Many seasons had passed since old Ban Gouyu held a sword in his hand. The present Ming-zongzhu was not yet born when this elder had hung his bde on the wall and cultivated little more than his own stomach and his wine celr. And when queried about his letter and his judgment of the ghost hound, Yin Yue learned that this man had never seen the ghost with his own eyes, but ran the reports from fearful, ignorant vilgers through the sieve of his own past experiences.

  Odious was this old man to speak with, more inclined to reminiscence his prime and the dust-cd triumphs of his youth than of the threat at hand. But in spite this, the old man made a favorable impression on the young zongzhu, and when Yin Yue at long st left the esteemed relic of a man, he left as a honorary disciple, a good friend and a “young man of much promise.”

  Much could be said about the young heir of Cn Ming, but his marvelous gift to appear to listen to his elders while he in truth dreamed of his gardens was yet unmatched. But the visit to Ban Gouyu brought a novel concern to the boy and his servant. For when they left, Lu Yuxin did not meet them in the courtyard of the old man’s abode, and as the dusk fell fast, the boy could not muster the patience to wait. Certain was he that Lu Yuxin had sought the trail of the unsent ghost dog, and as such, he took his servant to speak with the first and best vilgers he saw.

  This yielded him a paltry harvest, for the farmers of Caodi were as impoverished of pocket as they were of reliable reports. The spirit was tall as a tree; no, small as a seed. A hundred eyes had it; no, only one eye, awash in green fmes! It came at night when the moon is full; nay, at dawn when the fog y thick.

  Only three threads recurred, confirmed by the young maiden Song Xiaoying, the daughter to a farmhand of the rgest farmstead in Caodi.

  “You know,” said she, “few have seen it. For most, we hear it howl in the night. It is not a mere wolf or wild dog; we all know those cries. But before it took your cultivator, it hadn’t harmed us folk. It took sheep at night. Awful and vicious it was with them; tore them apart it did. Blood and innards all over.”

  Her face furrowed as she rested her chin on the shaft of her besom. “But now, we are afraid that it has learned to like the taste of men’s blood. The master of the farmstead here hasn’t come back since st night. I fear the worst, I do. What shall happen to his farm if he has been taken?”

  Yin Yue turned to face his servant, his brows drawn into a frown. Quick was he to assure; “fear not, if your master has met a grim fate, Cn Ming will ensure you keep your work. If he is yet alive, we will see him returned.”

  While the boy spoke to this young woman, the ashen one followed at his heels, a gentle and quiet shadow. But what relief he had found in old Ban Gouyu’s approval of Ming-zongzhu, he had lost when the swordmaster had failed to meet them where he had been ordered to come. Since then own lean fingers had been loath to leave the coarse threads of his sword hilt, and he kept close to the boy. While the boy talked, he stole a look towards the huts, the fences and roads.

  “That’s so,” he assured.

  “See?” came from Yin Yue. “Huijin agrees. We shall not keep you longer. Return to your work and make your master proud.” He gave her a small paper talisman.

  The ashen one bowed his head in approval; whatever else might be said, the Silver Moon was at least as charitable as his older brother had been.

  “Yes, gongzi,” chimed the farmhand’s daughter. “Blessings upon you!”

  She left them on the paved stones, and Yin Yue set his elbow upon his left hand and scratched his chin.

  “They approve of you here,” murmured Huijin. Good, breathed he to his own clenched heart. That is good. One less burden to harp on the nerves.

  “Recite what you have learned so far, Yue’er,” he added, “and what you make of it.”

  “As you wish,” Yin Yue answered. “First, the spirit likes mutton. Poor taste, but it is a ghost. It takes sheep every night. It seems most sheep have been sughtered around the northern borders of the vilge. Second, the ghost hurts the trade here, especially that of the most affluent ndowner, Master Qian Xuegang. Third, most of the vilgers say that the spirit attacks at night. And — uh, fourth, it has just taken one man so far; Chen Luoyang. And maybe the master here too, for he has been absent since st night— ”

  A frown dawned on the ashen one’s pale brow. He untied the cords he used to bind his sleeves when he cooked, and with those, he tied his hair away from his face, for the skies had darkened enough to spare his skin and eyes the harsh light of day.

  “Strange.”

  “So it is,” Yin Yue agreed. “But it seems the spirit comes from the northern mountains. At least that’s what the attacks seem to mean.”

  “Might be.” conceded the servant. “But Yue’er,” began he, though his words were reticent. He was no cultivator. His knowledge of the dark and the corrupt was thin. What right had he to specute and perhaps seed the wrong suspicions in the boy’s mind?

  And yet. On those lost, te nights of the past, in quiet murmurs over fragrant teas and the soft cradle of a willow’s shade, the boy’s brother had spoken far and wide of spirit lore. He had spoken of monstrous fiends and husks and incorporeal wraiths and haunts; of their strengths and fws, their patterns and habits.

  And try as he might, the servant could not shake that this spirit acted strange.

  “We should ask if the spirit has taken any other prey,” he decided. “Rabbits, cats, goats. Perhaps a stray dog?”

  “I suppose I could,” agreed Yin Yue. “But why, Huijin? And even if it has, is it not odd that it began to sughter men just now?”

  “Not so strange. If it is a husk, if it acts like the beast was in life, it might have learned to prey on humans when it took the first one and tasted human blood. But it would be strange if it hunted only sheep until then. That’s not the way of such beasts.”

  “Indeed,” mused the boy, “and the green fire the disciples spoke of — a husk would not manifest fire, would it? Worse yet, the ghost is powerful, but it has only killed once. But powerful fiends kill all they find in their paths— ”

  A new voice interrupted them. It rang from behind them, a gasp strained with pain.

  “Killed twice, gongzi.”

  The ashen one turned, eyes wide and gaze sharp. His hand was reluctant to leave his sheathed sword.

  Likewise, Yin Yue whipped around and saw what first appeared to be an elder, for the man’s hair was white. But soon did he find that the man’s face was not older than that of his Huijin. Long, white locks fell from his scalp and flowed down his back. He approached in haste, his mouth tight and pinched. His left hand was bound in white gauze. He kept a bde with him, the sheath as white as his hair.

  As he came closer, he took from his sleeve a trinket; a square leather patch upon which a porcein crane had been attached. The figurine’s wing had been chipped, the paint tarnished, and yet was it unmistakable. This was a symbol of virtue, bestowed upon those who had rendered a significant favor to the past cn zongzhu of Ming.

  A token from gege.

  Huijin stepped in front of the boy and mellowed his apprehension with a bow of his head, but wielded his courtesy like a whip.

  “Who might this master be?”

  — to ambush two wayfarers from behind, he did not utter.

  And then, the ashen one’s gaze fell on the crane, and his breath stuttered out of him as a cold and feeble hitch.

  “My greetings, masters,” began the white-haired man, “I am Qian Xuegang. I own the rgest farmstead here. This nd was granted me by your former zongzhu, and if I am not mistaken — your elder brother, Master Yin Yue of Ming?”

  Yin Yue stared at the token. Pallor spread across his cheeks.

  “Forgive me for throwing myself upon you like this, cultivators of Ming” the ndowner went on, “I come with grave news. The spirit has taken another life.”

  Mute as a tombstone, the boy raised his cowl. But Huijin could not afford to stand silent. Before his young ward could be scrutinized, he forced his tongue to stir.

  “Who has fallen?” asked he.

  A strained look fell upon the white man’s face. He looked from the boy to the older man, and the words he had meant to speak lodged in his throat.