, his chin held high. As Xie Huiyan approached, he paid his respects to her. It was only when people from the capital came that Xie Huiyan was ever treated like a member of the Xie family. She hated it.

“Is there a problem?”

The official kept his gaze and hands lowered. “Your aunt, Xie Rong-zongzhu, has a message that she—”

Xie Huiyan was impatient. “Yes, what’s the message?”

“Zheng Xiaolang-zhangmen…has been declared a fugitive, and Xie Rong-zongzhu will be assuming control of Zheng Xiaolang-zhangmen’s district until further notice.”

The chill that had taken Xie Huiyan’s spine spread out across her arms, spreading throughout all of her fingers. Her hands felt numb. Distantly, she felt herself open her mouth, and somehow—perhaps due to an entire childhood of propriety being drilled into her—she spoke. “What other news do you have? What is the reasoning behind this declaration?”

“This lowly one doesn’t dare presume to understand the—”

“Just tell me what you know, or I’ll get it from someone else.”

“From this lowly one’s understanding, Zheng Xiaolang-zhangmen committed an act of treason against Xie Rong. This lowly one doesn’t know any more details.”

“And in his place—Xie Rong-zongzhu will be the sect leader? What about the capital?”

“Xie Rong-zongzhu’s capability is so great that managing two districts is not an issue.”

The reality probably was that Xie Rong was just leaving the capital in the hands of her more than capable palace officials. But why would she come here instead of just leaving her shizun’s district in someone else’s hands? And her shizun, a traitor? There was no way. He’d been under Xie Rong’s command for close to a century and a half, so why would he suddenly do this now? The last she heard, he was still in Lühe. What had happened there?

“When is Xie Rong-zongzhu arriving?”

“In three weeks’ time.”

Three weeks…that was enough for Xie Huiyan to try to gather more information as well as try to prepare the other cultivators here for what was to come. Xie Rong’s style of leading was very different from Zheng Xiaolang’s, so the younger ones would especially need guidance. She was just worried about what all Xie Rong would change while she was in charge. She wouldn’t bring slaves back in, would she? Zheng Xiaolang would be furious when he came back. If he came back. When he came back.

Xie Huiyan caught someone as she headed back out of the hall, a messenger who was good at moving fast and not much else. They were a specialized group, one whose popularity died out after a couple of clever cultivators developed incense cones for communication. Rather than trying to balance their skills or work at a skill set that would make them heroes, the “Lightfeet” people only practiced qinggong—only practiced at moving quickly and quietly. Because they only practiced this one skill, they could all reach a point that they could move faster, even, than some of the highest-ranked cultivators. In a fight, of course, this meant nothing: speed could only do so much against someone who was talented in every other conceivable way.

Her shizun’s district was different from others. Most didn’t have any need for a Lightfoot, since they had incense cones, but her shizun thought further—what happened when he ran out of incense cones? What happened when someone put up some kind of talisman to block that form of communication? If Yu Yunmi had a Lightfoot in her company, she might have been able to properly communicate with her father, and might have avoided an untimely death in the middle of a war she didn’t want. So Xie Huiyan’s shizun had a dozen Lightfeet at his disposal, and kept them in Anlu. When he could, he trained them for different acts of espionage—things like how to hide if they couldn’t get away, how to defend themselves if they got into trouble, and so on. The Lightfeet of her shizun’s district, then, were a bit like spies. It was the general consensus that they weren’t often used and were just kept in cases of an emergency, but Xie Huiyan had her suspicions that her shizun used them quite a bit.

She caught one of these Lightfeet and kept her voice low as she talked to him. “How long will it take you to get to Ji’an?”

“Five days…maybe six.”

That had to be good enough. “Go there and get as much information as possible. Shizun was declared a fugitive of Xie—a traitor. Find out why, and come back before three weeks have passed.”

The Lightfoot’s eyes widened a little. “Zheng-zhangmen—?”

“I don’t know the details either. It’s your job to figure it out. If you need to take anyone else with you, so be it, but be discreet. I don’t want anyone else to hear about this.”

The Lightfoot nodded.

“Good. Go now.”

The Lightfoot disappeared in an instant. Xie Huiyan took a deep breath and started back toward the library. The first people she would tell needed to be Lai Liu and Hou Conglin, because they would be able to help handle the aftermath. Then they could work together to contact the managers of the different micro-districts—all of the cultivators that her shizun trusted to take charge of his land. There was no telling what kind of things Xie Rong would say to them, be it when she took charge or afterward. Xie Huiyan had to make sure they controlled how the news got out, and then, when they knew that her shizun was gone, she needed to know they could still operate as normal. It was what her shizun wanted, she was sure of it.

She was a young woman still. It was true that she was old enough now to make it on her own—if she asked her shizun, she knew that he would assign her a district—but she still felt like a disciple, and she still felt very young. With Shizun at her side, in fact, she’d half-dreamed that it would always be like this: Zheng Xiaolang-zhangmen, Xie Huiyan, Lai Liu, and Hou Conglin…but Zheng Xiaolang had lived for a long time before them. He’d had a life before them. He’d had disciples before them—a lot of disciples. Some of them had stayed, some of them had gotten micro-districts, and some of them had gone out to explore the world. Some of them had even died, either from old age because they could never quite reach immortality, old age because they didn’t want to reach immortality, or because they’d gotten killed somehow, by a demon or another cultivator or in some kind of terrible accident. A life like Zheng Xiaolang-zhangmen’s was unfathomable to someone as young as Xie Huiyan, but still…she liked to dream that they could all stay like this forever.

Lai Liu and Hou Conglin were studying.

They were both better at reading than Xie Huiyan. She had a more formal education than both of them, but they were better at sitting still and really going through things slowly and carefully. Xie Huiyan best concentrated when she was holding a sword.

For half a shichen, Xie Huiyan just looked at them, her heart doing somersaults in her chest. They were good students, good disciples. After she told them this, they would have to be something more. If Xie Huiyan could get access to some of those incense cones, or if she knew where Shizun was and sent a Lightfoot…but she didn’t have either of those things right now, not the cones or his location. So all three of them would have to step up, and all three of them would have to become Shizun for a little while.

…

By that time, Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe had found themselves some new clothes and had taken a river boat to Taibei, which was on the mouth of the East River. That was as far as the river boats would go, so they stopped there and stayed at another inn. Lei Wenhe’s injuries were healing well. A few days into travel, Zheng Xiaolang reapplied Lei Wenhe’s medicine and redid the bandages, and Lei Wenhe thanked him with a nod. In Taibei, Zheng Xiaolang thought hard about how he was going to contact people now, or if he should contact people at all. He only had three incense cones left. He didn’t know how long he would have to stay away from his district. He didn’t know how long he would remain a fugitive. Incense cones were hard to get, and expensive too. Buying them would raise some eyebrows. If only he had some of his Lightfeet…

He glanced at Lei Wenhe and a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Lei Wenhe was in the corner of their room at the table, a book spread out in front of him. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t recognize the title. He’d offered some ink and a brush half a shichen ago, but Lei Wenhe had refused, saying something about how he didn’t have good handwriting. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know whether he believed that. He looked like the kind of person who had perfect handwriting.

Lei Wenhe noticed he was looking and glanced upward, looked at Zheng Xiaolang for a breath or two, and then looked right back downward, turning the page with his left hand. “Is there something the matter?”

“Were you trained to be a Lightfoot?”

That made Lei Wenhe look up again. His eyebrows drew together slightly, meeting in the middle. “I’m not sure what that is.”

Maybe they called it something different in the north, but Zheng Xiaolang had never heard any other terms. “A Lightfoot is someone who only concentrates in qinggong. I thought perhaps, since you were so talented with it—”

“Ah. Thank you for the compliment.” Lei Wenhe turned another page.

“So you aren’t one, then?”

“I hadn’t heard of it until now. How could that be me?”

“If you weren’t trained to be a Lightfoot, then how did you get so talented?” He wasn’t going to let Lei Wenhe duck out of the question this time. He’d asked several times about this already—who Lei Wenhe’s teacher was, where he’d learned his abilities, how he got so talented. All different questions, all asking about the same things.

Lei Wenhe pressed his lips together and turned another page.

“Come on. We’re friends now, aren’t we? Or something close to it. Companions, at the very least. And, at the moment, we don’t have anything to do but wait. So why don’t you indulge me?”

“I don’t think—”

“And don’t say something like you aren’t interesting or valuable or something-something enough to give me that information. I’m asking you for it.”

Lei Wenhe let out an imperceptible sigh. He closed the book and smoothed his hand over it, pressing down any wrinkles that the cover might have formed. He seemed to be internally struggling with something, but the only clue that led Zheng Xiaolang to that was the twitch in Lei Wenhe’s jaw. Then Lei Wenhe said, “His name was Lei Bo.”

“Lei Bo?” Zheng Xiaolang had never heard the name before. “Is that the same ‘Lei’ as—”

“Yes. He was my father.”

That was the first thing that Zheng Xiaolang had ever heard about Lei Wenhe. Not about his reputation, not about his abilities—but about Lei Wenhe. And he was burning to learn more.

“What was he like?”

Lei Wenhe smiled then—not a real smile, but something fiercely bitter. “He was a good man. I think about him every day.”

“Is he…”

“Dead,” Lei Wenhe said. “A long time ago.” He leaned forward and took the bottle of baijiu27 at the edge of the table that a waiter had brought in earlier, pulled out the stopper, and took a long drink. Zheng Xiaolang had never seen him drink before.

“Can I ask—”

“Not that question,” Lei Wenhe said. “I won’t answer that question.”

Had he even known what Zheng Xiaolang was going to ask? “Then…was he as talented as you at qinggong? Or did you surpass him at some point?”

“He was more talented than me,” said Lei Wenhe, and he had this strange, distant look in his eye, like he wasn’t quite looking at Zheng Xiaolang but at something beyond him. “They all were.”

“All of them?”

“I had a big family.”

Zheng Xiaolang was born into an environment that wouldn’t allow several children. Sometimes that restriction was because people didn’t have the time to keep making children, and sometimes that restriction was because the children that they did make kept dying. Zheng Xiaolang, at one point, had four siblings. It was the four of them, Zheng Xiaolang, and their mom. Before they were found and taken into the slave trade, two of them died, and then it was just Zheng Xiaolang, the two of them, and their mom. And then Xie Rong found Zheng Xiaolang, and then it was just the two of them and their mom, and Zheng Xiaolang never saw them again.

So to hear something so simple—that Lei Wenhe had a big family—Zheng Xiaolang felt a sudden strike of envy. It really was better in the north, or wherever Lei Wenhe had come from. Or maybe Lei Wenhe’s family was just lucky. They had the time and the resources to have a big family, and they had the time and the resources to practice their qinggong like that. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t even know who his father was, or whether he shared that father with his siblings. It was not information that his mother had ever divulged to him.

He also didn’t know if he had any relatives somewhere out there…descendants of his siblings, unknowing that their great-uncle or great-great-uncle was alive and waiting, willing to give everything for them.

He opened his mouth for another question. “Did you have siblings?”

“Two,” Lei Wenhe said.

“So your family was mostly older?”

“Than me? Some of them, yes. I had one or two cousins, as well.”

“Where are they?”

Lei Wenhe just shook his head.

“Your siblings, were they older or younger?”

“Younger, both of them.” There was the closest thing Zheng Xiaolang had ever seen to a smile at the corners of Lei Wenhe’s eyes.

“My siblings were younger too,” Zheng Xiaolang said, and Lei Wenhe’s gaze jerked toward him.

“You have—?”

“Not anymore.” Zheng Xiaolang let out a laugh and reclined on the bed, kicking his feet up without taking off his boots. “They died a long time ago, probably. Unless someone saw a golden core in one of them and snatched them up like Xie Rong did to me, and then somehow they were able to reach immortality…at the very least, they would look older than me, if they had survived. Wouldn’t that be strange? Your younger siblings looking older than you?”

Lei Wenhe just kept his steady gaze on him. Zheng Xiaolang, uncomfortable under that gaze, propped his head up on his arms and sent him another lazy smile.

“None of them had names, either. I think…I think my mom might have given us names when we were born, but she never told them to us. If we were caught having real names, we would have been killed. Little things like that, they were punishable by death. I guess it gave you some kind of…individuality, maybe. So I was called Xiao Huli, and my younger brother was called…” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice trailed off. His nickname was Xiao Huli. His younger brother was. His younger brother…. Why couldn’t Zheng Xiaolang remember the nickname? It was just a nickname, another animal. Little…little tortoise? No. Little tiger? No, that was too fierce. It had been some kind of animal. Zheng Xiaolang had long forgotten their faces, their voices, but their nicknames? He thought he would never forget their nicknames. He thought they would be engraved into his mind forever. He had a little brother, and a little sister, and—

Zheng Xiaolang forced another smile. “Well,” he said, “it’s not very important.” He felt like he had something stuck in his throat, like he was going to cry. He couldn’t even remember the last time he cried.

“Have you mourned them?” Lei Wenhe’s voice was very soft.

“Mourned them? When?” His smile was a little easier to form now that he’d pushed back—whatever that had been. “I don’t know when they died. Even if I did, when would I have had the time? Xie Rong was working me to the bone.” If he did the calculations, presumed that they’d lived an average life, could he roughly guess what he had been doing at that time? Perhaps. But what was the point of it? He’d only make himself feel worse about doing nothing.

“Did you want to mourn them?”

“There is no wanting under Xie Rong.”

“Mn. That’s not true, is it?”

Zheng Xiaolang was a little startled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve made a name for yourself, haven’t you? Zheng Xiaolang, the great sect leader who frees slaves with his own money, who gives people of all walks of life the chance to be a cultivator, who lets those cultivators manage their own sections of land as if they had their own districts. None of those are things Xie Rong told you to do. You’ve always been able to choose your own path. It just took you a moment to realize it.”

Always been able? The words might have been intended to be encouraging—empowering, even—but they felt empty to Zheng Xiaolang’s ears. What did Lei Wenhe know? If Lei Wenhe wasn’t ever a slave, then he didn’t know anything. He didn’t understand anything. Xie Rong was a god, back then. Maybe not now, but back then, when all he had was his mother and his siblings, when he had lost two siblings already, when he had just spent months on a boat scrambling for a bite of food every few days, when he had just entered this bustling city of unfamiliar people and colors and languages—when Xie Rong had stood in front of him and given him that glimmer of hope of a new life—

Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t thought he would be gone forever. “Forever” then was barely a concept in his mind—in the world, even. How would he know his life would be an eternity compared to his family? How did he know the one chance he would get to see them again would be that day in Long, terrified in front of a dragon throne, and that he would be sent all the way back to Xie without even getting to look for them?

He didn’t know if they had even survived the journey to Long. If they did, he didn’t know if they had survived the first few years of being there, or the next ten, or if they had lived to even close to average lives. While he was flipping between the grueling training of the Xie Clan, a comfortable bed every night, delicious meals, and thinking about how he was going to tell these stories to his siblings, they could have all been dead the whole time. They might not have ever made it out of Xie.

Zheng Xiaolang’s smile had faded from his face, but he hadn’t noticed. Lei Wenhe thought that even his eyes were shining, like he was about to cry. The sight of it made Lei Wenhe want to let out a laugh, but he averted his gaze from Zheng Xiaolang, and the conversation ended like that.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Are you seducing me right now?

“BE CAREFUL WHILE you’re there. She’s a more dangerous woman than most people expect.”

Zheng Ai put her hands together and bowed, her hair falling around her shoulders like a cascading waterfall. “This disciple understands.”

“You’re dismissed.” Chen Tian dropped into his chair and pinched his eyes. Zheng Ai was old enough, he told himself. She would be fine, even traveling alone. Even that far. All Chen Tian’s cultivators were talented and independent, but Zheng Ai was the most talented and most independent out of all of them. She was probably the top young disciple right now, and Chen Tian thought that without even a trace of favoritism.

He smelled smoke after a moment and lifted his gaze to find it. In the smoke gathering in front of him, the image of a cultivator flickered. Chen Tian slowly put his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself up.

“Zheng-zhangmen.”

“Chen-zhangmen.”

They bowed at each other, paying their proper respects before they lapsed into the more casual speak common between friends.

“Still calling me ‘zhangmen’? Surely you must have heard about my new title.”

Chen Tian would have rolled his eyes if he was the kind of person who rolled his eyes. “Of course I have. I just sent Zheng Ai to Anlu to help your poor disciples while they deal with your mess.”

“You think so far ahead,” Zheng Xiaolang complimented with a laugh. “I have something else to ask of you, however.”

“Please, ask.”

“I want to travel to Long’an. Could you arrange something for me?”

Chen Tian’s eyebrows drew together. “Long’an? The entirety of Cao Meilin’s island is blocked off. Whatever do you want to go there for?”

“Lei Wenhe wants to go to investigate the source of Quiet Death.”

That sparked Chen Tian’s interest. He said, “You’re with Lei Wenhe?”

Zheng Xiaolang nodded. “You didn’t hear much about my situation, did you?”

“Just that you committed treason. Not what the treason was.”

“It was taking Lei Wenhe out of Long Qingge’s control. She was…” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice lowered, and he glanced to the side somewhere that Chen Tian couldn’t see. “She was mistreating him.”

From what Chen Tian knew about Long Qingge, “mistreating” meant “torturing.” Chen Tian had only met Lei Wenhe once, but he liked him. Quite a lot, actually. He seemed like the sort of person Chen Tian could get along with. Someone like that should never have to endure Long Qingge’s wrath.

“Is he there with you?”

“Yes, he’s reading.”

Chen Tian wondered what Lei Wenhe liked to read. “May I speak with him?”

Zheng Xiaolang glanced off to the side again, his expression a little uneasy. Chen Tian remembered, that time that he met Lei Wenhe, Zheng Xiaolang’s relationship with him hadn’t seemed that good, but it looked like things had improved since then. Zheng Xiaolang said, “Yes, he can speak to you.”

Lei Wenhe appeared after a moment next to Zheng Xiaolang, and when he moved to center himself, Zheng Xiaolang disappeared from Chen Tian’s view. He was wearing dark gray, what looked like servants’ clothes, but a person like Lei Wenhe made such clothes look expensive and elegant. “Chen-zhangmen.” He dipped his head down.

“No need to be so respectful.” Chen Tian nodded back at him. “Are you well?”

“I’m well enough. Thank you for asking.”

“What is the reason for wanting to go to Long’an, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“As Zheng Xiaolang said, I want to investigate the origin of Quiet Death.”

Chen Tian studied the lines of Lei Wenhe’s face in the smoke. He, like the cultivator standing next to him, was unreadable to Chen Tian. At least with Zheng Xiaolang, they had some level of understanding with each other born of similar backgrounds—but Chen Tian had no such understanding with Lei Wenhe. “May I ask why?”

“I think I will be able to cure it, if I understand it. It was the same for Golden Core Turns Black.”

Zheng Xiaolang was watching this conversation off to the side, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He trusted Chen Tian, more than any of the other sect leaders or clan leaders. But there was something about Chen Tian that he had no control over—he was under the careful watch of Cao Feng. If Cao Feng found out about their correspondence, it wouldn't be surprising if he took the opportunity to order Chen Tian to betray Zheng Xiaolang—catching Zheng Xiaolang while he was a fugitive of Xie might give him a more cemented in with Xie Rong. What he wouldn't know, of course, was that Xie Rong had never thought of Zheng Xiaolang as a traitor and, despite declaring him as such, would not be pleased if someone turned him in and forced her to deal out punishment.

He trusted Chen Tian, but he also knew that Chen Tian did not have the kind of lenience with Cao Feng that Zheng Xiaolang had with Xie Rong. Zheng Xiaolang could free slaves and set up microdistricts and train whoever he wanted, as Lei Wenhe had earlier pointed out, but if Xie Rong gave him an order, he still had to follow it. Chen Tian, on the other hand, didn’t have any of that freedom. Zheng Xiaolang knew that Chen Tian wanted more than anything to do exactly what Zheng Xiaolang was doing—it was just that he wasn’t permitted to. Zheng Xiaolang trusted Chen Tian, but he didn’t know whether Cao Feng had already gotten to him.

He came back into focus to watch the conversation—Lei Wenhe was explaining the same thing he'd explained to Zheng Xiaolang: that he didn't think it was a disease like everyone else thought. Chen Tian thought about it for a while. He said, “We haven't had the chance to do much research on Quiet Death. Even cultivators have no way to protect against it. Some of them are afraid that catching it will lead them into Golden Core Turns Black. Thus, we don't have any information about it other than its symptoms. If you are able to discern anything about it, it will be a great service to Cao.”

“I intend to cure it,” Lei Wenhe said.

Chen Tian looked at him for a moment, and then a rare smile flashed across his face. “I believe you. What do you need from me?”

Zheng Xiaolang was about to step forward again to outline what he'd been thinking about, but Lei Wenhe started speaking before he could. “We don't expect you or your people to come all the way to Long. With the way your relationship is with Zheng Xiaolang, it would be too obvious if your people showed up like that. Instead, it would be a good idea to meet somewhere else—somewhere neutral. We can meet you in Wu, in Songjiang.” It was more or less what Zheng Xiaolang had been wanting to do, though he thought they could have met in Qin. Now that Lei Wenhe was suggesting Wu, though, it seemed like a better idea—though Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know him well, from what he understood, Wu Enlai was a good man. He didn’t allow slavery in his territory, treated former slaves with the same reverence and respect as he treated everyone else, and was the only clan leader who wasn’t in the same age group and involved with the same things as the rest of the clan leaders. Qin Ye liked Zheng Xiaolang well enough, but he knew most of that was because he was doing a lot of work in the unoccupied lands, and that she thought it was some sort of long-term plan to take over those lands. Once she found out that wasn’t the case, she would no longer like him, and might even feel betrayed—yes, going to Wu might be the better option.

“Songjiang…that’s doable. I won’t be able to meet you myself, as my arrival in Wu Enlai’s territory would raise some eyebrows, and so would leaving my district. However, I can send you a ship that will take you to Long’an. They’ll not be willing to go into Long’an or even wait at the docks for you, but they can take you there, and if you cure Quiet Death, they can take you back. Otherwise, you’re on your own. If Quiet Death is still going strong, and you decide you have to leave, I can’t help you. I can’t take the chance that you’re going to spread the disease.”

Lei Wenhe nodded. “That makes sense. Thank you for your generosity.”

“When can you be in Songjiang?”

“A few weeks still…perhaps send the boat out in two months.”

“Two months? Isn’t that too late then?”

“Getting to Long’an is important, but I have a feeling that we might have something to do in Wu before then.” There was some kind of knowledge in Lei Wenhe’s eyes—Zheng Xiaolang saw it, and from the expression in Chen Tian’s eyes, he saw it too.

“Then, two months it is. That gives me plenty of time to make some preparations. I’ll have them waiting in Tieli for orders.”

Lei Wenhe put his hands together. There was a smile at the corner of his lips, one that seemed strangely unfamiliar the more Zheng Xiaolang thought about it, but one that disappeared just as quickly as all the others had. “Thank you again, Chen-zhangmen.”

“You as well, Lei-xiansheng.”

The smoke faded from view. Lei Wenhe, without another word, gathered up his robes and went back to sit at the table to finish his book. Zheng Xiaolang stood there and smelled the traces of smoke in the air and then he went to go to stretch his legs out across the bed, snatching up one of the books Lei Wenhe had finished as he passed the table. It was a collection of weiqi28 records—not even anything interesting. Zheng Xiaolang flipped through a couple pages, but no matter how hard he looked there didn’t seem to be any kind of secret message hidden in the game records. “Weiqi?” he said after a minute.

“I find it interesting.”

“Do you play?”

Lei Wenhe shook his head.

“Then—?”

“Think of it like a study in culture.” Lei Wenhe lifted up the book he was reading now, showing Zheng Xiaolang the cover. It was historical records. “We don’t get books like this in the north.”

“I’m sure there are more interesting things to read than this.”

“And I’ll get to them eventually. Maybe you can treat me to some of your books.”

Zheng Xiaolang grinned and dropped the weiqi records to the ground, choosing instead to prop himself up on his elbow and watch Lei Wenhe. “You’ll come back to Anlu with me?”

“Come back where? You’re getting ahead of yourself. There isn’t a chance of getting into Xie without someone recognizing your face.”

That was true, but it didn’t make Zheng Xiaolang’s smile fade in the least. “Did you visit Anlu, all those years ago when you were on your way to Yingde?”

“You mean, did I pass through?”

“If you were following the major roads, you should have.”

Lei Wenhe turned the page. “I didn’t stay on the major roads, so, no. I didn’t go to Anlu.”

Zheng Xiaolang was a little disappointed. “Not interested?”

“It wasn’t a matter of interest. I just wanted to get to Yingde as soon as possible.”

At the very least, it was easier to talk to Lei Wenhe now than it had been before. What they were doing now could actually count as a real conversation. Zheng Xiaolang let out a laugh and grabbed the book from the floor again, spreading it out in front of him and flipping through the pages carelessly without really paying attention to any of their contents. It hit him a moment later, when he let himself think about that smile Lei Wenhe had shown to Chen Tian—he realized why it had been so off to him. It wasn’t that Lei Wenhe had been trying to deceive Chen Tian, which was what Zheng Xiaolang had initially thought. It was that…it might have been a real smile. A real smile, like Zheng Xiaolang had always wanted, but for Chen Tian.

Why was that so upsetting?

…

Taibei was at the mouth of the biggest river in Long. At one point, hundreds of years ago, it had been the capital of Long—before Long was even called ‘Long’, even, Taibei was the capital. And that made sense, and it was logical: Taibei was the cultural center of the coast. Anyone coming from the east would go to Taibei, and from there, they could travel further inland by the Sunlit Road, or use one of the many sea routes along the coast to travel to the other ports. But then came along one Long matriarch, a woman named Long Ru, who viewed Taibei’s location not as a strength but as a weakness. What if someone decided to attack Taibei and get control of Long? They had access from all sides—from the sea, from the land, from the river. The people of Taibei wouldn’t be able to defend themselves if someone suddenly decided to take advantage of all of that vulnerability. So Long Ru moved the capital to Lühe, which was further inland. If anyone started to attack Long from any side, they would have the time and resources to protect themselves.

But Taibei still felt quite like a capital. The title of “capital” might have been moved, but Taibei was still a cultural center of the coast right after Lühe, and it still had all the markets that it had before, and it still had the same amount of people moving in and out.

In a sea of a city like this, Lei Wenhe and Zheng Xiaolang blended right in.

They’d changed their clothes yet again. Lei Wenhe was worried about costs, since they had limited funds, so Zheng Xiaolang used his charm to trade clothing for clothing, only keeping that black cloak that he’d fetched for Lei Wenhe, just in case he got cold and needed the extra layer. Their new outfits were black, in preparation of being in Wu and blending in there. Black was always slimming, and in Lei Wenhe’s case that made him look so thin he seemed breakable. Zheng Xiaolang draped the cloak over Lei Wenhe’s shoulders, tied it around his neck, and they set off from the inn together.

Even though Taibei was no longer the capital, it still had all of the sea routes taking ships to the capitals of different territories. Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe found one of the ships and boarded it at no small cost. Zheng Xiaolang joked about how he hoped Chen Tian was sending funds for them too, but Lei Wenhe didn’t smile.

The ship was crowded, despite the cost, and the journey was going to be long. It was a ship specifically for transporting people rather than cargo, so there were small rooms and even smaller beds. Because it was so crowded, however, Zheng Xiaolang was only able to strong-arm his way into a single room and bed, and he and Lei Wenhe had to squeeze onto that little bed together every night.

…

The Wu family almost wore all white.

There were two options: they would wear all white, or they would wear all black. The person who was trying to decide between these two options was someone who valued simplicity and hated opulence. Looking at the difficult colors of the other clans—especially the gold on Xie robes—gave her a bitter taste in her mouth.

The woman was Wu Enlai’s mother. She was related to the Qin family, however distantly. Once, she had also been a sect leader within their family, in charge of the island they had off their coast. But something had happened at some point with the Qin family—something she didn’t agree with—and Wu Enlai’s mother separated herself from the rest of the Qin family. She already had sect leaders to work underneath her: Wu Enlai, of course, but also Yan Tao, Jia Dongmei, and Shi Huang, all of whom she adopted out of the slave trade and treated the same as all her other disciples. When the time came to choose between these two different colors, it was these four that she came to for advice, and all four of them, thinking about the countless stains that would inevitably end up on their clothes, and thinking about how they didn’t want to burden students or themselves with the task of scrubbing out those stains, decided on black.

Wu Enlai’s mother eventually stepped down, and Wu Enlai stepped up to take her place. Everything that his mother valued, he kept alive or even made to improve. Under his watch, within twenty years, his territory became entirely self-sufficient. It was admirable. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know anything about Wu Enlai’s personality, and had only met him once or twice in passing, but he knew all of this about him, and he knew that Wu Enlai didn’t permit owning slaves but encouraged slaves to come to his island for refuge. Wu Enlai’s situation was…almost what Zheng Xiaolang wanted. If Zheng Xiaolang didn’t have any higher aspirations—if all he wanted was to have control over his own territory without Xie Rong constantly looking over his shoulder, Zheng Xiaolang might have been fine with having a situation like Wu Enlai’s. He would have tried to break off his territory much earlier, tried to make it self sufficient, and so on. But Zheng Xiaolang wanted a lot more than independence. He wanted a lot more than self-sufficiency.

They traveled for two months. The food started running low a few weeks in. Lei Wenhe offered some of his fruits and nuts to the people around them, and when Zheng Xiaolang asked him about it in the privacy of their room, he just murmured something about how he could go a little longer than others without food—it wasn’t a big deal. Zheng Xiaolang laughed. “If it wasn’t such a waste of your healing ability, I really would try to recruit you to be one of my Lightfeet,” he’d said, and Lei Wenhe gave him an unimpressed look.

After those two months, they arrived in Songjiang. It was now that Chen Tian’s people would set off to come get them, but it would be another few weeks still until they arrived. They had some time in Songjiang.

Zheng Xiaolang stretched for a while after they got the boat in a patch of grass near the docks, just easing the ache in his muscles that had formed after being cramped for so long, unable to do any of the daily exercises that he’d drilled into his body since childhood. Lei Wenhe stood off to the side, his arms crossed, the empty bag that had once held fruits and nuts slung across his back.

“Where to now?” Zheng Xiaolang bent down to reach his toes. “You wanted to do something here, right?”

“I should get some medicine, at the very least. Maybe we can find an herbalist somewhere.”

“You wanted to come to Songjiang for an herbalist?”

Lei Wenhe shook his head.

“Then what did you want to do here?”

“It wasn’t so much that I wanted to do something here and more that I thought something should happen.”

Could Lei Wenhe tell the future now? Finished stretching, Zheng Xiaolang fixed his clothes and went to go stand next to Lei Wenhe. “Do you want to meet Wu Enlai? Is that it?”

Lei Wenhe’s contemplative gaze turned toward the city. “I have a feeling that he’s a better person than any of the other clan leaders.”

First Chen Tian, and now this. But could Zheng Xiaolang disagree with him? Chen Tian was a good man by any standards, and, if the talk about him was true, so was Wu Enlai. And then there was Lei Wenhe, who healed without ever putting a price on his abilities, who always thought of helping people above his own safety. Good people found good people. Zheng Xiaolang wouldn’t dare place himself among them. He changed the subject a little: “You’ve made yourself some powerful connections in the last few years. If you meet Wu Enlai, you’ll have interacted with over half of the clan leaders. Most people in their entire lifetime wouldn’t even meet one.”

“I don’t think you can call my relationship with Long Qingge a ‘powerful connection,’” Lei Wenhe said, and instantly Zheng Xiaolang thought about the wounds Lei Wenhe had been covered in when he arrived, the blood that trickled from previously unmarred skin. As if he could sense what Zheng Xiaolang was thinking, Lei Wenhe added, “Let’s find a bathhouse first. It’ll be good to wash off the weeks of travel.”

Zheng Xiaolang agreed. They’d both done the best they could with rainwater and stayed remarkably clean, but it would feel good to soak in some hot water, to comb out their hair, and to change their clothes. They walked together toward the city, side by side, Lei Wenhe’s head lowered.

There was an inn with an attached bathhouse right inside the city. Zheng Xiaolang gave the innkeeper the few coins required to just use the bathhouse, then a few more to go fetch them some new clothes. When he joined Lei Wenhe again, Lei Wenhe asked, “Did you get the private baths?”

“One for each of us.” Zheng Xiaolang passed over one of the robes the innkeeper had given him. “I thought you might like your privacy.”

Lei Wenhe took the robe and dipped his head. “Thank you.”

The island of Wu didn’t have any natural hot springs like the mainland territories did, but they made do with strategically placed fires and talented servants, resulting in a kind of indoor hot springs equivalent. Inside the private bath was an indentation in the floor full of steaming hot water. Zheng Xiaolang grinned at the sight of it. He stripped off all his clothes and dropped them into a disorganized pile in the corner, then undid his hair and let it fall across his back.

He stepped into the water.

He hadn’t been able to do something like this since that night Lei Wenhe had come stumbling up to him. It was, maybe alongside the political power that came with his position, one of his favorite things about becoming ‘Zheng Xiaolang.’ As Xiao Huli, a bath like this would have never been possible. His childhood had been filled with standing in cold streams that made his whole body numb. He and his siblings would bathe together, helping each other scrub at the dirt that had caked onto their skin, and afterward, while his siblings ran around naked to dry off in the air, he would sit behind his mother and help her wash her hair, carefully scooping water onto her scalp and them combing all the debris out. Those memories…

Zheng Xiaolang squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back. His head knocked against the hard wood floor, but he didn’t flinch. Why couldn’t he just remember their names? There was no way to find out something like that, right? The import and export of slaves just recorded numbers, not names. Slaves didn’t have names, so why record names? And, even if they did record nicknames, how many people out there must have been named ‘Xiao Huli’? Slaves typically used animals to identify each other. There were only so many animals.

He scooted forward a little bit and leaned back more, dunking his hair and then his whole face under the water. He stayed in the warmth for what seemed like half the day, and then he came up again, gasping for air, his hands rubbing the water out of his eyes and face.

There was a knock at the door. Zheng Xiaolang rubbed at his face harder. “I already have a robe,” he said. “You can just leave the clothing at the door.”

“It’s me.”

He stilled. His head lifted. “Come in.”

Lei Wenhe entered. He was in the black robe the innkeeper had provided. It was thinner than Zheng Xiaolang had expected, and it clung to the moisture on Lei Wenhe like it was a second skin. Lei Wenhe’s hair was down, and the robe seemed like it had been put on in a hurry—it was falling off one of his shoulders, exposing the entirety of his collarbone and some of his chest, and it hadn’t been tied properly, so the majority of one of his legs was visible in the gap between the fabrics. Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth went dry.

“Lei Wenhe. Are you seducing me right now?”

Lei Wenhe’s eyebrows came together. He looked down at himself, then back at Zheng Xiaolang, and his lips parted. There was a bead of moisture on his temple that crawled down his cheek and then lingered there at his lips, like it was leaving a kiss, before it fell down to his chin and traced the line of his neck. “I—”

“I’m not opposed.” Zheng Xiaolang flashed what he knew was his most charming smile and gestured at the water he was in. The grief of his earlier thoughts had all but disappeared, replaced with the heat blooming at the base of his stomach. “Please, come join me. There’s plenty of room.”

Lei Wenhe took a small step backward. “I…” It was the first time Zheng Xiaolang had seen him so flustered. He was like a little deer facing off against a wolf, unsure of whether he should run or stay frozen in place and unsure how to settle on either one. “I just…”

“I won’t bite too hard.” Zheng Xiaolang was still smiling. He had displayed remarkable self-control while they were on that ship coming to Songjiang, and didn’t make any kind of untoward comments toward Lei Wenhe despite their constant closeness. “Unless you want me to, that is.” But now, Lei Wenhe standing in front of him like this, coming into Zheng Xiaolang’s private bath room fully aware of Zheng Xiaolang’s state of dress, making no effort to make himself look at all collected like he usually was—and especially after Zheng Xiaolang had seen him so delicately vulnerable, and especially because Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t had any manner of…interaction with anyone in months—it was hard to resist making some kind of advancement.

“I just wanted…” The rest of Lei Wenhe’s sentence was spoken in a breathless whisper, the words evaporating in the steam before they could reach Zheng Xiaolang.

“Hm? Come closer.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t move. “I just wanted to know if you could help me redress my wounds.”

All the blood immediately seemed to drain from Zheng Xiaolang’s body at once. “Oh.” All of his words were gone, too. Zheng Xiaolang had never felt more embarrassed. “I…”

“If you’re busy, I can just—”

“No, I—I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.”

Lei Wenhe grabbed the shoulder of his robe and pulled it up, rearranging the fabrics until everything was covered. “I can come back later, after you’re done. I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

“No, don’t apologize. Do you have the supplies still?”

Lei Wenhe held up his bag. Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t even noticed that he’d been holding it. “I asked for some more bandages from the innkeeper.”

Zheng Xiaolang really did deserve the title ‘Selang.’ He wanted to slide right back into the water and stay there until he’d lost consciousness, but he climbed out of the water instead and squeezed as much of the water as he could out of his hair. “Let’s just take off the bandages for now and wash them, and then I can redress them afterward.”

Lei Wenhe let out a breath of air. “Yes, you’re right, I should have just waited.”

“It’s fine.” Where had Zheng Xiaolang put his robe? It was in the far corner of the room. He was lucky he wasn’t shy about his body. “Take off your robe.”

Lei Wenhe froze like a little deer again, his willow-leaf eyes narrowed.

“I won’t do anything to you. I’m sorry I said anything. Take off your robe, and I can help you remove the bandages, and then you can bathe without worrying.”

He still didn’t move. “It’ll be alright if the injuries get wet?”

“It’s better than soaking the bandages. Just take off your robe and I can check on the progress. If they haven’t healed like I thought they have, then I’ll bandage them up now and help you wash without getting them wet.”

That seemed to be agreeable for Lei Wenhe, so he loosened the robe and peeled off the top half, letting it drop down to his waist. Zheng Xiaolang set about starting to carefully unwrap the bandages. He was mostly healed—almost enough to warrant not using bandages at all—but Zheng Xiaolang didn’t want to take any chances and risk Lei Wenhe getting an infection.

“Ah,” he said after a minute, and dropped the used bandages to the ground in the same pile he’d discarded his clothes. “This…”

Lei Wenhe tried to twist around to look at the wound on the shoulder that Zheng Xiaolang was examining, but Zheng Xiaolang stopped him.

“Don’t twist around too much. You might open something up again.”

“What’s the problem?”

Zheng Xiaolang reached out and touched Lei Wenhe’s shoulder with trembling fingers, tracing the image that had been burned there. It was arguably small—half the width of Zheng Xiaolang’s palm—but it was startlingly noticeable against Lei Wenhe’s skin. Nobody would be able to miss it if they caught a glimpse of Lei Wenhe’s back. No, their gaze would immediately be drawn to it, like it demanded to be looked at. Which was probably Long Qingge’s intention. This scar said, without any question, that the Long family owned the man who bore it. “This…this scar on your shoulder,” Zheng Xiaolang said, and he drew his hand away, something like grief spreading again through his chest. “This…brand. I don’t think I can get rid of it.”

“The dragon?” The emotion in Lei Wenhe’s voice was unreadable. Why wasn’t he angry? It was Zheng Xiaolang’s fault that the Long family’s symbol, that coiled dragon with fierce eyes, was forever burned into Lei Wenhe’s skin.

“Yes.” He didn’t know what else to say.

Lei Wenhe just nodded. “The world leaves its marks in different ways,” He said. “I’ll just let it serve as a reminder. That’s all I can do.”

Zheng Xiaolang took off the last of the bandages and threw them to the side. “Okay,” he said. “I think that’s all of them. They look healed enough that washing won’t hurt any. Do you want some help?”

A moment passed, and then Lei Wenhe nodded. “Please.”

The washing process was silent, almost ceremonial. Lei Wenhe sat in the water and Zheng Xiaolang sat beside him, using a cloth to carefully wipe at his wounds. And then, without asking for more, Zheng Xiaolang set about gently washing Lei Wenhe’s hair, brushing out the tangles with his fingers, gently scraping at his scalp with his fingernails. Lei Wenhe’s eyes were closed. Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t help but think that he was extraordinarily beautiful, like he was a god of water gracing Zheng Xiaolang with his presence.

Lei Wenhe’s eyes opened. He looked up, his eyes connecting with Zheng Xiaolang’s as Zheng Xiaolang finished rinsing out his hair.

“Hm. Did I say that out loud?”

Lei Wenhe’s eyes closed again. “You need to work on your filter.”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed lightly. “Do I? I do honestly think you’re beautiful.”

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

This again? Lei Wenhe still seemed bothered by that offhand remark Zheng Xiaolang had said to him during the competition in Yingde. “Why do you ask that now?”

“Mn…I guess I made the assumption that you would only want to sleep with people who you trusted.”

“Didn’t I ask you to be cultivation partners with me when we first met?” Zheng Xiaolang smoothed the last of the excess water out of Lei Wenhe’s hair with the edge of his hand and then dropped his hands onto Lei Wenhe’s shoulders, leaning around him so he could look Lei Wenhe in the face. “If I only slept with people I trusted, then I would be hard pressed to have sex at all, right? Everyone knows Zheng-zhangmen of the Xie clan is a paranoid sort.” He bent down, coming close enough to Lei Wenhe that he could feel his breath against his skin. “What about you, Wenhe? Do you trust me?”

Lei Wenhe’s eyes opened again. They were so close that the slightest amount of movement would bring their mouths together. Zheng Xiaolang could see that his eyelashes were long, that his eyes—as dark and unreadable as they were—had an unfathomable depth and life to them, a kind of passion for life that Zheng Xiaolang understood on a fundamental level. “You didn’t answer my question.” His voice was absolutely steady. He didn’t try to back off from Zheng Xiaolang, but there was also no shy gaze flickering to Zheng Xiaolang’s lips—no discernible amount of interest in closing the distance between them. Zheng Xiaolang smiled and did the backing off himself, dropping to a seat again in the water and starting his own washing, which he’d neglected when Lei Wenhe arrived.

“I trust you more than when we’d met in Yingde, that’s for sure.”

“Have I done anything to make you distrust me?”

“No. It doesn’t work like that.”

Lei Wenhe turned around and rested his back against the edge of the bath. That ink-black hair that Zheng Xiaolang had so carefully cleaned floated up around his shoulders, probably tangling strands in the moving ripples. His eyes were lowered, like he was looking into the water around him, examining the bubbles and the steam. Zheng Xiaolang felt like he should placate him somehow, even if only to make up for his earlier blunder.

“I trust you, to an extent. I trust that you’re trying to help people, and I trust that you aren’t trying to manipulate me for my abilities or my political power. If you were after my political power, of course, I would have to warn you away from it, since you probably know by now that I won’t get as far in climbing the social ranks as other sect leaders with more…noble backgrounds.” Zheng Xiaolang dunked his hair in the water again and started trying to pull out the tangles. “But you’ve had many chances to take advantage of me, and every time you’ve only asked for the bare minimum. Even if that was just a long-term plan—a very long term plan—you’ve still fooled me.”

“There’s still something else,” Lei Wenhe said, “isn’t there? A ‘however’ you haven’t mentioned.”

“Mn. It’s hard to explain my background to people. Some people try to sympathize, but they still don’t understand what it’s like to grow up the way I did. Well, and some people just say it wasn’t a big deal in the first place—that I became a sect leader anyway, so it doesn’t matter that I was a slave. I don’t think that you would say that, but I also don’t think that you understand.”

“You don’t trust me because I wasn’t a slave?” The words might have sounded accusatory, but not from Lei Wenhe. Zheng Xiaolang shook his head.

“No, not exactly. But I think, for someone who hadn’t experienced that, it’ll take me longer. And what’s ‘trust’ anyway? Does it matter so much? I committed treason and came on the run with you, and now we’re bathing together. Aren’t we closer than most people already?”

Lei Wenhe took one hand out of the water and pushed his wet hair behind his ear, a movement that made Zheng Xiaolang’s breath catch in his throat for a moment before he remembered that he’d already embarrassed himself today, and didn’t need to do it again unless Lei Wenhe was the one coming onto him. “Isn’t this all out of obligation, though? Guilt?”

“Maybe some attraction too,” Zheng Xiaolang joked, and Lei Wenhe shot him a glance that immediately made him shut his mouth.

“I don’t want you to stay by my side if it’s just guilt or obligation.”

“Are you saying you want to be friends?” That pleased Zheng Xiaolang more than he thought it would.

“Is that so alarming? I don’t…” His voice lowered again, almost embarrassed. “I don’t have any friends.”

Zheng Xiaolang wanted to dive over and wrap up Lei Wenhe up in his arms. No wonder he was so perplexing in his manner of communication—he didn’t have anyone to talk to. He and his healing ability were probably so revered that nobody ever treated him like a person. It made Zheng Xiaolang wonder whether he was one of the only people who didn’t ask Lei Wenhe to heal him—but, then again, he had immediately asked him for his services upon meeting him, and sought him out just for that reason. He wasn’t any different from anyone else, but it was him that Lei Wenhe was asking to befriend—not Shen Ying, not Shen Guozhi, not Yu Weizhe, not any of the Longs—him. Zheng Xiaolang. “Ah,” he said, and leaned back, sinking into the water until it crowded up around his jaw. “I could kiss you right now.”

Lei Wenhe looked a little alarmed.

“I would like to be friends,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “Let’s be friends, Wenhe.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lei Wenhe Tries Some Soup

ZHENG XIAOLANG WAS a little nervous about seeking out Wu Enlai. He knew that Lei Wenhe wanted to meet him—which was honestly admirable after his last interaction with a clan leader—but Wu Enlai had a strong alliance with Cao Feng, and, just like Zheng Xiaolang worried about Chen Tian telling Cao Feng about them, he was worried that Wu Enlai would do the same. Chen Tian was Zheng Xiaolang’s friend, but what did Wu Enlai have to gain by keeping Zheng Xiaolang’s location a secret? He had much more to gain from turning him in than than he did from helping him.

So, after getting dressed and leaving the bathhouse, Zheng Xiaolang took Lei Wenhe to the market instead of going anywhere near the palace. He liked Lei Wenhe in these official Wu clothes—he’d looked nice in the makeshift Wu-black robes that he’d gotten him before, but here in Wu, surrounded by people who were wearing the same black robes, he seemed somehow even more radiant, like dressing the same as everyone else and putting his hair up like everyone else just made him shine more than usual. What it was about Lei Wenhe that made him so captivating, Zheng Xiaolang still didn’t entirely understand, and he maybe never would.

Lei Wenhe didn’t seem particularly interested in the market, but he perked up when Zheng Xiaolang brought him to the herbalist, and picked out the herbs he wanted while Zheng Xiaolang watched on the side, and afterward he perused the nuts and fruits selection with mild interest as they passed those vendors.

“Have you been practicing your archery?”

Lei Wenhe blinked a few times. “My archery?”

“I taught you a little while we were in Yingde. Do you remember?”

“Oh. Yes, I remember.” He shook his head. “I haven’t touched a bow and arrow since. You saw me—I’m helpless. There was no sense in continuing that. Why do you ask?”

Of all the things to remember from that interaction, Lei Wenhe’s talent with the bow and arrow were not Zheng Xiaolang’s priority. “I thought it might be a good idea to learn how to protect yourself, just in case.”

“Hm? I thought you were going to protect me, Zheng-zhangmen.”

Lei Wenhe always used Zheng Xiaolang’s title when he was trying to be cheeky. It would irritate Zheng Xiaolang if he didn’t find it strangely charming. He made a decision then to always counteract Lei Wenhe’s ultra-formality with his own ultra-informality.

“I’ll do my best to protect you for as long as possible, Wenhe, but there are times that I won’t be able to reach you in time.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t react to Zheng Xiaolang calling him ‘Wenhe’ again, only side-eying him for the statement he’d just made. “You have very little faith in yourself, Zheng-zhangmen. Don’t you think you should believe in your abilities as a sect leader?”

“I have plenty of faith in my abilities.” Casually, Zheng Xiaolang draped an arm over Lei Wenhe’s shoulders and steered him closer to a different section of the market, where the vendors cared little for the general population and only wanted to cater to the cultivators coming through the capital. “But I have a nagging feeling that you’re the kind of person to always want to do the right thing, and sometimes that’s going to contradict what I think you should do, and then, before I know it, you’ll be running off on your own. So I think you should have something you can use to defend yourself, when that time comes.”

“I can’t shoot a bow and arrow,” said Lei Wenhe.

“No, no, I won’t make you depend on something like that, but I’ll still want you to practice when we have the time. Instead, you should have something like…” Zheng Xiaolang pulled Lei Wenhe closer to a vendor who was selling some ornate but sturdy daggers. “These would be good.”

Lei Wenhe looked over them, unimpressed. “I have the distinct feeling I’ll end up hurting myself with one of those.”

“And you say I’m the one with little faith.”

“I’m a healer, Zhangmen, not a fighter.”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed and started toward the other stalls. “Fine, we’ll look for something else.”

“I hope you won’t suggest a sword.”

“No, I’m not that naive.” Though Zheng Xiaolang would enjoy teaching Lei Wenhe how to hold a sword, wrapping his fingers around Lei Wenhe’s as they both gripped the handle, their bodies pressed together as Zheng Xiaolang corrected Lei Wenhe’s posture… “We can find something that will help you in a pinch but wouldn’t require very much skill. Something that people wouldn’t notice.” He scanned the different stalls as they walked past them, thinking. “Your qinggong is good…if we got something that can deal some damage in the moment and give you just enough time to get away, that might be enough.” But it couldn’t be something that Lei Wenhe might hurt himself with, and it couldn’t be something that anyone would take away in anticipation of being harmed. Maybe a weapon that he could hide on his body? But what if he was searched?

A vendor some four zhang away caught Zheng Xiaolang’s eye, and everything clicked into place. He seized Lei Wenhe’s hand and bounded toward the vendor, pulling the healer along behind him. Spread out across the table were a variety of fans, all of different colors and designs. It was something that no one would blink twice at—anyone could carry a fan without raising suspicion. But it was in the cultivator’s section of the market, so that must mean there was something special about them.

Zheng Xiaolang picked up one of the fans in his free hand that wasn’t still holding onto Lei Wenhe and examined it. “What do these do?”

“Ah, Daxia—these are unique fans! Each one has a special purpose. Some of them have poisons, some of them can fly with the accuracy of an arrow—the one you’re holding there has a secret compartment with a needle inside, which can only be revealed with a button press at a certain, almost invisible part of the fan. May I demonstrate?” The vendor held out a hand toward Zheng Xiaolang and Zheng Xiaolang, curious, folded the fan up and put it into her waiting palm. “Here, daxia. Look here.” Her thin, calloused fingers traced the fan’s guard, and then she dug her fingernail into the rivet’s center. A thin needle shot up from the guard.

“Fascinating.” Zheng Xiaolang leaned closer to look at it. “Can it retract and be reused?”

The vendor opened the fan and the needle disappeared again into the guard. Zheng Xiaolang laughed in delight.

“Lei Wenhe, what do you think about this?”

Lei Wenhe considered it for a moment or two. He said, “It might have…some use.”

When these two men first approached her stall, the vendor thought she needed to advertise to the handsome cultivator who’d expressed the most interest. But now it was clear who the fan was for, and by whom it would need to be approved; the handsome cultivator was just the one with the money. It was the hesitant, plain-looking one next to him that was going to use the fan. Actually, now that the vendor was considering it—the plain-looking one had an air of money about him, didn’t he? Maybe he was a young lord bringing his eager personal guard along with him while he shopped. She needed to jump on the chance to change his hesitation into certainty.

“This model is for people who don’t want the fuss of carrying a weapon,” she said. “It won’t cause too much damage if you prick yourself with it, but having it available if you ever run into trouble will feel like a blessing—drive that needle into any part of the body, and the attacker won’t be able to think about anything else until it’s out again. The best part is, this kind of fan is only available in Songjiang. I’ve not made the anatomy of it available to any other person. So unless your attackers have visited this particular stall in this particular corner of Songjiang’s market and has talked to me—well, then they’ll have no idea it’s anything other than a fan.”

The plain-faced man glanced at his more handsome companion, his expression unreadable. The handsome man’s arm was slung around his shoulders and hadn’t moved since they’d approached, and he was grinning only a palm’s width away from the other man’s face. They must be very good friends, the vendor thought. Perhaps she could convince them both to buy one.

“Which pattern do you like?” Under the vendor’s watchful eye, Zheng Xiaolang murmured the question into Lei Wenhe’s ear. “I’ll buy you one.”

“You shouldn’t spend this kind of money, just for me…”

The vendor couldn’t mind her own business. “Oh, it’s not that expensive! I’m sure we could make a deal!”

Lei Wenhe’s lip curled up, something like disgust, and the vendor backpedaled and tried a different approach, taking out the rest of the fans that had the same feature so they could see their options.

“Well?” Zheng Xiaolang asked. “Any of them catch your eye?”

“You pick,” said Lei Wenhe. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

A few minutes later, they walked away together, a fan gripped in Lei Wenhe’s hand. It was ink-black, the same color as his hair, and had a delicate design of plum blossoms etched in gold on its leaves. He’d tried it out a few times at the stall, making sure it worked, and now was just using it to lightly fan himself as they walked. He looked even more like a noble like this, but instead of being repulsed by that, Zheng Xiaolang just found it more alluring.

“So the fruits and nuts,” he said as they approached the restaurant-heavy section of the market, when the different smells had begun to drift toward them and curl around their noses, and Lei Wenhe’s fan slowed.

“What about them? Do you want some?”

“No. I was just wondering why you only ate fruits and nuts.”

“I’m a picky eater.”

“Surely it can’t be that simple.”

“It is that simple.”

“Maybe you just haven’t tried good cuisine. I know northern food is somewhat…wanting. But I’ve heard good things about the food in Wu. Should we try it?”

Lei Wenhe looked toward the food vendors and sighed. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t let that deter him.

“How are you with spicy food?”

“Well…fine.”

Zheng Xiaolang started taking Lei Wenhe closer to the food. “I’ve heard they have a really good wonton soup here. Chen Tian said it feels like your insides are being set on fire.”

Lei Wenhe’s eyes widened a little and he started to resist Zheng Xiaolang’s forceful guidance. “And that’s a good thing?”

“I’ll just get one and you can try a sip. If you don’t like it, I’ll eat the rest.”

“I don’t think we should—”

“Are you still worried about money? I’ll be fine, Wenhe. I have plenty of money.”

“Enough to last until you’re reinstated?”

Zheng Xiaolang just laughed and went to buy them the soup.

Officially, he was a traitor. According to the entire world, he had betrayed Long Qingge and Xie Rong. He had stolen Long Qingge’s rightful property against his clan leader’s orders and wishes, and now he was on the run, trying to use Lei Wenhe for his own gain. The world was debating what he planned on doing with Lei Wenhe—was he going to take him traveling, charging the highest prices to milk the cure to Golden Core Turns Black for all it was worth? Did he plan on getting the cure from him? Did he plan on using Lei Wenhe to climb in the political ranks?

But Zheng Xiaolang had contacted Xie Rong early on, before the news had even reached her that Lei Wenhe had escaped and that Zheng Xiaolang was missing with him—before she had the chance to even suspect that Zheng Xiaolang had betrayed her in any way. He’d explained the situation that night in the inn in Lühe, Lei Wenhe standing just out of sight; he’d explained that Lei Wenhe had been mistreated, that Long Qingge wanted to monopolize the cure, that she would get incomparable power and the chance to become emperor if she succeeded. Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t just being softhearted by saving Lei Wenhe, he’d told Xie Rong—he was doing it for the good of the continent, for the good of all the clans and all the territories. And Xie Rong had thought about it, and then she nodded, and she told Zheng Xiaolang that she would have to declare him a fugitive when the news reached her anyway, because otherwise Zheng Xiaolang’s actions would spark a war, and the territories would have to divide themselves between Xie and Long.

“Hold out for now,” she’d said. “You can come back when things have died down a bit.”

‘When things have died down’ was not anything that could be accurately measured ahead of time. Zheng Xiaolang had an impressive amount of funds with which he set off to help Long Feifei, but it had been a long time since then. His funds were probably going to run out soon. When that happened, he needed to find a different way to make money. He figured he could probably do the same that independent cultivators did. Without the funds provided by the sect they operated under, they usually found posted contracts and used those instead. After all, there were a lot of things that cultivators could do that other people could not, be it delivering messages in a timely way, doing farm work more efficiently, or providing protection from bandits and the like while a family traveled. Zheng Xiaolang had never had to do such things, as he’d never been an independent cultivator, but he thought it shouldn’t be too hard. Somebody would eventually need help, right? But even though Zheng Xiaolang knew he was eventually going to run out of money, and even though he knew he would have to work hard to get even a fraction of his normal amount back, he still spent the money for Lei Wenhe. He couldn’t help himself.

Lei Wenhe tried the soup.

He tucked his new fan under one arm and then held the bowl with both hands, bringing it up to his face and tipping it carefully toward his mouth. The way his lips connected with the bowl was almost…sensual. He sipped it, let it sit on his tongue before he swallowed, and then sipped it again.

“Well?”

“Hm…better than I thought it would be.”

Maybe Lei Wenhe just liked spicy food. When Zheng Xiaolang brought him back to Xie, he was going to have to find a chef who would be able to cook him food like this. Maybe he would be able to hire a Wu chef—a personal chef who would cook whatever Lei Wenhe wanted whenever Lei Wenhe wanted. He smiled and, without thinking, reached out and swiped his thumb across Lei Wenhe’s bottom lip, wiping away a drop of broth that Lei Wenhe hadn’t caught. Lei Wenhe’s eyes widened and he backed up a step, so sharply he almost spilled the soup across his chest. Zheng Xiaolang, his gaze connecting with Lei Wenhe’s, slowly licked the broth off his thumb.

Lei Wenhe looked away. “You’re shameless, Zheng-zhangmen.”

“Who, me?” He laughed. “You can have the rest of the soup. I’ll get something else to eat.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind—”

“Enjoy it. It’s worth it to find something you actually like to eat.” He’d had half the mind to embrace the opportunity and take the bowl back, to fasten his mouth around the same spot that Lei Wenhe had sipped from—but he would rather see Lei Wenhe enjoy the meal than he would flirt with him in another way. “Let’s find somewhere to sit. You can finish your soup, and then we’ll find something for me.”

Lei Wenhe finished every drop of the soup, short of licking the bowl clean, and when Zheng Xiaolang purchased a small bowl of dumplings in a chili sauce, he tried that too, with the stern reminder that they shouldn’t be spending any more money after this.

“Ah, how can I help myself?” Zheng Xiaolang propped up his head on one hand while he watched Lei Wenhe eat the last dumpling. “It’s good to see you eat.”

Lei Wenhe pursed his lips at him.

“Did your family cook spicy foods? Is that why mainland food wasn’t appetizing for you?”

“I suppose we all ate food more similar to this. I don’t know if it’s ‘spicy’ but…” Lei Wenhe shrugged.

“This isn’t spicy for you?”

“Not really.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth was still burning. “Hm…maybe you should cook for me sometime. One of your family recipes.”

Lei Wenhe’s hand slowly curled into a fist. He didn’t answer.

…

In Zheng Xiaolang’s district, Xie Rong had already arrived and made herself comfortable in one of Zheng Xiaolang’s guest halls. With her came two of her consorts—Shao Shan and Ni Peicen, the former of whom was a young woman Xie Rong had found in the slave trade, and the latter of whom was from a small aristocratic family in Xie Mei’s district. They were both her favorites right now, and she brought them along everywhere, so naturally when she came to Zheng Xiaolang’s district to take charge, she brought them too. With Xie Rong also came a whole collection of cultivators and servants that obeyed her every word; the cultivators spread out across the district, finding all the micro-districts to check on them, and Xie Rong stayed in Anlu. It was a good thing that Xie Huiyan had gone out of her way to alert the cultivators of Zheng Xiaolang’s district, because it would have otherwise been chaos, but thanks to her, Lai Liu’s, and Hou Conglin’s work, the transition into Xie Rong’s temporary takeover wasn’t too painful. They still continued with their studies as normal. The only things that had changed were the halt of Zheng Xiaolang’s extracurricular activities—buying slaves and releasing them with enough resources to make a living, monitoring the unoccupied territories around him, and, of course, Zheng Xiaolang’s lessons that he imparted on his personal disciples every day.

She wondered often what her shizun was doing out there, all alone with that healer from Si’en. Was he having a bad time? A hard time? That Lei Wenhe seemed like one of the few people who didn’t fall for her shizun’s charms, so it must be quite the adjustment to be with someone like that all day.

Xie Huiyan didn’t know much about her teacher, not really. Not beyond the basics. She knew what he was like as a cultivator, and she knew what he was like as a teacher, but beyond that, he was a mystery. She had no idea what he was like in private, or when he was relaxing. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen him relax. Now that he was on the run, and now that he didn’t have any of those heavy responsibilities sitting on his shoulders…she hoped that he was getting to relax some, even if it was at the expense of that Lei Wenhe.

Hou Conglin wiped off the sweat that had gathered at the base of his neck while he’d practiced the sword and glanced back, his gaze finding Xie Huiyan in an instant. “Shijie,” he said.

“Hm?”

“Xie-zongzhu can’t stay here forever,” he said. “If Shizun never comes back, she’ll have to pick someone else to take charge. “

Xie Huiyan frowned. “He isn’t—”

“And don’t say that he isn’t going to be gone forever. He was declared a traitor. All that work he did to get a respectable reputation and—” He stopped when Xie Huiyan pointed her sword at him and held up his hands. “It’s just a question.”

“It isn’t just a question. You’ve been wanting to climb higher since the moment you came here.”

Hou Conglin sneered. “Well, excuse me for not wanting to remain in the filth of poverty. Someone like you who was born into power would never understand.”

Xie Huiyan wanted to hit him. If Lai Liu was here, she would be holding onto Xie Huiyan’s arm, stopping her from charging at Hou Conglin before Xie Huiyan was even aware that she wanted to. If Shizun was here, he would calmly drop a hand onto Xie Huiyan’s shoulder, or he would give her this look that would make whatever fight had coiled up in her calm down in an instant. But neither of them were here right now, and Xie Huiyan was the oldest current disciple of Zheng-zhangmen here, and it was Xie Huiyan’s job to keep it together. “Hou Conglin, even if Shizun has been declared a fugitive, you’re still his disciple.”

“Oh, please. He’s not even in the Xie clan anymore. How can he be our shizun still?” Hou Conglin rolled his eyes and stabbed his sword into the wooden figure in front of him, catching it right where its heart would be. “I’m hoping to get an audience with Xie Rong and ask her about the rights to succession.”

“Hou Conglin!” Xie Huiyan was so angry she couldn’t even speak, and just pointed at her shidi with a quaking finger.

“Shijie, we have to adjust to this new world. I’m not going to let Shizun hold me back.”

“He never held you back! How dare you say that!”

“He’s a former slave. No matter what he does—no matter how good he is, or how many demons he kills, or how many secret missions that he thinks we don’t know about that he carries out for Xie-zongzhu, he’s never going to be clan leader. Xie-zongzhu would choose you over clan leader before she ever chose Shizun.”

Xie Huiyan knew it was true, but she hated those words coming out of Hou Conglin’s mouth—“former slave.” They never used those words here, and they never viewed people that way. Their shizun did a lot of work to make sure that nobody had to feel lesser than—that they never had to remember that they were slaves. In fact, any slave-related discrimination was strictly against the rules, and would be met with several days of punishment. Lai Liu took it deathly seriously, and Xie Huiyan did the same, but Hou Conglin had never put much importance in being careful about such things. It was one of the things that had separated him from the two of them since they first met.

She put her face in her hands and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Just give it time,” she said. “Don’t turn your back on Shizun like this.”

“I’m not turning my back on Shizun. I’m just trying to be realistic. If we don’t prepare ourselves for when Shizun is gone, then we’ve let him down as disciples, haven’t we? And if we let someone else take charge of Shizun’s district, then all the work he’s done will go to waste.” He put a hand on Xie Huiyan’s shoulder, mirroring their shizun. He always mirrored their shizun. He was handsome, he was charming, he was talented in all areas. Everyone said he was the next Zheng Xiaolang. “You know as well as I do that Shizun isn’t sentimental. He doesn’t cling to things like titles. We shouldn’t hold on to what it was like before just because it was Shizun. He would want us to adapt. If he comes back, then he comes back—but we can’t just sit around and wait for him.”

He was right. Xie Huiyan hated it, but he was right. There was no telling when their shizun would be back. Xie Rong was in charge of his district now, and if that continued—what kind of changes would she implement? What kind of place would their shizun have to come back to if they stood back and let Xie Rong do whatever she wanted?

“Okay,” she said. “For now, we should investigate what Xie Rong is doing here. What she plans to do. Don’t make a move yet. I’ll send a Lightfoot in to see what they can find out. The last one could only get the reason for the declaration, not what Xie Rong wanted out of it.”

Hou Conglin nodded. “Yes, shijie.”

…

In Songjiang, Wu Enlai was just now hearing about Zheng Xiaolang’s arrival in his capital city. He had an intricate system of information set up around his city, one that was incredibly and impressively reliable. The original point of it was not to know when fugitives on the run arrived—the Wu territory constantly had people coming in who were on the run just like Zheng Xiaolang, most of them escaped slaves. No, the original point was to make sure Qin spies weren’t coming in.

All the territories were dealing with their own issues. While Shen was battling Quiet Death, worried about the way the disease spreading out from Qian Dong’s territory, Cao was closing all of its borders to make sure that none of the disease could even think about entering. Xie was closing its own borders and, with the assurance that the unoccupied land connecting Xie and Shen would surrender power to Xie, would protect that unoccupied land, too, from Quiet Death. Then, unrelated to Quiet Death, there was Yu dealing with the invasion from Long, losing their heir and then their territories one by one, and simultaneously were also dealing with a flood on their northernmost river.

Wu was dealing with the imminent threat of war.

Wu Enlai’s mother breaking away from Qin and starting her own territory within the district originally given to her by the Qin clan was…not easily forgiven, especially since it had happened so recently—within the last two hundred years. There were a lot of people alive today who remembered that moment. Qin Ye wasn’t clan leader when the Wu clan formed, but her father had been, and she remembered well the fury their entire family had felt. The betrayal. Though it wasn’t wise to start a war, she dreamed of it anyway. One day, she would take her family’s land back from the traitor and his slave-friends, and she would give that island to one of her own sect leaders. That’s what she thought. She didn’t even consider what Long Qingge did, the leniency of allowing the conquered districts to remain under the same sect leaders—she wanted Wu Enlai gone. She wanted Wu Enlai, Yan Tao, Jia Dongmei, and Shi Huang gone. Or dead, she didn’t care. She thought it was foolish of Long Qingge to let the districts keep their sect leaders. Wasn’t that just asking for those people to rise up and take control again? It was hard to govern discontent people.

Wu Enlai knew all of this about Qin Ye. His mother had told him a lot about the Qin family—she’d grown up in the Qin household, grown up alongside Qin Ye. She understood them intricately, and she made Wu Enlai understand them intricately. But, as it turned out, Qin Ye wasn’t the problem. She wanted that land back, but she wasn’t about to start a war over it while the rest of the territories were locked in all their different tensions. The problem was Han Weiyuan, one of Qin Ye’s sect leaders. He was young, he was dealing with the inferiority complex of someone working alongside Qin Ye’s son, and he was eager to prove himself to Qin Ye. So, even against Qin Ye’s wishes, he was sending out little tests, little spies—how to best invade Wu? How to best impress Qin Ye?

These things were confirmed by Wu Enlai’s information network.

But now, that spy network was telling him something a little different than the usual “We found more people from Han Weiyuan, we’re watching him now.” It was something unusual—something he hadn’t quite expected, even though he’d heard the news that Zheng Xiaolang was on the run. Now that he thought about it, though, it quite made sense; in most senses of the word, Wu Enlai was a neutral party. He didn’t have any long-standing relationships with anyone other than Qin, and his only real alliance, with Cao, was only for trading purposes. He didn’t really have a strong motive to turn Zheng Xiaolang in to anybody. Even so, he was a little pleased that a man like him had come to Wu Enlai’s island, even if it wasn’t to get help from Wu Enlai himself.

He went out and found one of his cultivators. He was busy training, but it was a casual kind of training—he’d already done everything necessary for the day, and now was just training to stay in shape and to keep moving. At the sight of Wu Enlai, he grinned and sheathed his sword, his free arm wiping sweat away from his forehead.

“Hey, Enlai-ah. What’s wrong?”

Wu Enlai couldn’t help but smile back at him. Fang Zi’an was a loyal man. He’d worked for Wu Enlai since he was young and hadn’t once wavered in loyalty. If Wu Enlai was older, he might be so bold that he would call him his son—but they weren’t that far apart in age anyway. “Nothing’s wrong. I just got some interesting news.”

“Hm? What sort?”

“Zheng Xiaolang. He’s in Songjiang.”

Fang Zi’an’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“I’m a little eager to see him again. Would you mind going out and finding him, see if he wants to come here?”

“It’d be my honor. Should I offer him a room?”

“Offer him two, somewhere with a good bathhouse.” Wu Enlai had heard another interesting thing, one that made him even more excited than hearing about Zheng Xiaolang coming to Songjiang—he’d heard that Zheng Xiaolang had brought along the healer too. Not just any healer—the great healer. Lei Wenhe. The one who could cure Golden Core Turns Black. Now, this wasn’t anything that Wu Enlai was concerned about, as neither he nor any of his cultivators had the misfortune of experiencing Golden Core Turns Black, but he would still really like to meet him. The man had been in the cultivation world for a very short period of time and already he’d built himself an impressive reputation. Not only that, but now he had one of the most impressive cultivators traveling with him, and probably protecting him, if Wu Enlai’s sources were correct. And of course they were.

Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe had found themselves a relatively cheap inn outside of Songjiang, since all the ones inside the city were too expensive for Lei Wenhe to be comfortable. It was simple and it didn’t have a bathhouse or easy access to a bathhouse, but it was clean, and the two of them shared the bed without much complaint, just grateful that they were no longer having to deal with the rock of the boat beneath them.

The cultivator came to them early the next morning. He had a very bright countenance, the kind of face that would make you feel better just by looking at it. When Zheng Xiaolang opened up his door to see this bright-eyed person standing in his doorway, he was tempted almost to close it right up again. It wasn’t just how cheerful he looked, which Zheng Xiaolang found inherently suspicious—it was that he was in cultivator’s robes, that he was holding a sword in one hand, and that he had a sharp intelligence behind his gaze that told Zheng Xiaolang he knew exactly who Zheng Xiaolang was.

“Hello, Daxia.” He put his hands together and bowed. Zheng Xiaolang put his hands together too. “My name is Fang Zi’an. I’m sure you can put together who I work for.”

He had those black cultivator’s robes, which could just mean that he was a wandering cultivator—but he also had, hanging from his waist, a charm with the character ‘Wu’ on it. He was Wu Enlai’s man, and probably high-up too; Zheng Xiaolang had heard that Wu Enlai gave that charm only to his most trusted cultivators.

“I know,” Zheng Xiaolang said, and behind his back waved his hand a little so Lei Wenhe would know not to come any closer. “And you know who I am.”

Fang Zi’an smiled with all his teeth. “Should I say it out loud? I thought I might wait until we didn’t have to worry about anyone listening in.”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know if he was playing a game here, or if he was just being friendly. Zheng Xiaolang had met a lot of people who seemed friendly that were actually anything but—he was like that. He had built up charm and charisma both like a shield and a weapon, and he used it to his advantage. The question was, was Fang Zi’an doing the same thing? Did Wu Enlai send him here for that reason—to disarm Zheng Xiaolang to let his guard down? Well, Zheng Xiaolang was experienced in lying to people with a smile. Fang Zi’an could be as pretty as could be and Zheng Xiaolang still wouldn’t let himself be fooled. He returned the smile, just as wide, and leaned against the door frame. “Fang-daxia. I hope you’re not trying to threaten me.”

“Oh, please don’t misunderstand.” Fang Zi’an’s words were concerned, but the smile didn’t drop from his face. “I’m not here to harm you or…your friend.”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t waver, didn’t confirm that Lei Wenhe was standing in the room somewhere behind him.

“I’m here on behalf of the man I’m working for. He wants to have a meeting. Is that alright with you?”

“Mn…do we have a choice?”

“Naturally I couldn’t force Daxia to do anything he didn’t want to do. But that person I work for can give you a very comfortable place to sleep, and very good things to eat, and we can give you our personal assurances that we won’t reveal your location to anyone else.”

“Your word? This cultivator doesn’t know you. How could I find any credence in your word?”

One side of Fang Zi’an’s mouth pulled up even more, turning his smile crooked. “Daxia, please think about it. If we were going to turn you in, why would we come here and warn you first?”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed. “I have thought about it, and the answer is simple. You were afraid I would run, and you want to keep me in one place until someone can come get me.”

Fang Zi’an’s smile turned a little exasperated. Then his gaze moved, focusing on something behind Zheng Xiaolang.

“We should go,” came Lei Wenhe’s quiet voice, and Zheng Xiaolang suppressed a sigh. “It’s okay. I wanted to meet Wu Enlai anyway.”

Even if it was a trap? Zheng Xiaolang tried to communicate that question with his eyes. Lei Wenhe just shook his head at him.

“If you’re sure,” Zheng Xiaolang said, and then to the cultivator: “Wu-zongzhu just wants to talk?”

Fang Zi’an nodded. “He wanted me to tell you that, if you feel at all uncomfortable, you’re free to leave.”

That’s what he was saying now, but Zheng Xiaolang had only met Wu Enlai once or twice and didn’t have any intention in trusting such declarations. If Wu Enlai made a single wrong move, Zheng Xiaolang was grabbing Lei Wenhe and taking him away.

“It’ll be fine, Xiaolang,” said Lei Wenhe, and their gazes connected, and Zheng Xiaolang was caught so off-guard by Lei Wenhe using his first name that he could only nod dazedly. “Come along.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Maybe I'm a romantic.

IT WAS STRANGE how young Wu Enlai looked. All of the other clan leaders that Lei Wenhe had met so far had been over a hundred years old, but they’d looked older too—not a hundred years “older,” of course, but at least above middle-aged. Time had touched them before they’d found immortality, so they had wrinkles on their faces, however fine, and gray hairs. But Wu Enlai was not someone who had to wait so long for immortality. Just like Zheng Xiaolang, he’d become immortal young, not even forty years old yet. His face still had the traces of youth on it—a kind of vibrancy that none of the other clan leaders had.

Of all the clans, the Wu clan was the only one that didn’t make Lei Wenhe angry.

The other clans had formed in mimicry of the noble families of Murmuring Springs. They had copied their colors, their architecture, and even sometimes their ways of teaching young disciples. But Wu had formed after splitting off from Qin. There was no black-clad family of Murmuring Springs. In Yingde, in Qingyuan, in Lühe—everywhere Lei Wenhe looked, he saw the bloodied bodies of the Xue family, the Huo family, the Hai family. The remnants of that horrible massacre. The screams of the ones who had been so unlucky to survive, to find their loved ones cut apart in their beds. But Wu was…different. Their food was better, for one—the people of Murmuring Springs cooked food with similar flavor profiles, so similar that Lei Wenhe was able to both stomach Wu food and enjoy it as well. And then, they didn’t dress like anyone from Murmuring Springs. Their food was good, and it was similar to Murmuring Springs, but it wasn’t a mimicry. Lei Wenhe knew that food in Wu was made from a mixture of spices native to the island and imported spices from Cao—the only commonalities Wu had with Murmuring Springs were a mere coincidence of circumstance. That was all. Lei Wenhe could stand in Songjiang surrounded by cultivators and have a little taste of home without feeling as if the people of Murmuring Springs were watching him, waiting for him. Accusing him for surviving.

Wu Enlai was standing in front of him now. Wu Enlai, who wore the black that wasn’t present anywhere in Murmuring Springs. Wu Enlai, who had taken no part in the massacre. Wu Enlai, who was standing with his people instead of sitting in a throne above them—who didn’t even have a throne room, who was meeting them in a room that had been designed for meeting and strategies rather than for ruling. Wu Enlai, who smiled at Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe and Fang Zi’an as they came in, who came toward them immediately.

Lei Wenhe liked him immediately. He hated the cultivation world, and he hated all mortals, but he liked Wu Enlai. After all, the things he hated mortals the most for—namely the massacre and their compliance with and participation in slavery—were not things that Wu Enlai had any part of.

“Ah, hello!” Wu Enlai, upon noticing them, said a few more words to the people he was talking to, and the people smiled and clapped him on the shoulder and then left. Wu Enlai turned toward the entering party. “Zi’an, you were faster than I thought.”

“Enlai-ah.” Fang Zi’an’s voice was affectionate. “You weren’t doing anything important?”

“It can wait. I’d like to talk to our honorable guests first.” Wu Enlai’s smile was almost boyish. “Zheng-zhangmen.” He was holding a black fan like Lei Wenhe’s in one hand, the pattern indiscernible in its folded position, and he clasped it between both hands as he bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s face had been stuck in his I’m-charming expression since the moment that Fang Zi’an had shown up at their door, and it got more intense as Wu Enlai approached them. “Wu-zongzhu.”

“No need to be so formal. We’re glad to have you here. And, Lei-xiansheng.” Wu Enlai’s smile was overwhelmingly warm. He bowed again toward Lei Wenhe, an even deeper bow than he’d offered Zheng Xiaolang. “It really is an honor. I’ve been wanting to meet you, I just hate to go to places like…well.” He lifted his hands. “I’ll just say it isn’t a pleasant experience for me to go onto the mainland, so I’m grateful you came here instead.”

“The pleasure is mine, Wu-zongzhu.” For once, this was actually almost the truth.

“Oh, you don’t need to be formal either. We hardly use titles here, any of us. Can I ask, how was the journey?”

“Long,” said Lei Wenhe. “Crowded.”

“You took one of the standard passenger ships from Taibei, I’m assuming?”

“Mn. They’d brought more people than usual on, I think, for the money. There was hardly enough room for us.”

Wu Enlai shook his head dejectedly. “I keep wanting to send more ships to Taibei, but it just results in more careful inspections from Long Qingge. I’m sorry your experience was so poor.”

“It’s over now.” It had been uncomfortable, but it was nothing Lei Wenhe couldn’t stand—in fact, after he’d spent so long in isolation, being in a crowded environment like that hadn’t really affected him at all. “There’s no need to think about it any longer.”

Wu Enlai looked at him for a moment, his smile soft. Then he gestured for them to come further into the room, where there were some seats and tables. “Come, sit. Fang Zi’an went to fetch you at your room, I know—have either of you eaten breakfast? Can I get you anything?”

“Wenhe.” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice was low. He gripped Lei Wenhe’s upper arm with one hand. Wu Enlai’s gaze landed on that hand and his smile faded.

“Ah. I’m sure you worried I’ll turn you in.”

Zheng Xiaolang just gave him a boyish smile in return, but Lei Wenhe had seen that smile enough times and knew him well enough that he knew the smile wasn’t reaching his eyes. “I’m a wanted traitor in Xie, and Lei Wenhe is owned by Long Qingge. Those are two powerful people that you wouldn’t want to upset, especially with your difficulties with Qin.”

“Mn…well, actually, those are two people that I go out of my way to avoid pleasing. As for my issues with Qin, and specifically Han Weiyuan, that’s something that neither of you need to worry about.” He slowly spread out his fan with two of his fingers, revealing the ‘Wu’ character painted in white across its leaf. “You haven’t had the chance to talk since Zi’an came to get you. Tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll leave the two of you alone to talk about this.”

Zheng Xiaolang was watching him carefully. Lei Wenhe needed to do something to repair this situation before he lost his chance to get Wu Enlai’s trust.

“Do you perhaps have…” Lei Wenhe feigned at shyness, turning his eyes down, his tongue tracing at his lips as if he was imagining a certain taste.

“Please, whatever you want, ask.”

“Xiaolang bought me this soup in your market. I don’t really know what it’s called, but…”

Wu Enlai brightened. “Our Songjiang’s famous wonton soup?”

“Yes, that must be it.” Lei Wenhe pretended to muster a tiny smile at him.

“I’m beyond pleased that you liked it. Fang Zi’an, let’s the both of us go and make the orders. Zheng-zhangmen…” He waved his fan in his face, blowing the few strands he hadn’t put up out of his face. “I really won’t turn you. I don’t know how else to prove it to you, other than giving you my word. You can go wherever you like, but…well, I can give you food and drink, and I can offer you a place to rest, but I won’t force you to stay here.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Lei Wenhe, and Zheng Xiaolang smiled without reply.

They were left alone in that meeting room, the two of them—two bowls of soup were delivered at once, but other than that they were left alone there. Lei Wenhe dove in, sipping eagerly at the broth, but Zheng Xiaolang didn’t touch his.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Wu Enlai hasn’t done anything to betray our trust.”

“He hasn’t anything to gain our trust.”

“Hasn’t he?” Lei Wenhe scooped up a wonton and put the whole thing into his mouth. “He clearly doesn’t politically align himself with Long Qingge or Xie Rong, and, like Fang Zi’an said, they could have revealed where we were without ever giving us a heads up. Even if that isn’t enough to gain your trust, such behavior is at least enough to avoid your suspicion.”

“I’m suspicious of everyone,” Zheng Xiaolang said.

“I know that. But if you wanted to escape, couldn’t you?”

“Wu Enlai is a formidable foe. In the unofficial ranks, he’s directly below me.”

“So? You escaped Long Qingge, and she’s more powerful than you.”

Zheng Xiaolang let out a huff of a laugh. “Long Qingge didn’t know I was trying to escape. Until I left with you, there was no reason to suspect that I would betray her. But Wu Enlai knows that I want to leave, and he knows that I don’t trust him. He’s probably waiting outside right now, waiting for us to—”

“That’s your paranoia speaking.”

Zheng Xiaolang stopped and glared at Lei Wenhe.

“We don’t have a choice right now. Chen Tian won’t be here for a few weeks still, but he’s expecting us in Songjiang. Shouldn’t we take advantage of Wu Enlai’s hospitality?”

Zheng Xiaolang just kept glaring, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re only upset because he came to you first. You don’t like that you aren’t in control.”

“What’s your plan, Lei Wenhe?” Now his words were dangerously quiet. “What happens if Wu Enlai betrays us—what then? You can’t defend yourself, especially not against someone as powerful as Wu Enlai. That Fang Zi’an, too—he’s a powerful cultivator, probably in the top fifty. We’re in a sect surrounded by cultivators like that. What happens if they trap you underground like Long Qingge did? What happens if they send you back to Long Qingge?”

“If they do that,” Lei Wenhe returned, “then I think I’ll survive.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s expression turned pained. “It isn’t about surviving. It’s about not getting hurt anymore.”

“I’ll get hurt either way,” said Lei Wenhe. “That’s what life is.” There was no amount of pain they could inflict on him, anyway, that would compare with all that he had felt the night of the massacre. “If they capture me, and if I go back to that dungeon, or if Wu Enlai puts me in his own dungeon, then I will just have to wait until I can escape again. I got the chance with Long Qingge once, and I—”

“Do you really think you can get the same chance twice? Do you think Long Qingge is so naive that she’ll leave you alone for even a moment and let you escape?”

“Zheng Xiaolang, I choose to trust people. That is all.”

“You…” He groaned out loud and rubbed his face with his hands. “Lei Wenhe, how can you survive like this?”

“If you only see the worst in people, that’s all you’ll ever get.” Lei Wenhe didn’t believe such nonsense, but he knew that it would strike a chord with Zheng Xiaolang. Sure enough, Zheng Xiaolang winced. “If you don’t trust Wu Enlai, at least trust me.”

“Wenhe…”

“If you don’t trust Wu Enlai, at least trust my intuition. Or view it like this—you told me you would take me wherever I want to go. Right now, I want to be in Songjiang with Wu Enlai. Will that be enough?”

Zheng Xiaolang sighed. “If this is what you want,” he said, “then it’s what we’ll do. But at the first sign of trouble—”

“The both of us will leave. I promise you I won’t resist then. Plus, you know.” Lei Wenhe unfurled his fan and hid his face behind it, only giving Zheng Xiaolang a glimpse of mischievous eyes. “I have a weapon now.”

Zheng Xiaolang let out an incredulous laugh, and then he laughed again for real. “Wenhe, really…”

“Eat your soup,” said Lei Wenhe. “It’s free food.”

“Ah, that’s…”

“You’re still troubled?”

“No, the food…”

“Oh, I understand.” Lei Wenhe nudged Zheng Xiaolang’s shoulder. “Wu cuisine is too spicy for the great Zheng-zhangmen.”

“Don’t tease me.” But a real, genuine smile had graced Zheng Xiaolang’s handsome features, and he’d lost some of the tension that had been keeping his body rigid. Lei Wenhe’s index finger slowly traced the button on his fan.

…

After Zheng Xiaolang got over himself and Wu Enlai and Fang Zi’an came back in, the conversation was a lot more pleasant than before. Wu Enlai ordered another, milder dish for Zheng Xiaolang to eat, and they ate together at one of the tables. Zheng Xiaolang, still a little wary, didn’t open up quickly to Wu Enlai, but as the meal progressed he seemed to begin to enjoy the conversation, and even laughed a few times at things that Wu Enlai or Fang Zi’an said.

“I have to say,” Wu Enlai said, “I’ve admired you for a very long time, Zheng-zhangmen.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“He talks about you all the time,” Fang Zi’an muttered. “Zheng Xiaolang this and Zheng Xiaolang that…and now he’s talking about—”

Wu Enlai’s hand clapped over Fang Zi’an’s mouth. “That’s about enough out of you, Zi’an. Zheng-zhangmen, it’s nothing untoward. I just admired you for all the work you’d done under a woman like Xie Rong. I imagine it wasn’t easy to resist the way you did in the face of the entire slave industry.”

Zheng Xiaolang dipped his head down in acknowledgment.

“It’s one thing for someone like me to do work like that, but for you…it’s extraordinary. It really is.”

Lei Wenhe could tell Zheng Xiaolang was a little embarrassed, to be praised to his face like this. People so high up very rarely praised him at all, whether it be for his accomplishments or his strength as a cultivator; there was some sort of widespread agreement that any praise toward Zheng Xiaolang—or any slave-born cultivator, for that matter—would in some way make their egos reach to mountainous proportions, and in the process forget that they were slave-born, that they were lesser-than, that they were never going to accomplish anything that they weren’t previously permitted to accomplish. Xie Rong and Long Qingge would just tell Zheng Xiaolang that he’d done ‘well’. Not that he was extraordinary. Never that he was extraordinary.

“Thank you for the compliment, Wu-zongzhu.”

“Ah—just Wu Enlai, remember?”

“Right.” Zheng Xiaolang laughed and nodded. “Thank you, Wu Enlai. You can do the same.”

“Now you’ve pleased him too much,” said Fang Zi’an with a defeated expression. “The whole clan will suffer. He’ll tell everyone four times over that he’s allowed to speak casually with the great Zheng-zhangmen.”

“And Lei-xiansheng,” said Wu Enlai.

“No title, please. I’ve never been one for titles.”

“Here we go,” Fang Zi’an said. “Now he’s on a casual basis with—”

“Enough, Zi’an.” Wu Enlai poked Fang Zi’an’s shoulder with his fan, chuckling. “This is what I get for not acting like a clan leader.”

Fang Zi’an rubbed the spot that was poked as if he’d been deeply wounded. “It’s your fault, anyway. Now go on and grovel at the poor healer like you wanted to.”

“Aiya~” He turned to Lei Wenhe again, rolling his eyes. “Don’t mind him. I’ll teach him a lesson some day, you can rest assured. As I was trying to say before, Lei Wenhe—I’m sure this has been said already a thousand times to you, but I’ve heard so many incredible things.”

“Oh, that isn’t—”

“Don’t let him downplay it.” Zheng Xiaolang put his hand back on Lei Wenhe’s arm. “He’s already healed two clan leaders and who knows how many more cultivators. And his understanding of qi is really—”

“Xiaolang,” Lei Wenhe said, “that’s not really…”

“Modest, too,” said Wu Enlai approvingly. “Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Just because Lei Wenhe knew it would upset Zheng Xiaolang: “I spent most of my life in Guangning.”

“Guangning? I’ve never been that far north.”

“It’s beautiful, but it’s cold.”

Zheng Xiaolang was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Maybe Lei Wenhe had been too hasty in trying to rile him up.

“Maybe one day, when the political sphere isn’t so tense, the two of you can take me. I’d love to see the place the Master Healer came from.”

Wu Enlai may be a good man, but he wasn’t ever going to see where Lei Wenhe came from. Lei Wenhe didn’t even know if he, himself, was ever going to be able to see that place again. But he gave his little smile anyway and nodded, and waved his fan a little.

After they talked for a while, Wu Enlai had to go back to speaking with his officials, and Fang Zi’an took Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe to their rooms. The architecture was modest and functional, designed for easy security rather than showing off. There were gardens, but they were all edible plants—beauty in functionality, and all that. Lei Wenhe was liking the Wu clan more and more.

“I imagine you want your own rooms,” Fang Zi’an said. “Did they make you share on the boat?”

Zheng Xiaolang just groaned, and Fang Zi’an laughed.

“Yes, that’s what I thought. I’ve heard some horror stories about those ships. I imagine the two of you got closer because of it.”

“Well,” said Lei Wenhe, “I’d like to think we got closer after Zheng Xiaolang decided to throw away his reputation for me.”

“It’s good to have a loyal friend like that. Zheng-zhangmen, here’s yours.”

Zheng Xiaolang peered into the room Fang Zi’an was gesturing to. “Is Wu Enlai going to expect us?”

“No, I suspect he’ll be busy for some time, but I’m sure he’ll like to see you for dinner, if you’re available. In the meantime, please feel free to order whatever food you like, return to the market whenever you like, and enjoy our baths at your pleasure.” He pressed something into both their hands—two gold charms just like his, with the ‘Wu’ symbol stamped into it. “Tie these to your waists and the guards will let you back in. If you somehow lose them—and please don’t, it will really cause some trouble for me—then ask for me by name, and I’ll come let you in. If you show them to shopkeepers or innkeepers, too, anything you buy will just be charged to the palace, so you won’t have to worry about funds.”

Zheng Xiaolang was holding the charm with a stunned expression. “You…are you sure Wu Enlai is okay with this? Isn’t this only for his most trusted officials?”

Fang Zi’an waved a hand. “Couldn’t you tell? He’s such a big fan of the both of you that he can hardly stand it. I’m sure he’ll ask you at some point to spar, but you can just ignore him.”

“Excuse me—Fang Zi’an?” Lei Wenhe was still trying to tie the little charm to his waist, or at least was pretending to struggle with it. Zheng Xiaolang sighed and came over to help him. “Wu-zongzhu—I mean, Wu Enlai, he doesn’t want me to talk to his healers?”

Fang Zi’an blinked a few times. He said, “Is Lei Wenhe hurt? If you need a healer, I can have one sent to your room.”

“Oh, no, that’s not it.” Lei Wenhe had been delaying it as much as possible, but his wounds were really nothing to wince at anymore. Except for the ones that Zheng Xiaolang redressed the night before, they were all closed. It wasn’t something he could use for sympathy anymore, at least not for now—he had the feeling that dragon brand would come in handy sooner or later. “Most people want me to talk to their healers to teach them Black Core Turns Golden.”

Another pause. Fang Zi’an nodded. “Yes, well, I asked Enlai about that too—and he thought that it wasn’t any use asking you. If you were going to share it, or if you could share it, you would have already done so. We won’t burden you with such tasks. Please just enjoy yourself in Songjiang.”

“There’s no one I need to heal, or—”

“Lei Wenhe,” Fang Zi’an cut in gently, “the only thing Wu Enlai wants is for you to relax. We don’t know the details of what happened to you in Long, and we won’t ask for those details, but we know how Long Qingge is. At least, I know how Long Qingge is. After spending any amount of time with that woman, I think you should rest.”

“You know…?”

Fang Zi’an just smiled and shook his head. “Your room is just to the left. If you go back the way we came, you’ll see the dining hall, if you want anything to eat. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

They were left alone again in the palace grounds of Songjiang.

Neither Zheng Xiaolang nor Lei Wenhe went inside their rooms. Zheng Xiaolang finished tying the charm at Lei Wenhe’s waist and then quietly tied his own.

“What do you want to do today?” Lei Wenhe asked. “I don’t think I’ve had free time like this in a while. I feel like maybe I should be…doing something. Healing somebody.”

“Doesn’t it exhaust you?”

Lei Wenhe didn’t answer right away. Exhaust him?

“The healing, I mean. Qi manipulation must be exhausting.”

“Not really.” Did mortal cultivators get exhausted with things like this? “I wanted to get some more herbs, now that I have this fan.”

“What does one thing have to do with the other?”

“The needle will incapacitate someone, but that’s only if they don’t have a high enough pain tolerance, and only if I catch them in the right place. If I dip the needle in a simple paralytic, I can be assured that I’ll take that person down.”

Lei Wenhe’s affect was totally flat, like he hadn’t just casually dropped that he was capable of making such poisons. Zheng Xiaolang stared at him, astonished, and then he laughed. “Okay,” he said, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“If you would like.”

Of course Zheng Xiaolang was going to go with him. They were in Songjiang, in a territory whose clan leader promised them protection, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t going to turn them in anyway. Zheng Xiaolang needed to protect him.

It seemed strange, being with Lei Wenhe like this. When they weren’t looking over their shoulders so often, it felt almost…domestic. Like Lei Wenhe just lived with Zheng Xiaolang in Anlu as his sect’s healer; like he came along with Zheng Xiaolang during lessons with the disciples and sat in the shade of the willow trees, flipping through a book from Zheng Xiaolang’s library, his gaze occasionally lifting to watch the disciples train; like he came to eat alongside Zheng Xiaolang and his disciples in the dining hall, sipping at his too-spicy soup while everyone else ate Xie cuisine. The suspicions Zheng Xiaolang had held over Lei Wenhe now seemed so…distant. Unreasonable. He’d had so many chances by now to break Zheng Xiaolang’s trust, to take advantage of him, to choose anything but helping people, but he’d never done that. Why had he been so suspicious in the beginning? Why did he still have those lingering suspicions now, eating at the back of his mind, reminding him that he really couldn’t trust anyone in this world?

Lei Wenhe showed his Wu token to the herbalist and then carefully selected his herbs. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t recognize half the names of these plants, nor their appearance. He’d spent a lot of time developing his different abilities as a cultivator—swordsmanship, qi regulation, qinggong, and so on, but he’d never thought to concentrate on creating anything more than simple healing salves. Why should he? What use would he have for poisons? In the world Zheng Xiaolang lived in, poisons had no place; in the world Zheng Xiaolang lived in, wars were fought with swords, and personal disputes were settled the same way. Which begged the question—

What kind of world did Lei Wenhe live in?

His response to realizing that the needle was a tricky thing with varying effectiveness was not a progression from “What can I use to make this more reliably effective?” to “How do I create something I can put on this needle?” Rather, he’d arrived directly at “I need to make a paralytic.” There was no hesitation in the way he selected his herbs, only pausing to pick through the different bundles of the same plant, like he knew what ingredients he needed but wanted the best quality ones. Lei Wenhe knew how to make paralytics, which probably meant he knew how to make other poisons as well. What kind of world did he live in that such things were necessary? Did they perhaps have other uses that only a healer would understand?

“Where…” The question started coming out before Zheng Xiaolang realized, and he quickly shut his mouth. Lei Wenhe looked over at him.

“Hm?” He was tucking the herbs he’d selected into a small cloth bag.

“Well, I was just wondering where you learned these kinds of things.”

Lei Wenhe’s eyebrows came together. “Packing herbs?”

“Making poisons.”

“Ah. Would you believe me if I told you it was a common practice in Guangning?”

“I’ve been to Guangning,” Zheng Xiaolang said.

“Then that’s a no?”

Zheng Xiaolang rolled his eyes. “That’s a no. Did your father teach you?”

Lei Wenhe got a strange, sharp look in his eye, but he closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath—and when he opened his eyes again, he looked like normal. His unreadable normal. “No,” he said, “I taught myself.”

Zheng Xiaolang must have looked confused, because Lei Wenhe just grabbed his sleeve and tugged him back out of the store and into the street.

“It was just a simple matter of trial and error.” He released Zheng Xiaolang’s sleeve so he could tuck his newly-acquired herbs into the bag slung across his back. “Trying out different plants, seeing what combinations worked. That sort of thing.”

“How did you test it out? Animals?”

He shook his head. “On myself.”

Zheng Xiaolang choked. He sputtered for a few moments, hitting his chest until the breath returned. “Is that a joke?”

“Come, Xiaolang. You know I’m not one for jokes.”

Lei Wenhe, testing poisons on himself…Zheng Xiaolang could faintly imagine him hunched somewhere in a rundown house in Guangding, surrounded with leaves and lines and roots of all colors and shapes, his breathing ragged, nobody coming to check on him—Zheng Xiaolang felt dizzy.

“Did you discover the cure—Black Core Turns Golden like that?”

“No. That just came from my understanding of qi.”

How lonely was Lei Wenhe’s life before this? How many people had he had by his side? Was Zheng Xiaolang really his only friend? How could Zheng Xiaolang even call himself his friend when he still sometimes suspected him?

“Should we get something for Wu Enlai?” Lei Wenhe had abandoned their topic of conversation and was drifting toward the trinkets on the side of the road—combs and the like, and little tassels to hang from one’s waist. “A gift to thank him. And something for Fang Zi’an, as well. I think his mood turned a little sour when we talked about Long Qingge there, at the end.”

“What kind of gifts should we get them?” Zheng Xiaolang would have to look through his funds. It wouldn’t be right to spend Wu Enlai’s money on something that was supposed to be a gift for him. Before Lei Wenhe could suggest it, he added: “I don’t think a comb would be wise. That seems…romantic.”

“Maybe I’m a romantic.”

That left a bitter taste in Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth. “So now you’re interested in Wu Enlai or Fang Zi’an?”

“No, that time it was a joke.”

“Wenhe, really, you—”

Lei Wenhe kept walking, trailing his hands along the tassels, looking at all the little carved jade figurines attached to them. “I’m not sure what to get them. As a sect leader, what would you normally get for someone like Wu Enlai?”

“As a sect leader, something terribly boring that neither of them would enjoy. Don’t worry about my opinion. If you want to get something for them, you should pick them out yourself. They would appreciate something personal.”

“It’s your money.”

“My money is yours, Wenhe.”

“Hm…don’t you think you’re going to regret saying something like that?”

“Regret? Regret what? All you eat are fruits and nuts. What could you spend so much money on that I would feel regret?”

“I’ve developed a taste for Wu cuisine.”

“Then eat all the Wu cuisine you like.”

Lei Wenhe let out a huff of a breath and continued through the market. Zheng Xiaolang trailed after him. He felt a bit like a guard right now—Lei Wenhe’s personal guard. That wouldn’t be so far out of place. Lei Wenhe still seemed like a noble to Zheng Xiaolang. In the beginning, his movements seemed graceful, but now—now, no matter what he did, it wasn’t just graceful. It was beautiful. The way he walked, one careful step in front of the other, like every step used his talent in qinggong and floated him a finger’s width above the ground, like he was so ethereal even dirt couldn’t bear to touch him. The way he ate, his lips carefully closing around his food, occasionally brushing against his fingers when he placed a nut or a piece of fruit onto his tongue. The way he spoke, stiff and tight-lipped, like each word cost him a terrible amount, and he had to carefully consider each character before he let it fall out. The way he smiled at Zheng Xiaolang, stiffly, like he hadn’t ever quite learned how to smile, or like he was just trying to make Zheng Xiaolang happy by giving him the reaction he thought he wanted. The way he slept, his body straight as a board but his head bent to one side, like he wanted to curl up into a ball but didn’t have the room to in a bed shared with Zheng Xiaolang. The way he woke up, not nice and slow like any healer Zheng Xiaolang had known but quickly, climbing into consciousness as quickly as he’d fallen asleep, his eyes clearing of drowsiness almost as soon as they’d opened. It was all beautiful.

“You’re staring,” Lei Wenhe said without looking over his shoulder. “Did you want to say something?”

Zheng Xiaolang grinned. He quickened his pace and fell into step beside Lei Wenhe and his arm fell onto Lei Wenhe’s shoulder, which felt like their natural walking position by now. “Doesn’t it feel a little like I’m your bodyguard?”

“Mn. I’m sorry if it feels that way. I don’t mean to make you feel lesser-than.”

“No, not anything like that. I don’t think bodyguards are lesser-than. Don’t you think it feels like that, though—you and me? You, an aristocrat—me, your bodyguard.”

“An aristocrat? Not a noble?”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed and shook the arm around Lei Wenhe’s shoulder, jostling him. “Noble lives are too stuffy, anyway. Think about it, won’t you? If we never go back to Anlu, I’ll just become your bodyguard and you’ll be my lord. Ah—even if we do go back to Anlu, we can just say that’s our cover until then. What do you think?”

“If you want to prostrate yourself at my feet, I won’t stop you.”

“If that’s what will get you to accept my advances, I’m willing to give it a try.”

Lei Wenhe poked at the hand on his shoulder. “And you asked me if qi work exhausted me. Doesn’t acting like this exhaust you?”

“Exhaust me? Oh, please, Wenhe. I could go on all day. I’m making quite an effort to hold back, you know, so I don’t annoy you.”

“This is you holding back?”

“Wenhe, really.” Zheng Xiaolang pretended to be offended. “I didn’t say a word all those nights that we shared a bed, and you know I had the opportunity.”

“Yes, yes—should I thank you for basic social propriety, then?”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed louder and pressed his nose into the side of Lei Wenhe’s head, almost nuzzling him. Lei Wenhe pushed his face back.

It wasn’t that Zheng Xiaolang, at this point, did not take his affection for or attraction to Lei Wenhe seriously, and it wasn’t that he wanted to annoy Lei Wenhe to the point that Lei Wenhe just got tired of him and told him off. It was more that…well, in some manner, Zheng Xiaolang believed that acting like this would hold off any real feelings of attachment. In the cultivation world—especially the heights that Zheng Xiaolang wanted to reach in the cultivation world—there was no place for relationships. If he treated such affections as a jest, then they might in turn become just that: jests.

Sometimes, he wondered whether Lei Wenhe was in disguise. It was strange to assume that there was some kind of human beauty behind that otherwise plain face of his, and there was no possible way to procure a disguise so thorough it looked like a real face. Zheng Xiaolang knew quite a bit about disguises—a person could paint their face, change their gait, and adjust their posture, and the combination of those things could convince a more unobservant person, or someone who didn’t know the original face very well. Zheng Xiaolang had been with Lei Wenhe for months without pause now, and the way he spoke and moved had never changed. They’d also been in the bath together, and had been caught in the rain together—there was no makeup on Lei Wenhe’s face. Even if there was, Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t so foolish that he wouldn’t recognize it.

Zheng Xiaolang brushed his finger along Lei Wenhe’s cheekbone, just in case there was any makeup, but it just felt like skin. Just like soft, warm skin. Lei Wenhe swatted him away.

“What are you doing now?”

“Just seeing if that’s your real face.”

“As opposed to what? A mask?”

“Haha, you’re right.”

“If my face disappoints you so much, you’re free to close your eyes. What about this?” Lei Wenhe was considering a set of writing brushes with intricate jade handles. Zheng Xiaolang shook his head.

“I’m sure they both have writing brushes of all kinds already.”

“Mn…it’s difficult to find a gift for someone while in their own city.”

“Perhaps you could paint something for them. They would like a personal gift like that.”

“It’s no use. I can’t paint.”

“Can’t write, can’t paint…”

Lei Wenhe sighed. “It would really have been better if I could’ve healed someone as thanks.”

“You heal people for free all the time, so what kind of thanks could that be? That’s just operating as normal.”

“I ask you for suggestions, and you tell me I should think of these things myself. Then you turn down everything I can come up with—aren’t you being unreasonable, Zheng-zhangmen?”

“Yes, I’m terribly unreasonable, the fault is mine.” He wanted to press his nose to the side of Lei Wenhe’s head again, inhale the scent there—softly sweet like the oils at the bathhouse, but something else there too, Lei Wenhe’s natural scent. It was a scent he’d smelled often over the past couple months, when Lei Wenhe had slept beside him, but a scent that he still couldn’t quite place. “When we get back, do you want to try some archery again?”

“Haven’t I already made myself clear regarding archery?”

“It can’t hurt to practice a little longer. I can teach you. Don’t you think it’ll be fun?”

“I don’t find making a fool of myself amusing, no. What if we got him one of those fans?” Lei Wenhe shook the suggestion away before Zheng Xiaolang could immediately after making it: “No, that sort of thing won’t be any use to a man like Wu Enlai…he’s more than capable of holding his own without the assistance of a secret needle hidden in his fan, and I think he seemed to have a fairly expensive fan anyway.”

Zheng Xiaolang felt a little sorry for Lei Wenhe struggling through this, so he made a suggestion. “How about you cook something for him?”

“Cook something?”

“Well, your taste is similar to Wu cuisine, isn’t it? I’m sure he’ll enjoy whatever you make for him. Are you very good at cooking?” There was a moment that Zheng Xiaolang had suspected that Lei Wenhe was originally from somewhere in Wu—he liked the food, after all. There was no food like this in Guangning. But he was so surprised when he’d tried that soup that it couldn’t make sense that he was from Wu—wouldn’t he know that the food tasted like that, if he was? So Zheng Xiaolang was leaning more toward two other possibilities: that he was from the southern peninsula of Qin, in Wan Bolin’s district where they had similar spices; or that he was from overseas. But why would he ever end up in Guangning, if either theory were true? What was there for him? Maybe…maybe he was brought over as a slave, and he managed to escape, flee to somewhere remote where he could hide indefinitely. No, but then why would he be willing to travel everywhere to heal people?

“You’re staring again,” said Lei Wenhe.

“Am I?”

“Come this way. I’ll buy ingredients.”

“You’ll really cook?” Zheng Xiaolang was more giddy than he’d expected. He’d never seen Lei Wenhe draw, and he’d never seen him write, but he would get to watch him cook. He would get to taste his cooking.

“You’re the one who suggested it. Why are you so surprised?”

“I didn’t think you would agree. What are you going to cook?”

“Mm…there’s a dish that I used to eat as a child, seven year’s soup. I thought perhaps I could make it for the two of them.”

“Does it take seven years to make?”

“Of course not. It’s just a testament to the tenderness of the meat. It’s so tender it’s as if it was braised for seven years.”

“The meat would rot by then, surely?”

“May I remind you,” Lei Wenhe said, “that I have a fan with a needle in it.”

“It isn’t poisoned though, is it?”

“That can be quickly remedied.”

Zheng Xiaolang really found him too charming. He went along with Lei Wenhe, sticking right by his side as he moved through the different vendors, paying close attention to the selection of ingredients. He picked out vegetables and cuts of meat just as he had picked out his herbs: with great care to find the best quality. Occasionally he asked some questions about this or that, which ingredient would go where—and Lei Wenhe answered every one succinctly. Eventually he asked: “Was this your family’s recipe?” And Lei Wenhe’s hand stilled as he brought something green and leafy up to his nose.

“No. I don’t want to share those with anyone.”

Zheng Xiaolang decided to push it further, even though he knew Lei Wenhe’s family was a touchy subject. “Would you share them with me?”

Lei Wenhe didn’t answer.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Friends, Not Allies

THEY RETURNED AFTER shopping to the rooms that Fang Zi’an had pointed out to them. Lei Wenhe dropped off what he didn’t need and then brought the rest of it to the dining hall.

“Can I watch?”

“If you would like.”

Once he secured a spot in the kitchen for himself, he set to work. First, he dropped all the herbs into a bowl and ground at it a few times with a pestle. Then he paused. He looked at Zheng Xiaolang.

“Do you want to help?”

“Sure.”

Lei Wenhe passed over the bowl. “Grind this up into a very fine paste.”

“Can I taste it?”

“You can if you would like, but I wouldn’t recommend it. That one is the poison.”

Zheng Xiaolang sputtered. “You’re making the poison and the soup at the same time?”

“Why not? I like getting multiple things done at once.”

Lei Wenhe kept saying he was helpless in a fight, but Zheng Xiaolang was suspecting more and more that he was actually a very dangerous man. In a fight, sure, he might lose—but if he had the chance to take advantage before the swords came out, Zheng Xiaolang was sure he could defeat anyone he put his mind to.

“Grind it more gently,” Lei Wenhe said. “You’ll bruise it otherwise.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Zheng Xiaolang gave him a suggestive smile. “I can be gentle if you want me to.”

“I hope you aren’t expecting to get any of this soup.”

Zheng Xiaolang complained a little, but Lei Wenhe ignored him. He took out a cleaver and began chopping at the vegetables. Eventually, with no reaction to please or displease him, Zheng Xiaolang said, “How long has it been since you cooked?”

“Years.”

“How many years?”

“I don’t know. I don’t count those sorts of things.”

“How old are you?”

“However old I am, I don’t think I can compete with you.”

“Are you saying I’m old?”

“Aren’t you?”

The paste Zheng Xiaolang was grinding was getting finer and finer. He gently scraped the pestle through the bowl in a rhythmic motion. Meanwhile, Lei Wenhe had set about chopping the meat into cubes.

“It would be nice to stay here,” he said.

“In Songjiang? We couldn’t impose on Wu Enlai’s hospitality like that.”

“We wouldn’t have to impose on him. We could find a place of our own, a little house somewhere, not even big enough to warrant servants. I could take independent contracts to make money, and then I could come back to watch this.”

“You want me to be your personal chef?” Lei Wenhe’s cadence was flat.

“No, I mean…” What had Zheng Xiaolang meant? He didn’t want Lei Wenhe to be his chef. He wanted Lei Wenhe to cook for him because he wanted to, because he was waiting for Zheng Xiaolang at home, because he wanted to share a meal with him around the dinner table. “Well, in any case,” he said, before those thoughts could develop further, “I thought that it would be nice. The climate is fairly mild here, and you like the food.”

“Hm,” said Lei Wenhe. He went searching around the kitchen for a bit, then came back with a pot.

“That doesn’t sound appealing?”

“I think you sound more and more like you’re trying to give up on going back to Anlu.”

“No, of course not. I could never. They’re simple fantasies.” He pushed the bowl of paste back toward Lei Wenhe. “Is this good?”

“It looks fine.” Lei Wenhe dipped a finger into the paste and put the finger into his mouth—Zheng Xiaolang shouted for him to stop. “What’s the matter?”

“The poison, it—!”

“Oh, there’s no need for concern. I’ve consumed enough of this that I’m immune by now.”

“You mean you’ve paralyzed yourself so much that you’re immune?”

“They were small doses. The paralysis only lasted for a few hours. This is a good texture. Thank you.” He washed off his hands, scraped the paste into a pot of water, and returned to the soup.

“Do you want help with anything else?”

Lei Wenhe shook his head.

It was only when Zheng Xiaolang didn’t get replies, now, that he remembered how little Lei Wenhe used to say to him before—those short, cryptic answers. And now they could have full conversations, and they could joke with each other, and they could laugh together. At least, Zheng Xiaolang could laugh. Slowly but surely, hearing a laugh from that man—or seeing a real smile, at the very least—was becoming a prominent goal of Zheng Xiaolang’s.

He cooked for a couple hours, alternating between the pot of poison and the soup. Sometimes he added an ingredient to one of the pots and Zheng Xiaolang wondered whether he had confused one ingredient for another, but he never hesitated, and he never wavered, and within those few hours there were two bubbling pots. One of these, he poured into an assortment of bottles. The other he put into a big pot, which he then put into a basket along with some bowls and spoons. He and Zheng Xiaolang walked together toward that hall in which they’d met Wu Enlai. It took some time to get some access—Wu Enlai was busy still, but at about supper-time he pushed out of the doors and spotted Lei Wenhe and Zheng Xiaolang waiting for him.

“Hello!” He bounded over to them. “Did the two of you get some sightseeing done?”

“Not sightseeing yet.” Lei Wenhe hadn’t spoken after he refused Zheng Xiaolang’s help, and after those first few hours of not hearing it, his voice sounded especially beautiful. “We went shopping. As per Xiaolang’s suggestion, I bought some ingredients to make you something.”

“You made me food?” Wu Enlai’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“I don’t know if it’ll be to your liking, but—” The rest of the words came out of him in a rush when Wu Enlai’s arms wrapped around him. He looked…a bit like he was in shock. Like he’d never been hugged before, and wasn’t quite sure whether he should shove Wu Enlai away or figure out how to hug him back. But, before he could make the decision, Wu Enlai was releasing him and stepping back, still just as joyful as before.

“Let’s eat inside.”

“Is Fang Zi’an around? I brought a bowl for him, as well.”

“I’ll summon him.”

They all sat together in the same table as before. Wu Enlai eagerly ate. After saying some tired line about how Wu Enlai was never going to forget this and how he was going to brag to everyone he knew about how the great Lei Wenhe personally cooked him a meal, Fang Zi’an ate too. Zheng Xiaolang watched them before he tried his bowl. They ate like they were starving, like it was the best thing they’d ever tasted. Zheng Xiaolang looked at his own bowl. He could tell just from the color of the broth that it was going to be spicy—a kind of spice that would numb the mouth, but one that would warm the chest. He knew that there would be an incredible depth of flavor, that the meat Lei Wenhe had so carefully sliced and poached and soaked in that rich broth would melt before he could even think to sink his teeth in. It would be like getting a taste of Lei Wenhe, he thought. If he sipped this broth, he would begin imagining what it would be like to kiss Lei Wenhe, taste those spices against his tongue. And then that hug—Wu Enlai wrapping his arms around Lei Wenhe’s frame, Lei Wenhe going rigid in response and then giving Wu Enlai that tiny, rigid smile. Why hadn’t Zheng Xiaolang ever hugged Lei Wenhe before? Hadn’t Lei Wenhe always flinched away when Zheng Xiaolang touched him, only curbing it recently when Zheng Xiaolang put his arm around his shoulders? Had Zheng Xiaolang desensitized Lei Wenhe to touch, only to watch the first hug he received from four steps away?

“You’re not eating,” said Lei Wenhe. “Is it not to your liking?”

Zheng Xiaolang smiled at him. “No, I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought for a moment.” He took a sip. It was just as delicious as he expected. He closed his eyes, trying to memorize it before he sipped at it again.

“It’s incredible,” Wu Enlai said. “I won’t be so bold to ask for the recipe, Lei Wenhe. I only ask you that you’ll come back some day to make it for me again.”

“Maybe I will. I’m glad you enjoy it.”

Fang Zi’an paid his compliments as well. They finished their meal, then all had a second bowl. Wu Enlai and Fang Zi’an carried most of the conversation, and as always Zheng Xiaolang was a little caught off guard by how casual Wu Enlai could be in a situation so tense. He was simultaneously harboring a fugitive and trying to prevent a war—how could he smile like this, and joke like this, and show such vulnerability as displaying open and obvious admiration toward people he barely knew? Zheng Xiaolang was sociable enough that he knew how and when he should pay compliments, but they were all empty: “You’re really too talented” and “How could I ever compare to you?” and so on. It was all false humility and false admiration, social propriety instead of genuine connection. How could this kind of innocence have existed for so long in Wu Enlai? How hadn’t it been crushed out of him yet?

“Zi’an.” Wu Enlai began stacking up the bowls and putting them back into the basket. “Why don’t you show Lei Wenhe around the grounds some more? We have those gardens in the back that have some herbs he might find useful.”

“Sure. Lei Wenhe, let’s walk together. We can drop off the dishes on the way.”

“Ah, well—”

Zheng Xiaolang reached over and patted him on the arm. He’d recognized the tone of Wu Enlai’s voice—it was the same kind of tone he’d used when he told Xie Huiyan to take away the disciples before the political speak started. Whatever Wu Enlai had to say, it was going to be something that neither he nor Zheng Xiaolang wanted Lei Wenhe to hear. It was something that someone who wasn’t in the political world should never have to deal with. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll chat with Wu Enlai. I’ll meet you back at our rooms.”

“Then, goodnight.” Lei Wenhe dipped his head at Wu Enlai and, when Wu Enlai told him the same, he left with Fang Zi’an.

“He’s a good cook,” Wu Enlai mused. He stood from the table and stretched out his legs, then his arms, then his neck. “Has he cooked for you before? It really is spectacular.”

“He hasn’t. I didn’t know he could cook before today.” Zheng Xiaolang stood too.

“We learn new things about each other every day, I think. Even people who I’ve known for years will reveal things about themselves that I hadn’t ever known before…isn’t that extraordinary?” He wandered over to another table, one that had a map spread out across it of Wu and its surrounding territories. He traced a finger along the border of Wu closest to Qin, his expression complicated.

“Wu Enlai—”

“I like you, Zheng Xiaolang. I like what you’ve done for people who have been enslaved, and I like the control you have despite being powerful enough to defeat most of the clan leaders, and I like that you’re protecting Lei Wenhe like this, and I like you as a person quite a bit.” His finger had traced all the way around the border of Wu, and stopped in Songjiang. “I wish I could tell you that you could stay indefinitely, and I wish I could tell you that, should Long Qingge or Xie Rong come after you for what you’ve done, I could protect you. But I can’t tell you these things. In essence…” He looked over his shoulder, his gaze connecting with Zheng Xiaolang’s. “I can be your friend. But I cannot be your ally.”

“I understand.”

He nodded and turned his attention back to the map. “I heard…what you did in Yu.”

Zheng Xiaolang felt his stomach plummet. “That—”

“Not just what you did to Lei Wenhe, but what you did to help Long Feifei as well. I understand that you were under Xie Rong’s orders, and I understand that she has authority over you. Was Lei Wenhe’s imprisonment the line that you couldn’t cross? Lei Wenhe’s mistreatment and imprisonment…but not the loss of all those lives in the Long-Yu war? Not the loss of Yu Yunmi’s life?”

“Yu Yunmi was…” My friend. Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t say it. He couldn’t claim such a word for her. He hadn’t had many of them to begin with, but now to even claim that they’d once been friends seemed…cruel. It was his fault that she’d died. Xie Rong had given him the order to help Long Feifei and Zheng Xiaolang had grumbled and griped about it to himself, but he’d helped anyway. He’d told himself that it was better for him in the long run—he couldn’t let Long Qingge get too much power, and he couldn’t let Yu Weizhe lose his position. But Long Qingge had swallowed up almost the entirety of Yu, and Yu Yunmi had lost her life in the fight, and Zheng Xiaolang had lost one of the only people that would for sure stand by his side when he tried to climb further.

“Hm…Zheng Xiaolang, what is it you want at the end of all of this? I thought that maybe you were planning for something bigger…a triumph over Xie Rong, after all she had done to you. And that it was for that triumph that you were enduring so much, and permitting so much, and participating in so much. But you’ve just given up your position, so that theory is…” He pressed his lips together and nodded a few times. “Unless Xie Rong has agreed to this.”

Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t sure if saying something would be more suspicious, or if staying silent would be more suspicious—was denying or silence a stronger confirmation?

“If you contacted her immediately after you helped Lei Wenhe escape, before Long Qingge could tell her what you’d done, then you wouldn’t have betrayed her at all, and the declaration of treason could just be a cover so Long Qingge doesn’t make a different declaration of war. Am I close?”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t say anything.

“If that’s true, then Xie Rong still hasn’t crossed the line for you.”

“Xie Rong…”

Wu Enlai turned. Zheng Xiaolang was standing exactly where he’d been when he’d risen from the table, one hand clenched tight at his side. If Wu Enlai hadn’t seen that clenched fist and had just observed the rest of Zheng Xiaolang’s body language, he might have concluded that Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t affected at all by any of this—that he’d taken Wu Enlai’s words in through one ear and let them out the other without processing a single sound. But there was that clenched fist, betraying his emotion.

“Xie Rong…” And his voice was strained, nothing like what he’d presented to Wu Enlai all day, and nothing like what Wu Enlai had heard before at all those drab political meetings, when he was trying to put on a persona of confidence and leisure. “She’s asked me to cross the line many times. And I’ve done it every time.”

“Mn.” Wu Enlai didn’t reply. He didn’t personally know how it was to be owned by a woman like that, but so many of the people in Wu had known just that, and intimately. Fang Zi’an was one of Long Qingge’s personal attendants when he was only fifteen, and Wu Enlai had heard about the terror he’d felt every time he’d so much as been in her presence. Then again, however, hearing about these experiences was nothing like living them, so no matter how much Wu Enlai had heard about these things, he would never say so to Zheng Xiaolang.

“Lei Wenhe wasn’t a line to be crossed. In that moment, he was my own decision, but it was ultimately approved by Xie Rong, just like everything else I’ve done.”

“Don’t you want to be free of her? Free of having to ask her for every little thing?”

There was something burning behind Zheng Xiaolang’s eyes. “She wouldn’t ever be willing to give me up.”

That wasn’t an answer, but…wasn’t it? Xie Rong wasn’t ever going to give Zheng Xiaolang up, but Zheng Xiaolang wanted to be free. The only answer to that…

“You want Xie Rong dead,” Wu Enlai said, realizing, and the fist at Zheng Xiaolang’s side that had been curled so tight slowly unfurled. “How do you…”

“Wu Enlai.” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice was very soft. The conversation had shifted so suddenly that Wu Enlai felt as if he had Zheng Xiaolang’s sword at his throat, like he was no longer a clan leader but a vulnerable boy again. He had to remind himself how to breathe under the fury of Zheng Xiaolang’s gaze. “You said you were only a friend, not an ally, didn’t you?”

Slowly, Wu Enlai nodded.

“Then, such things can’t be discussed. Friends should have lighter conversations.” In the shadows that had begun to stretch across the room, Zheng Xiaolang seemed like the wolf of his name, lurking in the darkness, starving and only barely holding back the instinct to lunge. “Shouldn’t they?”

…

Their stay in Songjiang was otherwise uneventful. The first day there was an outlier in the amount of time Wu Enlai could spare for the both of them; after that, he had meetings day in and day out, and occasionally Fang Zi’an would have a few hours to come and visit, but otherwise Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe were left to their own devices. Some days, they went sightseeing within the city. Sometimes they took river boats and followed it along to see what else Wu had to offer, but they never went too far, just in case they needed to rush back to Songjiang.

On one day, Fang Zi’an came asking to spar with Zheng Xiaolang, and Zheng Xiaolang obliged. He went easy on Fang Zi’an for the first hundred moves, feeling Fang Zi’an out, watching to see where his strengths were and where he needed improvements, and then he spent the next hundred moves instructing him on these things and letting Fang Zi’an adjust to slightly faster moves, and for the next hundred moves he went all out. Fang Zi’an was breathless and laughing when they’d finished, only fifty-some moves into the last third of the fight.

“Zheng Xiaolang, they said you were on par with Enlai, but I didn’t really believe it until now.”

Zheng Xiaolang sheathed his sword with a grin. “You did well. Wu Enlai has some talented people under his employ.”

“You flatter me.” Fang Zi’an collapsed on the ground, his limbs spread out around him. It was winter in Wu now, and the leaves that had probably once been a beautiful orange now had been shed and turned brown against the ground. It was too mild in Wu for it to ever snow, but there was a bite of chill, one that had turned their cheeks pink even before the exertion of the fight had gotten to them. Against the white stone of the practice square, which had been dutifully swept clean of all debris, Fang Zi’an’s long black hair seemed especially dark. He had a simple face, neither handsome nor displeasing to the eye. The feature that stood out the most on a face like that were his eyes—fox eyes, dark and fiercely intelligent, but he smiled enough that one could hardly take notice of that intelligence unless they were paying close attention.

Zheng Xiaolang fixed the fly-aways of his hair that had whipped out of place during the fight and cast a glance backward, his eyes searching out and immediately finding where Lei Wenhe had made himself comfortable. He was wearing that cloak Zheng Xiaolang had found in Lühe for him, the hood drawn up and covering the top of his head, keeping his ears warm. He didn’t have the advantage of movement to get his blood flowing, so the cold was probably getting to him a lot more powerfully than it was with Zheng Xiaolang and Fang Zi’an. Every so often, he brought his hands up from the book he was holding in his lap and put them close to his mouth, blowing hot air on his fingers while he rubbed them together. Zheng Xiaolang left Fang Zi’an where he was recovering from the fight and went up to Lei Wenhe, dropping down to a seat next to him and nudging their shoulders together.

“Did you watch?”

“Hm?” Sitting this close now, Zheng Xiaolang could see that the tip of Lei Wenhe’s nose was red from the cold. “What did you say? I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Zheng Xiaolang forced down a complaint. “I asked if you paid attention to our fight.”

“Oh…no, I’m sorry. I was reading this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the history of Wu.”

“It can’t be very long, can it?”

“Mn…it isn’t just when it was the territory of Wu, but also before it was even owned by Qin. It’s the history of the island itself.”

Lei Wenhe’s interests were really something else. “Is any of it interesting?”

“It’s rather fascinating, actually. Would you like to read it?”

“Oh, I couldn’t bear to…take that away from you.” Zheng Xiaolang changed the subject before Lei Wenhe could suggest anything else. “Would you like to come join us? I can teach you a few moves.”

Lei Wenhe looked at the practice square with some disdain.

“Don’t be so dismissive outright, Wenhe. Isn’t it good to try new things? It’ll warm you up, too. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I’m warm enough.” The stubborn way he stuck out his lower lip was unbearably cute. Zheng Xiaolang wanted to take it between his teeth.

“Indulge me, won’t you? You’ll make Fang Zi’an happy, too.”

Fang Zi’an, hearing his name, craned his neck up to look at them. “Lei Wenhe, can you fight too?”

“No. Xiaolang only wants to find amusement in me making a fool of myself.”

“That isn’t true. I want to make sure that you can defend yourself. Haven’t I said this before?”

“You can say it as many times as you want. I still wouldn’t believe you.”

“Shall I tell you the truth, then?”

Lei Wenhe tucked his hands under his cloak, hiding them from the wind. “By all means,” he said, “though I suspect you’re going to lean in close and tell me some nonsense that I don’t want to hear.”

Zheng Xiaolang leaned close, right up until his mouth was brushing against Lei Wenhe’s ear. “I want to teach you to fight so I can have an excuse to touch you more.”

Lei Wenhe sighed and shoved him away. “That’s more or less what I expected. Do you think I’m convinced now?”

“Ah, one could hope.”

Fang Zi’an was standing and brushing himself off. “Are you coming to practice, Lei Wenhe?”

“Aiya, you really—” Lei Wenhe pointed at Zheng Xiaolang. “You, stay back. I’ll practice with Fang Zi’an, and you can stand on the side and watch.”

“What—Fang Zi’an? Wenhe, I’m more experienced than he is, and I’m a sect leader, can’t you—”

“You asked me to learn how to fight, so I’m going to learn how to fight. Why are you protesting now?” Lei Wenhe pushed himself to his feet and dropped that history book he’d been reading into Zheng Xiaolang’s lap. “Keep quiet and stay to the side.”

Every move they exchanged with each other twisted Zheng Xiaolang’s stomach in a strange way. Lei Wenhe’s movements were clumsy and slow, and even though Fang Zi’an put no effort behind anything he sent Lei Wenhe’s way, Lei Wenhe still took a moment sometimes to realize what was going where and how he should block it. No talent in fighting, Lei Wenhe said—but, if Fang Zi’an and Lei Wenhe had a contest in qinggong, Zheng Xiaolang wondered who would win.

“One day I’ll spar with you, Wenhe!” Zheng Xiaolang called out.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?”

“Shall I tell you that you look very handsome like this?”

Lei Wenhe turned around and pointed his fan at Zheng Xiaolang, threatening him without saying anything aloud. Zheng Xiaolang howled with laughter.

They sparred for a shichen—if one could call that sparring—and then they ate together, and after that Fang Zi’an had to go work some more.

It was only a few days until Chen Tian’s people would arrive. Lei Wenhe still hadn’t asked about what Wu Enlai and Zheng Xiaolang had discussed that first day, when Wu Enlai had not so subtly driven him and Fang Zi’an out of the room. It might have been total disinterest, but Zheng Xiaolang liked to think of it as a sign of trust: Lei Wenhe didn’t ask because he didn’t feel like he needed to ask. He complained about Zheng Xiaolang’s attention, but he had put his life into Zheng Xiaolang’s hands by escaping with him. He was trusting Zheng Xiaolang with the decisions. He was trusting that Zheng Xiaolang would do right by him.

It felt good, to be trusted by Lei Wenhe. It was one thing for him to trust Zheng Xiaolang in the moment, when he didn’t have any other choice, and it was one thing for him to tell Zheng Xiaolang that he trusted him and considered them friends, but it was another thing for him to show it so quietly like this, to just step back and let Zheng Xiaolang take control.

On the last day, Wu Enlai and Zheng Xiaolang sparred, too. Zheng Xiaolang was reluctant—he didn’t often show his full strength. It wasn’t good to, in the political world in which he was tangled. So he made some specific requests—no one would be allowed to watch the fight, except for Lei Wenhe. Wu Enlai might trust Fang Zi’an and his other cultivators, but Zheng Xiaolang didn’t trust any of them, not when it came to things like this. If any of them talked about it—and if that talk reached the clan leaders—then it would be as if Zheng Xiaolang was trying to overthrow them, to surpass them. Wu Enlai was officially ranked second. That meant that defeating him would put Zheng Xiaolang firmly at the top—above, even, his own clan leader. Below only Long Qingge. It wasn’t time for that yet.

So, on that last day, the sparring arena only had three people: Wu Enlai, standing tall and proud in those ink-black robes, his long hair whipping around him; Zheng Xiaolang, wearing matching black, his phoenix eyes curved up at the corners; and Lei Wenhe, figure obscured by his cloak, sitting alone in the arena seats with his hands curled up against his torso to maintain warmth.

The fight started when the sun rose and lasted all day, well into the night. Lei Wenhe’s eyes seemed blank, as if he couldn’t quite process what he was looking at, and was amazed by every move made by the two experts before him. It was a sight that most people wouldn’t get to see in their entire lifetime. If such an interpretation was true, Zheng Xiaolang would be immensely pleased. He put a great weight in being able to impress Lei Wenhe—and this was the first time he was going all-out in front of him. But this interpretation wasn’t true. Lei Wenhe wasn’t watching blankly, and he wasn’t amazed. He kept track of every move, every breath, every step. He memorized it as if his life depended on it, as if Zheng Xiaolang was going to come after him as soon as he defeated Wu Enlai and Lei Wenhe would need to be familiar enough with his style to be able to survive.

They fought into the night, and in one flurry of moves that seemed faster than anything he’d done thus far, the edge of Zheng Xiaolang’s hand reached Wu Enlai’s neck, and everything came to a halt. It was as if the two of them had frozen in place. The appearance of the two of them; the scenery around them; the way they posed, Wu Enlai with his hands halfway up in an almost-successful attempt to block Zheng Xiaolang’s last strike, and Zheng Xiaolang with one hand at Wu Enlai’s throat and one about to push Wu Enlai’s block away—it almost looked like a painting, like someone had already memorialized this historic event.

And then the serene painting-like beauty broke, and both cultivators dropped their hands down, took a step back, and kowtowed at each other. Neither of them were smiling, at least not at first. Fang Zi’an and Zheng Xiaolang had been able to smile at each other because what they had done was half friendly sparring and half instruction on Zheng Xiaolang’s part. This was…different. This was confirmation. The suggestion for the fight might have been made lightly—a natural curiosity, a desire to go against someone who could finally make you feel challenged. But the moment they had stepped onto that stone platform together and lifted their hands, it became something else. Wu Enlai was a clan leader. Zheng Xiaolang was a sect leader. Friends, not allies—that’s what they’d said. This fight was the confirmation that Zheng Xiaolang was on par with clan leaders. There was no way to take something like that lightly, especially since Zheng Xiaolang had gone and confirmed it so resolutely. Zheng Xiaolang was better. He was better, and the highest he would ever go was where he was right now. That was heavier than most could bear.

“Thank you, Zheng Xiaolang.” They’d finished kowtowing, but Wu Enlai was doing it again, and this time Zheng Xiaolang didn’t return it. A bead of sweat gathered on the tip of Wu Enlai’s nose and dripped to the ground. “I hope…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Maybe what he was going to say would have crossed that line Zheng Xiaolang had drawn the first day, the line between ally and friend.

Zheng Xiaolang’s hand landed on Wu Enlai’s shoulder. When Wu Enlai looked up, he saw that he was smiling—that youthful smile that Wu Enlai knew was Zheng Xiaolang’s way of helping others relax. “We’ll come visit someday,” he said. “I hope you’ll welcome us.”

Relief swept through Wu Enlai’s body. He was exhausted, his golden core had been strained, and every muscle ached in different ways. But Zheng Xiaolang had ridden him of the responsibility of acknowledgment; he’d moved right past who had won and who had lost. Wu Enlai didn’t need to worry about how he was going to say that he was sorry Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t getting the recognition he deserved. He was, of course—but it wasn’t something that should be said out loud. “Of course,” he said. “There will always be a place for you in Songjiang.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t comment on the fight at all. When the two of them walked past him, he silently stood and followed them out, and when they parted at the branch in the pathway, he only dipped his head at Wu Enlai.

Zheng Xiaolang was too tired to say anything either, even to ask Lei Wenhe if he’d been impressed. He didn’t want to admit it, but that fight had been a lot closer than he liked—one wrong move, and he might have lost to Wu Enlai right away. He dropped his arm around Lei Wenhe’s shoulder and leaned into him, and Lei Wenhe supported his weight as they made their way to their rooms.

“Tomorrow…” Lei Wenhe only spoke when Zheng Xiaolang was at his door.

“Hm?”

“It seems a little bittersweet, that we’re leaving.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth opened. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

Lei Wenhe stared at him.

“Not…anything untoward. I just…am exhausted. After all of that.”

The knot in Lei Wenhe’s throat bobbed. He dipped his head down, far enough that the edge of his hood obscured his eyes, not that Zheng Xiaolang could read them if they were still visible. He said, “Okay.” And he followed Zheng Xiaolang in.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Cultivator in the Forest

LONG’AN USED TO be a prospering city. It was situated on one of the smallest islands off the mainland, one that was totally dwarfed by the territory of Wu. Its history wasn’t as rich as Wu, but it had become at some point like a kind of vacation destination; the rich from all the different clans would come to stay there, taking advantage of the mild climate and the sandy beaches. Most of the clan leaders in charge now had visited Long’an a few times to get a change of scenery. Zheng Xiaolang himself had only been once. It wasn’t to have a vacation, and it wasn’t to get a change of scenery—he’d never once thought, while he was in Anlu, that he needed anything like that. Rather, his visit to Long’an had been because Xie Mei, Xie Rong’s younger sister, had vacationed there, and Zheng Xiaolang was sent to carry out whatever order she saw fit since her usual lackeys, Peng Fa and Peng Qi, were busy. He hated it. There was nothing wrong with the island itself, but the system that kept it so prosperous…it was disgusting. The rich lived in luxurious rooms with beautiful views and delicious food. The people who worked there were at their beck and call for everything—anything their visitors wanted, they could have. And the rest of the people on this island, the ones who provided the food and made those services possible, who toiled day in and day out to keep their home a paradise to outsiders, lived in almost unmatched poverty, barely affording the crops they had to plant every season or the roofs over their heads. Many of them had to resort to digging underground and making their homes there, but lack of resources often resulted in these makeshift homes flooding and driving them out into the cold again. To top it all off, too, the people who had called that island a home for far longer than any vacation resort had were shoved off to the side, to the center of the island where fishing became impossible, so that any people coming in wouldn’t have to see them and have their mood spoiled by the reminder of the class divide.

But some seventy years ago, people began showing symptoms of Quiet Death, and then they were dying—and access to the island was shut off as soon as possible, but not before some had already fled to Qian Dong’s district. The paradise vacation destination collapsed. Zheng Xiaolang would have been happy about it if it didn’t mean all those people who had their home stolen from them were suffering and dying too.

The buildings set up on the coasts of Long’an became visible the closer their ship approached. Despite the quality and care that had gone into their construction, they’d all begun to decay and fall in on themselves. What walls had managed to stay up were utterly consumed by the local plants that, with no one to trim them back, had taken the advantage to regain control. Zheng Xiaolang put a hand up, shielding his eyes from the sun, and squinted at those buildings.

“Really makes you feel old,” he said, “seeing it like this.” By ‘you’, of course, he’d meant himself—he’d reached immortality a long time ago but, especially with so many other people reaching immortality just like him, it was difficult to really grasp what immortality meant. All the capital cities had buildings that had stood for a thousand years and would stand for a thousand more, thanks to the care from the servants and slaves that cleaned and repaired them, so visiting them never made him feel like any time had passed. The northern unoccupied territories that Zheng Xiaolang frequented were the opposite—ever changing, never sticking to one particular look long enough for Zheng Xiaolang to get used to it. But he’d been in Long’an in its prime, and he’d seen how the buildings had looked, and at the time he’d felt that the depressing reality was that those buildings would last four thousand years, just like the buildings on the mainland. But here they were, crumbled to the ground, consumed again by nature. He wondered how long it might take for Anlu to look like that too.

“This is as far as I can take Zheng-zhangmen.” The captain of the ship was standing next to Zheng Xiaolang. Her fur cloak was that light Cao-green, but the robes underneath were plain and brown, more practical for traveling. “I apologize if what we brought you wasn’t enough, but you’ll have to make do for now.” She, on Chen Tian’s behalf, had brought Zheng Xiaolang both funds and supplies, along with a message that more or less said that Chen Tian expected Zheng Xiaolang would be broke by now. He wasn’t wrong, but Zheng Xiaolang had been so bemused by the message that he’d been unable to muster any kind of retort.

“It’s plenty,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “Thank you again.” He braced himself on the handrail of the ship and leaned out over the water, watching the waves crash against the hull. “Will you go back to Cao after this?”

“We can’t. We’ll travel around for a bit, maybe go to Xie. We were able to sneak out of Cao without any issues, but sneaking back in is another issue. They won’t let anyone in who’s left the territory.”

Zheng Xiaolang grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If all goes as you said it will, and as Chen-zhangmen believes it will, then it won’t be an issue, and we’ll have to turn around before we know it and go right back home. I’ve been telling the crew to think of it as just another voyage, just like the ones we’ve always done.”

“I’m grateful for your faith in me.”

“No offense meant, Zheng-zhangmen, but my faith isn’t in you. It’s in Chen-zhangmen. He believes in you, and I believe in him.” She gestured behind them. “I’ll arrange a personal boat for the two of you to approach shore on your own. When you’ve cured Quiet Death, you can contact me or Chen Tian using the cones I’ve given you. If you contact us and no such cure has been found…you two are on your own. I imagine, with your skills, you would be capable of making it back to the mainland without help, but I hope you won’t choose to infect everyone like that.”

When Lei Wenhe had suggested curing Quiet Death, he’d done so with such confidence that Zheng Xiaolang accepted it without another thought. Of course Lei Wenhe could cure Quiet Death. He could cure Golden Core Turns Black, after all—so why shouldn’t he be able to cure Quiet Death too? But the more people talked to him about it, and the more they made it clear to him that he could be doomed to that island forever—or that he might get infected and die of it himself—the more he wondered what he was doing here. Curing Quiet Death was never on the list of things to do. He certainly didn’t want people to be suffering and dying from it, but to deal with it was too risky. It could send all of his plans spiraling out of control.

But Lei Wenhe—Zheng Xiaolang believed in him. Lei Wenhe knew something about Quiet Death. Even if he didn’t, he was so intelligent that he could make a cure of the most impossible disease, that he could tell what kind of monster was killing humans just by standing on the ground it had traveled within, that he could keep up with political conversations and discern what others were thinking even though he hadn’t entered the political sphere until just a few years ago.

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “Then, we’ll be on our way.”

Lei Wenhe was waiting at the smaller boat with some of the ship’s crew. He had his usual bag with him, or at least the new one he’d acquired in Songjiang—full of nuts, fruits, medicines, and those several bottles of poison that he’d made in Wu Enlai’s palace—as well as two other bags, which held everything Chen Tian’s people had brought for them. It was too much for one person to be carrying, but Lei Wenhe carried it all with leisure, and had them all slung up on his shoulders while he read the book in his hands.

“Ah…what are you reading now?”

“History of—”

“Wait, let me guess. History of Long’an?”

“The entire island,” sad Lei Wenhe.

“Where do you get these things?”

“I found it while we were in Songjiang. Wu Enlai treated me to some books.”

“Aiya, you really…” Zheng Xiaolang laughed and shook his head. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Lei Wenhe shrugged off one of the bags and handed it over to Zheng Xiaolang without looking up from his book.

“Is there anything of use in there? Any clues as to what caused Quiet Death?”

“Class divide?” Lei Wenhe’s tone was mild. Surprised, Zheng Xiaolang laughed again. “You know,” Lei Wenhe said, “if you wanted to stay on board, or if you wanted to go back to Wu, I wouldn’t blame you. I imagine Quiet Death is a daunting thing. You’ve already done so much. You don’t need to risk yourself like this for me.”

“Lei Wenhe,” Zheng Xiaolang said, “I’m going to protect you until the end.”

“How long until it’s the end?” Lei Wenhe asked.

“I suppose until you become sick of me.”

They took the boat together to shore. Zheng Xiaolang, since he’d been cultivating for a lot longer than Lei Wenhe had probably been alive—he still wasn’t sure how old Lei Wenhe was, actually, and Lei Wenhe refused to give any hints regarding the matter—accepted the task of rowing, and Lei Wenhe sat at the other end with his book in his lap and the bags held steady between his feet. When they reached shore, they made quick work of dismantling the boat and scattering the pieces, assuring no one who was still on the island would be able to escape and spread the disease before Lei Wenhe and Zheng Xiaolang could cure it.

“It’s really strange to think this was a busy place before,” Zheng Xiaolang said as he brushed off the remaining sand from his clothes. He and Lei Wenhe had both changed into plain brown clothes like the captain had been wearing. They’d liked the black Wu robes, but they didn’t want to draw too much attention to themselves. If they really needed to establish any sense of authority, they had quite a collection now: the token from Wu Enlai, Zheng Xiaolang’s ‘Xie’ name card, and a ‘Cao’ name card as well, which Chen Tian had provided in anticipation of trouble. If they’d stayed longer in Lühe, they might have something from Long Qingge as well—but neither Zheng Xiaolang nor Lei Wenhe wanted that, and it wasn’t as if Long Qingge’s authority would be any more powerful when they already had Wu, Xie, and Cao.

“How long has it been since you came here?”

“Maybe a little less than a hundred years…I’m not really sure. I thought I would be happy to see it like this, all abandoned and overgrown, but the cost was too great. It feels as if death is still hovering in the air.”

“In places where people experience great sorrow and suffering,” said Lei Wenhe, “it always feels the same. The land itself remembers, as if it’s been scarred.” He pulled up his hood, hiding his face.

“Do you think people still live here?”

“If they’ve managed to maintain their resources properly, then yes. Shen Guozhi told me that Quiet Death doesn’t always kill, that one in ten survive. Here, put this around your face.” He was handing over a piece of cloth that looked like it had been torn from his Wu robes. Zheng Xiaolang took it with a bit of a bewildered expression.

“Around my face?”

“I’m not certain yet how Quiet Death spreads. I have my suspicions, but it’s always good to be sure.”

“Then the cloth—?”

“Some diseases, like Snow Fever, spread through the air. Putting a barrier between your mouth and nose and that air will sometimes lessen the chance for infection.”

Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t known that, but Lei Wenhe was a healer after all. He obediently put the cloth around the lower half of his face, and Lei Wenhe did the same with another piece of cloth.

“What first?”

“Finding survivors is our top priority,” Lei Wenhe said. With his hood up and the cloth over his face, his features had become totally obscured.

“Do you think you can heal them right away?”

“No. The cure to this kind of thing is a little more complex. I won’t be able to cure them until I know what the source is.” Lei Wenhe looked out over the beach. It only went in about ten zhang; afterward, it was all dense forest. On the right, behind a grove of trees, they could see little glimpses of those buildings that had succumbed to nature. On the left, it was just more beach. Lei Wenhe seemed to be trying to decide where exactly he wanted to start.

“You said it wasn’t a disease, right?”

Lei Wenhe started toward the forest right ahead of them. Zheng Xiaolang grabbed at his arm.

“Wenhe.”

Lei Wenhe sighed and looked back toward the forest. “Let’s talk while we’re walking. How is that?”

So they pushed into the forest together. Neither of them were really sure of where they were going or how long they would need to be walking. Zheng Xiaolang knew that the original homes of the native people of this island were somewhere this way, but he didn’t know where exactly they were, whether they’d moved since the last time he was here, or even whether they’d survived at all. The beach behind them slowly became less and less visible, and eventually the sight and sound of it was swallowed by the thick of the trees. It was only then that Lei Wenhe began speaking.

“There isn’t anything that I can prove at this point. It’s only a theory of mine, that’s all.”

“Could you explain it to me, at least—whatever you’re thinking?”

“After we find some survivors…we can speak then.”

“Didn’t you say we would speak in the forest?”

“I don’t like to voice groundless theories.”

Zheng Xiaolang groaned out loud. “Lei Wenhe…” But, once again, there wasn’t any use in trying to continue the conversation—in one of his less charming qualities, Lei Wenhe had decided that the conversation was over, and no matter how much Zheng Xiaolang struggled, it wouldn’t go any further.

They walked for a shichen or two, slowly but steadily. Zheng Xiaolang kept all of his senses opened and took each step as if he were afraid to crush the leaves beneath his feet. Lei Wenhe, at his side, did the same. At some point they reached a small gathering of houses. They had dilapidated, though not as much as those buildings had on the coast. Here, surrounded by trees, even as they were swallowed up by vegetation, the buildings were shielded from the harshness of the ocean wind and heavy rains. Lei Wenhe stood off to one side, his arms crossed, as Zheng Xiaolang carefully navigated through each of the buildings. There wasn’t anybody inside, and there hadn’t been for a long time. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust or mold. What food hadn’t completely rotted away was nearly there, or had dried out almost beyond recognition. Zheng Xiaolang exited each of the houses with a shake of his head.

“Maybe we can stay inside,” Lei Wenhe suggested.

“No. I’m not sure how sturdy these houses are, and it can’t be good to be breathing all of that in.” Like he was making a point, he coughed lightly into his sleeve, then tugged at Lei Wenhe, urging him to keep walking. “We’ll go on for a little longer. There’s a lot more to this island than just this. I wouldn’t be surprised if survivors just moved on to another clearing, maybe where the infected rich couldn’t find them.”

They spent a few days wandering about the island, going this way and that way and ever closer to the center of the island, finding houses all over but never finding people. The clearings became farther and farther apart from each other, as if Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe were being discouraged from searching any longer. As if the people who had put in these houses were hoping that anyone who would come looking for them was going to give up or get terribly lost within the endless trees. Zheng Xiaolang was getting rather used to this diet of nuts and berries and dried meats—the latter of which was generously provided by Chen Tian’s people. The richly seasoned broths of Songjiang had been, as embarrassing as it was to admit, a little too hot for Zheng Xiaolang’s tastes, so these bland foods came as quite the relief.

“I think,” said Zheng Xiaolang one night after setting up the tent they shared, “there may not be any survivors. One in ten or two in ten…those odds seem fine, but that doesn’t always mean that many people will survive. What if everyone here died? What will you do then?”

“If that is true, then we will make do on our own.”

“These supplies won’t last that long, Wenhe, and it isn’t as if the funds Chen Tian gave us will do any good if there’s no one to buy from. If the disease doesn’t kill us—”

“It won’t kill us, and we don’t need to worry about lasting for a long time. Besides, Zheng-zhangmen.” Lei Wenhe crawled into the tent and then poked his head out. “You can just get food for us, can’t you? You’re a resourceful man.”

Zheng Xiaolang had to fight within himself for a moment—did he tell Lei Wenhe that of course he could take care of the both of them, or did he tell Lei Wenhe that he was being ridiculous for being so cavalier about all of this? He settled for an exasperated huff, pushed aside the flap of the tent, and crawled in next to Lei Wenhe.

“I think they’ll be in the center of the island,” said Lei Wenhe, “or at least close to it.”

“Haven’t we been to the center already?”

“By my estimates, we’ll be there tomorrow. They’ve probably secluded themselves for protection. I don’t expect any of the nobles or aristocrats who were vacationing here survived—even if they did survive Quiet Death, they probably didn’t have the necessary skills to survive the hunger and elements that came afterward. I imagine, too, some of them were responsible for spreading Quiet Death further in their attempt to get away from the island despite the isolation Cao Feng ordered. But everyone else, if they were able to survive Quiet Death, I think they probably banded together. They probably knew already what kind of plants they could eat. As long as they didn’t over-gather those plants, they could remain in the center of the island indefinitely.”

A population like that would have spent decades in turmoil and terror—they would have generations born into this turmoil, and those people would die in the same conditions. There was probably no one alive who remembered what life had been like before Quiet Death—while Long’an and the island it was on was still controlled by the wealthy elite and their guests. How could Zheng Xiaolang communicate with people like that? How could either of them? After so much time, the current generation probably only had the knowledge of “other people are dangerous; the outside is dangerous” to guide them. Zheng Xiaolang wouldn’t be surprised if, even if they did manage to find survivors, those survivors fled at the sight of them. Two people who they’d never seen before after not seeing anyone else for so long—of course that would be terrifying.

“Sleep,” Lei Wenhe murmured, and in the darkness he reached out and poked Zheng Xiaolang hard. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Do you think—”

“I’m not thinking of anything right now, and neither should you. Now sleep.”

“Yes, yes,” Zheng Xiaolang said. He caught the hand that had dug into his side and interlaced their fingers together, pulling it close and holding it against his chest. “Sleeping now,” he said.

…

In the morning, it was Lei Wenhe that woke first. He spent a moment just looking down at Zheng Xiaolang’s sleeping form, looking down at their hands which were still entangled. Out here, alone on this island, he could kill him.

Out here, in the silence, no one to know what went wrong—he could kill him.

But—no, Lei Wenhe still didn’t know what sorts of people were out here. If there were survivors of Quiet Death, who were somewhere in this forest…Lei Wenhe had seen the fight between Zheng Xiaolang and Wu Enlai. It was good that he hadn’t fought Zheng Xiaolang as soon as he’d arrived; no matter how powerful a person was, against Zheng Xiaolang, the fight was going to last for a long time, and a long fight like that would mean witnesses. If there was anyone out here, a fight with Zheng Xiaolang would attract their attention, and then Lei Wenhe would have witnesses, and then he…

He didn’t want to get just anyone involved in this. People who had never cultivated, who didn’t have golden cores—who were victims of this system just as much as Lei Wenhe—Lei Wenhe didn’t want to get them involved in the process of his revenge. When they’d explored the island some more, when they determined where the survivors were, how many of them there were, and whether Lei Wenhe could find a place alone with Zheng Xiaolang—yes, he could kill him then, he could—

“Are you finally seduced?” Zheng Xiaolang mumbled. Lei Wenhe yanked his hand away on instinct, and Zheng Xiaolang cracked an eye open. “You’ve been watching me for a while. I think my good looks have finally charmed you.”

“You would be incorrect. Let’s get up. We need to keep walking.”

Zheng Xiaolang rubbed at his temples as he pushed himself up. “I think that mold I walked around in yesterday was worse than I thought. Remind me to just peek in the windows next time.”

“What, you have a headache? Isn’t the great Zheng-zhangmen supposed to be immune to these mundane things?” Lei Wenhe gathered his things and pushed out of the tent. After a moment, Zheng Xiaolang crawled out too, and he folded the tent together and put it into the bag. He was rubbing at his temples again, but he was trying to be subtle about it. “We could find some fresh water,” Lei Wenhe suggested, feigning at sympathy.

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s just a little annoying. More of a ringing in my ears than it is pain. It’ll wear off in a minute.” Zheng Xiaolang nodded at Lei Wenhe and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward. “Let’s just keep going.”

They walked for some more time. The sun crawled up the sky but, unable to break through the trees, could only cast a dim and scattered light over their surroundings. Zheng Xiaolang kept rubbing at his temples but didn’t complain out loud again, which Lei Wenhe was a little bitter about. It made him happier when Zheng Xiaolang complained.

“Wenhe.” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice was a hair more strained than usual.

“Hm?”

“The trees…don’t you think they’re getting thicker?”

Lei Wenhe paused and looked around. Zheng Xiaolang was right, but Lei Wenhe hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out—the trees had gotten gradually closer together. It didn’t seem natural either; it was too gradual for that, like whatever force had planted them like this hadn’t wanted anyone to notice until it was too late.

Lei Wenhe didn’t change the direction his body was facing. He didn’t even turn enough to look at Zheng Xiaolang behind him. “This…is it to make us lose our sense of direction and get lost?”

“What? I don’t think so. Aren’t we already in the middle of the forest? If someone was going to get lost by now, they would have already.”

“Then why…” Lei Wenhe considered the trees again. They were all sturdy, as thick as he and Zheng Xiaolang were, but others were much thicker, like they’d been there longer, scattered in a way much nearer to natural growth. “No, it definitely is meant to get us lost. It’s to ensure that people who have made it this far will still get lost before they get to a certain point. If there are still survivors, we’re getting close to them.”

“You mean they planted—?”

“They’ve adapted to living in hiding, Xiaolang, and they’ve had years to hide perfectly. If they planted the trees to fill in the gaps early on, it would make sense that they got this big now, wouldn’t it? Pull out your compass.”

There was a rustling behind Lei Wenhe.

“We’re still going south?”

“Yes.”

“We must be getting closer. The trees will probably get even thicker the more we walk.”

“Thicker than this? Won’t it get difficult to move?”

“They won’t have any need to leave where they’ve isolated themselves. If they never leave and nobody ever comes in, then maybe that means they won’t be infected anymore. Otherwise, I suspect they have ways of navigating this island that we’re unaware of.” Lei Wenhe reached a hand behind himself. “We need to make sure we stay together.”

“Aha…Wenhe, now you want to hold hands?”

“If you have a headache, you should stay quiet.”

“Wenhe, you’re really too cruel to me.”

“Quiet. Keep your steps light. We don’t want them to hear us coming. They might run.”

Zheng Xiaolang obediently shut his mouth. They walked for a little longer. As Lei Wenhe predicted, the trees got closer and closer together, so close that they had to start turning to the side and squeezing between them. Lei Wenhe was half concerned that one of them would get stuck, wedged between the trees, but Zheng Xiaolang was powerful enough that he could probably put some force behind his hand and blow some of these trees away, if something so absurd ever happened.

“Your compass.” Lei Wenhe’s voice was whisper-soft, and Zheng Xiaolang just squeezed his fingers in response, confirming that they were still moving in the right direction. They both had the same understanding regarding how much qinggong they should be using; if there were survivors still hidden somewhere in these trees, it would have been a long time since they’d come into contact with any cultivators, and certainly anyone who had met a cultivator had died by now—seeing someone suddenly be able to do miraculous things like fly or move too quickly to follow with their eyes would be difficult to accept and adjust to. “Wait.” Lei Wenhe stopped and Zheng Xiaolang, not reacting quickly enough, collided with him a little. “Look, there.” In a forest of trees so close they couldn’t even stand properly, there was a small opening in the ground, maybe a half zhang by a half zhang. If they hadn’t been just a few steps away from it, they wouldn’t have noticed it at all but, this close, it seemed painfully obvious when it was surrounded by thick trees like this. “What is that?”

“Maybe the tree died.” Zheng Xiaolang’s response was just as softly spoken.

“No, there’s too much space to account for something like that…” Lei Wenhe moved them both closer to it, conscious of the direction they’d been walking before. He trusted the compass somewhat, but he didn’t know whether whoever was here was able to manipulate the compass’s needle, so he was largely relying on his own instincts. “This…I think it might be a door.” The people here, worried about the quality of the air and its relationship with Quiet Death, had moved underground, and they’d hidden the entrances throughout the forest. Lei Wenhe had no doubt there were clues placed somewhere in the trees indicating where these entrances were located, but he did not have the knowledge necessary to decipher or even notice such a code.

When they’d come to stand right in front of it, Lei Wenhe bent, one hand still holding onto Zheng Xiaolang, and used his other hand to slowly search along that bare patch of soil.

“Do you notice anything?”

Lei Wenhe didn’t answer at first. He knew there must be something here—a door, probably, but he wasn’t sure how to find it, much less open it. Would it be reasonable to just ask Zheng Xiaolang to force it open? He didn’t want to startle any people inside if they—

Zheng Xiaolang’s hand was suddenly torn from his. Zheng Xiaolang swore as Lei Wenhe spun around. With the thickness of the forest, he hadn’t gone far—some kind of creature had slammed him with force into one of the trees and was reaching desperately for his throat. Lei Wenhe’s mouth went dry. It was a demon—one that only came up to Zheng Xiaolang’s shoulders, but one that had a face elongated until it was almost wolf-like, with sharp fangs to match. As it clung to each side of the tree, pinning Zheng Xiaolang against the trunk, it reached out with this wolf snout and snapped viciously, straining to catch Zheng Xiaolang’s jugular.

“Xiaolang!” Feigning alarm, Lei Wenhe shot to his feet, but it wasn’t as if he could do anything anyway, not as the weak little healer he pretended to be.

“Stay back!” Zheng Xiaolang had one hand keeping the teeth from his throat and the other gripped tightly around one of the demon’s arms, locking it in place so it couldn’t suddenly change its mind and switch targets. The maneuverability in this space was next to nothing—even if he wasn’t trying to keep it from suddenly whipping around to Lei Wenhe, this two-by-two space was hardly even enough room to get in a proper punch. He cast a glance to Lei Wenhe, who had himself pressed against the opposite end of that tiny clearing, his gaze fastened onto the demon wrapped around Zheng Xiaolang. Should he tell him to run? It would give Zheng Xiaolang a slight increase in space, but he didn’t know how easily they would be able to find each other if they separated. What if Lei Wenhe ran into that dense forest and Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t able to find him again? What if he ran off and then something happened to him? That fan tucked into Lei Wenhe’s waistband was only as useful as the person wielding it could make it, and Zheng Xiaolang still wasn’t satisfied with Lei Wenhe’s combat ability.

The demon made another lunge at Zheng Xiaolang, snapping him from his thoughts in a flash. He thought fast. In one fluid movement, he snatched back the hand holding it from his throat, moved his head to the side, and, just as the demon’s wolf-teeth closed right where Zheng Xiaolang’s neck had been, he slammed his hand into the creature’s chest and sent forth a powerful wave of spiritual power. The demon froze with its mouth open. Something flickered behind its eyes. A long moment passed, and then the limbs locking Zheng Xiaolang against the tree loosened. As if in slow motion, it fell. In the center of its chest, a hole as big as Zheng Xiaolang’s hand let off thin trails of smoke.

Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe both stared down at the demon with wide eyes, their chests heaving.

“Are you okay?” Zheng Xiaolang finally asked, and Lei Wenhe nodded.

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.” Zheng Xiaolang poked at the demon with his foot. “So much for staying quiet.”

“It looks almost like a wolf.”

Zheng Xiaolang had thought the same thing. How ironic, that something wolf-like would attack him.

Lei Wenhe used the tree behind him to pull himself to his feet. “You’re bleeding.”

“Hm?”

Lei Wenhe tapped his slender neck. “Right here. I think it scratched you.”

Zheng Xiaolang reached up to touch the same place. His fingertips came away red. “I must not have dodged enough,” he said with a light laugh. “Maybe I’m getting slow in my old age.”

“It’s not your fault. You were restrained.” Lei Wenhe dug into his bag and pulled out a little bottle. “Let me put something on it.”

“I’m not that fragile.”

“You don’t even know what the wound looks like, and I’m a healer. Don’t talk to me about how fragile you are.” He held up the bottle. “Do you want to apply the medicine yourself, or do you want me to do it?”

Zheng Xiaolang studied him for a moment. He wished sometimes that Lei Wenhe was shorter than he was—short enough that Zheng Xiaolang could wrap him up and rest his chin on the top of Lei Wenhe’s head. But at this height, maybe only a thumb’s width shorter, wrapping Lei Wenhe up in his arms meant he could bury his nose in the crook of Lei Wenhe’s neck, inhale the scent there, breathe him in.

“You’re thinking something unseemly,” Lei Wenhe said. Zheng Xiaolang laughed.

“How could you tell?”

“Your smile was starting to look like that demon.” Lei Wenhe pressed the bottle into Zheng Xiaolang’s hand. “Apply the medicine yourself.”

“Wait, Wenhe.” Zheng Xiaolang tried to give the medicine back. “I’m sorry. Would you help me?”

“It’s no wonder you got that nickname of yours.” Lei Wenhe’s words were irritated, but he plucked the medicine bottle out of Zheng Xiaolang’s hand anyway and popped it open. “You’re shameless.”

“I’m only like this for you.”

“That’s a blatant lie.” Lei Wenhe dabbed the medicine on Zheng Xiaolang’s neck with his smallest finger. “You didn’t get called ‘Selang’ because of your restraint.”

“I only got called ‘Selang’ because I hadn’t met you yet.”

“Isn’t it because you keep asking people you just met to sleep with you?” Satisfied with how much medicine he’d applied, Lei Wenhe wiped his hand off on his robes and capped the medicine again.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me better?”

Lei Wenhe rolled his eyes. “I would hit you if I thought it would make any difference at all.” He tucked the medicine bottle back into his bag and spoke again before Zheng Xiaolang could think of how to reply. “What should we do with the demon’s body?”

Zheng Xiaolang rubbed at his temples. “I would say bury it, but I don’t know if we would be able to find this place again. Burning it is too risky, too.”

“Maybe we can mark how to get here.”

“We can’t assure that whoever is still in this forest won’t destroy or alter those marks. Maybe we can just deal with it later,” Zheng Xiaolang said. He bent to pick up the demon. Its tongue lolled from his mouth as it lifted into the air. “It really does look like a wolf, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe the two of you are related.”

“Ha ha.” He shoved the demon out of the clearing and then turned back toward Lei Wenhe, his hands rubbing together. “Shall we investigate this properly, then?”

“Why didn’t you notice the demon approaching?”

“I…” He didn’t have an answer for that. Why hadn’t he? He had been keeping his senses open—he thought he’d been, at least. They’d been moving through the forest so carefully that Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t have been distracted by anything else but this damn ringing in his ears. The mold had affected him more than he thought it would, but maybe it was even worse than that. There was no way this thing, which was almost as big as he was, could approach so quickly without making at least enough sound for Zheng Xiaolang to sense it.

“Xiaolang?” Lei Wenhe was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Zheng Xiaolang tried for a smile, but he knew it wasn’t coming off right from the way Lei Wenhe’s eyebrows just moved to meet in the middle.

“I’m not sure. That demon in Liping was able to move underground. It’s possible that this one had some other means of moving around that was equally undetectable.” But even as Zheng Xiaolang said this, he didn’t believe any of it. Underground? It didn’t move underground. It had been right up against Zheng Xiaolang. He’d had his hands against its clammy skin. And it had smelled like blood and rage and salt, but it hadn’t smelled of soil. The only soil anywhere on it was at its feet. Through the trees, maybe? But its hands were still so human, not suited for climbing.

“Xiaolang.” Lei Wenhe’s hand landed on Zheng Xiaolang’s arm, and he snatched it away on instinct. Lei Wenhe’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Oh, I’m—I’m sorry, I hadn’t—” He hadn’t noticed him. Lei Wenhe, who was right next to him—Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t noticed him approach. He cast a glance at the demon, uneasy. “Let’s just try to figure out what this space is doing here.”

“Don’t move.”

Well, that wasn’t Lei Wenhe’s voice.

Cold steel pressed against the side of Zheng Xiaolang’s neck, right where Lei Wenhe had just applied the medicine.

“You move, you die. Now, who are you?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Teapot

THIS NEW VOICE was clear and strong, youthful but powerful, too. Slowly, Lei Wenhe lifted his head and made eye contact with the man standing in front of him, right next to Zheng Xiaolang. He was in something that resembled cultivator’s robes, but not quite—like a cross between servant’s clothes and cultivator’s robes. And he was holding a sword, unsheathed, right up against Zheng Xiaolang’s neck.

There was a cultivator out here? Zheng Xiaolang was perplexed. He hadn’t heard about anyone coming out here. If someone had broken through the quarantine like that, the noble families would have been talking about them, just as they’d talked about Qian Dong and He Zhenzhen and Shen Ying when their districts had been overtaken. He turned his head a little, just enough to see the cultivator’s face, even as that metal dug into his skin. He didn’t look like he was related to any of the noble families either—he had round eyes and a narrow face, making him look even younger than he probably was; that kind of face wasn’t common among nobility.

“We aren’t here to cause any harm,” came Lei Wenhe’s voice, ever so calm. “We’re here to learn about Quiet Death.”

“Quiet Death?” The cultivator’s voice was flat, and his sword didn’t waver.

Was it possible that—? “The disease that overtook this island seventy years ago,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “The reason why the borders closed. The reason why you can’t leave. The world calls it Quiet Death.”

A moment of silence, then— “What about it?”

“We’re here to learn about the source,” said Lei Wenhe. “I think I can cure it.”

“You? And what gives you that kind of confidence?”

“Do you know what Golden Core Turns Black is?”

“Of course I do.”

“I can cure it.”

That was the first time they got a reaction. The cultivator’s eyes widened for a moment, and his sword dipped down before it came right back up, as steady as ever. Zheng Xiaolang longed to pull out his own sword and knock it immediately away, removing the threat, but he could sense the pulse of significant power from this cultivator, and doubted he would even be able to reach his sword’s handle before his neck was cut open. He might win in a fight, but only if the fight had been started fairly. “That’s impossible,” the cultivator said. “No one can—”

“It’s true.” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice sounded thunderously loud in his ears. “I’ve seen it.”

“And why should I believe you?”

Zheng Xiaolang moved one hand to his waist. The sword cut deeper into his neck—a warning—and he froze. “Relax,” he said.

“Don’t tell me to relax.”

“I’m just grabbing something. You can see my sword, and I’m nowhere near it. Take it, if you want.” If it came to a fight, Zheng Xiaolang could make do without a sword, anyway. Hopefully.

The cultivator snatched up his sword in an instant. Zheng Xiaolang, slowly moved back toward his waist, and then he lifted the three tokens up—Xie, Wu, and Cao. “I am Zheng Xiaolang of Xie. I came along with Lei Wenhe to protect him in this endeavor.” That was more or less the truth, anyway. There was no need to mention that he was also a fugitive on the run.

“Zheng Xiaolang…” It was like the cultivator was tasting the name in his mouth, turning it over, trying to remember something. Zheng Xiaolang could see, too, the way he was turning over Zheng Xiaolang’s sword in his hands, his attention flashing between examining it and making sure his two new captives weren’t doing anything suspicious. “You were a slave, right? Xie Rong’s.”

Zheng Xiaolang had to bite back the glower that automatically rose at the question. People did this all the time to him—he could do an infinite amount of work helping people and changing the world for the better and he would always be a slave or a former slave to these people. Through gritted teeth—“Yes,” he said. “Xie Rong’s.”

“Hm.” The metal disappeared from Zheng Xiaolang’s throat and there was a sharp sound as the sword slid back into the cultivator’s sheathe. When Zheng Xiaolang turned, he saw that the cultivator had grasped that sword and Zheng Xiaolang’s sword between his hands and bowed. Zheng Xiaolang was a little stunned. “My name is Xing Xibo. I was once a slave of Xie. I escaped many years ago but, thanks to your efforts, my family was freed as well. Please, your sword.”

“You—what?” Zheng Xiaolang accepted the sword, but he was a little taken aback. He recognized that name. In the official ranks, even as an independent cultivator and a former slave, Xing Xibo was so widely recognized that nobility had no choice but to rank him thirty-fourth. In the unofficial ranks, he was sixth, just after Xie Rong. At least, he had been seventy years ago. Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t thought anything of it when he’d stopped hearing his name. He’d assumed that Xing Xibo, like many talented cultivators, had simply entered some kind of closed-door meditation and would come out the other side even more powerful than Zheng Xiaolang. But he’d been here?

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” said Xing Xibo, a smile flashing across his face. “You thought I was meditating, right?”

Zheng Xiaolang, mute, nodded.

“Your assumption is true, for the most part. I meditated for a while here. I liked the weather, and I liked the way the people here had begun to develop their underground homes. The strategies they were using weren’t very well advanced yet, though, so even as I asked for their help to build me something, it wasn’t too long before that little home I’d made collapsed from the rain, and when I came out…” He shook his head. “We never came up with a name for it. We just said ‘sick.’ But it was a terrible, terrible thing. It was all I could do to protect these people.”

“You’ve been protecting them all this time?” Lei Wenhe asked.

“Mn, that’s right. We were able to help each other adapt to our new circumstances. You found one of our entrances—it’s rather impressive that you were able to.” His face was a lot gentler now that he wasn’t pointing a sword at them. He was boyishly handsome—Zheng Xiaolang knew he was too, but Xing Xibo looked even younger, almost impish. “Do you really think you can cure it?”

“I would like to try,” said Lei Wenhe, and Zheng Xiaolang added, “If there’s anyone who can cure it, it’s him.”

“Hm…then, step back. I’ll bring you underground. It’s safer. We can talk there.” He opened the door hidden in the ground with a small latch that had been disguised against the base of a nearby tree. Upon opening, the door revealed a narrow staircase lined with wooden paneling. It was warmer down there, Zheng Xiaolang could tell, and as they all ventured into the darkness beneath, he could feel that warmth getting stronger. A person would hardly need a cloak down here.

“I’m sorry it’s so dark.” Xing Xibo’s words floated down to them from behind. In the next moment, the door fell down and darkness enveloped them all. “We’d explored using candles down here, but eventually we just adapted to the darkness…the candles made it too hard to breathe, and the rooms would fill up with smoke. Du Guangyao and I recently explored figuring out a talisman that wouldn’t require fire. We still haven’t had any luck.”

There was a strange, earthy smell down in these tunnels—something halfway between the greenery of the forest and rot. Zheng Xiaolang wanted to take the cloth he’d wrapped around his face and press it against his nose, blocking out that smell, but it was a little hard to pay attention to what Xing Xibo was saying with the increasingly loud ringing in his ears. He hadn’t sensed the demon approaching, hadn’t sensed Lei Wenhe approaching, hadn’t sensed Xing Xibo approaching. He didn’t need to lose his sense of smell too.

“Hold still for a moment.”

Zheng Xiaolang had to try to expand his senses again despite the smell, despite the ringing—he could feel Xing Xibo moving closer to them, then moving past them, his shoulder brushing against them, and then standing in the front.

“Hold onto my shoulder while we move. I’ll take you to a room that has a little more light, but for now you’ll have to trust me for the navigation. I know these tunnels by heart.”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t want Lei Wenhe holding onto anyone’s shoulder, so he stepped forward before Lei Wenhe could and grabbed onto Xing Xibo, and after a moment he felt Lei Wenhe grab hold too. They walked through that darkness, one step at a time, winding this way and that way, for what seemed like an entire shichen, and then they stopped, and Xing Xibo made a sharp turn, and then there was a tiny bit of light—just enough to make out their surroundings. They were entering a small room, just big enough for the three of them to sit around the little wooden table in the center. The walls, like the walls in the stairwell, were lined with panels and wood, and so were the floors and the ceiling. After a moment, Zheng Xiaolang realized why he could see all of this—there was a narrow band at the highest point of the wall, almost in the ceiling, that light was streaming through. The smell was a little more bearable here too, since the opening in the wall that let light in was also bringing in clean air, even if it was only the smallest amount.

Xing Xibo was looking at that band too, his expression a little troubled. “We built rooms like this so people could get some fresh air and light while they ate. I thought it might be a nice place to drink some tea and discuss whatever you need.”

Zheng Xiaolang nodded and managed to muster a smile. “The smell in here—?”

Xing Xibo had already started back toward the door, probably to get tea, but he stopped when Zheng Xiaolang spoke and gave him an embarrassed smile that seemed a little sinister in the dim lighting. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry about that. It’s been a while since it’s bothered me, or even since I’ve noticed it. To prevent leaks and keep the cold out, we packed the walls with foliage before we put in the wood. It works well, but as it began to rot, the smell became a little unbearable…well, I’ve gotten used to it by now. If you’d like to keep the masks on to help with the smell, I understand, but you should know that it won’t prevent you from getting sick. There’s nothing that can prevent that.” He let out something that was almost a laugh and lifted one hand, waving off any comments before Lei Wenhe or Zheng Xiaolang could even begin to conjure them. “I’ll go get the tea. I won’t be gone long.” He hurried out the door and back into the darkness. Zheng Xiaolang, holding his head, slowly sank to a seat next to the table.

“Your headache?” Lei Wenhe asked.

“Mn.”

“Has it gotten any worse?”

“Just a little. Xing Xibo and that demon cutting up my neck probably didn’t help.”

“Hm…wait a moment.” Lei Wenhe dug around in his bag and pulled out a small round pill the color of coal. “Eat this when he gives you the tea.”

“Couldn’t you have given this to me earlier?”

“You told me you weren’t in pain. And, even if you were, it should be consumed with something hot, anyway.”

Zheng Xiaolang just took the pill into his palm and held it. “Will it stop the ringing?”

“It should help with the pain, at the very least. I don’t know about the ringing. That must have been some interesting mold.” Lei Wenhe stripped off his mask and tucked it into his sleeve. Zheng Xiaolang had missed seeing his face, no matter how utterly expressionless it was. It was almost better than whatever effects this pill would have.

“Don’t make assumptions like that before you even take the pill. Are you going to take yours off?”

“What, my clothes? If you really insist, Wenhe, though I think Xing Xibo will be back soon and I’m not really comfortable with showing him that much skin yet.”

“Do you want me to make your headache worse? It would be very easy for me.”

Zheng Xiaolang would have laughed if he didn’t want to make the headache worse himself. He pulled off his own makeshift mask and dropped it onto the table.

Some time later, Xing Xibo came back with a chipped tea set. He made some apologies as he put it onto the table and poured each of them a cup, apparently ashamed of the shabby state of his dishware. Lei Wenhe, more polite than Zheng Xiaolang now, waved off the apologies and helped Xing Xibo pour the tea. Zheng Xiaolang tasted it—it was a little bitter, but it was good, and it warmed Zheng Xiaolang’s stomach and hands. He swallowed the pill. Lei Wenhe left his cup untouched.

“You’ll have to forgive the others,” said Xing Xibo, graciously refilling Zheng Xiaolang’s cup. “I spoke to them about coming by and saying hello, but they’re wary about outsiders…I hope Zheng-zhangmen and Lei-xiansheng can understand.”

“Of course,” said Lei Wenhe. “I imagine it’s been a long time since anyone but your own has been here.”

“It has. Shen Guozhi closed the borders as soon as Quiet Death started. It was a good idea, but…” Xing Xibo let out a light laugh. “Well, when you shut a door and lock it, what sorts of things happen to the things left inside? We ran out of cones quickly, and everyone on the outside who was rich enough to afford cones didn’t know any of the survivors here. Isolation like that feels no different from those hallways I brought you through…dark, you know. Endless.”

“Did you build these tunnels after Quiet Death started?”

“Sort of.” Xing Xibo tilted the teapot over Lei Wenhe’s still-full cup, but nothing came out. He didn’t seem to notice. For the few moments it would take to fill the cup, he held the teapot there, and then he set it back onto the table. “The people who lived here before—the ancestors of the people who live here now—had built some houses underground. It took some work, but we expanded and improved the system until it could hold more than just the few families who’d built them in the first place.”

“How many people did you need to house? After such a long walk to get here, I can’t help but feel it’s…quite vast.” Lei Wenhe lifted up his cup and mimed drinking. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know why he was bothering to humor Xing Xibo like this, or why Xing Xibo hadn’t noticed something so obvious as his teapot being empty.

“In the beginning, it was about a hundred. I tried to give everyone their own room so, if they started exhibiting symptoms, their family wouldn’t be forced out of their space. Those inflicted could ride out the disease in a safe place.”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t like the sound of that. In the beginning, it was a hundred. “And now?” he asked. “How many are left?”

“Twenty. People didn’t really feel like…having children. The numbers got smaller with each generation, even beyond the losses we had from the sickness.” Something passed over Xing Xibo’s face—even if that expression was on Lei Wenhe’s face, Zheng Xiaolang would have recognized it: it was grief. Deep, painful grief. And then it was gone in an instant. “How was the tea? Chen Ling made it for you. She was a little nervous to meet with you, but when I said I was going to bring the great Zheng-zhangmen tea, she jumped at the chance.”

Zheng Xiaolang frowned. “She knows who I am?”

“We have to tell each other stories to pass the time. Of course I had to mention the sect leader I admired the most. Would you like some more tea?”

Zheng Xiaolang smiled and shook his head. “I’m good, thank you. But please tell your Chen Ling that it was delicious.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along. She’ll be pleased.”

“Do you think they’ll continue to stay in their rooms? I’d love to meet with them and talk to them, as well.”

“It’s…I don’t know. Maybe they’ll get some courage later, maybe closer to dinnertime. What would the two of you like to eat?”

Xing Xibo kept trying to skirt around any real issues, kept trying to make light of a situation that was in all certainty not light. Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t sure how much he could press Xing Xibo—he seemed a little off. It was understandable, of course; anyone would be a little off after spending so long trapped on the same island, not knowing when they could ever step off. Unable, even, to die—in such a helpless situation, a person might be tempted to take their own life, but not if they were in charge of protecting people. But there was a difference between ‘off’ and ‘fragile,’ and Zheng Xiaolang was a little worried it was the latter. He didn’t know how powerful Xing Xibo had gotten since he disappeared all those years ago. Was he more powerful than Zheng Xiaolang? Would Zheng Xiaolang be able to confidently handle him if something went wrong?

He smiled again. “What do you have to offer?”

“Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. We make do on what little vegetation we can gather. Sometimes I’m able to go to the beach and catch some fish, but it’s been some time since I was able to find any worth eating. It seems like even the fish are avoiding this place.”

Ask about Quiet Death now, Zheng Xiaolang. “Ah, well. Wenhe has gotten me used to diets like that. You won’t believe the kinds of dishes I’ve watched him refuse—the kinds of dishes fit for emperors.”

That made Xing Xibo smile. “Then I’m relieved. I’ll tell Tao Liang he doesn’t need to worry about dinner too much. He’s the one who helps prepare everything, you know—he put a lot of effort into learning how to cook. Even with the scarce ingredients, he’s made some pretty delicious dishes.”

“Does nobody else leave the tunnels?”

“No. It’s too dangerous. There are still those creatures roaming around out there, and I can’t assume that I can control the situation enough to keep them safe.”

“This is a little morbid to ask, but…” Lei Wenhe traced his finger over the rim of his cup. “The demons on the surface. Did you ever consider them as a source of meat?”

Xing Xibo went pale. “You mean, to eat them?”

“If you were scarce on food…”

“No!”

Lei Wenhe startled at the intensity of the answer and Zheng Xiaolang put his hand on his sword, ready to defend Lei Wenhe if he needed to. But Xing Xibo was calm again in an instant.

“No. No, we couldn’t do that. I will kill them if they threaten me or if they get too close to the entrance—I was hunting down that one that you caught, Zheng-zhangmen—but otherwise I leave them alone.”

“Why would you—”

Zheng Xiaolang reached over and grabbed Lei Wenhe’s wrist, stopping him from traveling down that road. That was obviously, for whatever reason, a sensitive subject for Xing Xibo. They didn’t need to push on it any more. “What can you tell us about Quiet Death?”

“Quiet Death, yes, the sickness—I was so happy to have guests that I’d forgotten the reason why you’d come in the first place.” He leaned his elbows on the table and planted his chin in his hands. Zheng Xiaolang, even though this reaction had been good and even though the previous intensity of their last interaction was nowhere to be seen, still couldn’t release the tension in his body or move his other hand from his sword. “What would you like to know?”

“Is it true that one in ten survive Quiet Death?”

Xing Xibo lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know things like that. It might be possible to track on a grander scale, but it seemed much worse than that. People rarely survived. We always tried to ease the way, but…”

“Ease the way?” Lei Wenhe asked. “How? Were there medicines that helped?”

“I wouldn’t really call them medicines. There was a berry that we found in the woods—if we crushed them and brewed them with tea, it would put the inflicted into a deep sleep. It was easier that way for them.”

There was a sparkle in Lei Wenhe’s eyes that Zheng Xiaolang knew meant he wanted to seek out those berries and add them to his bag. “Could you show me those berries later?”

“Oh. Of course.”

Lei Wenhe looked pleased.

“You said it was worse than one in ten,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “But if you had to guess, how many do you think survived after getting Quiet Death? Just in your group.”

“Maybe…three or four.”

Zheng Xiaolang let out his breath. “Out of how many people who caught it?”

Xing Xibo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.

“What about the process?” This time it was Lei Wenhe who cut in before Xing Xibo could get more visibly distressed. “From infection to its end—what is the process like? What are the symptoms?”

“The process—yes, I’m quite familiar.” Xing Xibo nodded a few times. Too many times, probably, to be socially acceptable. “The worst of the symptoms is absolute silence. It’s a terrible way to exist, and it lasts for weeks at a time, and you’re just…exhausted all the time, like your body is being dragged into the ground. No matter how much sleep you get, it’s never enough. If you can survive that—if that exhaustion doesn’t kill you—then you’ll have survived the sickness.”

“How many stages are there?” Lei Wenhe asked.

“Three. Before the silence, there are hallucinations. That’s when a lot of people die.” Xing Xibo was nodding again, like he was agreeing with himself. “You see things that aren’t there, hear things…sometimes you hurt yourself, sometimes you hurt others and they hurt you to protect themselves. That’s why we gave them the private rooms.”

“And how does it start?”

“Oh, see, that’s the interesting part. The first stage is also the last stage. If the silence ends and the first stage returns, that means you’ve made it through. It’s a little hard to explain. It’s almost like…well, imagine you ring a bell, but the sound that comes afterward just keeps going, this constant noise. It’s incessant. Even though you know what the silence means, once it comes—it’s a relief, at first, you know?”

The warmth that had spread through Zheng Xiaolang’s body had completely disappeared. He felt numb.

“Ringing?” he asked. “Ringing is the first stage of Quiet Death?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Maybe a kiss would make it better

“I’LL FIND A cure,” Lei Wenhe was saying—or perhaps that’s what he said earlier, and was now saying something else, his voice low and calm and steady. Either way, Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t hear him.

“I…have only been here for a few days. The ringing started before we met anyone. Was it the mold? It couldn’t have been the mold. It wouldn’t have grown in more populated areas, and if it could spread, then you would have it too.”

Lei Wenhe stopped talking. He was silent for a while. Then he was back, pressing a folded cloth into Zheng Xiaolang’s hand. “Put this over your eyes.”

Zheng Xiaolang tried to give it back. “It won’t help. A wet cloth won’t stop the sound. I just want to know how I got this and how to fix it.” He was at least operating at his full capacity—Quiet Death didn’t have any effect on his cultivation, so he would still be able to protect Lei Wenhe if he needed to. But was maintaining his strength a good thing? What happened when the hallucinations started? Would Xing Xibo be strong enough to stop him, if Zheng Xiaolang lost control?

Lei Wenhe put his hand on Zheng Xiaolang’s forehead and pushed it back onto the mattress beneath him, then gently placed the cloth over his eyes. It was cooling. It felt nice. It still didn’t help with the ringing.

After their discussion, Xing Xibo had brought them into one of the bedrooms in those underground tunnels. Just like the hallway, it felt infinitely dark, and the smell got terribly stuffy the longer they sat in it. Zheng Xiaolang was laying down on the bed they’d somehow found in the room, but he wasn’t sure why—it wasn’t as if he couldn’t walk, and it wasn’t as if rest and relaxation was going to cure it. This wasn’t a simple cough. It wasn’t a mild fever. Why did he need to sit around when he could be looking for the cure? If this went on…

“Xing Xibo said…”

Zheng Xiaolang waited, but Lei Wenhe wasn’t continuing.

“Wenhe?”

“He said that, if you survive, the ringing will go on forever. That some people can’t take it, and that’s how Quiet Death kills people even if its victim survived its onslaught.”

“Forever?” Zheng Xiaolang had been experiencing this for less than a day, and already he would do almost anything for a moment of silence. In all the years he’d been alive, he’d encountered countless situations that had been deeply disheartening and frustrating and agonizing, but this was the first that had felt so helpless. The only two options here were dying or living like this for the rest of his life. No amount of effort—no amount of cultivation—could change that.

“I guess,” Lei Wenhe said, “if the sound doesn’t drive you mad, then you’ll eventually get used to it.”

“And how do you know that? Did Xing Xibo tell you that too?”

“…”

“Wenhe, don’t keep going quiet on me. I don’t want to just listen to this ringing. Let me hear your voice, at least.”

“He said…that he hears it too.”

“Your voice?”

“The ringing,” Lei Wenhe said. “Some decades ago, Xing Xibo had Quiet Death. He survived it.”

“But the ringing remained. And after all that time, he still hears it.”

“…Yes.”

Zheng Xiaolang swore, sighed, and then swore again. “Wenhe…you really can cure this, can’t you? You have the progress of the disease. That’s what you said you needed.”

“I have a few more questions for Xing Xibo, then—”

“You said it wasn’t a disease. So how do you cure it?” All those symptoms of the disease—the ringing, the silence, the hallucinations, the fatigue. What kind of disease acted like that? If it was a sickness—if something had invaded the body—then why wasn’t the body treating it as a sickness? Shouldn’t there be some kind of fever as the body tried to fight it off? Lei Wenhe had known it was something else early on. If it couldn’t be a disease, then—

“Do you understand now?” Lei Wenhe asked quietly, and Zheng Xiaolang, not for the first time, wondered who the teacher was between the two of them.

“It’s a curse.”

“Mn.”

Zheng Xiaolang put a hand over his eyes, pressing the cloth against his eyelids. “A curse that’s lasted this long…who in the world wants so much death and suffering?” It couldn’t be the nobles—they had nothing to gain by risking so much, and Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know anyone who hated Cao Feng or Shen Guozhi so much that they would target one of them like this. Surely, if they were going to target one particular clan leader, it would be Xie Rong or Long Qingge? Curses were always so personal. In Zheng Xiaolang’s line of work, the most surefire way to trace down the origin of the curse was to figure out what the motive behind the curse was. If he knew that the person who was cursed had done something wrong to someone, he could reason that the victim of the wrongdoing had put the curse on them. It was usually a personal issue, one that could be solved with an investigation of the victim’s personal life. But this case was…surprisingly impersonal. An entire population of people had become affected by this “disease.” It was as if the person who had cursed them hadn’t cared about who was hurt—they just wanted as many people hurt as possible. As if they had a grudge against humanity itself.

“Is that true?”

Zheng Xiaolang jerked upward—how long had Xing Xibo been standing there? This unawareness of his senses seemed to be getting worse and worse. Surely he would have noticed him if it was lighter in here, if he could see. His other senses were having a hard time keeping up like this.

“What you said—is it true? Quiet Death is a curse?”

“It’s what I believe,” said Lei Wenhe.

“Do you know…who did this? If it was about what the people on the island were doing with the resort, then why not just stop with the nobles and the aristocrats? Why let it spread?”

It was exactly what Zheng Xiaolang had been pondering over. “Maybe they lost control of it,” he suggested. “They wanted to spread the curse like a disease to effectively get all of their targets, but it got out of control and went a lot farther than they thought it would.”

“It’s possible…how far has it spread by now?”

“It eventually spread to Qian Dong’s district,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “Recently, it also spread through the rest of Shen and surrounded the capital.”

“So it’s gone that far…” Xing Xibo seemed to think of something, and his voice changed direction, facing somewhere else. “What do you think, Lei Wenhe? Do you think it’s a matter of lost control?”

“Hm…no, I don’t.”

“Then?”

Lei Wenhe waited a moment before answering. “I think it’s the opposite. Not a loss of control, but rather the failure to spread further than they intended.”

“Then you think—you think that they want to hurt more people?” Xing Xibo sounded aghast.

“Quiet Death would have spread further if Cao Feng and Shen Guozhi hadn’t cut it off. But think about it—if it was so easy to lose control over curses like that, we would be hearing about it a lot more. Enough people have grudges against the noble families that at least one of them would have been wiped out by now. Instead of someone who lost control of a powerful curse, I think it was someone powerful whose plan was cut short.”

“But who could be so powerful, other than clan leaders?” asked Zheng Xiaolang. “And why would they start in Long’an, of all places? Why not somewhere inland, somewhere more populated?”

“They didn’t want to be caught,” said Lei Wenhe, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I expect this was the testing ground, but word moved faster than the disease and halted it before it could spread further than Shen.”

“Then they’re still here.” Zheng Xiaolang tried to sit up again; Lei Wenhe automatically pushed him back down. “Whoever did this is still here.”

“And that’s precisely why I wanted to come here. To find that person.”

Zheng Xiaolang had a sneaking suspicion. “Do you…know who it is?”

Lei Wenhe waved a hand. “No. I do think I probably know why they’re doing it, though. Once I meet them, I’d like to confirm.”

“They can’t still be here,” Xing Xibo cut in. “I’ve been here for a long time. I’m the only cultivator, and I’m the only one who’s been alive for this long.”

“What if they’ve been hiding for as long as you? Or if they’ve been able to keep you away from them somehow?”

“Keep—” Bewildered, Xing Xibo stuttered for a moment, just ‘you’ing for a while before he retried the impossible task of communicating with Lei Wenhe, the poor bastard. “The number of people capable of keeping me away from something without me noticing is very small. In fact, I could give you a list—Xiong Ju, Long Qingge, Zheng-zhangmen, and maybe Wu Enlai. I doubt even Xie Rong would be able to do something like that.”

“You’re operating off the list that your cultivating world has created, whether that is official or unofficial. What if this person wasn’t on your list?”

Xing Xibo said a few more ‘you’s.

“The people on that list are all in the public sphere. Do you think it’s impossible for someone to hide from the ones who made that list, in an isolated place like this? You were concentrating on keeping all these people alive. Were you ever actually looking for a culprit?”

“Even if that were the case, I don’t know where you would look.”

“I’ll find them.” Lei Wenhe was close enough that Zheng Xiaolang felt his movement when he rose to his feet.

“Wait, Wenhe.” Zheng Xiaolang reached out in the darkness but couldn’t catch Lei Wenhe’s arm in time—he could feel him moving farther away.

“Rest for now,” said Lei Wenhe. “I’ll do the same. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Wenhe—” Zheng Xiaolang wanted to ask him to stay again, to lay down beside him and keep talking, to distract him from the ringing in his ears, but Lei Wenhe was finding the door and leaving before he could get the words out.

“Zheng-zhangmen,” said Xing Xibo, “this disease…or curse, or whatever it is. I know better than anyone that it isn’t the sickness that will kill you. It’s your mental state.”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t answer.

“If you can’t convince yourself that it’s worth it to stay alive…that’s how it will defeat you. So, Zheng-zhangmen, you need to stay strong. Not just for yourself, but for Lei Wenhe as well.”

…

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t need rest. Lei Wenhe had prescribed it to him though, so he stayed down in that dark and stuffy room for a shichen, and then he was crawling out and feeling his way back to the staircase and climbing upward.

“Wenhe?”

He couldn’t see him, and he obviously couldn’t hear him over the ringing. The demon he’d killed earlier, too, was nowhere to be seen. Zheng Xiaolang rubbed hard at his temples.

“Wenhe, where…”

“Zheng-zhangmen, what are you doing up?” Xing Xibo appeared behind Zheng Xiaolang after a moment. His eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes concerned. “You should be resting.”

“Resting won’t help. Isn’t that what you said? Where’s Wenhe?”

“He said he wanted to look around a bit and explore the island.”

A shock of fear laced its way through Zheng Xiaolang’s spine. “He—what? What do you mean? How far did he go?”

“I asked him if he wanted me to go with him, and he said that he’d rather I stayed with—”

“And you listened to him? We ran into a demon just before you found us. And we just determined there was someone on this island wanting to destroy as many people as possible—how could you just let him go?”

“He assured me he was capable of handling himself,” said Xing Xibo.

There was no use in arguing with Xing Xibo—he didn’t understand just truly how different Lei Wenhe was, how he was the exception to so many rules. Even a demon with no other senses beyond a hunger for qi could understand, on some instinctual level, that Lei Wenhe was someone who could help it. If whoever had started Quiet Death met Lei Wenhe, there was no telling what they would want to do to him, or what they would want from him—not to mention the countless demons that were roaming the island.

“Where is he now?”

“I’m not sure. He said he would be back soon.”

Zheng Xiaolang just sat by the door and waited. And waited.

The sun started to fall.

The ringing in his ears, at least, didn’t seem like it was getting worse.

A little past sundown, Lei Wenhe came back. He was moving lightly through the trees, unconcerned with hiding his qinggong now, and in a few moments he was standing in front of Zheng Xiaolang.

“Don’t scold me for not resting,” said Zheng Xiaolang in lieu of a hello. “I couldn’t stand it in that room anymore.”

“It was a little hard to breathe, wasn’t it?” Lei Wenhe bent down and put one hand on Zheng Xiaolang’s chin, grabbing hold of it and moving it from one side to the other.

“Are you admiring my good looks?”

“Zheng Xiaolang, you should stop worrying so much about your looks and start worrying more about this curse.”

Zheng Xiaolang refused to let his good humor disappear. “Maybe a kiss would make it better.”

“And maybe shutting your mouth would.” Lei Wenhe pushed back his face and released his chin with a little too much force, and Zheng Xiaolang let out a laugh. “How are your symptoms?”

“Still just ringing, I think. How am I supposed to know if I’m experiencing hallucinations?” The thought of that—of the next stage coming with Zheng Xiaolang completely unable to stop it—sobered Zheng Xiaolang in an instant. “Wenhe…”

“What is it now?” Lei Wenhe lowered his hood and looked back at Zheng Xiaolang. There was a terrible seriousness in his eyes.

“If I get to the next stage and start hallucinating…I’m not sure that Xing Xibo will be able to stop me. You saw my fight with Wu Enlai—even he wasn’t able to stop me.”

“But you were at your best then,” Lei Wenhe said. “You were doing everything you could to defeat Wu Enlai. When would you do that otherwise?”

It was a good question, one that Lei Wenhe had maybe been thinking about since they were first talking about the difference between the official and unofficial rankings—Zheng Xiaolang was powerful, but he couldn’t ever be as powerful in public as he was in reality. Maybe that meant that, even if he was hallucinating, he could hold back on instinct. Maybe that meant Zheng Xiaolang wouldn’t have to worry—Lei Wenhe at his best might be able to move faster than Zheng Xiaolang anyway. But—

“I don’t know,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “I don’t know how far I’ll go to…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but they both knew how he was going to finish it. I don’t know how far I’ll go to protect you. If Zheng Xiaolang perceived that Lei Wenhe was in danger, would he hold back in protecting him? If he perceived Xing Xibo as a threat—what if he saw Lei Wenhe as someone else, or his hallucinations somehow made him think that the best way to protect Lei Wenhe was to kill him?

“We’ll worry about that when we get to it,” said Lei Wenhe. “Let me talk to Xing Xibo some more about the island. I have some suspicions about where this person may be hiding…if I get the answers I need, we’ll be able to set out sooner. Are you able to walk and fight as normal?”

“Yes. It’s a little harder to concentrate, and I won’t be able to sense things properly if I need to use my other senses, but…yes, I can still fight.”

“Good.” As if to reward him, Lei Wenhe reached over and patted Zheng Xiaolang’s head. “I’ll go talk to Xing Xibo.”

“Wenhe.” Zheng Xiaolang took his wrist before he could move any further away. “Don’t go out again alone.”

Lei Wenhe looked at him with his eyebrows drawn together. “Should I bring Xing Xibo with me, then? I didn’t think you would want to be left alone with the survivors.”

Lei Wenhe alone with Xing Xibo and Zheng Xiaolang alone with the survivors that he’d yet to meet or make a good impression on—no, Zheng Xiaolang didn’t want either of those things. He didn’t think that he could trust himself, if the hallucinations came early somehow, not to hurt the innocent people in those underground rooms. He also didn’t know if he could trust Xing Xibo so far as to leave him alone with Lei Wenhe—Xing Xibo hadn’t done anything wrong, and as far as Zheng Xiaolang knew he was an admirable cultivator who’d always done what was right, but nobody had heard anything about him in so long, after all. A man could change to someone entirely different in that short amount of time.

But the other option—for Zheng Xiaolang to go along with Lei Wenhe and possibly lose control with him, to put Lei Wenhe in danger like that…

“You see,” said Lei Wenhe, “I considered all of that too. It’s best if I look around on my own.”

“Stay here.” Zheng Xiaolang was stubborn. “There’s a third option. Stay here and we’ll discuss the options with Xing Xibo, and then we’ll all go together.”

“It would be faster if I just—”

“It would make me feel better if you waited. Can’t you?” He brought Lei Wenhe’s wrist closer to his face and pressed his cheek against Lei Wenhe’s warm palm. “Can’t you?” he whispered again.

“Whoever it is,” Lei Wenhe said, “they won’t hurt me.”

“Just because you have the cure to Golden Core Turns Black? They won’t believe that you can cure it just because you say that you can. Your reputation won’t have reached this far. And don’t say that your qinggong is good enough to stand up against this person or the demons. You said yourself that you’re helpless in a fight.”

Lei Wenhe sighed. “How’s your head?”

“It hurts. Can’t you ask Xing Xibo to talk up here? I can’t breathe in there, and the quiet makes the ringing feel worse.”

“There’s no room up here,” Lei Wenhe said. “There’s barely room for the two of us to stand right now.”

“Wenhe.” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice was low, crooning. Almost pleading.

“Enough. I’ll speak to Xing Xibo to see if there’s any suitable place we can discuss things. It’s too cold to stay up here at night, though. You’ll have to sleep underground at night.”

Zheng Xiaolang felt like a child here, kneeling, Lei Wenhe’s hand against his face, whining to get his way. He had never experienced anything like that with his mother, as they were too poor for him to ever dream of whining, and he certainly had never done anything like this with Xie Rong—but with Lei Wenhe, he felt like letting his guard down even just a little. He was still a paranoid man, and considered himself as such, and honestly he still felt uneasy about anyone going anywhere near his golden core, but acting a little spoiled in front of a man who didn’t seem to be affected by anything never hurt anyone. “It won’t be too cold for me. I can use my core to—”

“Xiaolang, really. You shouldn’t depend on your core to keep yourself warm. You should be concentrating more on conserving your strength. Maybe meditating will help.”

“How am I supposed to meditate with that kind of smell around me?”

“You’re a powerful cultivator, Zheng Xiaolang. The third most powerful, if I remember correctly. There shouldn’t be a problem.” Lei Wenhe pulled his wrist away. “I’ll go find Xing Xibo.”

“You’ll wait until we can all go together? You won’t go off looking on your own?”

“I’ll wait.”

“Ah,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “Thank you, Wenhe. Thank you.”

A few days passed like that. Xing Xibo had a map drawn out that he rolled out in that dimly-lit room, and they combed over every corner of it, discussing where someone might be hiding. Xing Xibo claimed that he’d been over every inch of this island, and that there wasn’t any place this person could be hiding unless they were deliberately moving just out of sight every time Xing Xibo looked. Zheng Xiaolang would have accepted that in an instant, but he knew that Lei Wenhe was convinced there was still someone here, and he believed in him. Lei Wenhe hadn’t been wrong yet.

The ringing continued. It was hard for Zheng Xiaolang to sleep without the medicines that Lei Wenhe gave him, and even after he took them it was a fretful sleep, one that was constantly interrupted in the middle of the night. Xing Xibo was right—Quiet Death wouldn’t kill him physically. It would break him down, piece by piece, until he was driven mad. Were the hallucinations actually a part of the progression of the disease, or was it simply a result of the mind conjuring something to relieve itself of the constant ringing? What if the silence, too, was a way to imagine peace? What if the ringing never “returned” but rather had been there all along, and sensing it again was instead an indication of the mind returning to its rightful state?

Sometimes he gave up on sleeping and meditated instead. He sat in the darkness of the room, his legs crossed, his breathing slow and controlled, and tried to shut off all his senses and concentrate only on the flow of the qi through his body. The problem was, of course, that the ringing in his ears wasn’t actually in his ears—it was in his mind, and so the meditation could only act as a distraction.

Other times, he made his way into Lei Wenhe’s room, feeling along the walls until he found the bed, and then crawling in beside Lei Wenhe’s body, finding comfort in the warmth there but no relief.

Xing Xibo said the first stage could last anywhere between a few days to a couple months. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know if he had that long. He prided himself in having a strong mental state—it would be difficult to get through his childhood if he didn’t—but it was easier to adjust to pain and hunger and grueling hard work than it was to adjust to this ringing and constant, throbbing pain. Zheng Xiaolang was almost missing those old days under Xie Rong’s care.

“Here.” Lei Wenhe pointed to a place on the map. Zheng Xiaolang was dimly paying attention to the conversation, but he was so exhausted that it was hard to make sense of things. He knew that Lei Wenhe and Xing Xibo were still going over the map, that Lei Wenhe would point to certain places and Xing Xibo would dismiss it for whatever reason he could come up with. “This wouldn’t be susceptible to flooding.”

“No, there wouldn’t be any kind of resistance to the cold there. A person would freeze to death in a week.”

Lei Wenhe’s willow leaf eyes narrowed. “What if the cold isn’t a problem? Look at this map. What places here—any place, even if it’ll be so cold you could hardly stand to be there for even a moment—are dry enough that you wouldn’t have to worry about the rain?”

“The cold is really—”

“Just indulge me for now, Daxia.”

Xing Xibo made an exasperated sound. “Well, the higher up you go, naturally, the less susceptible you are to flooding.” His finger traced some of the map with higher elevation. “Up on this hill, you wouldn’t get any flooding at all. But there aren’t any trees on that hill. Even if the flooding didn’t bother you, the rain and the wind would. We’re too close to the coast for it not to be an issue. Immune to the cold or not, the storms wouldn’t be kind. And a location like that—I would have noticed if anyone put any kind of structure.”

“Even if it was underground?”

“If it was underground…” Xing Xibo rubbed his chin. “It’s a possibility. We can check it out.”

“What about the abandoned buildings?” Zheng Xiaolang offered. Lei Wenhe glanced back at him just for a moment, and the answer he gave afterward was flat, like he’d delivered it a hundred times before—and he might have, if Zheng Xiaolang’s exhaustion was anything to go by.

“There’s nothing in the abandoned buildings. Xing Xibo’s already been, and so have I.”

Then, Zheng Xiaolang decided, he would just sit here and listen to the conversation instead of involving himself any further. He might still be of some use in a fight, but he knew better than anyone that his mental capacity really wasn’t going to hold up under these circumstances. He was lucky Lei Wenhe was intelligent.

“We should check out the hills, then, do you want to…”

Zheng Xiaolang put his head into his hands. He wanted to go stand there next to Lei Wenhe, bounce theories between them, maybe tease Lei Wenhe just to see what kind of reaction he could get—but the ringing had only gotten louder and more incessant since it started, and Zheng Xiaolang knew that any attempt to join the conversation would just result in the same: blank stares, the pity in Xing Xibo’s eyes, Lei Wenhe sighing and shaking his head and suggesting Zheng Xiaolang lay down.

Sure enough—

“Xiaolang, why don’t you rest?”

Zheng Xiaolang let out a dry laugh. Without answering, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled out of the room. After the few days here, they’d gotten more used to the tunnels. Moving from that entrance to this room they spoke in, or between the room and the rooms they slept in—it had all gotten more natural for them. The smell hadn’t gotten any more bearable, though; a good majority of the reason Zheng Xiaolang was so familiar with these tunnels now was because he kept escaping to get fresh air outside.

Now, he went on that same path, keeping one hand on the wall to make sure he didn’t stumble, until he was pushing out the door and into the clean, cold air. It was noon. The sunlight was barely filtering through the trees, but Zheng Xiaolang was getting good at telling time even through the forest like this. He shut the door and then sat just to the side of it, half still in the little clearing and half out, ensuring anyone else who wanted to come out could still do so without obstruction.

Lei Wenhe didn’t like when he came out like this. He said that it was too risky—what if something happened? Zheng Xiaolang thought he could defend himself, but what happened if he couldn’t? What happened if he didn’t notice another demon sneaking up on him? What happened if he lost control somehow and ran away.

Ran away? Zheng Xiaolang had asked, half a joke—What am I, some kind of juvenile? Can I still run away at my age? And Lei Wenhe had just sighed and shook his head.

Even with all of that, Zheng Xiaolang still regularly came out here, still took every chance he could get to come into the fresh air. It was maybe the only thing that was keeping him sane. And if a demon came by, he reasoned, he could just take care of it, and it wouldn’t be a problem for Lei Wenhe or Xing Xibo.

“Shizun?”

Zheng Xiaolang’s eyes were open in a flash. He could see a clamoring some twenty paces away from him—after another moment, three figures came stumbling out of the thick of the trees. He was to his feet in an instant.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

Xie Huiyan brushed some leaves out of her hair with vague irritation before she put her hands together and bowed with the others. “Chen Tian sent word that you were trying to solve Quiet Death. We’re here to help.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s head was really killing him. “Here to—why would you think this was a good idea? What if you catch it?”

Hou Conglin was already beginning to investigate the clearing. “And what if Shizun catches it? If it’s cured, it won’t be a problem either way. We’re here to provide some assistance in finding the cure. Just tell us what Shizun needs.”

If his dependable disciples were here, Zheng Xiaolang didn’t have to worry about Lei Wenhe or Xing Xibo. “Xie Huiyan,” he said, “Stay here in this clearing. If Lei Wenhe or…another cultivator shows up, tell them why you’re here and that I’ve gone with the others to find the cure.”

“Show up?” Xie Huiyan looked a little confused. “Shizun—”

“It’ll make sense if they do. And watch out for demons—I ran into one earlier, but I’m not sure how many more of them there are on this island.”

“Understood.”

“Hou Conglin, Lai Liu. Come with me. We’ll talk while we move.”

“Yes, Shizun,” they said in near unison. As the three of them moved back through the forest, Zheng Xiaolang explained what they deduced about Quiet Death—that it was a curse, mainly, but also that the culprit was probably still somewhere on the island. Hou Conglin and Lai Liu, of course, had some concerns.

“A person who’s that powerful…does Shizun really think that we’ll be able to defeat someone like that?”

“I don’t know the extent to how far a curse can go with someone even close to my level. Anyone in the top ten won’t ever resort to something like cursing others—in our world, conflicts will either be direct, or they’ll be dealt with in politics. If their grudge is so powerful and so secretive that they resort to cursing someone…I don’t think it would be on such a grand scale. I’d expect them instead to give a powerful, concentrated curse to one person or family.” He stretched out his limbs, stiff from sitting for too long, and looked over at his disciples. They were dutifully listening to every word, trying to follow his logic and determine where it would go next before Zheng Xiaolang said it. Lai Liu, reaching there half a second before Hou Conglin, spoke up once Zheng Xiaolang stopped speaking.

“So there’s no way to know how powerful this person is just from the level of their curse, because there’s no point of comparison.”

“Yes, exactly. If anyone in the top ten had, within my knowledge, cursed anyone, then I might have some kind of clue…for now, if we find this person, it might serve us better to go back and get help before we start a conflict.”

“Help? Shizun, do you think Lei-xiansheng would be able to—”

Zheng Xiaolang shook his head, stopping Hou Conglin halfway through his question. “Not Lei Wenhe. If I can help it, I won’t involve him in this fight at all. He’s confident that he’d be able to interact with this person without issue, but I don’t want to take that chance.”

“The other cultivator, then,” said Lai Liu. “Are they someone important?”

“You may not have heard of him. His name is Xing Xibo—he’s an independent cultivator who made a name for himself long before any of you were born. He’s in the top ten. If he’s retained his strength, he’d be an enormous asset.” It would also be of import that he retained his sanity as well, but Zheng Xiaolang didn’t want to worry his students. What would they do if they couldn’t depend on their teacher?

“Xing Xibo…” Lai Liu turned the name over in her head. “I think I read about him. Wasn’t he the one who defeated that demon in the unoccupied lands that no one else could defeat?”

Now that Zheng Xiaolang was thinking about it, that was true—it had been many years ago, but back before Zheng Xiaolang was a sect leader, when he was still trying to obediently listen to Xie Rong, there had been a demon in the unoccupied lands near Xie. Several cultivators had gone against it and lost the fight—some were even starting to call it a Bai Wen, and that was at the very start when the legend of the Bai Wen was just beginning to become at all prominent. And then came Xing Xibo. He was a no-name at the time, at least to the cultivating world that prioritized noble names over all else, but he defeated that demon within a week. They couldn’t ignore him then. Nobody could ignore him then.

“That’s right,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “He came here before Quiet Death started to do closed-door meditation and has been here ever since. He’s a very talented cultivator, and can help us if there are any problems.”

“Shizun…”

“What is it, Hou Conglin?”

“If Xing Xibo is so powerful, and if he was here before Quiet Death, who’s to say he wasn’t the one who started it?”

“Well, that’s—” Zheng Xiaolang sighed. “I didn’t want to concern either of you, but Xing Xibo is a survivor of Quiet Death.”

“So?” asked Hou Conglin, and Zheng Xiaolang let out a surprised laugh.

“Well, I don’t think he would give it to himself.”

“It might have been on accident. Shizun said himself that this kind of curse is unprecedented. If it’s so powerful, it would make sense that there would be some kind of push back, right?”

“But what motive,” cut in Lai Liu, “would someone like Xing Xibo have to cause this much destruction?”

“Motive? He’s a former slave. He’s ranked thirty-fourth in the official ranks when he’s actually in the top ten. The entire world refused to acknowledge him until he killed a demon that they couldn’t ignore. That sounds like a good enough motive to me.”

The trees were thinned out enough that the three of them could almost walk side by side. Zheng Xiaolang walked some steps ahead of them and thought about what they were discussing. Xing Xibo? It wasn’t…completely impossible. In fact, the more Zheng Xiaolang considered it, the more he thought that it made a bit of sense. Xing Xibo, like Zheng Xiaolang, was probably outraged when he looked at the nobles vacationing on this island. He was a powerful cultivator. If he wanted to start killing nobility without anyone being able to blame him for it, a curse was the perfect idea—and nobody had even known that he’d come here in the first place. He could kill everyone who had cones first, ensuring that no one could call for help or reveal who it was that was behind it all, if they ever figured it out. But he must have missed someone, or he wasn’t able to stop the word from spreading once it reached the mainland, and the curse was stopped before it could go any further.

Xing Xibo…

Zheng Xiaolang stopped, horrified.

He needed to get back to those underground tunnels. He’d left Xie Huiyan there as a precaution in case anything happened, but if Xing Xibo was intending on getting rid of Lei Wenhe as soon as Zheng Xiaolang was gone, Xie Huiyan wouldn’t stand a chance against him, and Lei Wenhe—

Zheng Xiaolang was turning around and racing back to that little clearing in an instant. If he was right, if Xing Xibo was going to try to get rid of any witnesses who knew he was in Long’an—

“Xiaolang.”

His chest was heaving. Lei Wenhe needed to be okay. If he wasn’t okay…if Zheng Xiaolang had abandoned him with a monster…

“Here, try this.”

A pill, in his mouth. Zheng Xiaolang spit it out on instinct. Lei Wenhe sighed. He bent down and picked it up again, then pressed it into Zheng Xiaolang’s hand.

“Shouldn’t you be more pleased that I’m feeding you? I can’t help but feel as if we’ve switched some roles here.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth was dry. Lei Wenhe was kneeling in front of him in that illuminated little room. Xing Xibo was still at the table poring over the map, not even glancing in their direction, his lips pursed. Zheng Xiaolang seized Lei Wenhe’s arm and yanked him closer.

“Xiaolang, you—”

“Don’t go near him. He’s the reason behind Quiet Death.”

Now Xing Xibo was looking up at them, feigning at bewilderment. “Zheng-zhangmen?”

“What are you talking about, Xiaolang?” Lei Wenhe tried to pull out of Zheng Xiaolang’s grip, but Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t willing to let him go so easily. He seized his sword with his other hand, unsheathed it, and swung it in Xing Xibo’s direction.

“He’s the reason behind Quiet Death, Wenhe, we can’t just believe in him like this. Hou Conglin suggested—”

“Put the sword down first.”

“No! Why are you being so unreasonable about this?”

“Zheng Xiaolang, you’re experiencing the next stage of Quiet Death.” Lei Wenhe had stopped trying to get away and was instead putting one hand against Zheng Xiaolang’s cheek, his cooling palm. “Take a deep breath. Xing Xibo isn’t the one behind Quiet Death.”

“You don’t know that for sure. And you don’t know that I’m hallucinating.”

“You said Hou Conglin. Did you contact him?”

“No, he came here with Lai Liu and Xie Huiyan. Chen Tian recommended they…help.” The tip of Zheng Xiaolang’s sword wavered. Chen Tian?

“He wouldn’t ever send disciples here, especially your top disciples. He wouldn’t risk them getting Quiet Death. He has faith in us, and wouldn’t use his authority to put them into danger without your permission. You know that, don’t you?”

Zheng Xiaolang did know that. He looked at Lei Wenhe with wide eyes.

“I…didn’t meet them?”

“You haven’t left these tunnels. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for days.”

“In and out—no, I was just in here a few minutes ago. You and Xing Xibo wanted to talk about tunnels beneath the hills.”

“The tunnels?” Lei Wenhe looked toward Xing Xibo. “We went and investigated that two days ago. You must have been conscious for that part of the conversation.”

If it was Xing Xibo, Zheng Xiaolang wouldn’t have believed it—he would have just taken it as another strategy to manipulate Zheng Xiaolang into believing in his innocence. But this was Lei Wenhe.

Zheng Xiaolang lowered his sword. “I was…hallucinating.”

“Is the ringing gone? The headache?”

It wasn’t just gone now. It was gone before Zheng Xiaolang had even left this room to go outside, before he’d met his disciples. He hadn’t noticed. All of that complaining about the ringing, the despair that it would never go away—it left, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Wenhe.” He gripped tighter to Lei Wenhe’s arm. “How much time do I have?”

Lei Wenhe’s gaze met his. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Little Fox Runs Away

XING XIBO WASN’T the person behind Quiet Death. Lei Wenhe sat with Zheng Xiaolang, their hands clasped together, and gently explained that Xing Xibo had a thousand opportunities to kill them both, and he’d not acted suspiciously for even a moment. Zheng Xiaolang still didn’t know if he could buy it.

“What about the other survivors? What do they think about him?”

Lei Wenhe sighed. He’d changed his clothes at some point, into some worn brown robes that seemed alarmingly thin in patches. There was no telling how old those clothes were, or why Lei Wenhe had changed into them. He’d changed his hair too—he’d started putting it up to fit in with everyone else when they were in Wu, just like he’d accepted the hair trends of Long while he was staying in Lühe. But now, in Long’an where there were no trends to follow, he’d let his hair loose again, and it fell around his shoulders in the same seemingly untameable mane that it had been when they’d first met. Zheng Xiaolang wanted to tangle up his fingers in it right at the base of Lei Wenhe’s neck, tug him closer.

“Xiaolang, let go.”

Lei Wenhe’s face was half a breath away from Zheng Xiaolang. His hair, sure enough, was wrapped around Zheng Xiaolang’s fingers, and Zheng Xiaolang’s hand was flush against the back of Lei Wenhe’s neck. Had he just reached out as the thought came to him? Did he have no filters on his desires anymore?

“You still haven’t let go,” said Lei Wenhe, and Zheng Xiaolang let out a breath of a laugh and pressed their foreheads together.

“You won’t even kiss me on my deathbed?”

“Is now really the time for this?”

“Is it because I’m a man?” This Quiet Death had turned him into something small and pathetic. He curled his fingers tighter into Lei Wenhe’s hair. “You can just close your eyes and pretend I’m someone else.”

Lei Wenhe slid his hand between them, covering Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth. “You haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in at least a week.”

“I don’t feel tired.” Zheng Xiaolang’s lips moved over Lei Wenhe’s skin. He wanted to stick his tongue out too, trace those coarse lines, memorize them.

“Your senses are confused.” He pushed Zheng Xiaolang away and Zheng Xiaolang, obediently, released the hold he had on Lei Wenhe’s hair. “And to answer your earlier question, I still haven’t interacted with any of them. They’ve been kind, but they still want Xing Xibo to act as their mediator.”

“Maybe he’s keeping them prisoner, lying about what they—”

“Xing Xibo isn’t the person behind Quiet Death.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“I do know it for sure. I’ve spent more time with him than you have.” He stood. They’d moved Zheng Xiaolang’s bed to one of these dimly lit rooms and pushed the table to the side—it made the space cramped, but it was hopefully going to be easier for Zheng Xiaolang to stay in here for longer periods of time rather than trying to make his escape. Lei Wenhe went over to that little table and poured out a cup of tea, which he pressed into Zheng Xiaolang’s hands. “Drink this.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

There was some pity in the way Lei Wenhe looked down at him. “I’m going to speak to Xing Xibo. We’ve eliminated most of the island, but I know there’s something we’re missing.”

“Take me with you.”

“Xiaolang—”

“I won’t do anything, I promise. I just want to stay nearby you. Please?”

“I’d rather you got some sleep.”

“I won’t be able to sleep without you.”

“…”

“Please, Wenhe.”

“Fine. We’re talking in another room. Follow me.”

The room Lei Wenhe took him to was another of those dimly lit, poorly ventilated ones—the table was a little different, but the size and the setup was the same. Xing Xibo stood as they entered.

“Zheng-zhangmen, are you—how do you feel?”

Zheng Xiaolang shrugged. “I’m sure you know the answer without me telling you.” He’d liked Xing Xibo well enough before all of this, when he was just an independent cultivator that Zheng Xiaolang had heard about here and there. But, even if the suspicions Zheng Xiaolang had come to were a result of hallucinations, he still couldn’t let go of them. It made sense, didn’t it? Xing Xibo and Lei Wenhe had supposedly been looking for this mysterious figure on the island for days, and they’d found nothing?

“What else is left?” Lei Wenhe had joined Xing Xibo at the table, and they’d gone right to work. “There has to be something. We’ve eliminated most of the island, and I don’t think there’s anywhere else they could have dug a proper place to live. What about places that wouldn’t require digging—natural structures. Are there any of those?”

“There are…ah.”

“What? Did you remember something?”

“Well, there’s some caves, here at the south end of the coast. I’d forgotten about them until now.” Xing Xibo’s long finger tapped at the coastline. “They’re high up enough that they wouldn’t be bothered by the waves. I looked into it as a possible place to live. But,” he added, “it just wasn’t viable. There’s no real protection from the elements, I worried that they would collapse, and it was too difficult for anyone who hasn’t cultivated abilities in qinggong to access these entrances. At least with these forest entrances, as long as you remember where they are and don’t get lost in the forest, there wouldn’t be any kind of problem.”

“Have you been inside?”

“I went inside a few of them, but I didn’t want to venture in any further for fear that a sudden collapse would rid the people of their only cultivator.”

The survivors again. Xing Xibo talked about them constantly, painting a picture of harmony within these underground tunnels—but they’d been here for a while and neither Zheng Xiaolang nor Lei Wenhe had yet to meet any of them. Wasn’t that strange that Xing Xibo was keeping them apart like this? Zheng Xiaolang pushed himself to his feet and moved back toward the door, keeping one hand against the wall. He knew how to navigate the tunnels, yes, but only so far as he needed to—only enough to move between the rooms he found necessary. He hadn’t wanted to stumble into some poor soul’s room and crawl into their bed while he was seeking the comfort of Lei Wenhe’s form, but what was stopping him now, with all of this suspicion of Xing Xibo boiling up inside of him?

He pulled out a fire talisman.

He wasn’t going to navigate in the darkness for this. Torches lining the hallway would be impractical, but one fire talisman wouldn’t hurt anyone, and he needed to have as little vulnerability as possible.

The survivors were hiding in their rooms for a reason. Had Xing Xibo told them to stay away? Was he worried that Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe would hurt them?—or perhaps he was just worried about Zheng Xiaolang, and was hoping that never accessing those rooms and people meant that his hallucinations wouldn’t try to get him in? Or maybe the survivors knew something that Xing Xibo didn’t want them sharing, and he was forcing them to stay inside, forcing them to keep their mouths shut. What hope did they have against a cultivator like Xing Xibo? Whatever the reason was, Zheng Xiaolang wanted to talk to them to see what they had to say.

He went through the tunnels for a bit, going just far enough that Xing Xibo and Lei Wenhe wouldn’t hear him talking. The tunnels just kept going—Zheng Xiaolang had no idea how far, but he passed several staircases and dimly wondered whether this system extended throughout the entire island.

He found a door at random and knocked at it. A moment passed. The fire talisman he still had pinched between his fingers was nearing its end. Zheng Xiaolang knocked again.

“Is there anyone in there?”

Then: “…Who is it?”

“My name is Zheng Xiaolang. I don’t know if you’ve heard of me, but I’m here to help you. I’m here to end Quiet—I’m here to end the sickness. Would you be willing to speak to me?”

“…Is Xing Xibo there?”

“No. He’s speaking with my friend.”

Slowly, the door creaked open and someone peaked out. It was a woman, maybe in her forties, with dark brown hair that she had pulled neatly from her face. “Come inside, quickly,” she said, ushering him in. Zheng Xiaolang stepped through the doorway and gave her a short bow.

“May I ask your name?”

“This one’s name is Chen Ling.”

Zheng Xiaolang was surprised to actually recognize the name. “Xing Xibo mentioned you. He said you’d made us tea.”

“Well…yes.”

“He also said you know who I am.”

She nodded hesitantly. She had both hands knotted up in the skirt of her dress, clenching and releasing over and over, and her gaze kept flitting toward the door. “Yes, just what Xing Xibo told me.” She didn’t elaborate, so Zheng Xiaolang introduced himself anyway.

“I’m a sect leader in Xie. I came here with a man called Lei Wenhe to try to cure the sickness that started on this island.”

“You really think you can cure it?”

“I don’t think I can, but I think Lei Wenhe can. If I can ask…” Zheng Xiaolang glanced around the room, took in the simple layout that was the exact same as his room before he’d been moved. The fire talisman he had finally sputtered out, plunging them into darkness, before he spoke again. “Why is it you haven’t come out to meet either of us?”

“Xing Xibo said it was best if we stayed in our rooms.”

“But why? The sickness isn’t something that can be spread between people, right?”

Chen Ling didn’t answer.

“Miss Chen, do you know something that Xing Xibo doesn’t want you to know?”

“I can’t…”

Her hesitation was only confirming it for Zheng Xiaolang. “Was he the one who started the sickness?”

“You knew?” Chen Ling’s voice shook.

“I had my suspicions, but—”

“Then why haven’t you done anything?” Now her voice was urgent. In the darkness, she clutched at Zheng Xiaolang’s arms. “Why won’t you free us of him? We’re trapped in these underground prisons, unable to ever see the sun, and you knew this whole time but did nothing?”

“Lei Wenhe told me not to—”

“Lei Wenhe? And why do you trust him so much? You’re the great Zheng-zhangmen—why do you trust him over your own instincts?”

Zheng Xiaolang pried her fingers apart. “Lei Wenhe is—”

Her grip just tightened. “Didn’t you just meet him recently? You only trust him because you’re attracted to him. Every question you’ve ever asked of him, he deflected. You don’t know a thing about him.”

“No, he’s just secretive. That doesn’t mean he’s a liar.”

“When has he ever volunteered information about himself? You don’t know where he’s from. You’ve never heard of that teacher of his. You have no idea why he’s so powerful. You don’t know how old he is. How can you even be sure that Lei Wenhe is his name?”

“Stop.” He was tired of being polite, and yanked out of her grasp with more force than necessary. “Wenhe isn’t like that. He’s the most selfless person I ever met.”

“What happened to being paranoid? What happened to not trusting anyone? You have a goal that you’ve fixated on since you were a child, and suddenly you can put that all at risk because you’re attracted to this stranger? Almost anyone would be happy to sleep with you, so why him? Just because he showed up to you for help in Lühe? Because you thought he was pretty like that, covered in wounds? If you’d had a moment to yourself and didn’t think he would catch you, you know exactly what you would have done, what you would have used him for—”

“Stop!”

“You put all this trust in him when neither of you know each other at all. Look at this mess he’s gotten you into—you never had any plans to cure Quiet Death, and you certainly never had plans to make an enemy of Long Qingge so early. Not only would you not be able to defeat Long Qingge in a fight, but now you’ve assured that there will be a fight. And it’s all because Lei Wenhe couldn’t share his precious little cure. Think about it, Zheng Xiaolang. Politically, he’s the most powerful person alive, and you think he’s, what, altruistic? In a world like this?”

“No! Lei Wenhe is good. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who is so good. He can charge as much as he wanted for that cure and has never asked for anything in return. He’s never taken advantage of my position, of Shen Guozhi’s position, of Yu Weizhe’s, of anyone’s! And he’s strange, and he’s unknowable, but that’s not—that’s not a problem! I am too!” Zheng Xiaolang had himself pressed against Chen Ling’s door, as if trying to escape from what she was saying. He knew on some level that he could just pull open the door and leave, but he couldn’t seem to remember how to lift his hand to do so. “Neither of us know how to trust yet, but I’m okay waiting. I am. Because Lei Wenhe is a good enough person to wait for.”

“You’re lying to yourself.”

Zheng Xiaolang pressed his hands to his ears. “He’s the only person who isn’t affected by power and politics. He’s good. Lei Wenhe is good. He’s—”

“You’re lying to yourself, and he’s lying to you. The person with a rare cure and the person who can curse thousands at once—wouldn’t that just be the perfect pair? They could rule the world together. What place do you have in a pair like that?”

“You’re wrong!” Zheng Xiaolang swung out his hand, sending out a short burst of power—anything to get her to stop talking. There was a clatter of something being broken, and then silence. No yelp of pain, no gasp of surprise—silence. Zheng Xiaolang’s chest was heaving. Had he killed Chen Ling with that tiny amount of power? It had been a long time since he’d ever used his strength like this against someone who wasn’t a cultivator—he didn’t hurt her, did he? He patted at his side until he found another fire talisman and lit it with shaking hands.

The room was empty.

Not empty—there was a bed in the corner, and a chair in pieces against the wall that Zheng Xiaolang suspected was the result of his attack. But no Chen Ling, and no body, and nothing through which she could have escaped, save for the door still against Zheng Xiaolang’s back.

“Chen Ling?” The name sounded shatteringly loud in that silence. Zheng Xiaolang stayed there, frozen, staring at the room, until the fire talisman slowly flickered out. Then he felt behind him, found the handle of the door, and stepped out.

He lit another talisman and went to the next room. Empty. And the next, too—empty. Another fire talisman went out. Zheng Xiaolang kept going.

…

That night, Lei Wenhe prepared everything to set out in the morning. He’d decided when he heard about the caves that whoever he was looking for was waiting in them, and told Zheng Xiaolang as much. Zheng Xiaolang, though, was odd, only sitting next to Lei Wenhe quietly while Lei Wenhe patted around in the darkness trying to find everything he needed.

“What’s on your mind?” Lei Wenhe stopped, thought about it, then asked, “Do you know if you’ve had any more hallucinations?” If he had one that turned him against Lei Wenhe, it would be hard to stop him without revealing Lei Wenhe’s hand. He still didn’t have the control over Zheng Xiaolang that he needed, and with Xing Xibo and the other survivors as witnesses…

“That’s…” Zheng Xiaolang stopped and shook his head. “I looked around the tunnels today while you and Xing Xibo were talking.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to talk to the survivors to see what they knew.”

“Xiaolang—”

“I know. You told me to trust Xing Xibo. But I still wanted to know why they were avoiding us like that. If it was just that they were afraid to meet strangers, then…getting information on Quiet Death or Xing Xibo would have been good too.”

Zheng Xiaolang had only gotten more paranoid since he’d been affected by Quiet Death. Lei Wenhe couldn’t help but worry about what that might mean for the dynamic he’d managed to form with Zheng Xiaolang, but Zheng Xiaolang had yet to express any distrust in him yet.

“Wenhe, there really is something wrong with Xing Xibo.”

In lieu of distrusting Lei Wenhe, Zheng Xiaolang had turned all of that paranoia onto Xing Xibo. “Is that what they told you?”

“No. They didn’t tell me anything. There’s no one here.”

Lei Wenhe stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s really no one. I opened up the rooms and they’re all empty and covered in dust. The only ones that have been used any time recently are ours and Xing Xibo’s. All these survivors he’s been protecting…Wenhe, there’s no one. They’re all dead. Or maybe they never existed in the first place.”

…

There was no reasonable way to ask something like “Xing Xibo, did you lose your mind when you watched all the people you were supposed to protect die one by one?” Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe decided together to stay silent about it. There was no use in asking Xing Xibo anything and revealing his delusion—he’d never done anything to hurt either of them, at least. His delusion might just be limited to the number of survivors left. Anyone who was isolated for that long in a situation like this wouldn’t be in the right state of mind. It was one thing to have a closed-door meditation, in which one could control how they entered and when they would leave, and put all their efforts toward improving the self. It was another to be forced into isolation in a place nobody knew they’d gone to in the first place. Whether the people of this island had survived or not—there was no way Xing Xibo could go back to the life he used to have. There was no way he wasn’t irreparably changed.

For now, Zheng Xiaolang said, assuming he wasn’t the one behind Quiet Death, then they could count on him if they needed him in a fight, or if Zheng Xiaolang needed subduing—he was capable enough that he could stop Zheng Xiaolang long enough for Lei Wenhe to get away.

The forest thinned out the further they got from where Xing Xibo was protecting the people of the island, and the smell of the sea and the bite of the air got stronger. They were still surrounded by trees, and the water was nowhere to be seen, but they could smell it, and they could hear it too—that saltiness, the rush of the wind, the steady waves. Zheng Xiaolang kept pulling out his compass to check on their progress, despite the fact that Xing Xibo was leading the way and knew the island intimately. He still didn’t trust him, no matter how much Lei Wenhe believed in the man, and no matter how much Lei Wenhe said it was just his hallucinations that were making him suspicious. That was fine. Lei Wenhe didn’t trust either of them.

“We should rest,” said Xing Xibo as the sun dipped below the hills. “It won’t be good to keep pushing and exhaust ourselves. If that person is dangerous, we want to be in the best shape.”

Zheng Xiaolang, walking behind him, chuckled.

“Zheng-zhangmen?”

“Oh, don’t mind me.”

Lei Wenhe raised an eyebrow at him, but Zheng Xiaolang just waved a hand. “Then, we’ll set up the tents. Zheng Xiaolang and I can share one and—”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s wise,” Xing Xibo cut in. “If Zheng Xiaolang starts to hallucinate, you shouldn’t be in close quarters with him like that.”

“I beg to differ. If he hallucinates while we’re in the same tent, I’ll know at once. If he hallucinates in a tent alone, who will stop him when he runs off?”

Zheng Xiaolang was smiling, however weakly. He nudged Lei Wenhe. “You don’t want to sleep next to Xing Xibo?”

Lei Wenhe cast him an irritated glance. “It isn’t that.”

“Then, you really want to sleep next to me?” He hooked an arm around Lei Wenhe’s neck and pulled him close so Lei Wenhe’s back was pressed against his chest. “I didn’t know you got so attached. You must have been missing me.”

“Zheng Xiaolang, I am just as satisfied sleeping right outside your tent.”

“Oh, don’t do that. I’ll behave, I promise.”

Lei Wenhe waved off Xing Xibo. “I’ll stay with him for now. He’s hallucinating, but they haven’t caused him to hurt anyone else yet.”

Xing Xibo still looked uneasy. “If Lei-xiansheng believes that is the right thing to do, then I don’t dare to disagree.”

In the tent, Zheng Xiaolang made himself comfortable wrapping around Lei Wenhe. It was a wonder that he was still so clingy even in the chill of the outside air—Lei Wenhe ran his body cold on purpose, so it couldn’t possibly be pleasant to touch him. But still Zheng Xiaolang stayed close without a single complaint.

“Zheng Xiaolang,” said Lei Wenhe.

“Mn.”

“You didn’t answer me, when I asked whether you’d hallucinated again.”

“…Mn.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“It’s not important.”

“Your first hallucination tried to get you to distrust Xing Xibo. What did the second one do?”

“It…” Zheng Xiaolang sighed, and Lei Wenhe felt the breath brush against the back of his neck, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. “It tried to get me to distrust you.”

Lei Wenhe tried not to stiffen at that. “You…”

“It didn’t work. I think I resisted it strongly enough that the illusion broke. I didn’t want to tell you in case you thought I didn’t trust you anymore.”

Lei Wenhe had no idea what to say to that. Zheng Xiaolang, worried about a thing like that? “What sorts of things did it…try to tell you?”

“That you never tell me anything about yourself, and that I don’t really know who you are. But I do know who you are.”

“Do you?”

“You’re a healer from the north,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “Right?”

Lei Wenhe hid his mouth and smiled.

…

In the middle of the night, some time after both of them had already fallen asleep, Zheng Xiaolang woke up. He couldn’t figure out what exactly it was that had awoken him, as Lei Wenhe was still sleeping soundly in his arms and the noise outside was slow and constant and steady. Gingerly, he tried to tug his arm out from where he had it tucked underneath Lei Wenhe, but his sleeve was caught.

“Wenhe,” he whispered. “Wenhe, can you…” His voice died down. Why was he trying to wake him up? It was still the middle of the night, and Zheng Xiaolang didn’t have any real reason to be up at this hour—why did he need to wake up Lei Wenhe, too? He took a deep breath, braced himself, and then undid his outer robe, sliding out of it as he slid out from underneath Lei Wenhe, until he was free. He was colder like this, but it was fine. Before he ducked out of the tent, he bent and grabbed Lei Wenhe’s cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. It smelled like Wenhe. That brought him some comfort.

As he suspected, there wasn’t anything of note outside, and there wasn’t any movement from Xing Xibo’s tent. Besides the sounds of nature, it was perfectly silent, perfectly still.

Zheng Xiaolang looked back toward the tent where Lei Wenhe was still sleeping.

You’re lying to yourself.

No. How many opportunities had Lei Wenhe had by now to show his hand? He’d been in front of some of the most powerful people alive, and he’d done nothing. That Zheng Xiaolang still couldn’t entirely trust him had nothing to do with Lei Wenhe and everything to do with the fact that he was naturally a distrustful person. The hallucinations that Quiet Death was causing weren’t representations of reality—they were just manifestations of the worst case scenarios.

“Slow down!”

Zheng Xiaolang’s head lifted and he expanded his senses as far as they could go. That was a voice he’d heard, wasn’t it? Those were clear, discernible words. Where had they come from.

“Silly kids, what are you running for?”

Why did that voice sound so chillingly familiar? Zheng Xiaolang moved in the direction he thought he’d heard the voice coming from. That person who caused the curse, maybe—

Something small rushed past him, knocking against his legs, and then another. Zheng Xiaolang, shocked, turned to catch them—children? There were children out here? Xing Xibo’s survivors were all dead, but maybe there were survivors elsewhere who had children.

“Hey, come back.” Zheng Xiaolang followed after them, half-hurrying. They were dressed in ragged peasants’ clothes, the kind that Zheng Xiaolang saw all the time in other districts of Xie where slavery was rampant. “Wait!”

“Come back now! I really do hate it when they make me chase them like this.” Now a woman brushed past Zheng Xiaolang, hitting his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble He stared in wonder as she ran after the children. Why couldn’t Zheng Xiaolang catch her? Why couldn’t he catch these children?

“Miss—”

“Ah, where is that Xiao Huli, really—where could he have gone?”

Zheng Xiaolang’s hands went cold. He let out a desperate, choking sound. “Mother?”

She went on as if without hearing him.

“Mother, please!” He started running, but she was always that one step ahead of him, just out of reach. He just wanted to see her face. And the children—his brothers, those troublemakers he was always working to help his mother corral, they were just up ahead, just as much out of reach. He felt sick. “Xiao—” But the name caught in his throat. They were right in front of him, but he couldn’t get it out. What were his brother’s names? What was his mother’s name?

“Come back, little ones. We need to look for your brother now.”

“No, I’m right here!” He was running as fast as he could, even using qinggong, but he still couldn’t catch up. “Please, mother, please, please—”

Something caught at his arm and yanked him backward, and Zheng Xiaolang sent a wave of energy without even glancing back. He needed to just go faster. If he saw her face, he would remember her name, remember his brothers’ names—

“Xiaolang, stop!”

They didn’t recognize him, not like this. He would need to tell them who he was—tell them that he’d grown up since he’d seen them last, that he had the power to protect them, that they didn’t need to be afraid anymore—

Something else grabbed his arm. “Xiao Huli!”

“What…?” He looked over his shoulder and saw Lei Wenhe. “Wenhe?”

“Stop running! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“No, I…” He blinked and looked back to his family, but they were gone—the entire forest was gone. He was standing on a cliff thirty zhang tall, and the only thing in front of him was the vast ocean. His knees went weak. He stumbled backward, collapsed, and Lei Wenhe caught him in his arms. “My…my family…”

“They’re dead, Xiaolang. You know that.” Lei Wenhe slowly lowered him to the ground and then knelt in front of him. “Do you still see them?”

Zheng Xiaolang shook his head. He couldn’t stop shaking. He’d almost—those illusions had almost made him dive straight to his death. It was like this curse had a mind of its own. The hallucinations that made him distrust his companions hadn’t done anything, so now his mind was trying to eliminate him directly. He knew that his family was dead, and he knew that they would never be on this island, and he knew that, even if they somehow were alive and had come to this island, that they wouldn’t look like he remembered them. And yet he’d believed it all.

“Xiaolang…” Lei Wenhe wiped his fingers under Zheng Xiaolang’s eyes. Was he crying? He hadn’t even been able to tell. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried. “I don’t think you can…”

“No, I’m okay. I promise.” He stood up hurriedly. He could still protect Lei Wenhe. An aristocrat and his bodyguard, he was still—

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me.” Lei Wenhe was still kneeling, looking up at Zheng Xiaolang with a serious expression. “Rest here with Xing Xibo.”

“You were lucky,” came Xing Xibo’s voice. He walked up behind Lei Wenhe, stretched, and yawned. Zheng Xiaolang wondered which of them had noticed that Zheng Xiaolang was gone first, which one had gone after him first, how long they’d chased after him and called for him until Lei Wenhe had thought to call for ‘Xiao Huli’. “You ran right to the caves. They’re up there.”

Lei Wenhe and Zheng Xiaolang both squinted toward where Xing Xibo was pointing, a collection of jagged rocks that sprung up from the coast like vast stone trees.

“Xing Xibo,” said Lei Wenhe, “Stay down here with Zheng Xiaolang. I’ll go up alone.”

“No, Wenhe, I can—”

“I don’t know what you’ll see up there.” Lei Wenhe was firm. “Xing Xibo already said the caves had fragile structures. What if you think you see an enemy that isn’t there and cause the cave system to collapse?”

“But if there is an enemy—”

“I’m fast. Even faster than you,” said Lei Wenhe, and Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t argue against that—Lei Wenhe had caught up to him when he was at full speed. “If anything happens, do you really think they can catch me?”

“Helpless in a fight,” Zheng Xiaolang mumbled. “That’s what you told me.”

“I never said I couldn’t run away. Besides.” Lei Wenhe patted Zheng Xiaolang’s cheek. “Zheng-zhangmen got me a poisonous fan. There’s nothing to worry about. Stay here with Xing Xibo.”

“Wenhe.” He wasn’t going to give in on this. He gave in a lot when it came to Lei Wenhe, but he wasn’t about to let him go into those caves alone.

“If I kiss you, will you listen to me?”

Zheng Xiaolang was shocked into silence. “You’ll kiss me?”

“Will you promise to stay out here? I can promise that I’ll come out the moment I feel like I’m in danger.”

Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t deny that Lei Wenhe had remarkable sense when it came to reading a situation, and his speed was as good if not better than any Lightfoot he’d ever met. He chewed on his lip for a long moment, then said, “Well…okay.”

“Good.” Lei Wenhe took hold of Zheng Xiaolang’s chin and pressed his lips to the corner of Zheng Xiaolang’s mouth, fast and chaste. “Wait for me.”

“That’s a—Lei Wenhe, that isn’t a kiss!”

“I never said I would kiss you on the mouth.” He tapped the top of Zheng Xiaolang’s head with his folded fan as Zheng Xiaolang stared at him in astonishment. “I’ll be right back.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

White Eyes and White Hair

IF LEI WENHE hadn’t just spent a week in those underground tunnels, he would have thought that those caves were dark. They weren’t—they were dimly lit, and they were damp, and they smelled of the sea. Lei Wenhe looked around. He was entering into a system of caves now, more organic than the tunnels Xing Xibo had dug with the survivors but probably just as complex. He cast one more glance behind him, making sure Zheng Xiaolang and Xing Xibo hadn’t followed him in. Presumably, they were still outside—Zheng Xiaolang, half out of his mind but just barely holding on, and Xing Xibo at his side, hopefully ready to stop him if he suddenly lost control.

He looked back to the caves. “Hello?”

Nothing but the steady dripping of water answered him. Immune to flooding, yes—but, right on the coast, there were still bound to be a few places where water could find its way inside.

He walked further in.

“I know you’re here somewhere. It would make it a lot easier if you answered me so I didn’t have to come looking.”

A voice came drifting out from somewhere in the caves: “Your voice is familiar.”

Lei Wenhe’s heart skipped a beat. “Tell me which way to go.”

“…”

“Tell me which way to go, and you’ll be able to see my face.”

“…Go left.”

Lei Wenhe followed the voice’s directions. After a while, he came to a more open spot in the cave ten paces wide, full of green plants that had been able to grow from the rain coming through the wide opening in the ceiling. Scattered about this space were various items that showed proof of living—some broken cups, a worn spot where someone had sat many times, and some stains in the stone that didn’t look like they’d come from water.

“I thought your voice was familiar,” said someone sitting in the back of the makeshift room, obscured by some of the plants, “but I don’t recognize your face.”

Lei Wenhe went closer, farther and farther in until he could see who was speaking. It was a woman, so stunningly beautiful her features seemed carved by an expert artist. She sat with her legs crossed on the cold cave floor, in robes that had endured so much time and use that they were reduced to faded rags. Lei Wenhe knew those robes were once blue. After all, the most remarkable thing about the woman in front of him was not that she was living in this cave all alone, or that her features were so beautiful; no, the most remarkable thing about this woman was that her hair and eyes were snow white.

Lei Wenhe put a hand over his heart and bowed. An introduction caught in his throat for a minute, but eventually he got the words out: “Xue Ling.”

Her lips parted. “You know who I am. And your hand…” Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“I would change my face to something more recognizable if I could,” Lei Wenhe said, “but it’ll take too long to put it back on. It’s Lei Wenhe, Xue Ling-jie. Do you remember me?”

Xue Ling staggered to her feet. For a moment she swayed, her hands grasping at the slick cave walls. “Lei—Lei Wenhe? Xiao Wenhe?”

Lei Wenhe allowed her a tiny smile. “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“It…really is you.” She came toward him and immediately wrapped him in a hug. Lei Wenhe stiffened for a moment, then forced himself to relax—this was Xue Ling-jie. His best friend’s older sister. Lei Wenhe’s entire childhood had her in the background, smiling, giving Lei Wenhe little pieces of advice or teasing him when she was in a better mood. Xue Ling. He loved her like family. He always had. “Come—come this way, I’ll get us some tea.” She started pulling him further into the caves, bringing them both into another room, and pushed Lei Wenhe to a seat next to a makeshift table. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again. The last I heard, you were still—”

“In mourning.” Lei Wenhe nodded. Xue Ling was hurriedly putting together some tea—a pot that she’d set up by one of the holes in the ceiling to catch the rain, dropping some dried leaves in, and then warming the pot with her hands. “I didn’t get the chance to stop by your estate and say goodbye to anyone before I came here, so I didn’t know anything about where you’d gone or get to see…” His voice faded away as an odd pang hit his chest. He wordlessly accepted the cup Xue Ling handed him as she knelt at his side.

“Suyin,” she said. She put both of her hands on Lei Wenhe’s shoulders and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Lei Wenhe, your family…I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe it when I heard.”

Lei Wenhe let out a little bit of a strangled laugh and leaned away from her, letting her hands slide off his shoulders and fall back to her sides. He didn’t know what to say to her. All that time, and he hadn’t said a word to anyone about what had happened to his family. He had only let it build up inside of him. By the time he’d see anyone in person who could have listened to him talk, he was in the mortal world. “Yes, it’s…” He still didn’t know what to say, not even to Xue Ling. She was the only person in the mortal world who would even begin to understand, but she still couldn’t comprehend it on the same level that Lei Wenhe did. That night, Xue Ling had only lost one person: Xue Suyin. Xue Suyin, who Lei Wenhe knew slept fretfully, who probably woke up to a cultivator standing over her—who probably screamed at the sight of it and woke the rest of her family before they could be slaughtered the same way. Xue Suyin was a light in everyone’s life, and she was Lei Wenhe’s and Xue Ling’s best friend, but she was one person.

That night, Lei Wenhe’s entire family had died at Zheng Xiaolang’s sword. Twelve people. How could Xue Ling comprehend that?

“Wenhe, did you spend all those years in solitude?” Xue Ling tried to reach toward Lei Wenhe and take his hand, but Lei Wenhe pulled away again. “Wenhe?”

“I kept my name,” Lei Wenhe said. “I changed my appearance, and I lied about my background. I told everyone I was just a healer from Guanging. Do you know why that is?”

Xue Ling’s white eyes were shining. If Lei Wenhe hadn’t put on this disguise, he would have those same features—white eyes, white hair, a face that you could mistake for a god’s. “Why?”

“It reminds me of my family. It reminds me of what I lost. Every time that name comes from mortal lips, I remember what they took from me.”

“Wenhe, I understand. Don’t you know what I’m doing here?” She moved again, too quickly for Lei Wenhe to react, and took one of his hands between hers, holding it to her chest. “I’m getting revenge. For Suyin, for your family—for everyone we lost that night. I’m getting revenge for all of us.”

Lei Wenhe yanked his hand back. “Your revenge failed.”

“…What?”

“Your revenge. This…disease, or curse, or whatever you want to call it. It failed.”

Xue Suyin’s eyes shook. “It didn’t fail. It spread further just recently—I felt it.”

“It spread because one person had too much sympathy for a childhood friend, and spread further because of a forbidden love. It only has a few options now—to spread into Xie, to spread into Cao, or to spread by boat. Xie Rong would kill everyone in Shen before she let it get into her territory, and Cao Feng isn’t letting a single soul into Cao, even if they didn’t come from Shen. You don’t know these people, Xue Ling. Your revenge has come to a halt and it won’t go any further. If any other person had come here looking for you—”

“I would have killed them.” Xue Ling’s interruption was fierce. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have killed them.”

“And what happens if they send another, or an entire team of people, all of whom had ways to communicate with the outside world? What then? Would you have killed them all? By starting everything here, you’ve given them a place to target, and if they find you and somehow get the word out that you have white hair and white eyes—what do you think would happen then?”

Xue Ling sputtered. “I—Wenhe, I thought you would be happy if you knew I was getting revenge.”

Lei Wenhe sighed and put the cup of tea on the table. For a moment it rocked, unsteady on the jagged rock surface, but eventually settled. “I’m handling that,” he said. “I want you to stop this now. All you’re doing is killing innocent people.”

Xue Ling’s eyes bulged. “Innocent? Wenhe, these—these beasts killed your family! They crawled into Xiao Qiu and Xiao Yun’s room and slaughtered them in their sleep! They cut open Suyin’s throat! What do you mean by innocent?”

He hated that she was using his sisters against him here, like they were some kind of weapon that would make him repent for showing her disrespect, fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. “Cultivators,” he said, “killed my family. Those so-called ‘nobles’ and the people who work for them. Not people who have to toil under that system. The people who died that night are innocent, and all you’re doing is continuing that slaughter in a different place.”

She had half a smile on her face, like she wasn’t sure whether he was joking. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Stop this now.”

“Lei Wenhe.” She rocked back on her feet and crossed her legs underneath her. A tense silence stretched between them. Then she said, “I love you. You know that. I considered you as my own brother. But you can’t come here like this and tell me what to do.”

“I just told you—”

“I’ve been in the mortal world longer than you have, and I’m older than you. Why should I abandon everything I’ve worked for just because you want me to?”

“I just told you that your revenge isn’t working. You may have been in the mortal world longer, but you don’t understand them like I do.”

“Is that something to be so proud of? I don’t want to understand them. If there comes a time when that night makes any amount of sense to me, I’ll be unrecognizable. What’s the use in understanding them? They should all die. All of them.”

Lei Wenhe thought the same sometimes. It was something he regularly battled with—something that he turned over in his head often. He knew that most of this world didn’t participate that night. In reality, it was a small number who’d sneaked into Murmuring Springs. It was a small number who’d actually done the killing. But what was the point in making such differentiations? This mortal world had been complicit in those murders. This mortal world had made that night possible in the first place. This mortal world took those cultivators who had brought their swords down on the people of Murmuring Springs and hailed them as heroes.

“You agree with me,” said Xue Ling, “don’t you?”

He wasn’t sure what to say. He had that problem quite a lot recently, but usually it was because he didn’t know what the mortals needed to hear to react the way he wanted them to. But Xue Ling—she deserved an honest answer, not just the answer she wanted to hear or the answer that Lei Wenhe needed to give to push her in the right direction. He watched her for a moment, the way she was hunched over the table. Even with their aversion to cold, it was a wonder that she was fine with such tattered robes. Could they even be counted as robes anymore? He could see most of her naked form, the unmarred skin characteristic of a person from Murmuring Springs. “Jie,” he said, “I want them dead, just like you do. But we can’t do it this way.”

“Why not? You get your revenge, and I’ll get mine. You know I’ll be able to hide if I really need to.”

“I have a plan! It’s—”

“So do I! Why should I give up everything for you, Wenhe? Do you think you deserve revenge more because you lost more than me? Is your grief somehow more—”

“Yes!” Lei Wenhe slammed his hand down, right on top of the cup he’d placed there, and it shattered underneath the force. Xue Ling’s eyes widened. “Jie, you only planned for ten years. Your plan is emotional and it’s ineffective. Quiet Death doesn’t have a guaranteed infection rate, and it doesn’t have a guaranteed mortality rate. I spent the entirety of my mourning period crafting the perfect plan. They have no idea what kinds of seeds I’m planting, and they won’t until the very moment I decide I want them to know, and by then it’s already too late.”

“If your plan is so perfect, why do I need to give up mine?”

He didn’t want to say this out loud. “I…”

“Just tell me, Wenhe.”

“I need them to trust me.”

She scoffed. “You want their trust? Doesn’t something like that make your skin crawl?”

“Of course it does. Every time I have to show them any amount of kindness, I want to kneel in front of my family’s graves and beg them for forgiveness. But it’s part of the plan.”

Xue Ling sighed. She reached out, gently pulled Lei Wenhe’s hand up from the table, and turned it over. The shards from the cup he’d crushed had cut deep into his palm. “You’re bleeding,” she said.

“It’s not a big deal.” He tried to pull his hand back, but she wouldn’t let go.

“That cup, the tea…I brought it all from Murmuring Springs. Do you recognize them?”

Lei Wenhe hadn’t really been paying attention. He looked at the shards a little closer, the cups and kettle that hadn’t been crushed. They did actually look familiar.

“We used to use these with Suyin.” She traced one finger over the deepest cut on Lei Wenhe’s hand. She was trembling. “Your revenge…what is it?”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“Who am I going to tell, Wenhe? If someone finds me, I kill them. If they’re able to capture me somehow, I kill myself.”

Lei Wenhe couldn’t argue with that. He knew firsthand that mortal torture wasn’t something that could touch people like them. He said, “Give me your wrist.”

“My—?” She let go of his hand and turned her own hand over, presenting her wrist to him. He put his fingers against it.

“Pay attention,” he said, “closely.”

After a moment, her eyes widened. Then she snatched back her wrist and cradled it to her chest, shaking. “That—”

“You felt it?”

“How did you…”

“It took me a long time and a lot of experimentation, but it works, and it’s foolproof.”

She was still holding her wrist, but she brought it a little away from her chest, staring down at it as if she could see with her naked eye what Lei Wenhe had just done. “This is why you need their trust,” she whispered. “Even if you only get some of them, the rest of them would have to fall into line.”

“Yes. I have the trust of many powerful people in the cultivating world already, but there’s one person in particular who…”

“Is that person giving you trouble? What’s so important about this person that you need to—”

“He was the one who killed my family.”

Xue Ling fell quiet.

“I woke up to his sword in my chest. I found him quickly, but he’s paranoid. It’s taken years to get to the point I’m at. If I can do this, I gain his trust, and I gain the trust of the entire cultivation world.”

“By ‘this’, you mean if you are able to convince me to stop Quiet Death.”

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath. Then she said, “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

“Does that mean you’ll—?”

“I’ll think about it. I can’t make any promises right now. Here, drink.” She put another cup in front of him and filled it with what was left in the pot. “Try the tea. Do you recognize it?”

He tasted it. It was familiar, vaguely.

“There are some plants that grow here that have similar flavors to some plants in Murmuring Springs. It took a lot of experimentation, but…well, I think it’s close.”

“There’s some cuisine that I’ve tried here in the mortal world that’s close to what we ate in Murmuring Springs. Do you know about Wu?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know the names those things have assigned to each other.”

“Wu Enlai is the leader of the clan Wu. The food there…it’s almost just like the kind of food that the Yu family used to make. You remember their wontons?”

“Of course. Did you meet this Wu Enlai?”

Lei Wenhe nodded. “His clan is the only one that didn’t model itself after the families of Murmuring Springs, and the only one who had nothing to do with that night. Staying there, even among mortals…it was a nice change of pace. I didn’t ever expect that there would be a person like him in this world.” He knocked back the rest of the tea like it was wine. He wished it was wine. He appreciated the familiar flavor, but he wished she’d somehow managed to replicate the wine of Murmuring Springs, which actually had a bite to it, which made him pleasantly dizzy—not like the wine here in the mortal world, which seemed dull and tasteless. “Have you been here the entire time?”

“Yes. Well, I came out from Murmuring Springs in the north, and just traveled through the glaciers. It was a little difficult to avoid mortals, but a good cloak and keeping your head down will do wonders.” She pushed her hair from her face, but with no clasp of any kind to hold it there, it just fell right back. “Did you go anywhere after you got out of solitude?”

“I just came straight to the mortal world,” said Lei Wenhe. “I said a brief goodbye to my family, but by that time travel to the mortal world had been banned, so I had to get out before anyone noticed me.”

“If you didn’t speak with anyone, how did you know about the ban?” Xue Ling peeked inside the teapot and sighed when she saw that it was empty.

“Do you remember Huo Tao?”

“Isn’t he that boy who had a crush on you? What about him?”

“Mn.” Huo Tao did have a crush on him—and Lei Wenhe had liked him too. In fact, they’d shared their first kisses together behind the Huo manor, shy in their youth but affected by the mood after Huo Tao had teased Lei Wenhe about a missed arrow. But that had been another life, after all—that naivety had long since faded. “He left me a series of letters while I was still in solitude. His family had three deaths. When they were done with mourning, I suppose he started gathering information and leaving it for me right outside where I was staying. He wrote that it had become his new reason for living. Keeping me company, that is.”

“That, really…”

“He used to want to install better relations with the mortals. I don’t think there’s any reason to wonder why he decided to change it, though why he changed it to me…” Lei Wenhe shook his head.

“What sorts of things did he write there?”

“He wrote how many deaths each family had. It was…thirty-two deaths in all. With the three deaths the Huo family had, Huo Tao was orphaned. I guess they’d already banned any further contact with the mortal world by the time he got out.”

“Yes, it had been banned by the time I got out too, but they made it official after the Huo and Bo families got out of mourning, since just my family couldn’t make that kind of decision alone. While all the nobility was in mourning, I guess everyone else made sure the gate was kept shut. What else?”

“Just…mundane things. What his family was up to. He’d told me that you’d disappeared, but some people thought that you’d continued isolating out of your grief from Xue Suyin’s death. Some thought that you’d killed yourself. Huo Tao thought that you’d gone somewhere to deal with Suyin’s death in your own way.”

Xue Ling let out what was almost a laugh. “Well, he was right.”

“He told me about all the different improvements everyone did after the massacre—what everyone did to try to recover. He said that nothing felt the same. That he missed me. That he got married.”

“Married? To whom? I thought you really had his heart, I didn’t think he would ever—“

“I was gone for a long time. Our relationship wasn’t anything to which we’d made commitments, so I never expected that he’d wait for me. It’s alright. He married someone outside the noble families. I guess he’d gotten to know them while he was helping rebuild everything and fell in love at some point. He apologized to me for it. Isn’t that funny?”

Xue Ling didn’t smile. “If what had happened that night had never occurred, do you think you would have married him?”

“There’s no point in thinking about something like that. I’ll never see him again.”

“Wenhe—”

“It might have been easy to get out, but it won’t be so easy to get back in, and I don’t have any plans to seek him out. Even if I did see him again, what’s the use? We’ve both changed too much to be recognizable to each other. The Wenhe he liked was the Wenhe who took care of his younger sisters, who cooked for his family, who loved archery and walking in the forest. There’s nothing of that left.”

“Maybe he loved you for you.”

“And, as I said, that version of me no longer exists. He died that night with his family.” Lei Wenhe put his empty tea cup back on the little table with a clatter. “I don’t wish to speak of him anymore.” Every word they spent dwelling on the past just made him sick to his stomach. Xue Ling seemed a little startled at the sudden change in topic, but she seemed to understand after a moment.

“Then…did you know that I was here? You seemed to know even before you saw me.”

Lei Wenhe shook his head. “Not you specifically, though I knew someone from Murmuring Springs must be involved. Quiet Death didn’t act like a typical disease, and it was too powerful a curse to be administered by any mortal. It just took me some time to get here.”

“You? With your abilities, you could span a distance like that without anyone being any the wiser.”

“I’m trying to keep the extent to what I am capable of a mystery to them. For now, they just think I’m a talented healer who can hold his own when it comes to qinggong. Any more than that, and they might investigate further.” He knew Zheng Xiaolang had already done some investigation into his past, but there was nothing to find—nobody from Guangning knew anything about him, and thought he was too standoffish to try to learn. He turned over his hand, looking at the cuts from the cup that he’d shattered.

“Do you need some medicine?”

“I have some.” He didn’t move to get it. He…didn’t want to heal this. Just like the scar in his chest, the brand on his shoulder, the numerous cuts that Long Qingge had left littered across his body—he didn’t want it erased. These cuts were wounds from something connected to Murmuring Springs. Every time he saw those lines spidering across his palm, he would remember his home. “Xue Ling-jie, I know it seems like I’m telling you to just give up on your revenge. I don’t mean to belittle your pain. You know that I understand how much Suyin meant.”

Xue Ling watched Lei Wenhe, silent, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“This revenge that I’m working on now—you know how powerful it is. And you know that I’ve made the connections I need to keep it going. If I fail, you can bring Quiet Death back. You can bring it back more powerful than ever, and you can wipe out the world as you please.”

She wet her lips. “Wenhe, if you really think you can do this…”

“I can.”

“Then…I’ll lift it.” She pointed her thumb at him. “But you need to promise me that you’ll pull this off.”

“I promise. I won’t stop at anything. You know me.” He gave her a tiny smile as he pushed himself to his feet. “I have a stubborn streak.”

That almost made her laugh. “Wenhe, you’ll come back to visit me?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I can. You should leave this cave anyway, since the world will know that the cause was here…I wouldn’t be surprised if people started traveling here to investigate.”

“I’ll make a disguise before then.”

“That’ll be best.” He started back toward the exit, but stopped in the entryway and let out his breath. “Xue Ling-jie, if you expose yourself, I can’t overlook it. Do you understand?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I said I’d kill myself before they get anything from me. And Wenhe…”

“Hm?”

“Spending so much time with the mortals will trick you into believing they’re anything but beasts. Don’t ever let them make you forget what they did to us.”

“I won’t,” Lei Wenhe said, and after that he was gone.

Zheng Xiaolang and Xing Xibo were waiting just outside the cave—they’d both climbed up the rocks, and as Lei Wenhe came out into the sunlight it seemed that Zheng Xiaolang was arguing with himself about whether to go inside, pacing back and forth, taking three steps in and then going right back out.

“Didn’t I tell you to wait for me?”

Zheng Xiaolang started. “Wenhe?” He rushed toward him and immediately crushed him into a hug. “Are you okay?”

Lei Wenhe didn’t bother to push him off. “I’m fine. Are the symptoms gone?”

“Everything’s gone. I feel as good as new. Better than new, now that I’ve seen you.” He hugged him even tighter.

“And Xing Xibo?”

Xing Xibo, standing some steps away from them, just looked dazed.

“Is there something wrong with him?”

Zheng Xiaolang let go of him and glanced back at Xing Xibo too. “He got like that about the same time the symptoms disappeared for me. I think he’s having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the silence. It’s a little strange to imagine that I was suspecting him so strongly.” Then he suddenly looked back at Lei Wenhe again and noticed Lei Wenhe’s bloodied hand. “What’s—” He seized his wrist to look at the wounds. “What’s this? You got hurt?”

“It was my fault.” He tried to tug out of Zheng Xiaolang’s grip, but Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t letting go. “Really, I hit the table too hard and a cup broke. It’s not the fault of…it’s my fault.”

Zheng Xiaolang was glaring over to where Lei Wenhe had emerged from.

“Don’t go inside. I told you I would handle it, and I did. The person responsible agreed to stop Quiet Death.”

“The person responsible…” Zheng Xiaolang looked back at Lei Wenhe again. He looked…okay. He didn’t even look shaken, but Lei Wenhe never looked shaken. It was like he wasn’t affected by anything. Was it alright for Zheng Xiaolang to just leave like this? “No,” he said. “The person responsible needs to be held accountable. At the very least, the world should know who they—”

“Zheng Xiaolang.”

He wasn’t going to let Lei Wenhe talk him out of this. “Wenhe, you have a lot of patience for people, but I can’t let it slide like this. They killed too many people, and they’re too powerful to be left alone.” He started toward the cave entrance. Lei Wenhe grabbed his arm.

“That person knew how to spread a disease like that without ever being caught until now. You’re lucky they agreed to stop Quiet Death at all—why are you trying to push it?”

“I have a responsibility.”

“You think you’ll be able to defeat a person like that? They were able to create a curse that you couldn’t even fathom, and you think you’ll be able to defeat them?”

“How did you convince them, then?”

Lei Wenhe gave Zheng Xiaolang that smile of his. “I’m very persuasive.”

“Then maybe I can be persuasive enough to convince them to prostrate at my—”

“Zheng Xiaolang, can’t you trust me?”

Zheng Xiaolang looked down to where Lei Wenhe’s hand was wrapped around his arm. He’d grabbed him with his injured hand, and the blood was seeping through Zheng Xiaolang’s sleeve. “Not this time,” he said. “I can’t let this go.”

Lei Wenhe’s expression was the closest to disappointment that Zheng Xiaolang had ever seen it. “And if you die for it?”

“Then I die.” He shook Lei Wenhe off, tried to ignore that expression, and went into the caves. It was dark, but at least it didn’t stink as strongly as Xing Xibo’s tunnels, and Zheng Xiaolang’s concentration was a lot better now that he wasn’t dealing with the symptoms of Quiet Death. He moved through the caves quietly, opening his senses as much as he could, listening for any discrepancies. If even one drop sounded out of place, if the wind bent in a way he didn’t expect—but there was nothing. He spent a shichen and a half searching those caves, every corner of them. There was one room he found that had a stone slab with a bloody handprint, but that was it. Beyond that, there was no evidence that anyone had ever been here. If Zheng Xiaolang didn’t know that Lei Wenhe had come in here to talk to the person behind Quiet Death, it would almost feel like Lei Wenhe had been the only person in here.

He went back out. Lei Wenhe was sitting with Xing Xibo, his injured hand wrapped up in a strip of his robe. He didn’t look up at Zheng Xiaolang when he approached.

“They’re gone.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t say anything. Zheng Xiaolang rubbed his neck.

“I guess…they escaped after they talked to you.”

Still, Lei Wenhe didn’t say anything.

“Wenhe, look. I’m sorry I didn’t take your word for it, but I have responsibilities as a sect leader. If someone is hurting others, I have to do something about it. It has nothing to do with whether I believe you or not.”

The lower part of Lei Wenhe’s jaw pushed out. He was being stubborn—it was enormously endearing. Zheng Xiaolang was a little relieved that at least he was getting a reaction. Had Lei Wenhe ever been upset at him?

“What were they like? The person in there—what were they like?”

“Lonely,” said Lei Wenhe.

“They agreed to give up their curse just like that? Did you have to give them anything? Promise them anything?”

Lei Wenhe shook his head. “We talked for a bit, and then I gave them Black Core Turns Golden, and they released Quiet Death.”

“They needed Black Core Turns Golden?” Even a powerful being like that could get affected by Golden Core Turns Black? Was no one safe from it? “Is that why you knew you could stop them—because you could offer them the cure?”

“I just thought I would be persuasive enough.”

That seemed like the truth, but Zheng Xiaolang thought that it wasn’t the whole truth. It was never the whole truth with Lei Wenhe. He didn’t know if that would ever change. “Wenhe…”

“We should go,” Lei Wenhe said. “Chen Tian wanted us to contact him once we were done.”

“Yes, you’re right.” He had a thousand other questions for Lei Wenhe, but would he get an answer for any of them? “We can find somewhere quieter to talk. The wind might make it hard to hear him or light a cone.”

Away from the cave system and away from the beach, they found a place sheltered from the wind and Zheng Xiaolang burned a cone to contact Chen Tian.

“Chen-zhangmen, we—”

“You did it!” Chen Tian was breathless, a radiant smiling lighting his face that Zheng Xiaolang had never seen on him before. “Quiet Death is—it’s completely eradicated.”

Zheng Xiaolang opened his mouth to try to speak again, but Chen Tian was barreling forward without pause.

“We got word from Shen Ying almost as soon as it disappeared. I guess He Zhenzhen had gotten infected. Cao Feng is working on opening the borders now. I’m coming personally to pick the two of you up. Cao Feng wants to get some kind of monopoly on rewarding you for this. If you refuse, though—” He paused, waiting for Zheng Xiaolang to say something.

“We’d really prefer to go right back to Anlu,” said Zheng Xiaolang, understanding at once what he wanted. Chen Tian didn’t want that glory to go to the person who owned him. “I’ve been away for too long. If you wouldn’t mind…”

That wide smile on Chen Tian’s face became relieved. “Then we’ll take you home right away.”

“Ah—one moment.” Zheng Xiaolang pointed to his left, where Xing Xibo was standing still dazed. “There’s…another matter to tend to.”

Chen Tian’s eyes bulged. “Is that Xing Xibo?”

“You recognized him. I’m impressed.”

“I met him a long time ago. I had no idea he was in Long’an.” Chen Tian squinted at Xing Xibo, trying to examine him through the haze of the smoke. “Is he alright?”

“He’s having some difficulties adjusting to the changes,” said Zheng Xiaolang. “I’ll explain later, but I thought you should know.”

“Very well. I’ll make some preparations for the both of you. Are you wanting to take Xing Xibo back to Anlu with you?”

That was…something that Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t really considered until now. Of course he couldn’t leave Xing Xibo here; he wasn’t in his right state of mind, and there was no saying what he would do if he was left all alone on the island—Zheng Xiaolang didn’t think he would hurt anyone, but he also didn’t want a talented cultivator like Xing Xibo to wither away just like that. But could he really bring Xing Xibo to Xie? Was that ethical? He was a former slave and an independent cultivator—even though he was in the top ten in terms of strength, he was ranked thirty-fourth, the last of all the clan leaders, sect leaders, and notable independent cultivators. The discrepancy was second only to Xiong Ju, who jumped from first to thirty-second. In his right mind, he was extraordinarily talented, but Xie Rong would treat him like he was ranked thirty-fourth, which is to say she would give him a mediocre house and her least important healer and move on from there. It was possible that she would recognize him as significant, but in that case she would spend all her efforts to get him on her side, not to help him. The only real place that would treat him well, Zheng Xiaolang thought, would be somewhere in Wu—Songjiang, maybe, or one of the smaller cities. But Wu Enlai was too busy to tend to a cultivator like him.

“I’ll take him back to Anlu,” Zheng Xiaolang decided. “Try to contain this information for now. I don’t want to send him to one of the clan leaders, but he shouldn’t be left alone. It might be possible to give him shelter in Anlu.”

“Zheng Xiaolang, Anlu is…” Chen Tian hesitated and then shook his head. “Prepare yourself. Xie Rong took over when you left, and I think some things have changed.”

Zheng Xiaolang had to process that for a moment. Things? What sort of things? “How much time do you have to spare?”

“For you? Cao Feng will be thrilled once the news comes out and will want to cement our relationship as securely as possible. If I’m friends with you, then by extension…” He sighed. “I can spare maybe a year, but I shouldn’t push it any further.”

“I’ll send word forward to Anlu to prepare a house for Xing Xibo. You can do the same with Zheng Ai. We’ll both stop in Ji’an to talk to Xie Rong and send Xing Xibo ahead to Anlu.”

“That might work. I’ll speak to Zheng Ai to see if she can figure it out.”

They didn’t have much time left. “What do I need to know about Anlu?”

“Xie Rong has made some changes. Zheng Ai reported a few of them—I would use one of the cones I gave you to discuss these things with Xie Huiyan, but I do know that she brought slaves back into your district.”

Maybe Zheng Xiaolang needed to move his plans up a little further. “Understood,” he said. “Thank you, Chen Tian.”

“I’ll see you both soon. Zheng-zhangmen. Lei—” The cone burned out, and Chen Tian’s image disappeared before he could finish. Zheng Xiaolang’s good mood had been sobered a little, but he wasn’t about to let himself be completely dampened. All he had to think about was that shy little kiss Lei Wenhe had given him. Beaming, he went back to Lei Wenhe and put his arm around his shoulders.

“You did well, Wenhe.”

Lei Wenhe raised an eyebrow at him. “I told you I could handle it.”

“Yes, yes, and you told me Xing Xibo was trustworthy.” He looked pitifully back at where the cultivator was still standing frozen. “I wonder what he was like before all of this. He must have been an incredible man.”

“I imagine so. Perhaps, with some time and care, he can be that again.”

Zheng Xiaolang pressed his mouth to the side of Lei Wenhe’s head. “I feel like I should apologize for suspecting him.”

“He wouldn’t comprehend it now.” Lei Wenhe pushed him away. “And if he did have the capacity for comprehension, he would understand that it wasn’t your fault. Quiet Death was manipulating you.”

“You know,” said Zheng Xiaolang, unrelenting, putting his mouth and nose right up against Lei Wenhe’s temple again, “While you were in those caves, I experienced the silent part of Quiet Death.”

“What?” Lei Wenhe twisted around to look at him. “Already?”

“I thought it was fast too. Maybe it affects cultivators differently.” Even as Zheng Xiaolang said this, he wasn’t sure of it. Xing Xibo was a cultivator too—he would have told them if it affected him faster than it did the other survivors. But that was the sort of thing that would remain irrelevant unless Quiet Death came back. He steered them away from the conversation and back toward their camp to gather their things. “It was really a terrifying experience, Wenhe. Won’t you comfort me?”

“If it was so terrifying, then you didn’t have any faith in me.”

“Oh, that’s not it. It was just so terrible to imagine never being able to hear your voice again.”

“I have other means of telling you off. Is Xing Xibo following?”

Zheng Xiaolang glanced behind them. “Ah…no, he’s still standing there.”

“Go get him. Carry him back to the camp and we’ll go back to Long’an proper to wait for Chen Tian.”

“Carry him? Can’t I just carry you?”

“Carry Xing Xibo, or I’m going back to the camp alone to get everything.”

“Alright, alright.” He slung Xing Xibo across his back and they traveled back to where their tents had been abandoned in the forests. Lei Wenhe made quick work of gathering their things together, including Zheng Xiaolang’s robe which he traded for the cloak that Zheng Xiaolang was still wearing. “You were sleeping on it,” said Zheng Xiaolang as explanation, a little sheepish. “I couldn’t tug it out from underneath you.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“One day you’ll find my charm irresistible.”

“Let me know when you actually turn the charm on and we’ll see.”

Zheng Xiaolang just laughed.

They went to the abandoned buildings on the Long’an coast instead of going back to the tunnels. Lei Wenhe reasoned that putting either of the cultivators with him back into those dark, confined places wouldn’t be a good idea—Zheng Xiaolang would be miserable, and Xing Xibo didn’t need to confront the empty rooms. There were still some reasonably insulated walls in those buildings, so Lei Wenhe and Zheng Xiaolang found the best of them and set up their tents again.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to leave Xing Xibo by himself,” said Lei Wenhe.

“This again?”

“I’m fine with the cold, so I’ll sleep outside. Don’t protest.” Lei Wenhe took Xing Xibo by the arm and started pulling him toward his tent.

“Bury…”

He stopped. “Did you say something, Daxia?”

Xing Xibo was blinking fast, which was much more than anything he’d done in the last couple hours. “I have to bury her.”

“Bury?” Lei Wenhe looked back at Zheng Xiaolang, who seemed just as perplexed. “Bury who?” Xing Xibo was probably still confused, thinking that the people he was in charge of protecting were still alive.

“I have to…I have to tell them not to fight, not to..” Xing Xibo swayed on his feet.

“Xing Xibo,” said Zheng Xiaolang. He’d come up right next to them and taken Xing Xibo’s other arm, steadying him between his and Lei Wenhe’s support. “Who are you talking about?”

Xing Xibo didn’t speak again, but he wept—softly at first, and then loudly, almost like a child, his shoulders shaking and his mouth opening to release a crooning, desperate wail.

“Wenhe.” Zheng Xiaolang looked up at the healer with wide eyes. “Can you…can you do something? Anything.”

“I don’t know how much I can steady his mind, but I can perhaps…calm the chaos. Help me sit him down.”

The hard ground was uncomfortable, but Zheng Xiaolang was somehow able to get Xing Xibo to bend enough to cross his legs, and Lei Wenhe situated himself right behind. “It isn’t Golden Core Turns Black, is it?”

“No, but at this rate I wouldn’t be surprised if he went through a qi deviation anyway.” Lei Wenhe put his hands against Xing Xibo’s back, and it occurred to Zheng Xiaolang that he’d never actually seen Lei Wenhe work like this before. He’d heard about it, of course—several clan leaders had gotten healing from him, and Zheng Xiaolang’s disciples had too—but the only healing he’d seen in person was when Lei Wenhe passed around pills and salves for physical wounds. He’d mysticized it in his head some—had imagined that Lei Wenhe would look more spectacular, more impressive than any of the other healers Zheng Xiaolang had seen work.

He was right.

There wasn’t anything in particular that made Lei Wenhe stand out. In fact, where some healers would sit there and scrunch up their faces or make dramatic movements, Lei Wenhe sat there absolutely still and quiet, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted. His posture stayed perfectly straighted and his hands flush against Xing Xibo’s back, didn’t waver. He was…beautiful. Zheng Xiaolang always felt like Lei Wenhe was untouchable, but it was different now. Every one of those rumors he’d heard about Lei Wenhe being a secret god—he understood them now. He really did look like a deity like this. Zheng Xiaolang almost longed to be the one kneeling in front of him, Lei Wenhe touching him without Zheng Xiaolang annoying him into it, experiencing for the first time the unique feeling of Lei Wenhe’s qi.

He couldn’t look any longer. He turned around and tried taking a couple deep breaths, tried calming himself.

“How do you feel?”

“Agh…”

He turned back around and saw Xing Xibo rubbing his head. Lei Wenhe was still sitting behind him, but he’d leaned forward and put a hand onto Xing Xibo’s shoulder. At this angle, it almost looked lie Xing Xibo was sitting in Lei Wenhe’s lap. “Well?” Zheng Xiaolang said.

“He’s disoriented, and he’ll need more time, but I think he’ll be okay. His core was really in disarray. It was only a matter of time before—”

“You…killed her.” Xing Xibo’s voice was choked. Lei Wenhe stopped. His hand, much to Zheng Xiaolang’s pleasure, fell from where it had been resting on Xing Xibo’s shoulder. “I know she was dangerous, but you could have just run.”

There was a long moment of silence. Killed who? Did he know who he was talking to?

“Zheng-zhangmen, you…were powerful enough. Both of you were fast enough. Why did you have to kill her?”

Was this about the culprit in those caves? Had Lei Wenhe really killed them? But Lei Wenhe had come to a different solution.

“Is this about that wolf-like demon who attacked us outside the tunnel door?”

“Her name was Meng Ruohan. She was an independent cultivator. She’d come to Long’an to talk to the…to the people here about improving the lives of the workers.”

Zheng Xiaolang was missing something here. Meng Ruohan? He didn’t think he’d ever killed an independent cultivator by that name—he’d never heard the name at all. “Wenhe, what is he—”

“We’re sorry,” said Lei Wenhe. “In the moment, Zheng-zhangmen didn’t feel like he had a choice. He was trying to protect me. I’ll take the blame.”

Xing Xibo let out a soft moan and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.

“You watched her transform, didn’t you?”

“Wenhe.”

“You watched all of the cultivators here go through deviations and transform into demons, right?”

“I didn’t know…I didn’t know how to stop the transformation. I tried to help them, but they…”

Zheng Xiaolang’s mind was whirling.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was all you could do to prevent a qi deviation of your own. You need to understand that.”

Every single demon that Zheng Xiaolang ever fought, every demon he ever killed—they were cultivators?

That demon in Liping, his missing healer…

“Did you give her a proper burial?” Lei Wenhe was asking, oh so gentle.

Xing Xibo sobbed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

How deeply should I bow?

IT TOOK TWO weeks for Chen Tian and his people to arrive. Xing Xibo had gathered some of his sanity back since then and was at least able to hold brief, emotion-ridden conversations if Lei Wenhe or Zheng Xiaolang needed to communicate with him. Lei Wenhe seemed unaffected by the life-altering news that Xing Xibo had revealed that first night—so unaffected, even, that Zheng Xiaolang wondered if this was something Lei Wenhe had known all along. How much about the world did Lei Wenhe understand that was unreachable to everyone else? He was a man who could find the cure to Quiet Death just by practicing alone in a little house in Guangning, who could sense a demon just by standing above the ground it had traveled within, who could stand in front of clan leaders without trembling. What other things did he know? How long until he trusted Zheng Xiaolang enough to tell him about them?

He held off on asking any questions until he reunited with Chen Tian, though. He needed another cultivator there—one he at least marginally trusted—to be able to navigate whatever answers Lei Wenhe was able to give him. He had the feeling that asking now would only confuse him more.

So he waited. They had conversations about mundane things.

That demon in Liping, the robes on its twisted body—

Chen Tian arrived.

Zheng Xiaolang was a little afraid that he would pounce on Zheng Xiaolang despite propriety, but he was reasonable, folding his hands and giving them all polite bows as a sect leader should. He was grinning. Zheng Xiaolang had never seen him smile so much in all the years since he’d known him. On the ship, he gave them all their own rooms that were stuffed to the brim with luxury—beds that they could sink into indefinitely, blankets clean-smelling and warm, the promise of any foods they could dream of.

“Cao Feng’s gifts to you,” said Chen Tian when he dropped by Zheng Xiaolang’s room. “He’s trying to gain your favor even though we aren’t going back to Cao. Does it work?”

There wasn’t anyone around Zheng Xiaolang needed to play nice for. He bared his teeth at Chen Tian. “He could grovel at my feet and I still wouldn’t be happy.”

“Ah, that’s how it is.” Chen Tian leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. His gaze was soft. “How are you doing?”

“Me? I’m…fine. Though there is something I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes, there’s much to discuss.” Chen Tian looked a little more serious now. “The political ramifications of helping Lei Wenhe escape Long could be delayed with Xie Rong’s denouncement, but as soon as the news came out that you cured Quiet Death, everything changed. Xie Rong revealed at once that you were working under her orders all along. Long Qingge is going to declare at any point now that you’ve made Xie an enemy of Long. At this point, she almost doesn’t have a choice. The world will see her as weak if she doesn’t make a move.” He turned one corner of his mouth up, sardonic. “I always knew you’d change the world, Zheng Xiaolang, but this…”

“Her tyranny couldn’t continue forever,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “Neither could Xie Rong’s.”

“What’s your plan after this?”

“I need to repair whatever Xie Rong has done to my district, but I think I can probably leave the brunt of that work to my disciples. They’ll be able to handle it.”

“Have you spoken to them?”

“Briefly, while you were showing Lei Wenhe and Xing Xibo their rooms.”

“What did you think?”

Zheng Xiaolang sank into his mattress and propped up his feet at the edge of the bed. “I could kill Xie Rong right now for what she’s done to Anlu. She reintroduced slaves, set up shop in the palace, and started taxing the hell out of my people.”

“She would argue that they’re her people, not yours.”

Zheng Xiaolang knew that Chen Tian didn’t mean anything malicious by it, and he definitely didn’t believe that the people in Zheng Xiaolang’s district were Xie Rong’s—or anyone’s, for that matter. “After all I’ve done for her, the least she could do in return is respect what I did with my district. I created the only safe haven outside of Wu for people wanting to escape slavery, and she destroyed that.”

“Are you really going to kill her?”

“…”

“Zheng Xiaolang.”

“Chen Tian, you’re my friend, but Cao Feng has a hold on you that neither of us can control.”

“Yes, I understand. Just, if you need help…”

“Thank you.”

Chen Tian turned to leave, but Zheng Xiaolang sat up suddenly, and he stopped. “Is there something wrong?”

“That thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Hm?”

“I learned something in Long’an from Xing Xibo. I would like to discuss it more with you and Lei Wenhe at the same time, but I thought it best to let you know about it beforehand. It’s something that shouldn’t be spread any further than us.”

“That sounds serious.”

“Close the door.”

There was a comfortable pillow and a desk in Zheng Xiaolang’s luxurious room too, one complete with all the writing paper Zheng Xiaolang could ever need on this trip as well as brushes and ink of unmatched quality. Chen Tian ignored all of this. He took the pillow, patted it a few times, and put it next to Zheng Xiaolang’s bed. When he sat, he was only a hand’s width away. “Speak.”

“I’ll get right to the point. Xing Xibo claims he watched the cultivators in Long’an transform into demons. I asked him about it some more, and he could describe each process and name each one. They all started with Quiet Death, but the trigger that really started the transformation was a qi deviation.”

Chen Tian’s expression didn’t change. “Can you confirm all this? Xing Xibo didn’t look like he was in his right mind.”

“Not outright. But it’s enough to be concerned. We’ve always assumed that people who had qi deviations and then ran away died in the wilderness once their bodies were torn apart, but…” The demon in Liping with exceptional understanding of qi, just like Su Daihan. Robes that Zheng Xiaolang could imagine Su Daihan donning before he went into meditation. “We need to investigate it further.”

“Why do you want to discuss this with Lei Wenhe?”

“I have a feeling he knows more about this. He didn’t look surprised when Xing Xibo talked about the transformation.” Then again, Zheng Xiaolang rarely saw Lei Wenhe being affected by anything, but this was something that would shake anyone to their core.

Chen Tian frowned. “Do you find that suspicious?”

“Not necessarily. Lei Wenhe has always been an enigma. He understands many things but doesn’t like to voice them until he’s sure. I suspect he deduced this as a possibility a long time ago and only just had it confirmed.”

“Do you mean to take him back to Anlu?”

Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t help the smile that flickered across his face at the question. Chen Tian scoffed.

“Wow. Zheng Xiaolang, you, really…”

“I’m captivated by him.”

“He’s an interesting person, to be sure. I understand a person finding him captivating, but you? I thought you would sleep with him and be done with it.”

Zheng Xiaolang pouted.

“Unless…he hasn’t—?”

“Agh, don’t say it.”

Chen Tian was laughing. “The great Zheng Xiaolang, the unmatchable Zheng Selang. You can’t even seduce a healer?”

“I’m beginning to suspect he doesn’t like men.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you. Should I try? Ah, don’t give me that look—you don’t have a monopoly over him, Zheng Xiaolang.”

“Get out.”

Chen Tian laughed some more. “If I get out now, I can just go right to him. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“I just spent over half a year glued to Lei Wenhe’s side after rescuing him from torture at the hands of Long Qingge. If he rejects me, there isn’t any chance he’ll accept you.”

“I think a lifetime of being chased after has skewed your view on the world.” Chen Tian reached over to pat Zheng Xiaolang’s hand condescendingly, but Zheng Xiaolang snatched out of his reach as soon as their hands made contact. “Not everyone is attracted to charming pretty boys like you, Zheng Xiaolang. I’ll have you know that Lei Wenhe and I have gotten along very well when we—”

Zheng Xiaolang swatted at him without any real feeling. “I almost just died from Quiet Death and now you’re trying to finish the job by annoying me to death?”

“Well, it’s like that sometimes.” Chen Tian stood and pushed the pillow back where it sat by the desk. “I’ll get going. Rest, will you?”

“Yes, I’ll try.”

Chen Tian paused with his hand on the door. “However all this ends,” he said, “I’m glad we were friends, Xiaolang.”

…

The discussion with Lei Wenhe went about as well as expected. Zheng Xiaolang and Chen Tian teamed up to ask some questions, and Lei Wenhe answered…well, like Lei Wenhe.

“I had my suspicions,” he said, “but they couldn’t be confirmed until we met Xing Xibo.”

Zheng Xiaolang gave Chen Tian a glance—wasn’t that exactly what Zheng Xiaolang said he would say?

“What other suspicions do you have regarding this?” asked Chen Tian. “How can this be possible? As far as we could tell, qi deviations, for hundreds of years, only resulted in things like age fluctuations.”

“And it can’t be a recent phenomenon,” Zheng Xiaolang added. “It isn’t as if demons only recently started existing.”

“It’s a relatively new phenomenon,” said Lei Wenhe. “From what I can deduce, it’s probably been a little over a hundred years.”

“That’s impossible. I was fighting demons when I was a child, and so was Chen Tian.”

“Qi deviation isn’t the only cause of demon formation.” They were sitting around a table in a private room of the ship; some time ago, a servant had brought in some tea and food, but it wasn’t until now that Lei Wenhe reached over, took the teapot, and began filling their cups. “Demon formation is a result of a corruption of the spirit itself. When the spirit breaks, sometimes the body doesn’t break with it, and instead morphs to fit the shape of the newly broken spirit.”

Zheng Xiaolang didn’t move to take the tea that Lei Wenhe had just poured him, but Chen Tian did. Zheng Xiaolang could see the tea trembling inside the cup before Chen Tian lifted it to his lips. “You mean to say that all demons were once human.”

“Have you heard of the Bai Wen?”

“Some say that you are Bai Wen,” Zheng Xiaolang said, and Lei Wenhe nodded.

“Yes. Some claim that these Bai Wen are gods. Others say they were the base form of humanity—a glimpse into what humans were before they formed consciousness and civilization. On some level, those who believe this understand what a human looks like once they’ve been corrupted.”

Zheng Xiaolang and Chen Tian looked at each other again. “So,” said Chen Tian, “why did this start happening, then? Demon formation from qi deviation—why did it start? And how do you know it only started recently?”

“Starting earlier would have been noticed by now. Even those who aren’t cultivators or nobles would have known about it, and avoided cultivators as they saw fit. Golden Core Turns Black became rampant in the last hundred years or so—wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume that it’s connected to that?”

Golden Core Turns Black was diagnosed with extreme qi deviations. Did that mean, if people like Yu Weizhe and Shen Guozhi had never been healed by Lei Wenhe, they would have turned into demons?

Chen Tian spoke again: “Then the question we should be asking is what causes Golden Core Turns Black?”

“That’s not something you should be asking me,” Lei Wenhe said. “The two of you have been alive since then. What happened in those years that could have sparked something like this?”

Chen Tian took this question and turned it around very seriously in his mind, trying to comb over every significant event of his lifetime that he’d been involved in or even distantly heard about. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t do the same. He didn’t need to. There was one specific event that had immediately come to mind as soon as Lei Wenhe had posed that question—one that he knew for certain was the answer. But he couldn’t say it out loud. Neither Chen Tian nor Lei Wenhe knew about it, and he hoped neither of them ever would. Learning about it would change the way they looked at Zheng Xiaolang.

He picked up the tea cup and downed it in one gulp. It wasn’t tea—it was warmed wine. It burned at his throat.

“It’s worth investigating more,” said Chen Tian. “I’ll see what I can find out in my district without alerting Cao Feng. Zheng Xiaolang—?”

He nodded at Chen Tian. “I’ll do the same.”

They traveled for a while. Zheng Xiaolang spent much of that time wondering about all the demons he’d killed and what kind of people they’d once been, and he knew from the faint dark circles under Chen Tian’s eyes that he was doing the same.

Eventually they arrived in Ji’an. As the capital of Xie, it was natural that it was busy: the ports were always full of ships loading and unloading what the merchants called “goods”—slaves from abroad. The markets, keeping up with the constant flow of those “goods,” always had a lively crowd of nobles, commoners, and aristocrats alike. Zheng Xiaolang had spent too long in this city to see any charm in it, but he supposed he could see where some might find appeal—the white and gold decorating every corner, radiant and bright and seemingly untouched by the filth of the world; the beautiful sounds of the street musicians providing entertainment for the passers-by. Otherwise, though, all he saw was the continued poison of the nobility, the way the nobility passed by slave children without a spared glance, the misery in fear in every slave’s face. This was the last place he ever saw his family. This was the first place he saw Xie Rong.

As they pulled into port, Zheng Xiaolang noticed that it was even more lively than before—there were more flags, more people, and louder musicians. Xie Rong had organized a celebration for his return.

He wanted more than ever to kill her.

Xie Rong could pretend all she wanted that this was for Zheng Xiaolang’s sake—a way to tell him that he was welcome here and that she supported him. But Zheng Xiaolang knew better, and so did Xie Rong. He would never be happy with any display like this, especially if it was in Ji’an. If it was Anlu, and if his people had organized the celebration themselves, then he might be pleased and flattered, if not a little embarrassed that they would use their money for something as unnecessary as that. But in Ji’an…

“Ah. This is a little much.” Chen Tian stood next to Zheng Xiaolang as they docked their ship. He squinted out over the crowd. “How many of them do you think know you hate their guts?”

“Let’s get off quickly. I want Xing Xibo on his way to Anlu before Xie Rong can think to check the ship.”

“I’ll let the crew know. Where are we supposed to meet Xie—ah.” Chen Tian didn’t finish his question because he spotted the clan leader standing on the docks, cultivators standing at each side, her neck craning upward to watch the ship approach. Zheng Xiaolang hated looking at her in any situation, but it was a little satisfying like this, him so high up on the ship and her, looking so small, on the docks below. “Gives me chills just to see her face,” Chen Tian murmured. He patted Zheng Xiaolang on the back. “I’ll talk to the crew. Will you be meeting Xie Rong with Lei Wenhe?”

“I don’t think I have a choice. If I don’t bring him along when I come out, she’ll barge onto the ship to look for him.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

Lei Wenhe joined him to wait for the ramp to lower. He’d not changed his clothes as per Zheng Xiaolang’s request—it wouldn’t be good to show up in Cao colors, as that would show an allegiance to Cao Feng that didn’t exist, and it definitely wouldn’t be good to show up in Wu colors. It was better to arrive looking like a humble peasant, further cementing the fact that Lei Wenhe was formerly a nobody healer from Guangning, even if he’d dined with the most powerful people in the world since then.

“She won’t want to let you go,” said Zheng Xiaolang, and Lei Wenhe just looked at him. “You probably remember that she offered you the world when we were in Yingde. She hasn’t changed her mind since. She’s probably more determined to keep you since you legally belong to Long Qingge.” It was always a little terrible to say that last part out loud. It was Zheng Xiaolang’s fault. He still hadn’t completely repaid Lei Wenhe for how he’d wronged him.

“All the clan leaders are like that,” Lei Wenhe said. “Well, except for Wu Enlai, I suppose.”

The ramp hit the docks with a thud.

“How deeply should I bow?”

“You’ve never asked me something like that before.”

“You’ve never had that sort of expression on your face before.”

Expression? Zheng Xiaolang wasn’t sure what he meant, but they moved forward together anyway, and when they met Xie Rong on the docks, they both bowed low.

“Lei Wenhe.” Xie Rong, naturally, greeted him first, decidedly marking him as the more important arrival. “It’s taken too long for us to meet.”

Lei Wenhe kept his eyes and head lowered. “This humble one is honored to be in Xie-zongzhu’s presence.”

Zheng Xiaolang had to make a very conscious effort not to clench his fists at his sides. He had, maybe subconsciously, always dreaded this day. Lei Wenhe seemed untainted by the political world Zheng Xiaolang operated within—even after he’d stayed in Long and been treated like that, Lei Wenhe still managed to keep a distance from the politics aspect, still managed to remain a ‘healer’ above all else. Long Qingge planned to use Lei Wenhe as a tool; she would extract the cure from him, or she would lock him up and force it out of him every time she needed it. But Zheng Xiaolang knew that Xie Rong wasn’t going to do the same. She was going to do to Lei Wenhe what she did with everyone around her; she would turn him into a weapon. He didn’t know exactly how she would do it yet, but he had no doubt that was exactly what she intended.

“And Zheng Xiaolang.”

That name belonged to her. The original shape of it was formed by her mouth. No matter how many times better, more beautiful people would say it, ‘Zheng Xiaolang’ was a name that belonged to Xie Rong.

“Xie-zongzhu,” he said, simple.

“Let’s all of us feast in my palace. Lei Wenhe, is there anything in particular you would like to eat? Anything at all.”

“Any food prepared by Xie-zongzhu’s chefs would be an honor to eat.”

Zheng Xiaolang was still thinking about that soup Lei Wenhe made, the way his eyes looked exceedingly gentle as he worked in that kitchen in Wu Enlai’s estate, the way his gaze softened when he watched Wu Enlai and Zheng Xiaolang and Fang Zi’an take a bite. If he could request anything in the world, it would be that soup, but he knew so much of longing for that again was because of those moments with Lei Wenhe, not because of the soup itself—and it wouldn’t be the same, anyway, if somebody else tried to make it. “This one is pleased with whatever Xie-zongzhu provides.”

It was the right answer from both of them. Xie Rong didn’t liked to be asked to do things, and she especially didn’t like feeling as if she was compelled to do those things. She asked because she was supposed to ask, and if Lei Wenhe or Zheng Xiaolang had replied with specific requests, she would have been forced, simply because there were others listening, to give them exactly what they wanted. Zheng Xiaolang knew, though, that the consequences for putting her in such a situation would come afterward. He didn’t know how much of that Lei Wenhe would experience, but he knew he would certainly get the brunt of it.

After Chen Tian came and joined them and paid his proper respects, they went together to visit Xie Rong’s palace. Zheng Xiaolang and Chen Tian walked with their heads high, giving off the proper auras of sect leaders, and Xie Rong walked ahead of them with undeniable power and charisma. Lei Wenhe, ever trying to keep out of the limelight, stayed between Chen Tian and Zheng Xiaolang with his head lowered. He wasn’t significantly shorter than either of them, but the way he moved and the way he held himself, hunched and lowered and seeming as if he were trying to be invisible, made him look much smaller. Was he going to be okay in Ji’an like this? Zheng Xiaolang only glimpsed what ‘not okay’ looked like on Lei Wenhe’s face once, and though he loved how Lei Wenhe let himself be vulnerable around him for once, he didn’t want him to be hurt like that again.

Naturally, the feast was grand. Everyone celebrated what incredible heroes Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe were—Lei Wenhe for curing Quiet Death, but Zheng Xiaolang too for going against a terror like Long Qingge and letting himself be declared a fugitive, all for saving the world. It was a bitter kind of celebration. Nobody knew Lei Wenhe’s background, which meant that his social standing might climb to incredible ranks, maybe even high enough to marry a clan leader without anyone batting an eye. But Zheng Xiaolang was being celebrated in a way that meant nothing to him. All of these people still defined him as a former slave. He had accomplished all that he had in spite of his status, but his status would always be hovering right there, a constant reminder. Especially in a place like Ji’an, that status had never felt heavier.

His mind whirled when Xie Rong, smiling, put some meat into Lei Wenhe’s bowl, and Lei Wenhe looked down at it with his lips pursed. He’d glossed right over it in his thoughts, but it was true that Lei Wenhe could climb the social ranks, and it was true that he might eventually be able to marry a clan leader. That couldn’t be what Xie Rong was planning, could it? She had at least a dozen spouses by now, each playing a different role—some of those political. She couldn’t possibly be thinking to marry Lei Wenhe, could she? He felt a little sick to his stomach. He liked to make all kinds of proposals to Lei Wenhe, but the truth of the matter was, in a position like his, he couldn’t ever marry him. Even if Xie Rong would permit someone so important marry a former slave, sect leader or not, Zheng Xiaolang…well, he couldn’t afford to have an obvious weakness like that, could he? He couldn’t keep an eye on Lei Wenhe at all hours of the day, nor could he really fully trust anyone to protect him properly. If he did manage to climb higher in the social ladder and kept Lei Wenhe so obviously at his side, it would only be a matter of time before someone tried to leverage Lei Wenhe against him. And what then? Did he have to choose between his life mission and Lei Wenhe?

After dinner, Chen Tian bid them a good night. He didn’t go to sleep so early, but he didn’t need to—or want to—be around for the political conversations that Zheng Xiaolang would eventually have to have with Lei Wenhe and Xie Rong.

“You’ll explore Ji’an?” asked Zheng Xiaolang, and Chen Tian glanced behind himself distastefully.

“I don’t know how much I would really enjoy myself like this.”

“I would send you ahead to Anlu if I could,” Zheng Xiaolang said. Chen Tian waved that away.

“I understand. Rushing to Anlu now would be a mistake. Maybe I’ll send some communication to Zheng Ai tonight.” He lowered his voice. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Zheng Xiaolang had grown up in Xie Rong’s palace, and a building like that didn’t change even a century and a half after that time had passed. He could see little pieces of his childhood everywhere he looked—the courtyard where he first consciously felt the movement of his qi, the hallway that led to the first bedroom he ever had, the little sitting room where Zheng Xiaolang had, after being beaten to a pulp, finally understood what it meant to be a cultivator, and promptly taught all of those fellow disciples a lesson they wouldn’t forget. He hated being on the streets of Ji’an, but he hated the palace even more. There wasn’t a single moment he’d spent here that he wanted to relive.

Xie Rong, leading them, was telling Lei Wenhe all sorts of stories about the palace—how it was built, how many people worked within those walls, how long it had been a part of the Xie family. Zheng Xiaolang kept quiet except to confirm various things Xie Rong asked him, and Lei Wenhe didn’t say anything at all.

Unsurprisingly, they went into the throne room. Shao Shan and Ni Peicen were waiting, kneeling, on either side of Xie Rong’s throne, donned in the finest dresses and jewels. Shao Shan was tall and slender and delicately pretty, reminding one of new spring blossoms—beautiful enough, of course, for Xie Rong to pull her out of the slave trade and give her a life of luxury. Ni Peicin, stronger features than Shao San but still beautiful in her own way, had gotten lucky with a political marriage and luckier still after she was able to please Xie Rong with her cleverness. Xie Rong went to them and gave them some affection before she sank into her seat.

“Please.” She gestured to the little tables set out in front of the throne and Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe both sat. “I’m terribly sorry to get straight to business,” she said, “but I hope Lei-sanren will understand.”

“It is necessary in this climate.” Lei Wenhe’s voice was noticeably clipped to Zheng Xiaolang, but he didn’t know if it was something Xie Rong, who hadn’t ever met him before today, would notice.

“I know you’ve been treated poorly by the other clan leaders,” Xie Rong said. She had one hand on Ni Peicen’s head, and was softly combing her fingers through her hair. “I don’t want to make your experience something like that again. I want us to treat each other like equals. How does that sound to you?”

She was trying to set herself apart from the other clan leaders—such a claim that she wanted to treat Lei Wenhe as an ‘equal’ could be anything but the truth. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t want to let that false alliance gain traction, but what could he do with Xie Rong right there?

“It certainly sounds better than my previous arrangements,” said Lei Wenhe, “but Xie-zongzhu will understand if this humble one is a little skeptical.”

Xie Rong’s gaze was steady and piercing. She was trying to set herself apart from the other clan leaders because she assumed that Lei Wenhe had been treated poorly, but the truth of it was that Xie Rong was really apart from the other clan leaders: she was meeting Lei Wenhe after many of the clan leaders had already met him, after Lei Wenhe had made a reputation for himself, and after the entire world had gotten to know him a bit. Shen Guozhi hired a mystery and Yu Weizhe summoned the same, but Xie Rong knew that Lei Wenhe was stubborn, that he was picky with his foods, that he rarely spoke to anybody unless it was necessary or that person was Zheng Xiaolang, that he wanted quiet comfort over fame and luxury, that he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—give up the cure to Golden Core Turns Black under any circumstances, and that he was a man who, if left alone, would keep his head down and just heal people. After all his public dealings with Shen Guozhi, Yu Weizhe, and Long Qingge, Xie Rong had probably deduced that all she would need to do was offer him a safe place to stay, a modest salary, a good variety of nuts, and good access to the cultivating world for healing. They were all things that Zheng Xiaolang was already thinking about offering Lei Wenhe but hadn’t had the chance to.

“After so many hardships,” said Xie Rong, “and especially after curing another impossible disease like Quiet Death, you deserve a lifetime of whatever you desire, but I know a man like you doesn’t want much. Unless…?”

Lei Wenhe didn’t say anything. Xie Rong smiled and continued.

“I think we can make some arrangements. I’d like you to stay in Ji’an, to begin. It’ll be easiest to keep you safe here, should Long Qingge ever start causing a fuss. I have some very talented cultivators that could act as your personal bodyguards if ever you need them, but I wouldn’t dare have them interrupt your routines.”

Still, Lei Wenhe said nothing.

“I’ve also heard that you are quite particular with your food and prefer nuts and dried fruits, and I’ve already found someone whose goods, I think, will be to your liking. Your residence will have someone come by once a week to do some basic cleaning, but you’ll otherwise be left alone. Most importantly, of course, I think you’ll be pleased to know that you’ll have a place to work within the palace, and anyone who comes for your services will have easy access, but that your private residence will remain deeper within the grounds, so you’ll have a quiet place to rest. How does all of this sound to you?”

This was an actual question, so Lei Wenhe needed to answer. He dipped his head down. “If it pleases Xie-zongzhu,” he said, “then this humble one will stay.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s jaw clenched. He forced his gaze down to his hands, unwilling to read Lei Wenhe’s or Xie Rong’s expressions. Of course Lei Wenhe would say yes. He’d never refused anyone who wanted his help, except for when Long Qingge was demanding the cure out of him. Of course he would say yes—Xie Rong had a good deal for him, and she wasn’t asking for that cure. And Xie Rong, sitting on her throne, probably had that triumphant expression of hers with which Zheng Xiaolang was so familiar. She hadn’t specified any amount of time that she wanted Lei Wenhe to be in Ji’an. That meant that Lei Wenhe could be here indefinitely.

“And Zheng Xiaolang.”

“Yes, Zongzhu.”

“How long do you plan to stay? I imagine you want to get to Anlu as soon as possible.”

“This lowly one doesn’t dare rush, Zongzhu.” He hated her. He hated her. He hated—

“Hm. Well, stay for a month. I won’t hold you any longer than that. We’ll get Lei-sanren settled together.

“As Zongzhu wishes.”

Xie Rong dismissed them after that, not having anything else of import to say, other than telling Zheng Xiaolang where Lei Wenhe and Chen Tian would be staying. Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe walked together for a bit in silence toward Lei Wenhe’s room. Zheng Xiaolang thought about how Lei Wenhe, just like he did every time he moved to a new territory, would probably change his robes to match the other people moving around the palace. He couldn’t imagine Lei Wenhe in the Xie white and gold, but he knew he would look unimaginably elegant like that—the white pulled tight around his waist, the gold accents spotting the cloth, his hair full of delicate gold chains in true Xie noble style. Zheng Xiaolang had never been one to like those chains—anyone like him, who needed to be able to fight at a moment’s notice, found them too impractical to bother. But he thought…well, he thought Lei Wenhe would look very pretty in them.

“Are you upset?” asked Lei Wenhe.

“Of course not.” The answer came out automatically.

“Is that the truth?”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed. He put a hand on Lei Wenhe’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t want me to accept the offer from Xie Rong.”

Of course he hadn’t. Zheng Xiaolang hated Long Qingge, but Long Qingge hadn’t ruined him like Xie Rong had. The idea of Lei Wenhe staying under Xie Rong’s ‘care’… “You should do whatever you think is best, Lei-xiansheng.”

Lei Wenhe sighed. “Is this how our relationship will be now?”

The smile on Zheng Xiaolang’s face faded. “What do you mean?” They were getting closer to Lei Wenhe’s residence. Xie Rong had placed him in a residence several minutes away from everyone else, which Zheng Xiaolang saw had private gardens, hot springs, and a long winding walking path that he knew would eventually overlook Xie’s archery range. Xie Rong had really thought of everything. This was the perfect place for Lei Wenhe. He pointed it out to Lei Wenhe, but Lei Wenhe didn’t answer. It occurred to Zheng Xiaolang that, while he’d been looking at this little one-room house that Xie Rong had presumably built specifically for Lei Wenhe, Lei Wenhe hadn’t answered Zheng Xiaolang’s question. He hadn’t said a word.

Zheng Xiaolang stopped and took Lei Wenhe’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Lei Wenhe wasn’t meeting his eyes. He was looking at the ground. “Some years ago, in Shen, Zheng-zhangmen tried to bring me to Xie. Zheng-zhangmen told me Xie Rong would give me everything I wanted. Zheng-zhangmen…Is Zheng-zhangmen’s mission done now that I’m here?”

Zheng Xiaolang was speechless for a long moment. Then—“What do you mean? Why are you speaking like that now?”

“I—this lowly one—”

“Don’t speak like that.”

Lei Wenhe pressed his lips together.

“Wenhe, just tell me what’s wrong. Don’t speak so respectfully.”

“Well, I—I thought we were friends.” The words came out in a whisper. “But you’re speaking to me again like you did when we first met. Everything is a non-answer. Can’t we speak frankly to each other by now?”

“Wenhe, of course we’re friends.” He put his hands on both Lei Wenhe’s shoulders now and spoke seriously to him. “Speaking in such a way was my mistake. Being here in Ji’an, being near Xie Rong…it’s been so long that I’d almost forgotten how unpleasant it is for me. I shouldn’t take it out on you.” He took his left hand from Lei Wenhe’s shoulder, used it to tilt Lei Wenhe’s chin up. Lei Wenhe hesitated for a moment, but eventually his gaze lifted to meet Zheng Xiaolang’s. “I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“Can you answer me honestly, then?”

“Ask me anything you like.”

“Are you upset?”

“Yes. Any time in Ji’an and any time around Xie Rong will upset me.”

“Did you not want me to stay in Ji’an?”

The gardens around them seemed infinitely quiet, all the way out here. Xie Rong had put Lei Wenhe in a location that would probably recall memories of Guangning. “No,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “I didn’t. I wanted you to come back to Anlu with me. I wanted to build you a house like this, where you could get some peace and quiet. I wanted to find a chef who could cook you Wu cuisine. I wanted to take you to the archery range and train you. I wanted to introduce you to my disciples.”

Lei Wenhe let out a breath of a laugh. “All that, just for me?”

“I could give you anything you ask for.” He’d said words like this before to Lei Wenhe—you can have anything and everything you want. But they hadn’t meant what they did now. Then, they’d been a proposal of employment; now, they were a promise of dedication, of attraction, of dependability. “I don’t want to subject you to a world like this again. You shouldn’t have to worry about watching your words anymore.” He slid his hand from Lei Wenhe’s chin to his cheek and slowly brushed his thumb over the skin there. “You were the happiest in Wu, weren’t you?”

Lei Wenhe put his hand over where Zheng Xiaolang had rested against his cheek. Zheng Xiaolang worried that he would try to pull him off, resist the touch—but he didn’t. He pressed Zheng Xiaolang into his skin, even turned his face into him. “Are you worried about me?” Zheng Xiaolang could feel those soft lips move against his palm. He felt breathless.

“Of course I’m worried about you.”

“This isn’t the same as in Long. There are people here to hold Xie Rong accountable, and you aren’t so far away, are you? You’ll come to visit me?”

Zheng Xiaolang wanted so badly to kiss him. “Of course I’ll visit you.”

“And you’ll save me again, if ever something goes wrong.”

If he just leaned forward just the slightest amount, their mouths would touch—Zheng Xiaolang would pull Lei Wenhe’s tongue into his mouth, taste every piece of him. “Of course I’ll save you.” He was leaning forward even without thinking about it, touching their noses together, breathing in every breath Lei Wenhe exhaled.

“Then there’s no need to worry about me,” Lei Wenhe said. “You can go to Anlu. You can take care of your district and your disciples. I’ll be right here.”

“Wenhe.” He was so close, and Lei Wenhe wasn’t pushing him away. Zheng Xiaolang could kiss him now, he could—

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

As Long As I'm Alive, No One Can Lay A Hand On You

LEI WENHE HAD met Huo Tao when he was five years old. Like most relationships like this, it was impossible to tell at the beginning how significant they would become to each other. They were just children, the two of them; the most important thing to them was who could hit a makeshift target in the bullseye from the farthest point away, not whether whatever they had forming was going to last them any significant amount of time. In fact, the length of time that the two of them were capable of sticking together hadn’t even occurred to them. At such a young age, the scale of their lives was not just unfathomable but not even something either of them thought they needed to consider. Lei Wenhe’s great-great grandmother tried to get him to understand sometimes. She took him on walks in the forests behind the Lei manor, pointed to trees that she planted as a child, these trunks wider than Lei Wenhe could spread his arms and taller than he could see. She would explain to him that she was older than these, but even then he couldn’t comprehend what that meant. She didn’t look anywhere near that age, after all—she still looked just as young and beautiful as his mother. Lei Wenhe just clung to her hand and craned up his neck at the trees and looked at them for a while, and then they just kept walking.

Lei Wenhe and Huo Tao met like most children of Murmuring Springs: at a gathering organized specifically for this meeting. It had been a long time coming, even as young as they were—they were both the first-born sons of the noble families of Murmuring Springs, so it was natural that they needed to meet and get to know each other. Lei Wenhe and Huo Tao both dressed in their neatest outfits and went with their families to the center of Murmuring Springs—a lush garden around a large fountain, courtesy of the Hai family many years ago. Just like any children brought together under the excuse of family politics, Lei Wenhe and Huo Tao were resistant to being friends, and more or less convinced that they had nothing in common after the first few polite exchanges. Lei Wenhe abandoned Huo Tao as soon as he could and ran off to find Xue Suyin—they’d had a more natural meeting a few months ago in the forest, one not orchestrated by their families, and he was convinced that she was going to be his one and only best friend. But after some wandering around looking for her, Lei Wenhe realized that Huo Tao had been following him, silently, his little hands folded behind his back.

“Stop following me,” said Lei Wenhe.

“My niang said I have to get along with you.”

“Why?”

“She just said we’re supposed to be friends.”

Lei Wenhe frowned at him. “I already have a friend.”

“Maybe we could be best friends then?”

“I already have a best friend.”

“Who’s your best friend?”

“Xue Suyin.”

“Oh.” Huo Tao looked down, chewed on his lip. “I like Xue Suyin.”

“I like her too. She’s good at sword-fighting.” It was one of the many things that Lei Wenhe admired about her.

“Do you like sword-fighting?”

“No. I like archery.”

Huo Tao’s eyes widened. “I like archery too.”

Lei Wenhe was a little suspicious. “You do?”

“Do you wanna go play?” He smiled, a little shyly, and held out his hand. Lei Wenhe considered it. He took it.

They were friends after that. Lei Wenhe found out later that Huo Tao was promised a brand new bow if he could get along with Lei Wenhe, but Lei Wenhe didn’t mind. They spent most of their time at the range, firing arrows at targets dozens of zhang away until their arms were sore, and then they sprawled across the grass and talked until they could start shooting again. When they were both about eighteen, only about half of that time was still dedicated to archery, as they’d gotten more than good enough to slack a little—they spent the rest of it lounging in the meadows and forests of Murmuring Springs, eating snacks and talking, tentatively stepping closer and closer to romance every time they locked eyes.

Lei Wenhe had loved him, deeply. Maybe he was in love with him. But he couldn’t remember what that felt like, and the only thing he felt when he thought about Huo Tao’s face was pain. He’d shared his first kisses—his only kisses—with that boy back then. A soft, eager mouth, clumsy hands at his waist—if Zheng Xiaolang kissed him now, would Lei Wenhe taste anything but blood?

“Zheng Xiaolang? Lei Wenhe? Are the two of you back here?”

Zheng Xiaolang was just a hair’s width away from Lei Wenhe’s mouth. At the sound of the new voice, he stopped, swore, and turned around. “How the hell did he…”

Chen Tian was coming toward them on one of the paths. When he saw them standing together, he lit up and waved one hand. “Hey!” Now he did a light jog to catch up to them quicker. Zheng Xiaolang stole a glance at Lei Wenhe—there was no light blush to his cheeks like Zheng Xiaolang had been hoping. It was as if nothing had happened at all. “I was told you’d be back here. So this is where Lei Wenhe’s new house is?”

“Xie Rong is very generous,” said Lei Wenhe, ever so polite, and Chen Tian laughed.

“You don’t have to sing her praises here. Neither of us will report you.”

Lei Wenhe dipped his head down in acknowledgment. Chen Tian turned to Zheng Xiaolang.

“How did the meeting with her go?”

“About as well as expected. Wenhe will be staying here. I’ll go to Anlu with the month’s end. Of course, I’ll have to meet with her again for other matters, but…” If Chen Tian hadn’t called out, or if he’d just taken a moment longer to get here, Zheng Xiaolang could be kissing Lei Wenhe right now. “How is Zheng Ai?”

“She’s doing well. She’s trying to help your disciples deal with the aftermath of Xie Rong’s involvement.”

Zheng Xiaolang grimaced. “I should thank her for her help. Do you know if she wants anything?”

“A verbal thanks will be plenty. I try not to let my disciples get into the habit of accepting gifts from powerful people. No offense meant.”

Zheng Xiaolang was a little amused. “No offense taken.” He’d always admired how Chen Tian operated his sect. The cultivators coming out of his district did not linger and take control of micro-districts like did Zheng Xiaolang’s disciples; rather, they spread throughout the different territories, taking their strict ideologies with them, never wavering just as Chen Tian taught them. Those cultivators would never become corrupt, they would never be power hungry, and they would never shirk on their duties. Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t depend on them to support him in his future plans, but he could at least depend on them to protect the people. “Have you gotten into further contact with Cao Feng?”

“Mn.” Chen Tian crossed his arms. He’d changed into some cleaner Cao colors at some point between sending off Xing Xibo and dinner. This was how Zheng Xiaolang usually saw him—sharply dressed, his face youthful but stern, tall and composed. He was smiling more often, Zheng Xiaolang thought, but the stress lines around his eyes had gotten deeper, almost to the point that they were beginning to betray his true age. “He’s trying to pretend like coming directly to Xie doesn’t bother him, but what can he do? He can’t make demands of the people who solved his biggest problem. If he didn’t have his hands full dealing with opening up the borders again, I’m sure he’d be trying to figure out a way to come to Xie.”

There was the sound of someone else running up the path toward them. Zheng Xiaolang and Chen Tian turned, noticing the sound with their fine-tuned senses before Lei Wenhe did. “A servant?” Zheng Xiaolang’s voice was low, and Chen Tian murmured an affirmative. After a minute, the approaching figure became visible—a young servant Zheng Xiaolang had never seen before. She stopped a dozen paces before she reached them, hastily fixed her clothes and her hair, and then came forward at a calmer pace, as if she had been doing that all along. If this was the past, Zheng Xiaolang would probably be turning up the charm right now, lightly teasing her for her flushed cheeks, and Chen Tian would let out a sigh, jab an elbow into Zheng Xiaolang’s side, and apologize to the servant for Zheng Xiaolang’s shamelessness. But now, in front of Lei Wenhe, still simmering in the wake of what Zheng Xiaolang imagined would be the sweetest kiss of his life, such flirtations didn’t even occur to him. He was only a little irritated at her appearance.

“Zheng-zhangmen.” She cupped her hands and bowed low. “Xie-zongzhu wishes to see you.”

“Ah…” Chen Tian clicked his tongue.

“Now?” Zheng Xiaolang asked. “I just left.”

“Xie-zongzhu says she’s given Zheng-zhangmen enough time to properly escort Lei-xiansheng.”

Zheng Xiaolang passed a hand over his face. “I still need to…” There was no getting around this. Xie Rong wouldn’t give him more time with Lei Wenhe just because he wanted it—if he did dare to ask for more time, he thought Xie Rong would probably realize too quickly that Zheng Xiaolang had gotten attached. “Lei-xiansheng.” He went for ultra-formality, just in case the servant was going to report anything back to Xie Rong. “I’ll have to go back first.”

“Zheng-zhangmen doesn’t need to worry about me.” Lei Wenhe flashed his tight smile and put his hands together. “Please feel free to do whatever Zheng-zhangmen needs to do.”

“Chen-zhangmen?” Zheng Xiaolang said. “Should we walk together?”

Chen Tian’s fox eyes curved up at the corners. “You should go first. I’d like to stay and catch up with Lei Wenhe.”

Zheng Xiaolang really wanted to tell the servant to run along, but he didn’t want her saying anything to Xie Rong.

“Don’t worry about me,” said Lei Wenhe. “Chen-zhangmen and I get along just fine.”

He knew they did. That was his problem with all of this. But there was no avoiding it—he needed to go meet Xie Rong, probably discuss the inevitable war that he sparked upon stealing away with Lei Wenhe. That—and Xie Rong’s temper—couldn’t wait just because Zheng Xiaolang was feeling a little possessive over a man who wasn’t even his. “Then,” he said, “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

After that Zheng Xiaolang left with the servant, Chen Tian and Lei Wenhe kept walking. Neither of them had any intention to go into Lei Wenhe’s residence to talk there, but they did both peer inside and make some inane comments, after which they kept moving through the paths, turning those comments instead toward the surrounding gardens that Xie Rong had set up for her new healer.

“Was there something specific you wanted to talk to me about?” Lei Wenhe asked eventually.

“Ah, well…I thought, mostly, I’d just check to see how you were doing. Zheng Xiaolang is a dependable man, and I’m pleased the two of you get along so well, but anyone in a situation like yours would have some difficulty adjusting properly.”

Lei Wenhe liked Chen Tian. From what he could gather, between asking polite but seemingly disinterested questions of the Shen and Yu families, Chen Tian wasn’t permitted to participate in anything at all politically significant until he was well into his twenties, and that would be after the massacre. He was one of the few sect leaders, Lei Wenhe had determined, who did not take part in the deaths of that night. He might be aware of it—Lei Wenhe had no way to determine who was or wasn’t aware of it—but, at the very least, Chen Tian had taken no lives on that night. He answered, then, with mostly honesty: “Thank you for Chen-zhangmen’s concern. I will be alright. The last year has been…chaotic, but I’m pleased to be somewhere quiet now. This area Long Qingge set up for me—it’s one of the nicest places I’ve ever been.”

Chen Tian was nodding and looking around. “If you’re worried about what will happen with Long Qingge,” he said, “there really isn’t any need. I don’t like Xie Rong, but she won’t back down to Long Qingge like Yu Weizhe did. Those were…special circumstances, as I’m sure you know. Yu Weizhe wasn’t a strong leader to begin with, and neither were his sect leaders. The only person who had the capability of commanding such a large piece of land with any amount of competency was Yu Yunmi and she…well.” He stopped and reached out to catch a falling petal before it could reach Lei Wenhe’s shoulder. For a moment he just held it between his fingers, his gaze contemplative. He said, “I don’t know what will happen with this war. I’d like to say I can stand by your and Zheng Xiaolang’s side, but I’m unsure even of that.”

“There’s no need to fret over my mental state,” Lei Wenhe told him. Chen Tian’s fingers parted, releasing the petal back into the wind, and it drifted toward that lookout over the archery range. “I’m not very good in a fight, but I’m not someone who will worry so much when there are so many competent people around me. As for whether Chen-zhangmen will be on the same side…” He shook his head. “I know by now how unforgiving the politics of this world can be. There are many things people must do to stay alive, even if it means going against what they believe.”

“That…” Chen Tian seemed greatly conflicted over this, and couldn’t quite figure out what to say in response.

“Does Chen-zhangmen support Xie Rong?”

“No.”

“Then—Long Qingge?”

“No. If I had the choice, I’d really rather not support either of them.” Chen Tian’s robes were that pale green, the same color that Lei Wenhe had worn when he was young. On the people of Murmuring Springs, the combination of white hair and pale green robes evoked feelings of sunny spring days, of a life begun anew, of sprigs bursting through the snow. But the robes on mortals—well, at least it seemed to evoke the same feelings in Chen Tian as it did Lei Wenhe. Chen Tian had the fabric bunched up in his hands and was twisting it about mercilessly, his eyebrows drawn together. “Lei Wenhe, if you asked Zheng Xiaolang…”

“Hm?”

“If you told him that you wanted to leave, I think he would listen to you.”

That might be true. But Lei Wenhe had other business here. Zheng Xiaolang, at least for now, wasn’t going anywhere. “I couldn’t even think about saying such things to him. I didn’t even want him to take me away from Lühe—he put himself at a great amount of risk when he did that. And to his own clan leader now…”

The conversation faded a little then. They finished moving through the gardens and stood at that lookout point, watching the sun sink over the horizon. The archers who had been working dutifully were abandoning practice now that it was too dim to see the target, though there were a few who were talented enough to remain and shoot only by instinct. Lei Wenhe wondered if, after all this time, he would be able to shoot a bow and arrow like that again, like he had with Huo Tao—that natural precision, the natural expertise. Pulling back on the taught string without thinking and hitting the target without trying.

“Chen Tian.” Lei Wenhe finally spoke again as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the mountains. “You don’t need to answer this, but…”

“Please, speak your mind.”

“What do you know about Zheng Xiaolang’s past?”

“Ah.” He took a deep breath.

“As I said—”

“I know some, but it isn’t my story to tell.”

“Zheng Xiaolang doesn’t seem to be someone who speaks much about his past. He mentioned his family very briefly, but…”

“He mentioned his family?” Chen Tian seemed surprised. In this dim lighting, Lei Wenhe could only see the shadows of his face, not his expression.

“I don’t think he meant to.”

“No, it would be strange if he’d meant to.” Chen Tian reached up and rubbed the bend where his neck met his shoulder. “He…seems open, but it’s harder for him than anyone to really open up and trust people. If you want to know him, you just need to be patient.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t want to know him, at least not in the sense that Chen Tian was thinking about. He just wanted to know his weaknesses. But it seemed like Chen Tian either didn’t know them or wasn’t willing to give them up. Maybe Xie Rong would divulge some information. She seemed like she would be willing to give Lei Wenhe whatever he wanted and more.

“I know it’s a slow process.” Chen Tian must have interpreted his silence as disappointment. “But…believe me when I say that Zheng Xiaolang seems to like you quite a bit. It won’t be long before he trusts you.”

“I hope so,” Lei Wenhe said. That was the truth.

…

It didn’t take long for the gifts to start coming in. After the long stretch that Lei Wenhe was missing from the mortal world, suddenly everyone knew where he was—and they wanted on his good side. People like Shen Guozhi and his people, who figured they were already on Lei Wenhe’s good side, and people like Qin Ye and her cohort, who had never even met Lei Wenhe—they were sending extravagant gifts, delicious foods, servants, and slaves. Things that Lei Wenhe would never consider using, that he would hate receiving. Zheng Xiaolang took charge of handling all these gifts so they wouldn’t burden Lei Wenhe. Then came word from Long Qingge—Zheng Xiaolang tried to handle that too. But Lei Wenhe learned anyway.

They met in Xie Rong’s throne room again. Lei Wenhe was in Xie colors now—and Zheng Xiaolang was right. He looked unbearably elegant in them. Zheng Xiaolang wanted to trace his fingers over each of those delicate gold chains affixed to his hair, unfasten the gold pieces holding his hair up, let it fall over the nape of his neck and cascade down the length of his back. But Lei Wenhe wasn’t even looking at him. He was kneeling on the pillow in front of Xie Rong, his hands folded together in his lap, his lips pressed together.

“Will this…be an issue?”

Xie Rong let out a laugh and leaned back in her chair. She hadn’t, surprisingly, brought either of her favorite wives with her today—aside from her, Zheng Xiaolang, and Lei Wenhe, the room was empty. “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

“But Long-zongzhu…” Lei Wenhe was nervous. He wasn’t looking up to meet her eyes, and he hadn’t looked back at Zheng Xiaolang, even glancing, for ages. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t like the person Lei Wenhe became when Long Qingge was brought up.

“Long Qingge doesn’t have the guts to attack right now. She can shout ‘war’ all she wants, but what can she do? You and Zheng Xiaolang are in Xie now, and currently you’re the heroes of the world. Nobody will want to get on your bad side. Even if they did, they wouldn’t dare get on my bad side. She knows as well as I do—Shen, Cao, Qin, Wu…they’re all on our side. Yu Weizhe doesn’t have a leg to stand on, so it doesn’t matter where he goes. And the unoccupied lands, too—Zheng Xiaolang’s work there makes them a guaranteed group for us. Nobody would want to start a war under those circumstances. She’ll complain for a bit, and then she’ll back down and bide her time. And we’ll be preparing all the same.” She leaned forward, closer to Lei Wenhe. “I promise you,” she said. “As long as I’m alive, no one can lay a hand on you.”

These declarations, all of these generous but reasonable gifts she was giving him—Zheng Xiaolang worried that this side of Xie Rong would only make Lei Wenhe like her. But how could he stop a progression of their relationship? Could he just tell Lei Wenhe to be on his guard? Would Lei Wenhe accept that without question? Would Zheng Xiaolang have to explain things to him?

“This humble one appreciates Xie-zongzhu’s words.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s fingernails were digging crescent-shaped cuts into his palms.

“Lei-xiansheng,” Xie Rong said, “you’re an intelligent man. I know you don’t like involving yourself in politics, but I also know you like having some manner of control over your life. If there’s any development in this, I can promise you that you’ll be one of the first people to know.”

“This humble one sincerely thanks you.”

“Zheng Xiaolang.”

“Yes, Zongzhu.” He cupped his hands. He could see that he’d drawn blood, but he showed no reaction.

“You’re dismissed.”

“…Zongzhu?”

“Leave. I have something to discuss with Lei-xiansheng.”

He broke out in a cold sweat. If he wasn’t so well-disciplined, he would have started trembling too. And Lei Wenhe—Wenhe, who still wasn’t looking at him, who was still kneeling in front of Xie Rong with his head down—still was not looking back to meet Zheng Xiaolang’s eyes.

“There’s no need to worry about Lei-xiansheng.”

He was being too obvious. Zheng Xiaolang touched his forehead to the ground. “As Zongzhu wishes,” he said, and with that he had to leave.

He waited outside for what seemed like ages. The throne room doors and the guards just outside them had never seemed so oppressive—physically, he could push past both without breaking a sweat. But mentally, there was a kind of barrier there, a wall he couldn’t breach until the moment he was sure he could take what came after. And that…that would come soon, but not yet. At the very least, Zheng Xiaolang needed to make it back to his own district and take care of things there. He needed to make sure there was someone there who could take charge after he was gone—when he’d left to help Long Feifei with the war, he’d not made such precautions, because why should he? But now that everything had moved forward so suddenly, and now that Lei Wenhe was here in Xie, he might be able to…yes, he needed to set up something in his district first, so it would be watched over if anything happened. And then he could take action. Then he could climb that wall, stand before Xie Rong without a hint of fear. He could kill her. He was capable of it. He just wasn’t quite ready.

The doors behind him cracked open, and Zheng Xiaolang whirled around to face them. Lei Wenhe was stepping out. He was holding his robes up above his feet so they wouldn’t get caught as he stepped through the doorway, and when he saw Zheng Xiaolang in front of him, he released the robes again and they fell around his legs. “Zheng-zhangmen waited for me?”

“Let’s walk together.” Zheng Xiaolang offered his arm. Lei Wenhe hesitated for a moment, but he took it eventually, and they started toward the dining hall. “Can I…ask you what Xie Rong wanted to speak to you privately about?”

“Mn. She had a proposal for me. She said it would ensure that I would be politically protected, that people wouldn’t dare to repeat what Long Qingge do to me.” Lei Wenhe reached up and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen loose from his pony tail. Zheng Xiaolang wondered if he was self-conscious like this—he never put his hair up before he started staying with the clan leaders, and now he was putting it up all the time. He had a very pretty neck, but did it feel exposed now?

“That’s certainly a tempting offer. What exactly did she propose?”

“I don’t think you’ll be pleased to hear it.” Lei Wenhe stopped to let some disciples run past them. They paused only for a moment to bow deeply to Zheng Xiaolang, then to Lei Wenhe—they didn’t know who he was, but if he was walking with Zheng Xiaolang, then he must be important—and then continued on their way. They were wearing thin white headbands with gold detailing—not former slaves, then. The slaves that Xie Rong brought in had headbands that were completely and totally white. Zheng Xiaolang still had a dozen of them hidden away in his district somewhere. On some level, even as he was no longer just a disciple and even had a sect of his own, he was still afraid that someone would notice him throwing them away and alert Xie Rong of it.

“Wenhe?”

“She offered marriage.”

Zheng Xiaolang almost tripped over his own feet. He’d expected this, but so soon? Only a few days after they’d arrived? “Did you—I mean, did you—”

“She wouldn’t accept an answer right away. She wanted me to think about it.”

She was trying to secure her hold on Lei Wenhe right away. People could draw up contracts with Lei Wenhe and they could sell him between each other, but none of those were permanent solutions. After all, Shen Guozhi had tried to make Lei Wenhe stay just by being nice to him and giving him everything he wanted, and Lei Wenhe had left; likewise, Long Qingge tried to own Lei Wenhe and trap him in her prison, but Lei Wenhe had been able to escape. Marriage, though—marriage was an alliance that would continue to exist. Lei Wenhe could travel between jobs and territories as he pleased, but the implication was that his allegiance always belonged to Xie Rong. He would always eventually go back to Xie Rong. Any infraction against Lei Wenhe, even if he was working in another territory, would be against Xie Rong.

It was smart, and Lei Wenhe probably knew that it was smart. Even if he had no strong feelings toward Xie Rong—even if he disliked her—he probably knew that marrying her would be a good idea.

Lei Wenhe sighed. “I knew that you wouldn’t like it.”

What was Zheng Xiaolang supposed to say? “If you want to accept it…”

“I don’t particularly. And why are you listening so readily? I thought you would protest. Aren’t you pursuing me?”

Zheng Xiaolang laughed, but it sounded forced. “Don’t tease me, Wenhe.” They were almost to the dining hall, and there were more and more people around them the closer they got. Zheng Xiaolang stopped. Lei Wenhe, still holding onto his arm, stopped too. “It’s a smart idea,” he said. “We both know that. Marrying someone of her status is the only way to really protect you. Long Qingge might try taking a servant from a clan leader or even a distinguished guest, but she wouldn’t take a clan leader’s husband. It would also give you the authority to travel as you please. Aren’t you tempted?”

Lei Wenhe looked down. His eyelashes were so long. “You don’t like her,” he said. Zheng Xiaolang’s heart felt like it skipped a beat.

“Just because I don’t like her—”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Plus…isn’t she old?”

Zheng Xiaolang was so shocked that he started laughing again. “Is it the age difference that bothers you?” he asked, and Lei Wenhe let out a huff and pushed Zheng Xiaolang away.

“That isn’t the point. I’m not going to marry someone my friend hates just to protect myself.”

Was their friendship that important to him? Zheng Xiaolang couldn’t stop the smile that burst across his face. “Wenhe, I want to kiss you right now.”

“Settle down. I could be engaged, for all you know.”

“If you think something like an engagement will stop me, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Lei Wenhe’s little black fan appeared in his hands in a flash and he jabbed Zheng Xiaolang’s chest with it. “I don’t know you at all, Zheng Xiaolang.”

Xie Rong didn’t push Lei Wenhe to answer her proposal and, as she had predicted, Long Qingge didn’t push further to get Lei Wenhe back. This was a time, Zheng Xiaolang knew, that everyone would use to bide their time—to make preparations. Xie Rong was preparing for the inevitable war with Zheng Xiaolang and her other sect leaders, sending communications back and forth with the clan leaders she knew would stand on her side. Zheng Xiaolang was making his own preparations, repairing his sect with his disciples through communication by incense cones or Lightfeet, setting up protections for Xing Xibo, and training incessantly in the yard of his private residence. Long Qingge, presumably, was preparing for the war on her side, maybe even communicating with clan leaders her own way, trying to convince them that backing her would be a smarter idea than backing Xie Rong, though Zheng Xiaolang imagined she might have a hard time of that, considering Lei Wenhe was in Xie now. And Lei Wenhe—

Lei Wenhe was acting as normal. He spent some time in his own residence doing who knows what, spent some time in the dining hall picking at different vegetable dishes with an unreadable expression, spent some time healing. Zheng Xiaolang tried to find time to go over every now and then to visit with him, but as their schedules got busier, free time stopped overlapping, and Zheng Xiaolang kept showing up to an empty residence.

A month passed like that. Zheng Xiaolang packed up his things, stopped at Lei Wenhe’s residence—he was absent again, and nobody knew where he might have gone—and started back toward Anlu.

His time with Lei Wenhe was short and sweet, but it had to end sometime. Zheng Xiaolang, unwilling to let him go without at least a little bit of a struggle, left a simple note on Lei Wenhe’s bed: Wait for me. He didn’t know how Lei Wenhe would interpret those words, and to be completely honest he didn’t know what he meant by them either. Wait for him for how long? And for what? Did that mean Lei Wenhe shouldn’t marry? Did that mean Lei Wenhe shouldn’t go anywhere other than Ji’an? How long would he have to wait before he could move on—and what did moving on look like?

Chen Tian had left much earlier and was already in Anlu with Zheng Ai and Zheng Xiaolang’s people. He was the only person Zheng Xiaolang hadn’t trained himself that he would ever trust to have political power in his district, but it was still less than ideal that anyone other than him was sitting in that seat. Chen Tian thought the same, and was relieved when Zheng Xiaolang sent forward word that he was returning. It wasn’t just because the workload would be lessened upon his arrival—though that did play a part of it; Chen Tian was already dealing with enough in his own district. Anlu just felt…strange without Zheng Xiaolang there. Lifeless. And all the changes that had happened while Zheng Xiaolang was gone didn’t help either. The usual adoring, admiring eyes Chen Tian would see while he walked through the streets of Anlu at Zheng Xiaolang’s side had turned wary. Even as they recognized Chen Tian as one of their Zheng-zhangmen’s friends, they couldn’t help but worry about him messing things up even more—he was under Cao Feng, after all, and everyone knew his relationship with his clan leader. He couldn’t say no. What if he was here to carry out Cao Feng’s wishes, ruin things even more?

Zheng Ai, in her time in Anlu assisting Xie Huiyan and Zheng Xiaolang’s other disciples, had gained some trust. She was only a messenger—but Chen Tian couldn’t be mistaken for a messenger. He was a sect leader through and through. In the time he spent in Anlu without Zheng Xiaolang, he had to depend on his disciple to act as a liaison between him and Zheng Xiaolang’s people so they wouldn’t outright reject him.

But now Zheng Xiaolang was coming back.

He’d sent notice some time ago, saying that he really shouldn’t be delaying his return any further no matter how much he wanted to find a better conclusion to his business with Lei Wenhe. That sparked Chen Tian’s interest. Wasn’t Lei Wenhe coming back to Anlu? It seemed like something Zheng Xiaolang would try to fight for. Had he not?—or had he lost the fight?

“Shifu, Zheng-zhangmen sent a messenger ahead. He should be here any moment now.”

Chen Tian looked up from the desk where he had a myriad of documents spread out in front of him and saw Zheng Ai standing in the doorway, her waist bent. “Thank you, Zheng Ai,” he said.

“Shifu, will we…” She hesitated here, unsure whether it would be disrespectful if she finished her question.

“Hm? Speak freely.”

“Will we be returning after Zheng-zhangmen arrives?”

“We’ll be here for a bit longer. He’ll want to speak to you, I imagine, but you can probably go back alone afterward if you would like.”

The expression on her face told him that she wasn’t sure about this either. What she wanted was to go back to their home, to return to normal, both of them together. He wasn’t sure how to tell her yet that he suspected they might not ever have that again. There was a deep, unsettled pit in his stomach that wouldn’t go away—Zheng Xiaolang’s actions had changed more than any of them could comprehend. Long Qingge and Xie Rong had been at odds for years, but they’d managed to keep any real conflict at bay. With Zheng Xiaolang, Xie Rong’s most beloved and talented disciple, going so blatantly against Long Qingge and Xie Rong supporting him afterward…

Chen Tian didn’t know whose side he—or rather Cao Feng, and Chen Tian by extension—would end up on. He didn’t want to go against Zheng Xiaolang, but what could he do? Cao Feng owned him. One word from his clan leader and Chen Tian would have to draw his sword and fight against someone he’d considered a friend for the last hundred years.

Zheng Xiaolang arrived that afternoon, greeted by a crowd as large as could fit in the grounds of his manor—cultivators and citizens alike. A crowd like this, Chen Tian thought, his hands folded behind his back as he watched them swarm around the gate at Zheng Xiaolang’s appearance, was impossible in Cao, impossible in his own district. The cultivators, nobility, and aristocracy of Cao wouldn’t permit commoners to even step foot inside the palace unless they were in servitude, and they certainly wouldn’t let them join in on the celebrations. Before Chen Tian ever came to Anlu—or any part of Zheng Xiaolang’s district after he’d made his changes, really—he’d been utterly convinced that the way Cao did things was simply the way things were supposed to be. Servants and slaves were unsightly, and should stay out of the way so as not to disturb everyone else. He hadn’t liked it, of course—he knew that, though he had a different background from most slaves, he was still, by definition, a slave—but he also thought that everyone saying these things must be right, and that the mere presence of servants and slaves would ruin the experience for everyone else. And then Anlu—Anlu, where everyone was treated as an equal. There was some class divide, certainly; some people naturally made more money than others, and some did work for others, but they all stood side by side, walked together and worked together, and when Zheng Xiaolang passed by he did not differentiate when giving greetings. It wasn’t a perfect city, and Zheng Xiaolang was by no means a perfect man, but compared to what Chen Tian was used to, it felt like a paradise.

Zheng Xiaolang made his way through the crowd, eventually ending up right in front of Chen Tian, a boyishly handsome smile gracing his features.

“Hey,” Zheng Xiaolang said. “Long time, no see.”

Chen Tian put his hands together and bowed. “Welcome home, Zheng-zhangmen.”

Zheng Xiaolang’s smile got wider. He climbed up the steps to the same level as Chen Tian and clapped him on the back. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Red, Red, All Red

XIE RONG HAD taken full advantage of Zheng Xiaolang’s absence. When he was in Anlu and paying attention, the aristocracy of Xie had no interest in moving into Anlu or anywhere else in his district. After all, they would have to give up some level of their luxurious lifestyle—and if they didn’t give that up, they would have to give up quite a bit of money. Zheng Xiaolang had no exceptions when it came to slaves. Xie Rong had given him permission to do whatever he liked in his district as long as it didn’t interfere with the rest of her territory, so he did as he liked—and that meant he would, without exception, arrest anyone who brought slaves into his territory. In the time that he was gone, Xie Rong had brought in over a dozen different aristocrats and moved them into various properties around Zheng Xiaolang’s district, and had permitted them to bring their slaves along, too. Zheng Xiaolang didn’t blame his people for not trying to deal with this in his absence. These were aristocrats backed by Xie Rong—any act against them might mean an act against Xie Rong. Without Zheng Xiaolang there to protect them and speak for them, that kind of thing was terribly daunting.

Upon his return, Zheng Xiaolang spent half the day with Chen Tian, Zheng Ai, Xie Huiyan, and several former disciples who had left their designated micro-districts to come help. They determined where all the aristocrats were and how many slaves each of them had brought with them. Would it be better if Zheng Xiaolang figured out a way to force them out—thereby going directly against Xie Rong—or would it be better to pay them for the slaves to free them? Probably the latter, just so they didn’t agitate Xie Rong any more than they needed to, and Zheng Xiaolang could move funds around to fit that in the budget, but he was wary. Xie Rong didn’t just move in these aristocrats to irritate Zheng Xiaolang with an influx of slaves, surely. She had other reasons. They were most likely sent here to keep an eye on Zheng Xiaolang, make sure he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, report back to Xie Rong on every move. Knowing all of that, with all that he was planning—could he afford to let them stay?

Beside her shizun, Xie Huiyan worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She had been invited along with everyone else to contribute to the discussion, but just like when her shizun sent word forward that she should take charge of his district in his absence, Xie Huiyan was perplexed by the level of responsibility that she’d been given. Was she really ready for this? She was one of Zheng Xiaolang’s top disciples, yes, but she was…well, she was still a disciple. Zheng Xiaolang had dozens of cultivators who he’d personally trained who were older, more experienced, and more than suited for this kind of role. But he’d chosen her. He continued choosing her.

She was staying in the background for most of this discussion, only speaking up when she had pertinent information that so far no one else had offered. She’d hardly gotten to greet her shizun properly—she’d gotten word just like everyone else that he was coming back, and she’d been thrilled, but she’d been so wrapped up in other things that the brief celebration came and went before she knew it, and then she had to rush over to her shizun’s manor to join in on the conversation, only having time to bow and pay her respects before they dove right into it. Was this always what standing next to her shizun had felt like? The months without him had seemed endlessly long and daunting, but now that he was in front of her, she couldn’t help but wonder why he felt so…different. His gaze seemed so hard, determined. He hardly smiled. Was this what the real him was like? Had he just been putting an act on for his disciples?

“Ah.” Zheng Xiaolang rubbed his eyes. “This…what about my personal grounds? Has the staff changed at all?”

That was a question Xie Huiyan was supposed to answer. “Xie-zongzhu brought in servants and slaves and left with some, but it’s possible she left some behind. This student can compare the directory before she arrived with the current directory and find any changes.”

He nodded. “Good. Until then, we shouldn’t allow servants to go in and out of anywhere significant. Keep all important documents with you, just in case.”

“Yes, Shizun.”

“Shifu.” A former disciple of Zheng Xiaolang’s, a cultivator named Han Xihui who was in charge of a micro-district in the south of Zheng Xiaolang’s district, stepped forward to get Zheng Xiaolang’s attention. “Should we return to our micro-districts or stay here to help?”

“Return. I am grateful for your help, but we don’t want anywhere else to fall into chaos in your absence. I can handle things here.”

“Yes, Shifu.” Han Xihui was one of the many people who would have been better suited to take care of Anlu while Zheng Xiaolang was gone. Xie Huiyan had met her a few times, and knew that she had been Zheng Xiaolang’s top disciple while she still trained under him. She was one of the fastest of his disciples to get a micro-district—that was how high Zheng Xiaolang’s confidence in her was. But in this situation, in Zheng Xiaolang’s absence, she had technically been working under Xie Huiyan.

“Chen Tian, you…” Zheng Xiaolang rubbed his face again, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed. “You should return home.”

“If you need—”

“You shouldn’t provoke Cao Feng any further. Return home and use your own discretion when he asks you what transpired here. I’m sure he’ll want details on how I run my district—it’s fine to tell him some details. Otherwise, you can say you had limited access.”

It seemed…extraordinarily difficult, Xie Huiyan thought, and extraordinarily lonely, to be in a position like Zheng Xiaolang’s. He’d gone so quickly from war to fugitive to back home, and now he was losing all these allies who were trying to help him. She wanted to speak up now, try to convince all of these people who cared about Zheng Xiaolang to stay by his side so he wouldn’t be so alone, but she couldn’t. If Zheng Xiaolang wanted them gone, then they needed to be gone.

“Xie Huiyan.” Zheng Xiaolang was looking at her again. “You did well. Once you find the directory, go back home and rest.”

“Shizun?” He was even sending her away? She’d thought that maybe, even if everyone else was leaving, she could stay by his side.

“It’s not forever. This district is my responsibility—if I couldn’t handle something like this, then I shouldn’t be the sect leader.” He reached over and his hand hovered over her head, then dropped without making contact. “Rest. You deserve it.”

She wanted to cry, but she bent at the waist. “Yes, Shizun.”

“Liang Yikai.” Now he directed a cultivator who had a micro-district in the northeast. “Whenever you have the chance, send someone to investigate Su Daihan’s disappearance. I suspect he’s dead, but I want you to get all of the details about it. Start in Liping. In the meantime, divide Su Daihan’s micro-district between all the surrounding ones. I don’t have another cultivator that I can trust to spare for something like that right now.”

“Yes, Shifu.”

Su Daihan was dead? Xie Huiyan had met him a few times—she’d thought she would meet him again when they went to Liping, but her shizun went and got Lei Wenhe instead. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who could die. Then again, Yu Yunmi hadn’t seemed like the kind of person who could die, either, and Yu Weizhe hadn’t seemed like someone who would give up like that. Those kinds of thoughts scared Xie Huiyan. If people like that could lose battles and their lives, what did that mean for her shizun? He was powerful, but he wasn’t invincible. Even someone like him had a limit.

The discussion continued on for a little while longer, and then Zheng Xiaolang dismissed them all so they could all do their respective jobs. Xie Huiyan, standing outside her shizun’s hall, felt…strange. All the responsibilities had been lifted from her shoulders at once, and now—now what? She was just supposed to go home and rest? Certainly, she was glad to have time with her fellow disciples, to stand as their equal again rather than her shizun’s temporary displacement, but she couldn’t really remember what she did in all of that free time. Did she really just train and study?

A hand landed on Xie Huiyan’s shoulder. “You’re thinking too much,” said her shizun, standing right behind her. Xie Huiyan looked over at him. Her eyes burned.

“Can’t I stay here?”

“You did well, Huiyan, but you’re very young. I don’t want you to burn out. You should take this time to rest, to spend time with your friends…with everything that’s happening, I don’t know how many more opportunities you’ll have to do that.”

“Shizun?”

Zheng Xiaolang let out his breath and passed a hand over his face. “What I did in Long is going to change a lot of things. Long Qingge is furious, Xie Rong is in a new position of power that the world has never seen, and neither of them will back down to the other. I would be surprised if a war didn’t start in the next year, and you’re old enough and talented enough that Xie Rong will make you one of her soldiers.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Huiyan, I’m not sending you away because I’m disappointed in you. I know you weren’t ready to have such a heavy responsibility, but I put it on you anyway, and you did better than anyone could have expected. Huiyan, I want you to be my heir.”

Xie Huiyan’s eyes widened. “Shizun?” She wished she could say something else, but she couldn’t find the words.

“I know that, too, is a heavy responsibility. But you need to be ready when the time comes, so I want you to go back and study and not worry about politics until you absolutely have to.”

“Shizun, why do you need an heir?”

A moment passed. Zheng Xiaolang’s expression was unreadable. He was looking out into the courtyard, but Xie Huiyan had the sense that he was looking at something much further than that, something beyond anything she would be able to see. “I can’t explain everything now,” he said. “Can you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then trust me. Go home. Your shizun will handle everything for now.” He gave her one more pat, one twitch of a smile, and then he was gone.

…

Lei Wenhe worked steadily in Ji’an.

He quite liked the little property Xie Rong had set up for him, as much as he was capable of liking something constructed by mortals. He spent most of his time healing people of various things—the healers of Ji’an were numerous and talented, but cultivators liked going to Lei Wenhe even for minor injuries, just to meet him and try getting into his good graces. This was their opportunity, after all, to make the great Lei Wenhe like them, and Lei Wenhe wasn’t planning on turning any of them away.

He got several coming to him for Black Core Turns Golden.

When he wasn’t healing, he spent his time at his property, either in the gardens or sitting on the lookout, his legs curled underneath him, watching the archers. Had Zheng Xiaolang given Xie Rong all this information? It seemed strange that he would. He’d made his hatred for her obvious—would he just hand over all these little things he’d learned about Lei Wenhe? What else had he told her?

Xie Rong never came to Lei Wenhe’s little corner of her palace grounds, but she did often invite him to dinner, and he always went. That was one of the few things that Zheng Xiaolang had apparently never shared with her—Lei Wenhe’s affinity for Wu cuisine. Xie Rong only offered the fruits and nuts that everyone knew he liked, and he ate them without complaint. At those dinners, Xie Rong talked with Lei Wenhe, trying to get to know him with little questions that Lei Wenhe answered with the minimal required information. When all of that failed, she started bringing up the proposal she’d made again—it would be a good idea, she said. Lei Wenhe wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. It’s not like it would be a romantic union anyway—if Lei Wenhe wanted to have someone on the side, as long as he wasn’t public about it, she wouldn’t mind at all. She seemed to have some underlying meaning here that Lei Wenhe didn’t acknowledge, her lips twitching upward at the corners, glancing up at him fast enough that he might have missed it if he wasn’t watching. Did she think he was romantically involved with someone? Had Zheng Xiaolang implied something that made her think that he was involved with someone?

Lei Wenhe, naturally, still wasn’t accepting this proposal. He was considering it—how could he not? That kind of power had the opportunity to give him access to cultivators he might never have had before—but there were some problems with it. Most importantly, he might completely lose Zheng Xiaolang’s trust. He was already worried about the decision to stay here and not go to Anlu—even if Zheng Xiaolang seemed regretful to leave him behind, there was no doubt that he would view the marriage as a betrayal, and it was a stretch to believe that he liked Lei Wenhe so much that he would continue to visit even when Lei Wenhe was married to the woman who owned him. He’d also been so pleased when Lei Wenhe had told him that he hadn’t accepted her proposal.

But it was a delicate situation. Lei Wenhe needed Xie Rong to trust him, which was maybe even more difficult than gaining Zheng Xiaolang’s trust. He couldn’t use her attraction to him as a weapon like he did with Zheng Xiaolang—Xie Rong, despite offering marriage almost immediately upon meeting him, was not actually attracted to Lei Wenhe. The offer was purely political. Her interest in Lei Wenhe, too, was purely political. Lei Wenhe needed Xie Rong to trust him without making that kind of commitment to her, and he needed her to trust him without revealing any information that might be tracked back to its false origin. He’d made it so far without saying anything too important—luckily most people just assumed Lei Wenhe had lost his mind a little, or just that he was a little awkward and strange, and didn’t press any further than what he’d already given them. Even Zheng Xiaolang, who was enormously paranoid of Lei Wenhe especially at the beginning, did not press very far. Then again, even if they did press—what could they do? There wasn’t anything they could impose on Lei Wenhe that would make him give up anything he wasn’t willing to give them.

He started putting together a vague background that he could share with Xie Rong without anyone being any the wiser. Yes, he had cultivated immortality—but it really wasn’t anything special. He’d only concentrated on healing and developing the cure, after all, and had stumbled upon immortality just as he’d stumbled upon the cure. This kind of lie was unavoidable now that he’d spent a few years among the mortals, who probably already noticed that he wasn’t aging. Yes, he was indeed from Guangning, but before then he’d lived in some little village in the north that wasn’t worth naming. “I don’t think even I could find it now,” he said with a shrug. “It was only a couple houses. I’m sure they’re all dead now.” And what about his family? Well, he wasn’t from any significant family. His parents were unremarkable, and had died before he’d reached fifteen years of age. How old was he when he reached immortality? How old was he when he found the cure? He didn’t keep track of those things. He must have been in his twenties somewhere when he reached immortality, right?—or that’s how he looked, so that’s what he assumed.

Xie Rong seemed a little more satisfied with each of these answers. He wasn’t outright avoiding any of them, and though he answered vaguely sometimes still, there wasn’t anything that she could identify that could really be marked as suspicious. Lei Wenhe was a mystery, but he wasn’t a danger, or at least not in any way that Xie Rong could identify yet.

It had been six months like this before word came about that Long Qingge herself was coming to Ji’an.

Lei Wenhe had thought that this might happen. Recently, everyone had been a little bit more tense than usual, trying to encourage Lei Wenhe to move between buildings as quickly as possible, and when he entered rooms it seemed as if conversations were hushed. The political atmosphere had been swelling and it seemed ready to burst.

Immediately prior to Long Qingge’s arrival, Xie Rong sent word forward that Lei Wenhe should stay at her side for the entirety of Long Qingge’s stay. “I understand that it’ll be uncomfortable for you,” she said, “but it’s the only way I can assure your safety.”

“Couldn’t this humble one just stay in the residence Xie-zongzhu so graciously gave?”

“The only person here who has any chance of going against Qingge is me. If you’re alone—or even if you’re with guards—I can’t guarantee that she won’t just take you away.”

That was reasonable enough, but Lei Wenhe didn’t like the idea of spending so much time with a woman like Xie Rong. Nevertheless, she set up a room for him nearby her own, and when she went to her throne room he sat at her side with Shao Shan and Ni Peicen, all dolled up in white robes and dripping gold jewelry just like they were. He hadn’t accepted Xie Rong’s proposal, but to any outsiders it might have looked like he had; what else was a person to assume when they saw Lei Wenhe dressed like that and sitting next to her like that?

Long Qingge came into the throne room like a storm a week after all these arrangements were made, flocked by an entourage of prettily dressed cultivators who Lei Wenhe could only assume were guards. She stood in front of Xie Rong with her chin lifted, not even bothering to join her hands together, much less bend at the waist.

“Xie Rong, is this really how you want to do this?”

Xie Rong smiled and reached over, her hand landing on the top of Lei Wenhe’s head. He wanted to reach up and cut that hand off. He knew why she was doing it—partly to display a seemingly casual, intimate relationship with him, and partly to protect him—and he didn’t want to accept either of those reasons.

“Qingge, you came all this way just to see little old me?”

“You’re starting something I know you don’t want to finish.”

“Who says I don’t want to finish it? Rather, I’m quite dedicated to finishing it.” She still hadn’t removed her hand from Lei Wenhe’s head, and was now softly stroking her thumb across his hair, catching occasionally on a gold chain that had been threaded there. “I fully intend to marry Lei Wenhe as soon as the time is right. We’re already engaged.”

Lei Wenhe was alarmed at this announcement, but he knew better than to show it—Xie Rong was just lying to get Long Qingge to back off. But this announcement only seemed to rile up Long Qingge even more.

“Engaged?” She scoffed and jerked her chin toward Shao Shan and Ni Peicen. “This is just like you, always trying to marry your way out of tough situations.”

A muscle worked in Xie Rong’s jaw. “Aren’t you just bitter that, even if you had all the power in the world, you’ll never get to marry the woman you really want?”

Lei Wenhe had already felt this from the beginning, but he was really feeling as if this wasn’t a great place to be, not if he wanted to maintain his persona of innocent healer. If Long Qingge tried to take him by force, he knew that she was stronger than Xie Rong, and probably by quite a bit too—in that situation, Lei Wenhe would either have to let her take him back to Long, which he didn’t want, or he would have to fight back. Either way, it wasn’t a good situation for him.

Long Qingge, standing in front of Xie Rong’s throne, clenched her fists. “Is this what you really want? You want to start a war?”

“I never said I want a war.”

“You took what’s mine. That Zheng Xiaolang came into my city, accepted my hospitality, and then took what was mine. And you expect me to just let that slide? Xie Rong, you know me better than anyone. You know I can’t let this go.”

“Shouldn’t you, though?” Xie Rong was relaxed, casual, even leaning back in her seat as she caressed Lei Wenhe’s hair. Long Qingge’s eyes narrowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Haven’t you thought about it? Qingge, what would happen if the two of us went to war? You may be able to beat me in a direct fight, but what about political support? I have Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe. Surely you know how significant that’ll be in a war like this. Not to mention my power from the slave trade—do you think you could win if it came to that?”

Was Xie Rong trying to provoke Long Qingge? She knew that Long Qingge could kill her right now—she would certainly face an inordinate amount of backlash if she did, but she was capable. Did she not worry about things like that? She had, after all, known Long Qingge since they were both young; maybe that gave her the confidence to speak like this. Maybe she knew Long Qingge wouldn’t do anything.

Sure enough, Long Qingge just stood there with her hands clenched. “A-Rong, return Lei Wenhe and we won’t have to have this conversation. There’s no need for any conflict. I won’t even ask you to punish Zheng Xiaolang—I understand that he’s emotional and impulsive. He acted without thinking. I’ll look past that, and I’ll look past your protection of him, as long as you return Lei Wenhe.”

Lei Wenhe acted his part now, cringing, shrinking, turning his face into Xie Rong’s hand like he was afraid of Long Qingge and wanting to hide from her. Xie Rong smiled. She was pleased.

“It isn’t like you to just forgive like that,” Xie Rong said.

“I’m not so immature that I can’t look past this if it means preventing a war.”

“And if I don’t give you Lei Wenhe?”

“He belongs to me. Engagement—even marriage—doesn’t change that.”

“Then I’ll buy him from you. Are you so immature that you wouldn’t sell him, even to prevent a war?”

Long Qingge’s lip curled up. “Don’t put this on me. You were the one who did wrong. “

“I couldn’t just give him back to you. The world knows now how you were treating Lei Wenhe while he was in Lühe. Don’t you know how many cultivators are paying attention to Lei Wenhe now? If you treat him like that again, the world won’t stand by, no matter who you are.”

“So I won’t treat him like that. I’ll treat him like a king. Now what’s your excuse?”

Xie Rong smiled wider and her hand drifted down, landing right where the base of Lei Wenhe’s neck met his shoulder. Her fingers slid there, beneath the fabric, against his skin. Lei Wenhe had to suppress a shudder. “I don’t want to give him to you.”

“Xie Rong, you—”

“If that means you declare war, then so be it. I know you’ve been looking for a reason for years now. I’m surprised you didn’t just declare war on everyone as soon as you finished your business in Yu.”

“If you refuse to give me Lei Wenhe, then give me Zheng Xiaolang.”

“I’ve raised him since he was young, and I’m just supposed to hand him over? Qingge, it’s already decided.” Xie Rong waved her hand. “We’ll do paperwork in the morning, declare war together.”

“You’ll regret this.”

“I’ve regretted the moment I met you for a long time,” Xie Rong said calmly. “This is nothing.”

The next morning, Xie and Long officially went to war.

Lei Wenhe had grown up hearing about how barbaric the mortals were—how they devolved to fighting at any chance they got. The world was so dangerous for them that their warriors had to constantly carry weapons. He’d fully expected, while he’d been sitting in that throne room, that war would start with a physical fight: Long Qingge and Xie Rong would cross swords, and then their territories would follow suit. But instead they approached this barbaric activity—this activity that would kill hundreds of their people—with a remarkable professionalism. Long Qingge and Xie Rong met in one of the many rooms of Xie Rong’s palace. Long Qingge signed something that said she was declaring war. And that was that.

Lei Wenhe wasn’t sure how things were supposed to proceed from here. The only war he’d ever really heard about as a child were wars that occurred long before any of his family had ever been born—the wars that had built Murmuring Springs, before they’d found serenity and paradise. Then, the only war he’d ever personally experienced was one that was still relatively far away: the invasion of Yu. But this war between Long and Xie—what were they fighting over? They both wanted Zheng Xiaolang and Lei Wenhe and were both too stubborn to back down.

“Xie-zongzhu,” said Lei Wenhe after a few days of watching Xie Rong strategize about who would be on whose side and who should be sent where. “This war…what does it entail?”

Xie Rong smoothed her hand out over the map spread in front of her, her touch lingering, even if just for a moment, on Anlu. “For the moment, nothing. We’ve just declared each other enemies. You needn’t worry a bit, Lei-xiansheng. At this point and for a few years still, we’ll both be determining where alliances lie. Any amount of allegiance that someone shows to Long Qingge now will be considered an act against me, and likewise for anyone who shows some kind of allegiance to me.”

“So there’s…no fighting.”

“Not now. Why?” She had that knowing look in her eye, the same kind of look she got when she was asking Lei Wenhe if he had anyone he was interested in. “Are you worried about anyone in particular?”

“No, Zongzhu. This humble one has healed many cultivators so far, and has met many more. It just seems a pity that any of them would be hurt.”

She didn’t look convinced. “It may comfort you to know that I haven’t summoned Zheng Xiaolang for anything related to the war.”

Lei Wenhe didn’t know how to reply to that in a way that convinced Xie Rong he didn’t particularly care about Zheng Xiaolang. No matter how much he wanted Zheng Xiaolang to trust him, he didn’t want any of that closeness to be orchestrated by Xie Rong. Anything given to Zheng Xiaolang by Xie Rong would exist as if poisoned—even if Zheng Xiaolang really liked Lei Wenhe as much as he claimed to, that attachment could fade if it was Xie Rong bringing them together. He decided to change the subject instead. “Zongzhu, now that Long-zongzhu has started back to Long, must this humble one continue to stay in Zongzhu’s palace?”

“For a little longer. I know it’s inconvenient, but you’ll have to bear it for now. Should I order you some food?”

“This humble one doesn’t dare interrupt Xie-zongzhu’s work any further.” Lei Wenhe found his way back to his seat and waited there quietly, holding that little black fan in his hands, while he waited for Xie Rong to finish. Her restrictions on his movement hadn’t lessened any, even after Long Qingge left—in fact, they’d only gotten worse. Lei Wenhe couldn’t even spend time alone in his room anymore, except for when he was sleeping. A servant woke him each morning and took him directly to Xie Rong, and then Lei Wenhe had to spend the entirety of the day with her, trailing after her and quietly answering any questions she asked, and then at the end of the day she took him back to his room and they started everything again. Lei Wenhe knew he was gaining Xie Rong’s trust, and knew that he didn’t deserve to rest until he accomplished what he needed to, but he couldn’t help but miss those few months of peaceful progress he’d had in the residence Xie Rong had built for him.

Zheng Xiaolang, since leaving for Anlu, had not contacted Lei Wenhe at all.

He tried not to find that worrying, and he tried not to give in to his anxiety and contact Zheng Xiaolang first. He was probably just busy, that was all—Lei Wenhe knew he and Chen Tian had talked about changes that Xie Rong had made in Anlu, but he didn’t know what kinds of changes those were and how long it would take for him to take care of those things. Once he was done dealing with those things in Anlu, Lei Wenhe thought, then he would come running back to Lei Wenhe, or send him a letter, or burn a cone to see his face. Lei Wenhe just needed to be patient.

In Zheng Xiaolang’s absence, Lei Wenhe dreamed.

In his dreams, he was back in that night in Murmuring Springs. The dreams started in different spots—sometimes it would begin just before he went to bed, at the end of dinner. Lei Wenhe always sat with Lei Qiu and Lei Yun before he went to sleep. He couldn’t remember what it was that he’d said to them, that night. In each dream, he said something different—“Sleep well,” sometimes, or “I love you.” There were other times that he would say something light and teasing, like “If you don’t go to sleep, I’ll send Grandma after you,” which would make Lei Qiu and Lei Yun scream and giggle and burrow into their blankets so Lei Wenhe couldn’t possibly accuse them of such a crime as not sleeping. In any case, afterward, in the quiet sleeping silence of his home, Lei Wenhe would tidy up each room one by one, and then he would go into his own room, light a stick of incense and put it near the window, crawl into bed, and go to sleep.

The dream didn’t pause.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he was opening them again, spitting blood from his mouth, staring wide-eyed at Zheng Xiaolang’s face as he stood above him. And after Zheng Xiaolang left, Lei Wenhe had to drag himself out, every single time, to his family’s bedrooms, to witness the horrors there, to watch as the blood crawled toward him and stained his hands, his knees, his clothes, his hair—red, red, all red.

He’d hoped that those dreams would lessen the further Zheng Xiaolang was away from him—that the spirits of his family would let him rest for a moment if Lei Wenhe wasn’t cozying up to Zheng Xiaolang the way he felt he had to to get closer to him, betraying their memories each time he acted coy or didn’t flinch when Zheng Xiaolang’s skin made contact with his. But they didn’t. Rather, it seemed they were angry that he was letting Zheng Xiaolang get away from him, that he wasn’t following Zheng Xiaolang back to Anlu. Each step Zheng Xiaolang took away from Lei Wenhe, even if it was only physical, seemed even more intensely like betrayal. Touching, flirting—any of that was passable if it got him revenge.

Each night before sleep, Lei Wenhe found a little red pill in his pack and rolled it between his fingers. If he took it, he would sleep soundly, dreamlessly. The mutilated bodies of his family would not haunt him so mercilessly.

Each night, he put that pill back into his bag, curled into bed, and waited for the dreams to return. If his family wanted him to remember, he would remember. If his family wanted him to be swallowed by guilt, then he would obediently close his eyes and let himself be consumed. If this was the only way he would ever see his family’s faces again—even if it meant those faces were covered in blood—then he would gladly accept. It was better than the alternative.

Notes

1. mother

2. father

3. In ancient China, the day was divided into twelve two-hour periods called “shichen”

4. This measurement of distance varied depending on the area, but it’s a little more than 3 meters

5. 晚辈/wan3bei4: a term of address for members of a younger generation

6. 蹊跷/qi1qiao4: the seven holes in a person’s head (two ears, two nostrils, two eyes, and a mouth)

7. 大侠/da4xia2: hero, used for cultivators

8. 掌门/zhang3men2: chief of the sect, the sect leader

9. 师尊/shi1zun1: teacher

10. 师妹/shi1mei4: junior sister fellow apprentice; 师弟/shi1di4: junior brother fellow apprentice

11. 先生/xian1sheng: teacher, mister, usually used in an academic sense

12. 大哥/da4ge1: eldest brother

13. 师姐/shijie3: senior sister fellow apprentice

14. This is a different Yu. The mortal family’s name is 于/yu2, and the immortal family’s name is 雨/yu3

15. 公子/gong1zi3: young master

16. 轻功/qing1gong1: in wuxia and xianxia, the ability for cultivators to move lightly on their feet, including being able to run on vertical surfaces, across water, or even through the air

17. 前辈/qian2bei4: senior; elder

18. 宗主/zong1zhu3: clan leader

19. 师兄/shi1xiong1: senior brother fellow apprentice

20. 妹妹/mei4mei: lit. younger sister; used as an affectionate way to refer to a girl/woman younger than the speaker

21. 父亲/fu4qin: father

22. 散人/san4ren2: a roaming or wandering cultivator

23. 弟弟/di4di: younger brother

24. 小狐狸/xiao3 hu2li - little fox

25. 正小狼/zheng4 xiao3lang2 - upright little wolf

26. 正色狼/zheng4 se4lang2 - Only one character is changed here in Zheng Xiaolang’s name—the 小/xiao3 is replaced with 色/se4, but it changes the meaning entirely. 色狼 is like a lecher or a sex maniac—like a womanizer, but in Zheng Xiaolang’s case, it isn’t just women.

27. 白酒/bai2jiu3: a kind of alcohol

28. Also known as the game of “Go”

Table of Contents

- Copyright

- Volume 1

- "If he exalts himself..."

- Chapter One - Little Wolf Takes a Bite

- Chapter Two - The master healer was delivering instructions without batting an eye

- Chapter Three - Don't the people of Liping know who governs them?

- Chapter Four - The Demon of Liping

- Chapter Five - Lei Wenhe bit his tongue

- Chapter Six - If I'm in danger, I'm sure Zheng-zhangmen would come to save me

- Chapter Seven - Zheng Xiaolang was the last person who should be judging anyone for being a little secretive

- Chapter Eight - What's Your Relationship with Zheng Xiaolang?

- Chapter Nine - Shen Ying Remembers a Healer

- Chapter Ten - A Peaceful Retreat

- Chapter Eleven - He had a very slender waist

- Chapter Twelve - The Dragon Jewel Eyes

- Chapter Thirteen - "Wenhe..."

- Chapter Fourteen - A Message from the Capital

- Chapter Fifteen - Are you seducing me right now?

- Chapter Sixteen - Lei Wenhe Tries Some Soup
- Chapter Seventeen - Maybe I'm a romantic.
- Chapter Eighteen - Friends, Not Allies

- Chapter Nineteen - The Cultivator in the Forest

- Chapter Twenty - The Teapot

- Chapter Twenty-One - Maybe a kiss would make it better

- Chapter Twenty-Two - Little Fox Runs Away

- Chapter Twenty-Three - White Eyes and White Hair

- Chapter Twenty-Four - How deeply should I bow?

- Chapter Twenty-Five - As Long As I'm Alive, No One Can Lay A Hand On You

- Chapter Twenty-Six - Red, Red, All Red

- Notes