“Where in the world did all of this come from?” Ling Qi asked in amazement as she strode along behind Cai Renxiang and beside Gan Guangli.

  The empty fields to the north of the tournament grounds had transformed since she had last seen them. During her brief stint as a cleaner, she hadn’t given the fields much thought besides thinking it odd that so much cleared land wasn’t being put to use. Now, they were crowded with structures and people. Brightly colored pavilions and waving pennants bore symbols and characters declaring allegiance to dozens of clans, standing side by side with palatial structures which seemed to have sprung up overnight.

  “The tournament and the surrounding events will consume an entire week. It is only natural that the nobility coming to observe display their wealth and status in their lodgings,” Cai Renxiang replied without turning around.

  “I wasn’t referring to that,” Ling Qi frowned, peering up at a towering structure, more castle than palace, bearing the colors of the Xuan. “Is it really so easy to build such things so quickly? From what you’ve given me to study, isn’t establishing settlements supposed to be difficult?”


  “You are correct, Miss Ling,” Gan Guangli said. His booming voice was nearly swallowed up by the noise of the visitors’ field and the hundreds of servants hustling on the orders of their masters. “Beautiful and wondrous as such things might be, they are not meant to last and so are unsuitable for permanent settlement.”


  Ling Qi nodded as they made their way through the crowd, Cai Renxiang’s presence keeping the path clear for them. Reading between the lines, “instant” buildings were a luxury for showing off, rather than something practical. Given that the vast majority of the clans present were content with elaborate cloth pavilions, the buildings must be extremely expensive.

  Sixiang mused. She could feel the spirit observing everything with interest through her eyes.

  Zhengui said. She felt as if he were squirming in discomfort in her dantian.

  Her little brother had the right of it. The clashing presence of the many, many powerful auras present overlapped and pressed on her from every direction. Human, beast, and spirit – the least of them were her match, and the rest far overhead. Only harried servants and common guards stood below her here.

  she thought soothingly. She had a feeling that he could feel her own nerves about the upcoming meeting.

  The three of them weren’t wandering without purpose. Cai Renxiang was going to present herself to her Mother, here, before the start of the tournament. As the heiress’ retainers, she and Gan Guangli would naturally be present as well.

  How could she

  be nervous in the face of that?

  Busy with her thoughts, it didn’t take long for the three of them to reach the edge of the field where a large space had been left studiously empty, its borders marked by white plumed guards standing ramrod straight at the corners.

  Ling Qi let out a soft breath as they came to a stop. “Ah…… how will the Duchess be arriving anyway?” she asked quietly to Gan Guangli as Cai Renxiang spoke to one of the guards. Ling Qi observed as the man began to wave some nearby servants to begin unrolling a carpet for them so that when the time came, they would not be kneeling in the dirt and grass.

  “Her Grace will arrive in her carriage, I believe,” Gan Guangli said, his wide arms crossed over his shining breastplate. “It is primarily used for her bi-decennial tours of the province’s major holdings and settlements, but it is also a symbol of power and prestige. I cannot imagine that our honored Duchess would arrive here in anything less.”


  “Guangli is correct. The Duchess will be here shortly,” Cai Renxiang said as she returned to them, gesturing for them to take their places on the newly spread carpet. “Keep your eyes on the sky, and enter supplication when the shadow reaches the landing area,” she instructed stiffly. Ling Qi was certain that in this instance, the slight nerves that the heiress was showing were no mere affectation.

  Ling Qi nervously fingered the flower ornament woven into her hair as she took her place at Cai Renxiang’s left. Xiulan had helped her put up her glittering hair into an actual style, pins and braids giving order to the usual chaos of her tresses, but it was hard not to feel underprepared.

  They waited in silence for some time before Ling Qi felt it. A prickling sensation on the back of her neck. A mounting pressure upon her thoughts. Sixiang sunk away into the depths of her mind, curling up and making themselves small like a frightened child, and a low sensation of alarm arose from Zhengui.

  It began as a bright dot in the north, a star shining in the day, but rapidly resolved itself into something more clear. Ling Qi had seen the sealed carriages of the nobility in Tonghou, leaving through the gates and given a wide berth by everyone sane. But even leaving aside its flight, this made those carriages seem like the lowest peasants’ rickety wagons.

  The Duchess’ carriage was the size of a small house, its frame and shutters carved from gleaming white wood. Its tiled roof was a brilliant green jade from which strings of living flowers hung. Its two wide wheels were shod with some actinic blue metal that shone with an internal light and rolled forward on crackling storm clouds that billowed out from their spokes. The creatures galloping through the sky, drawing the carriage toward them were no mere spirit horses. Their gleaming silver scales and long, curved horns crackling with heavenly power showed them to be qilin, dragon horses, rare and reclusive beasts that inhabited the more lonely stretches of the Wall.

  It took only moments for the carriage to go from barely visible to passing overhead. The instant it did, she followed Cai Renxiang’s lead and dropped smoothly to her knees in a supplicant’s pose. All around her, the Duchess’ guards took the knee as well, and servants scurried away.

  Ling Qi kept her head lowered as the thunder of sparking hooves pounding against the air approached, growing louder by the moment. The shadow on the ground circled, growing larger with each pass, until finally, the qilins’ hooves and the spinning wheels of the carriage struck the earth, charring the grass as storm clouds began to dissipate from beneath it.

  As the carriage rolled to a stop, the great scaled beasts, fifth or perhaps even sixth grade, which had been drawing it tossed their heads impatiently, lightning dancing along the stiff “beards” which grew from their jaws. Then, the door of the carriage swung open, and all thought of the spirit beasts left her mind. Power, thick and cloying, beat down on her back like the weight of a mountain. If she were not already kneeling, Ling Qi doubted that she would have been able to stay standing. It was a fight to keep her breathing even as she saw a set of shimmering stairs form, composed wholly of light, bridging the gap between the floor of the carriage and the earth below. It was nearly invisible compared to the radiance that had erupted from within the carriage at the opening of the door.

  A dusky skinned woman in a gown the color of pale rose petals stepped out first, but Ling Qi could not have described her further if asked at swordpoint. The presence which emanated from the carriage was that overwhelming. The first woman did turn though, offering a hand to aid the woman who emerged. It struck Ling Qi as absurd, the idea that the Duchess could need such a thing.

  The Duchess Cai was tall, taller than Gan Guangli in his base state, taller than Elder Zhou. She did not have the doll-like proportions of a traditional beauty, but instead a generous and statuesque figure well displayed by the scandalous garment she wore. The pure white fabric clung to her like a second skin, traced by lines of the palest blue, and the butterflies embroidered across the lower half moved, fluttering across rippling silk and even the knee-high slit in the right side of the gown as she descended the steps.

  Although she could not see the Duchess’ face at this angle, the tightness of her gown did make one other detail clear. Her stomach held a slight but distinct curve, which, given that Ling Qi had never seen a cultivator put on even a single kilogram of unintentional weight, could mean only one thing.

  “Renxiang, you may raise your head.” The Duchess’ voice was smoky and almost casual in tone, but the light and power beating down on her back precluded any notion of relaxation. “It has been some time since last we spoke, my daughter.”


  “It honors me immensely that you would choose to come here for this humble daughter,” Cai Renxiang said submissively. Ling Qi saw the heiress rise smoothly from full supplication to kneeling attention, her long hair swaying with the motion. “Please allow me to offer you welcome to the Argent Peak Sect. I hope its hospitality will meet your needs.”


  “Minister Linqin?” the Duchess spoke with the touch of a question.

  The woman now standing a step behind the Duchess spoke in an easy, professional tone, untroubled by the terrible power churning in the air. “It will be sufficient for your needs, my lady.”


  “Very good,” Cai Shenhua acknowledged. “Renxiang, ask the question that burns on your tongue.”


  “While I would not dream of demanding information from you, Honored Mother…… why have I not previously been informed of your condition?” Ling Qi’s liege asked promptly. Even Ling Qi could see the tension in the girl’s shoulders; she was as off-balance as Ling Qi had ever seen her.

  “Do not feel slighted, my daughter,” the Duchess replied easily, but the pulse of the light radiating from her turned even that casual statement into a command. “I have deemed the situation stable, and thus, I will be making the knowledge public as of this day. Rejoice, Renxiang. You shall soon have a younger sister.”


  “This is truly a joyous occasion,” Cai Renxiang replied, almost mechanically. “I will look forward to greeting her.”


  “I expect so,” Cai Shenhua said, and Ling Qi saw her take a languid step forward, carrying her closer to the three of them. “Now, I have reviewed reports of your progress and found them satisfactory, but for some things, a letter simply does not do. Cai Renxiang, introduce these two that you have deemed worthy of working in our name.”


  “I present to you Gan Guangli and Ling Qi, who I believe to be two of our province’s most promising, formerly unattached young talents,” Cai Renxiang answered, visibly regaining control of herself and her voice. “Gan Guangli has shown great talent as an officer and forged the undisciplined Outer disciples into passable military order under great limitations in both time and resources. He has been an able second in matters of combat when my presence was required elsewhere. He has achieved the third realm in only three years of cultivation.”


  “This is that soldier boy you picked up during your provincial tour…… He has grown, hasn’t he?” the Duchess asked rhetorically, sounding amused.

  Cai Renxiang paused, giving her Mother time to speak further if she wished before continuing, “Ling Qi’s talents have few competitors. Through her personal efforts, an entire enemy power block was broken in a single night, and her aid in gathering intelligence against the Sun Princess was invaluable.” Cai Renxiang was laying it on a bit thick, but Ling Qi wasn’t going to complain. “She has achieved her current cultivation in only a single year, having arrived at the Sect as a mortal.”


  “Hoh? How nostalgic.” Ling Qi felt her skin crawl as the Duchess’ attention fell on her like a lead weight. “Both of you, raise your heads. I would see the faces of my daughter’s first retainers.”


  Ling Qi carefully did so, copying Cai Renxiang’s posture, although she angled her head a bit lower. Given her status, it would be rude to look the Duchess in the eye without a direct command, which “raise your head” was not. Nobles loved to make things confusing.

  Cai Shenhua’s gown was even more scandalous than she had first realized. It bared her shoulders entirely, only gauzy lace prevented more than a hint of cleavage from being visible. Her hair was black as midnight, much like her daughter’s, but cut to her shoulders. Glittering, gem-like threads were woven between the strands, refracting the woman’s radiance into a multitude of colors. What little she could see of the Duchess’ features were as sharp and severe as the light radiating down from them.

  Ling Qi watched out of the corner of her eyes as the woman casually paced over to stand in front of the kneeling Gan Guangli, every step a promise of order and absolute authority. She towered over him with her arms crossed loosely over her rounded stomach. “Young man, why do you follow my daughter?”


  “Lady Cai Renxiang is the woman who will bring about the world I aspire to.” Gan Guangli’s booming voice was somber and serious, all bombastic affectation gone. “For that goal, I will fight for her until my body and spirit lie broken.” Well, maybe not all of it.

  The Duchess was silent, and Gan Guangli remained silent as well, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere behind the power standing before him. Eventually, the Duchess gave a shallow nod of acknowledgement. “I see. Do try not to break too quickly then,” she said almost flippantly.

  Then she was standing before Ling Qi, and Ling Qi’s breath hitched at the returned force of the Duchess’ attention, which only grew worse when the woman spoke. “Look at me,” she commanded, and Ling Qi could do naught but obey, raising her eyes to meet those of Cai Renxiang’s Mother.

  Over the last few minutes, listening to the powerful woman’s casual speech and watching her movements, Ling Qi had begun to believe that perhaps Cai Renxiang’s fears were overblown, that rumor had painted a skewed picture of this woman. Those thoughts vanished like the morning mist when she met Cai Shenhua’s eyes.

  There was no pupil or iris there, only pits of burning colorless light in the shape of human eyes, portals through which something vast and terrible peered from behind a shell of human skin. She could faintly feel the sensation of watering eyes, but her vision remained unblurred, tears seared away the moment they dared form. It was as the sun to a mortal, unfathomable and unrelenting, yet there could be no succour, no averting her gaze. There was only the Light, and she knew that she would stare forever, until it scoured her mind and bleached her soul.

  “This one, on the other hand…… I approve, Renxiang. It seems you have inherited my aesthetic tastes.” Some distant part of Ling Qi’s mind that wasn’t screaming danger at her was confused until the Duchess’ gaze flicked away, drawing hers with it to the other woman present.

  Minister Diao Linqin, with her dark skin and neatly combed but clearly wavy dark brown hair, looked back, unamused. “My lady, perhaps now is not the time for jests,” she reminded gently, somehow unphased by the Duchess’ attention.

  The woman-monster hummed and gestured for her to lower her head, allowing Ling Qi to quickly fix her eyes back on the carpet. Ling Qi caught Cai Renxiang shooting her a look of genuine apology on the way back to staring at the carpet.

  As she gathered her wits, the Duchess spoke once again. “If not among family, then when?” the elder Cai rebutted, a sarcastic twist on her lips. Ling Qi had no idea if it was genuine or if the woman before her was even capable of humor. It made her recall Sixiang’s comments regarding the younger Cai. Was this what Cai Renxiang was crafted in the image of? “Allow me to put the same question to you, young lady. Why do you follow my daughter?”


  Under that burning gaze, Ling Qi found the pressure to speak her mind increasing by the moment yet. Every bit of coaching she had received flew out of her head, scattered like dust in a windstorm. Ling Qi panicked as she internally flailed for an answer.

  Threads 185-Return 4

  “It seems you are getting along well,” Ling Qi said as they left Li Suyin’s workshop.

  “Mere collaboration of work, although Miss Li is most hospitable,” Xuan Shi replied, his staff tapping the ground in time with his footsteps. “This one gives much gratitude for the introduction.”


  “Well, you can find friends through work. I have my little club of musicians after all,” Ling Qi said. He was being too hard on himself. Su Ling had been quite friendly by her standards. “If you would like, I can invite you to the training camp Sir Wang and I have arranged.”


  “This one is uncertain that doing so would not disrupt the group.”


  “Bai Meizhen is coming soon. I doubt that you could be more disruptive if you tried,” Ling Qi said.

  He paused, and she saw him blink under the brim of his hat. “.…… Perhaps,” he hedged. “What whim drives this calling then, Miss Ling?”


  “You can call me Ling Qi,” she reminded him absently. “I want to repay your generosity. When I was doing my part in researching the sect grounds for a pre-mission training site, we came across a site that I thought would interest you.”


  “Oh?” Xuan Shi tilted his head curiously as they began to descend the mountain path.

  “It is the grave site of the author and elder you spoke to me about. His sword lies there and is willing to speak a bit,” Ling Qi explained.

  It was a little funny, watching the steady and redoubtable Xuan Shi nearly trip on his own feet as he came to a halt, leaving her to turn back and face him.

  “How—I have searched—” He stumbled over his words.

  ”I had help. And it’s possible that some parts of the grounds have become less restricted given everything.” She had considered why a site of such importance was less known and hit upon the thought that it had once been better hidden.

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Still, the sword speaks? To have a chance to speak with such a being is…”


  Ling Qi held up her hands to halt him for a moment. “I feel like I should warn you: the sword is very… morose. You should temper your expectations on how communicative it will be.”


  The gleeful light in his eyes dimmed. “Understandable. Still, the things it must have experienced at his side! The questions this one will need to ask…”


  Ling Qi smiled faintly as they resumed their walk at a quicker pace, the normally quiet young man’s words spilling out like water from a burst dam.

  With their pace so accelerated, descending the mountain did not take long, and the hike out to the site would be a matter of hours. As they hiked, Ling Qi learned more than she had ever intended of the quasi-fictional sea routes and lands explored in the novels which Xuan Shi had so much affection for. She didn’t interject much, content to let him speak, but despite herself, as they began to approach the mazed woodlands around the grave, she found herself drawn into the conversation more.

  “.…… meaning no offense, but the plot lines really seem like they get a little repetitive around the halfway point and on,” Ling Qi said. They were walking on a forest trail, the afternoon sun dappling the path beneath the light canopy. The circle of taller, darker woodlands was visible when the terrain rose to a hill.

  From what Xuan Shi had described, the general pattern of the novels after the first was that the characters would arrive in a new land and become embroiled in some local struggle. Sometimes, this was a greedy despot after their ship or one of the crew. At other times, it was a strange cult and a cruel god or a powerful spirit or spirits. They would solve the problem, occasionally picking up a new member of the crew, and then return to the sea. Solving a mystery or hunting a treasure instead could happen, but those were more rare plots.

  “Miss Ling’s words bear some truth,” Xuan Shi admitted. She had given up reminding him to use her name. Xuan Shi was simply too formal for his own good. He would remember after being reminded, but he would then slip back into formal address all too quickly. “However, this one believes that plot is secondary to characters. Plot is merely the instrument by which they are explored, and the true draw is the interactions of people.”


  “I suppose I can see that point.” If she viewed it through the lens of isolation, engaging with fictional characters was a salve for loneliness when true interaction was unavailable. “Still, you need new trials to vary up the interactions.”


  Sixiang complained.

  Ling Qi thought.

  As if on cue, Xuan Shi spoke. “This is a truth. In the latter half of the series, this one’s favored tales were when the crew was trapped by the storm god on the open sea and the incident with the nightmare trickster.”


  “I can’t speak for favorites, not having read them, but you do make the locales they visit sound interesting,” Ling Qi said. “You say they’re not all made up?”


  “In the northern and eastern seas, navigators have charted locales of great similarity to places in the early novels,” Xuan Shi enthused. “Inspiration is all but certain, or so this one thinks.”


  That made the novels more interesting. “You sound pretty enthusiastic about that. Is that what you want to do when you finish here? Be an explorer?”


  “To walk the waves and follow the winds, this is my likely path, it is true. More like, though, this one shall ply a merchantman's route as guardian or serve aboard a vessel of war.”


  “That’s not what I asked,” Ling Qi said. “Why do you think that’s more likely?”


  “Without a companion, this one would not be approved for captaincy.” Xuan Shi lowered his head. “And this one is no astrologer to provide navigation.”


  “Oh,” Ling Qi said awkwardly. “Well, traders and soldiers do some exploration as well, right?”


  “This is true,” Xuan Shi said. “It is not good to complain when one does not lack opportunities. Childish things must be set aside in time. Thankfully, the Voyages are not childish! I should like to write about the Venerable Elder’s life at least. His work deserves recognition.”


  Ling Qi wasn’t sure storybooks didn’t count as childish, but maybe Sixiang was right that this was uncharitable and dismissive.

  “Can I ask why you’re so interested in exploration? Is it just wanting to experience some part of what was written?” Ling Qi asked.

  “Yes, and no as well,” Xuan Shi said. “In truth, before ever a page was turned, this one has always wished to see just what wonders await at sea to keep sailors from their home shores so long.”


  Ling Qi pieced together his words with other knowledge. He wanted to know what kept his father at sea all of the time?

  “We’re nearly there,” Ling Qi said, dismissing the heavier atmosphere. “The labyrinth is not too difficult, so just follow my lead…”


  As she gave him instructions, Ling Qi came to wonder though. This site was much more important to Xuan Shi than her, and in many ways, she almost felt like she would be an intruder when the meeting came. She would let Xuan Shi converse with the sword spirit alone then and simply listen in.

  ***

  “The vision painted by Miss Ling’s words were ill preparation,” Xuan Shi noted. He reached out, resting a gauntlet clad hand on the pale grey trunks of the trees that made up the labyrinth, peering up at the dark crowded canopy that arched overhead.

  Ling Qi glanced back past the curled and twisted portal formed by the pale trees, separating the melancholy labyrinth from the rosy light of the winter evening outside. “Unless you wanted me to compose a song, I’m not sure I could have really prepared you.”


  Sixiang murmured. Ling Qi felt their consciousness drawing back from her senses.

  The sadness of this place was a physical weight, heavy like a thick blanket soaked through by cold water, and the tendrils of fog that played about her ankles seemed to drag at her feet with every step. “Even if I had, you’d still have come though.”


  “Miss Ling’s intuition is accurate,” Xuan Shi said, glancing around at the brush-choked and narrow halls. “Where should our steps lead?”


  Ling Qi let her awareness spread beyond her eyes, carried on glittering motes of silver. “To the left. The path has shifted, but I can still trace it.”


  He nodded, letting his hand drop back to his side as he turned to follow. His heavy footsteps were muted here, and the jingling of the rings on his staff did not echo. They walked in silence for a time, the weight of the atmosphere making the idea of the light conversation that had come before seem disrespectful.

  “May I ask what you’re planning to speak with the sword about?” Ling Qi kept her voice quiet as the visions of her soaring motes flashed behind her eyes, tracing their path further inside, noting the places where space became strange and veils of illusion rippled.

  Xuan Shi squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, following a step behind. “How frivolous some thoughts seem here. Yet, queries remain. I wish to know Elder Lang’s purpose in authorship. I wish to know how much of his tales have basis in the world of flesh and earth.”


  Ling Qi cocked her head to the side. Xuan Shi had cut himself off at the end, a thought unfinished. “If there is a personal matter, I can leave,” she offered.

  “No,” Xuan Shi said. “This one has reason to inquire after the existence of the storm folk and their witches, who appeared in the first two volumes. That is all.”


  Ling Qi nodded. If he didn’t want to reveal the reason, it was his prerogative. They did not speak much more as they made their way through the labyrinth of melancholy and despair that shrouded the central gravesite. Soon enough, they came to the mist-shrouded gate that led to it.

  As Xuan Shi began to step toward the mist, he paused, raising a hand to his temple, his expression growing concerned.

  “Are you alright?” Ling Qi asked.

  “This one is well. Mine companion is ill affected by this place,” Xuan Shi said. “Apologies, friend, but this one must speak with the elder. Please endure.”


  Ling Qi frowned in concern. His later words were clearly for his spirit. Ling Qi turned her own attention inwards.

  Sixiang sent back.

  Ling Qi turned her attention outward again, just in time to see Xuan Shi stepping through the gate. She shook her head. It would be fine. Probably. Lifting her gown, she stepped over the bramble-choked entrance and followed him.

  The innermost circle of trees looked just the same as it had at her last visit. The depression in the earth, the field of cut bones, and the vague silhouette of an old man in the osseous sediment were plainly visible. And of course, the rusted and broken sword, jutting from the earth, still presided over the clearing.

  Xuan Shi had advanced several steps ahead of her already. She could not see his expression as he stood on the edge where the earth swept down into the depression.

  The coarse whisper of rusted metal raised the hairs on her neck.

  Ling Qi remained silent at the doorway, firm in her decision to leave this to Xuan Shi.

  “Elder, war embroils the south, yet the Sect stands strong. All of the Emerald Seas musters at its side,” Xuan Shi said, bowing his head deeply. “This humble disciple requests the elder’s instruction.”


  There was a rasping sound like a jagged edge being dragged over rock, and so bitter it was that she tasted the salt of tears in her mouth. It took her too long to realize that it had been laughter.

  the blade scoffed, sending a ripple of contempt through the air that saw Xuan Shi sway backward as if struck.

  “This one is no swordsman nor does this one seek such mastery,” Xuan Shi acknowledged, his head remaining bowed as a student facing a master. “Please, this one wishes to know what inspired the tales thy master wrote.”


  There was a deep silence in the wake of his words as the thrumming of the blade planted in the graveyard ceased. Ling Qi remained still, holding her breath.

  the old item spirit grunted, breaking the silence.

  “The Voyages of Yu Long. What inspiration transformed sword saint to author? Why write such tales?” Xuan Shi asked again.

  Ling Qi saw the air in his hands shimmer as a book appeared there, worn and dog-eared. Its colorful cover, a painting depicting a laughing man in red standing on the prow of a golden ship, stood out in the gloom.

  asked the sword, and Xuan Shi visibly flinched.

  “Under study, this one has determined that Sect Head Yuan saw to a small distribution under a penname,” Xuan Shi said, not raising his head.

  whispered the sword.

  Ling Qi’s heart sank. This seemed to be going worse than she had imagined.

  “No.”


  Xuan Shi raised his head.

  “Perhaps as a sword, thou does not respect accomplishments off the sea of battle, but all the same, they are not to be dismissed. The venerable elder created something great,” Xuan Shi said firmly. It was only from close attention and experience that Ling Qi heard the tremor of frustration and fear in his voice. “It is perhaps nothing to you, but this disciple would know what was in his mind in the writing.”


  The wind picked up, the whisper of a hundred dying voices, and Ling Qi felt an electric tingle of alarm travel up her spine as the light in the graveyard grove further dimmed.

  The sword’s voice cut the air, and Ling Qi saw sparks as Xuan Shi took a step back, gauges appearing in the brim of his hat.

  Xuan Shi flinched and looked as if he were going to speak, only to hesitate, listening to an unheard voice.

  Again, the sound of grinding metal like an imperious snort ground through the air, and Ling Qi’s eyes flew open wide.

  She clutched her stomach, letting out a wheeze as it rippled through her like a hard strike to the gut. Behind her, she heard a yelp and a thump. Through watering eyes, she looked back to Sixiang blinking up at the dark canopy as they lay in the grass.

  “Ouch. Crotchety old bastard.” Sixiang winced as they rolled to their feet. They were cut off, Ling Qi realized, wholly cut off from the liminal realm.

  She heard a pained hiss and turned back toward Xuan Shi to see a crouching figure rising from the grass beside him. It was tall and gangly, long and thin limbs sticking out in its crouched pose. Around its shoulders were what she took at first for a cloak but swiftly realized were pale wings spotted with eyelike marks. A ruff of white fur concealed the figure's neck. Their face resembled Sixiang’s with glittering black eyes but instead of a rainbow-hued hair, they had a shifting hair of white and black.

  She heard an intake of breath from her side, and Sixiang spoke. “Oh, it’s you, asshole.”


  Ling Qi blinked at the uncharacteristic vulgarity as Xuan Shi turned toward his own dream muse. “Kongyou, have you come to harm?” he asked.

  Ling Qi’s eyes narrowed as she focused, penetrating the miasma-like apathy and despair that filled the grave to feel the muse’s aura. Her memory flashed back to the underground expedition where they had been lost in the dream, and she, injured and confined by Sixiang. She remembered the giggling voice who had nearly convinced her to hurt herself further by trying to fight despite her injury.

  Kongyou gave her a helpless and not at all guilty grin as if to say “oops.” “I’m fine, Shi. Don’t you worry about me.”


  “Xuan Shi, that thing is a nightmare spirit,” Ling Qi hissed.

  He blinked at her. “This one knows that.”


  “They tried to trick Ling Qi into getting herself killed back in the dream,” Sixiang accused, staring at their fellow muse with intense dislike.

  Kongyou put a finger to their lip, cocking their head to the side cutely. “Ehhh? I was just trying to help.”


  “As a spirit of the deeper dream, they do not understand mortals well,” Xuan Shi said apologetically, wincing.

  “But Shi is a great instructor. I’m getting better all the time!” The nightmare displayed a grin full of razor-edged teeth.

  “Xuan Shi—” Ling Qi began incredulously.

  the powerful grinding voice of the sword cut in.

  Xuan Shi grimaced, and Kongyou patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about me! I’ll just go stand with my cousin and their friend.”


  Ling Qi glared at the muse as they ambled over. Their feet were bare, and underneath their cloak of wings, they seemed to wear only a nearly skin tight pair of black pants that glittered like the night sky. Their narrow but well defined chest was wholly bare, but it was almost dollike in its lack of hair or features.

  The muse smiled at her. “Hey, totally sorry about before. I’m real sorry I almost hurt you,” they tittered.

  “That lies more transparent than glass,” Sixiang snapped back.

  Ahead of them, Xuan Shi squared his shoulders as he prepared to speak again. “Honored Elder, this one will not be driven off by such tactics. Although the Honored Elder has no obligation to speak, this one would have more than a vague platitude from thee.”


  “Dreams change,” Xuan Shi said. “Nature is not the whole of things. Thy master knew this and wrote it.”


  grunted the sword.