At the break of a new dawn, the young zongzhu of Cn Ming left the ornate gates of Yuchi Court and set himself upon the road with no other entourage than a small beast of burden, his gray servant, and the guardian whom the boy called his shifu.

  Just as the day which at first promised azure skies and gentle winds had clouded to a somber gray, so had the promise of leisure been thwarted in favor of preparations for departure. Yin Yue had to gather his cn and decre his absence, part with his friend of Cn Mao, assign the elders to see to his administrative duties, reassure the disciples, appease the sergeant, make vows of a triumphant return.

  And while the boy had pyed the part of master, his servant had packed and readied the mule, seen to their supplies, calmed the nerves of old Ya Ruanshi, asked old crone Ku Zhiyu to dey the commission of their memorial tablets, ensured fresh water in their skins.

  And if he had passed a word here and there to the stallmaster, the head lecturer, the three most sensible shixiongs and the cook to ensure that Cn Ming would be well governed in their zongzhu’s absence, who would be the wiser? Huijin had not passed orders, nor had he advised; he had left small notes, whispered soft reminders, paved the path with polished stones.

  Then, with all preparations accounted for, the road to Caodi and the clouded skies awaited them. Some fortune had they, for the vilge was not remote and the roads which wound up and down the mountains bore them well. Not even Yin Yue could compin, though his silence was owed to Lu Yuxin’s hard eyes upon his back. The old swordmaster insisted that the boy would lead, as befitted a cn’s zongzhu.

  As they walked in the dusklight, as they approached the unremarkable vilge at the foothills, the warrior revealed that he mastered the pen as well as the sword. With him, he carried a scroll from the cn’s library, imparted onto him by Elder Ya with utmost reluctance. The scroll described the little Caodi Vilge; knowledge taken from the te Ming-zongzu’s hoard of knowledge of his own nds. This in hand, he lectured the child in the knowledge expected of a guardian of his nds;

  “Next! Their primary tribute to Cn Ming comes in the shape of what?”

  “Treated wool, medicinal herbs,” came the slow answer.

  “What else?”

  Yin Yue rubbed his brow, his answer as vigorous as the dirt below his feet.

  “Paper.”

  “Paper?” barked Red Tiger, “No, not paper! Thread! Why did you invent paper, Yin Yue?”

  The boy lowered his voice, “the old toad there seems keen to write compints, so —“

  “What was that?”

  Yin Yue gestured for the clouded skies and remarked, in privacy of his own mind, that Lu Yuxin might be the ghost dog they sought, the way he hounded those around him. “The wind?”

  To his right walked the ashen one, his dark head bent in quiet rumination. He was a quiet traveler; beyond the practical and the needful remarks, few words had left him all day. And even on the road, he wore his hair down, for it shaded his face from the worst of the sun’s zeal and left his thoughts to himself.

  Lu Yuxin closed the scroll and shoved it into his sleeve. If the boy did not wish to recite the known lore of Caodi, he would be made to recite the known lore of his circumstances. In the green embrace of the bamboo forest, they trudged towards the crest of the hill.

  “Do not tempt me, Ming-zongzhu. Now, what is our pn here? Recite it to Huijin and to me.”

  Yin Yue blinked. “We arrive in the vilge, speak to Elder Ban Gouyu, take care of the threat.”

  “Be specific!” demanded the swordmaster.

  Yin Yue sighed and threw his hands out, then repeated that which he had said thrice before upon this journey;

  “We investigate, gather knowledge of our foe, the spirit. We learn what it can do, what power it has. Then, when Elder Gouyu has been pacified with by my tact and grace, not to mention our reassurances, we call for Ming cultivators to come and send the dog spirit.”

  “Good, very well, and that means — ”

  “Not that I see why we must do it this way, shifu. With you here, we could send the spirit fiend ourselves.”

  With that, the young master halted and spread his arms. His ashen servant’s gaze fell upon him.

  “You are the best swordsman we have, Lu Yuxin, and a capable cultivator yourself. To be sure, Elder Ban Gouyu will be better pleased if we act at once and with vigor!”

  “… Yin Yue?”

  ‘What owes this?’ asked the servant’s tone. He gave his head a small shake.

  Lu Yuxin threw the gray servant a look then. He too shook his head.

  But Yin Yue persisted. “Come on,” he cajoled. “It is the right path to follow. Why dey? The spirit could do more harm while we wait, and the vilge elder will be even more displeased.”

  He pointed a finger at his swordmaster. “You!”

  Lu Yuxin flinched as if he had expected a poison dart thrown at him.

  “You always speak of how I must secure the glory of my cn, and how the bance of power is frail and how “a great accomplishment is necessary” to secure the cn’s future. And you!”

  He pointed at his servant next, the light in his eyes frantic, den with an unsaid plea.

  “You tell me day after day that I must “behave as a zongzhu.” Well, says I, a zongzhu would be rid of the spirit here and now!”

  No embers of indignation kindled in the servant’s eyes. His mouth did not tighten, his teeth did not clench. But when the boy he had once carried in his arms thrust a finger at him, a strain of iron bled into his quiet voice.

  “Lower your hand, Yin Yue.”

  Another voice rose above his own.

  “Put down that finger, boy! Behave yourself!”

  From the corner of his eye, the ashen one stole a look at the swordmaster, and his brow furrowed.

  Yin Yue lowered his hand as told and tossed his sleeve. He scoffed, his brows knit with thin restraint.

  “Huijin,” he began, “all I tried to say was— ”

  “No,” his shifu cut in, “we will not take any action which could threaten you— ”

  “Swordmaster Lu Yuxin,” Yin Yue raised his voice, “do not interrupt your zongzhu as he speaks. Be quiet. That is an order.”

  The warrior paled where he stood.

  “No less,” said the gray servant in the abrupt silence, “you are right, Yin Yue. Under common circumstances, your decision would be wise. But we lost a capable cultivator. It cannot be done this way. We cannot move blind in the dark.”

  “No, but we should do as you said,” the boy broke in. We should learn what we can of the spirit first, and then—”

  And I will suffocate this quarrel right now, decided Huijin.

  “But then, once we do know the spirit’s strength, indeed, if we deem it of little threat to us three, we should vanquish— ” Yin Yue ran on.

  “Gege would not want you to face this danger.”

  Ming-zongzhu’s tirade ended there and then. He stared at his servant, mouth parted in disbelief. A waver rippled across the frail calm he wore upon his face, that porcein facade of a zongzhu. He turned away, mute.

  Huijin took his eyes off the boy’s back and said no more. His feet followed the road. And to his left, the swordmaster gave a sharp exhale and cast him a look of approval braided into quiet disdain.

  Vile, said his eyes. Vile.

  At st, the three travelers crested the hill, from which they could see the vilge ahead. No stronghold or palisade greeted them, no packed streets of tall residences and temples. Past a gorge through which a dark river frothed and snaked under a dipidated old bridge were green pastures and fields. The huts were sparse and far between; these were farmsteads which, kept together by a market, made up Caodi vilge. Sheep grazed upon the pastures; farmers toiled with bent backs.

  Upon the red skies, the sun dwindled near the distant peaks and cast long shadows across the green nds.

  Before this rustic quietude did Yin Yue halt, his hands hidden in his sleeves, reluctance etched into his posture.

  And Lu Yuxin the swordmaster let him stare, let him sulk on his own, and with a toss of his head, he bid the servant to follow him some distance away.

  At first did Huijin not stir at all. Then, as if he were a puppet on strings, he raised his head, soft bewilderment drawn on his bleak face. He was obliged to tear his eyes from the distant farmsteads.

  In the end, the two men sought the privacy of the wooden bridge under some murmured pretense of examining the bridge’s condition. Once Lu Yuxin was certain the boy could not hear them, he lowered his voice.

  “Good. He listens well to you.”

  “He listens,” answered the servant.

  Not good, in truth, mused the swordmaster, just as the use of Yin Zhaoyang’s memory had not been good. The boy ought not pay such close attention to a mere servant, a man who does not belong to the cn. But for now, they needed a voice this youth could respect.

  “Will you accompany him as he speaks to the vilge elder?” he asked.

  “I follow him where he needs me, Master Lu,” came the short answer.

  “Good, good. And if he insists to speak to him alone?”

  The ashen one seemed to consider his answer, his voice like thin paper, strange and faraway to the ear. His hand stole down to the hilt of his sheathed sword and closed around it, though he did not tense his shoulder as might a man who expected a threat. But then, with the hilt against his palm, his chest allowed a deeper, drawn breath.

  “Such is his right, Master Lu.”

  Lu Yuxin crossed his arms over his chest. He blew a lock of gray hair from his face, his silence that of the dark mountain’s.

  “What is earned in privilege must be banced with wit and wisdom. Yin Yue needs counsel. He might not yet have relinquished his foolish desire to hunt the spirit himself.”

  Huijin raised his eyes to the back of the swordmaster’s neck. His gaze burned, a needle’s prick on bared skin.

  “You need not be concerned,” said he, tongue whetted and sharpened upon the boulder of trepidation in his breast. “To keep Yin Yue’s face in front of the vilge cannot be done with fists and bdes, so do not strain yourself.”

  For trepidation he felt; it had haunted his heels since they left the gates of Yuchi. In the years he had dwelt under those roofs, in the years the older Yin brother had taught him the art of the bde and the art of the breath, he had still been sheltered. Too old had gray Huijin been when he first set his foot there to become a disciple of the cn. What did he know of dark spirits and malicious fiends but that which had been taught him from lore and poetry? Once or twice had he accompanied his te friend and brother, once or twice had he seen some malformed beast or corpse from a distance.

  But he had never fought one.

  And this, this journey to Caodi had been a mistake. A spoke in the cart’s wheels. Little Yin Yue should never have come here at all; nighthunts were never written in his stars. They were just three. The boy was a poor cultivator and a worse swordsman. His qi was not governed well. No matter how much a master this Lu Yuxin was, they were too few.

  A quaint ache was this, reflected the servant where he stood, his face calm and composed. Fear. It had been a while since he had felt fear.

  Before him, Lu Yuxin stood with clenched fists, his skin white upon his knuckles. He pretended he did not hear the spite as he remarked, “It may be best if I send it, after all. Before Yin Yue can act. I have seen that look of his before, and it belies an obstinacy which he did not inherit from his gege.”

  “Are you certain that you can?”

  Soft as the servant’s question was, it would have been derisive, had it not been for the faint thread of dread in the undercurrents.

  At that, Lu Yuxin raised his shoulder. His answer was woven from experience, from a caution only age and failure can carve into a man. His talents with the sword might be worthy of legend, his arts might have been considered celestial by the common man, but no true master would ever decre a foe dead before he had tried his mettle.

  “Who can say? All paths are yet unbarred. But if I cannot, the others will not be of much use.”

  Huijin gave a soft hum. He wandered a little, ran his thumb over the hilt of his bde, sought soce in the worn threads there.

  Not right, chimed that voice to him. We should not have come here. All day had that chant whispered to him. He followed it now; unspooled it to find some sembnce of rhyme and reason, but try as he might, that whisper remained a mere voice of dread. Gege would have journeyed here by himself; would have vanquished the evil spirit with his own hands. And that would have been the end of it. A lesser deed to be written down in the annals and forgotten; one of Yin Zhaoyang’s hundred.

  “But he was capable—”

  “Hm?” answered the swordmaster.

  The ashen one cleared his throat, raised his chin. “I do not understand. Chen Luoyang was a capable cultivator and swordsman. Gege used to favor him. He — I cannot cim to have known him, but I had never heard that he was brash or imprudent. He should have— ”

  Returned.

  “But then,” pondered he, “the vilge elder spoke of this spirit, this ghost of a dog, as if it was some pest rather than a great grievance.” His thoughts wound and knotted unto themselves. “Perhaps he chose to be humble and abridged the threat. Or he might not have understood it himself, or intended to make light of it— ”

  “That is more common than you might think,” Lu Yuxin answered.

  With that, the swordmaster’s voice severed the knots.

  “More common than I might think? Master Lu, I do not know how many letters from vilge elders you might have read—”

  If you can read at all.

  “— But often they choose to embellish the threat, to make an ancient wraith out of a corrupted old tree, all to draw attention and see to that their plight is not ignored.”

  Lu Yuxin chuckled at this report. Earnest amusement flitted on his face like a butterfly’s wings.

  “You are right. But Elder Ban is an old cultivator himself, though he is now too old to raise his sword.” He allowed himself a scoff. “So we might expect him to be composed. And that alone tells us a little of this spirit.”

  At this ughter, Huijin trapped his breath in his own throat. Who knew what it meant to him, but his mouth bnched as it thinned upon his face, and his voice was like a sudden gust of autumnal winds.

  “Good,” said he. “I shall tell the young master that I will walk ahead to secure us a bed for the night.”

  The swordmaster turned to regard the gray one; expected to see there relief and enlightenment, but found frost. His eyes widened and he near parted his mouth to shout after the servant and inquire of him what the te zongzhu had kept him around for, if not his wit. In the end, he shut his mouth and caught the gray one’s shoulder.

  He saw the ashen one’s hand twitch in a way any capable swordsman would recognize; the promise of a viper’s quick strike. But before Huijin could draw his bde, he clenched his hand into a fist and hid it in his sleeve.

  “Master Lu?”

  Cold was Master Lu’s as he spoke, his earlier mirth scattered upon the winds. “See that the young zongzhu is distracted.” His tone brokered no argument. “I shall end this threat for him. If you can not ensure that he will keep himself out of harm’s way, this will be our best approach.”

  And from the hill’s crest, the boy also approached, their beast of burden kept in tow.

  “Do not— ” began the servant before his eyes flitted towards the young master. Rigid as iron did he stand under the unwanted hand upon his shoulder. “Ming-zongzhu,” he rather said once the boy was close enough to hear them. “I will see that we have a roof to sleep under this night. Do you wish to accompany me?”

  Lu Yuxin released the servant and turned for the boy, his eyes dark.

  But Yin Yue came blithe as a rk. No earlier sign of displeasure could be found in his smile, and if his jaw was just a little tight, if his eyes shone with some disquiet, he did not allow it to rise to his tongue.

  “They can shelter us, you think? I saw a homestead ahead. I suppose it shall do? Shall we get to sleep in the stables, Huijin? I have often wondered what that is like.” He eyed his shifu. “Don’t you look like a joyous traveler, Lu Yuxin? If you keep that look on your face, your eyes will turn to charcoal, you know?”

  “Enough,” demanded Huijin. “Yin Yue, come with me.”

  “As you wish,” chirped the boy, “Lu Yuxin, learn to know the vilge, then let us meet after I have spoken to the vilge elder.” He threw his cowl back and set foot upon that dipidated bridge. Like the old toad, the wood croaked under the weight of his mule, but though the swordmaster’s shoulders hitched in terror, the construction held.

  Huijin shook his sleeve, cold anger written in the corner of his mouth and the pallor of his cheeks. His steps were brisk when he passed the older warrior and the boy both.

  So did the three travelers part ways, for as the zongzhu of Cn Ming and his servant went to find the old cultivator Ban Gouyu, the guardian turned for the pastures to find the st and test signs of the unsent spirit.