True to his expectations, the boy could be found amidst his radishes and lilies. He stood in the beds of verdant green, the ughter of water heard behind him. No tarnish of grief or concern was there upon his face as he dusted the petals of his prized white flowers.

  Until a voice disturbed him.

  “Yue’er, I must speak to you.”

  Unlike that night by the pond, when then boy had no voice but a quiet whisper, he now flinched and looked up. At once did he wave for silence; at once did he beckon the intruder seek shelter behind the bushes.

  “Shh, Huijin, shh. Lu Yuxin looks for me?”

  So you hide yourself like a beetle in the shrubs? The servant’s countenance remained pcid, his thoughts seldom spoken upon his face. He disregarded the boy’s request.

  “As was Elder Ya,” enlightened he. “Have you spoken to him?”

  “Yes,” came the impatient whisper, “yes, I have spoken to him, seen his scroll!”

  The boy tried to beckon his servant to hide again, but conceded that he would not be obeyed. He sighed and straightened, his face shaded by the bamboo hat on his head.

  “Good,” answered Huijin. “How do you deem it wisest to act, Ming-zongzhu?”

  The boy’s voice was ft, still as a pond in windless dusk. “Our cultivators need more cultivation,” he decided. “Chen Luoyang was not meant to perish from such a small threat.”

  Huijin raised his hand to shield his eyes and offered a silent plea for patience to the Heavens. Little wonder was there that the gray moth of Ming sought dusk and shadow. Might be that he knew he was not much to look at in the light of the day. For his too-wide sleeve now hid a bleak face; his skin not the prized shade of white jade, but a dull, almost sallow tint. His eyes spoke of many a long night spent awake.

  “He was not,” admitted he. “What does it tell you, Yue’er, that the cultivator perished unexpectedly?”

  Yin Yue averted his eyes, his gaze id upon a stone near his servant’s boots. He raised his shoulders, for how could he say what he thought in earnest? How could he tell him that Chen Luoyang was never meant to die; that he, Ming-zongzhu, sent the man to his death? That Cn Ming needs not fear the violence of other cns, for he alone shall ruin all which his brother and his brother’s ancestors before him have built?

  “Mm,” he began, “Chen Luoyang’s mother and sister must be told. His mother is old, so she will need a pension from the cn.”

  “That’s so,” came the servant’s voice. “And what does his death tell of you of the threat?”

  “Mm,” tried the boy, “that I should send Lu Yuxin to take care of it?”

  Huijin’s voice took on a sharper edge now. “Yue’er. You are not dumb. Do not make yourself so. What does it mean that a capable cultivator sent to banish a lesser spirit lost his life?”

  Beneath the brim of his hat, the boy closed his eyes. Was that not the right answer? The spirit had murdered Chen Luoyang; sughtered him and hauled his body into the maw of the night. Left the man’s mother with no son to care for her, left a sister to grieve for him, left three disciples frightened out of their wits. He drew a sudden breath, for he found he had forgotten to breathe for a while.

  “Huijin,” began he. “I am tired.”

  “The day is not yet over,” came the rebuke. “Answer me.”

  Ming-zongzhu shook his head at himself. No, that was not what he had meant to say. He could not find his words. Could not consider this evil spirit. When he tried, he heard Chen Luoyang’s gentle reassurances to his disciple as they left the gates of Yuchi.

  “It’s strong,” he mumbled.

  “That’s so,” answered the servant, gray gaze pinned to his master. The sun does not ask if you have the will to rise; the day will not have the patience for any want of strength and vigor in you, scolded his silent mouth. “Stronger than we first assumed.”

  “Right,” said Ming-zongzhu. “That is why I thought to send Lu Yuxin. No one is stronger than Lu Yuxin.”

  “The Red Tiger of Ming is your own protector,” came the protest. “He follows you.” And in the same breath, the ashen one demanded, “Now, how do you interpret the vilge elder’s tone towards Cn Ming?”

  Yin Yue’s gaze climbed towards his servant’s boots. Tone? The elder’s tone? His shoulders shook with some mirth. Drown the elder of Caodi under Naihe bridge. Who cared what he thought? Chen Luoyang was dead because of his Ming-zongzhu”

  “Didn’t read too much into it,” he muttered. “He seemed sour about one matter or another, I suppose, but that’s what elders are like, Huijin. Riguang-ge says it’s the hips.”

  At that, Huijin’s mouth thinned further yet. He too averted his face and wandered closer to the pond, as if to draw reprieve from the waters while the wind blew the first white clouds over an unblemished sky.

  “Do you presume,” began he, that I do not know you, or how your narrow shoulders tremble as you mire yourself in guilt over this cultivator’s death, with not a thought of reason or judgment left in your head? But no occasion is there to console you now; to waste breath on your paper-spirit.

  “… that you can afford their displeasure now, Ming-zongzhu? Caodi is a small, insignificant vilge, but word spreads fast. There as here. Have you spoken to the three disciples?”

  “I’ve sent Elder Ya to do so,” answered the boy.

  “You have not neglected them. Good.” Or I would need to see them in your stead, the ashen one did not say.

  Yin Yue scoffed, but his voice was quiet and subdued. He watched his servant’s back, reached for him, then let his hand fall.

  “Ming-zongzhu,” resumed Huijin, his back turned, “this rift in the cn’s reputation, though small, must be amended.”

  Yin Yue bowed his head. “That is wise.”

  “To the vilgers of Caodi, one cultivator does not differ from another. They will not be content with another of your men. Two or three might cleanse the ghost; that would solve their plight. But there will be talk. How could a capable man like Chen Luoyang fall? How could Ming-zongzhu misjudge the threat? Yue’er, the decision to send one man was made by the cn’s elders.”

  And by me, thought the ashen one. “But I need not tell you that the bme will still fall on you. How do you judge it best to solve it?”

  The boy gazed at his servant through some loose straws in the weave of his bamboo hat, but could perceive no sentiment behind that dutiful countenance. In the end, he lowered his head and wondered if his ashen one thought of gege as they spoke, of a confidence like cold iron and a smile as warm as a hearthfire at night.

  He should smile, decided he. He should smile and offer his servant some ease, he should pat his shoulder and tell him not to fret. Gege would not decre that they should ride forth to hunt the spirit down at dawn. Much too gentle had his older brother been for such bravado. He would have told his loyal friend to leave it to him; that great care would be taken to pursue this strange spirit, that the fallen man would be avenged and the vilgers saved. He would coax his ashen confidant to not resent the vilge elder; would plead for consideration of his old age and the terror the man must feel.

  This is what Yin Yue, Ming-zongzhu should do. Do it like gege.

  And Yin Yue, unworthy didi, murderer of two good men, wondered if his Huijin would hate him more if he made himself more like gege.

  The boy wilted as he decred, “I should speak to the vilge head.”

  At that, the servant’s wooden countenance softened at st; a sign of mute approval. He did not question the boy anew; did not coax him to chart a prudent and considerate approach at once. For now, the moth’s breath left him in a slow and silent sigh.

  “A decent choice. You will honor their vilge if you travel there. Lu Yuxin will come with you to assess the threat. After that, we shall send for as many cultivators as are needed.” He hesitated. “We have been unwise once. There will be no use to send more men until we know the true face of this threat.”

  Yin Yue straightened at that conclusion. Lu Yuxin shall come, shall he? What about you? He lowered the brim of his hat.

  “You must of course come too,” he hurried to say, “as my retainer and scribe.”

  Huijin did not answer. To send the boy to Caodi with no other company than the blunt sledgehammer of a swordmaster stirred a wisp of dread in his stomach. To abandon the cn for days and leave it to the likes of old Ya Ruanshi plucked at another chord of dread.

  “Yin Yue,” began he, “I might be of better use to you here.”

  Is he mad, wondered the boy. His servant went on, “Elder Ya augurs oceans of blood. Sergeant Jiachong raised another concern about Zheng-shixiong. Old Ku Zhiyu promises that the very skies shall tear asunder before the moon has waned. And,— ”

  Your rodent still burrows here, the ashen one’s mouth wanted to say. “Your friend Mao-gongzi is still a guest under your roof.”

  “Elder Ya will augur oceans of blood if you don’t come with me,” cried Yin Yue, “and we should show Cn Mao that we,—” Distracted by a beetle in the grass, the boy lost his words.

  “That might be so,” agreed the ashen one, “but— ”

  Yin Yue sighed. A true zongzhu would order his man to do as he was told, and yet would his mouth not open. He could command the Red Tiger of Ming in public, heedless of his shifu’s ire and ter rebukes, but here, he dared not.

  But the older man took no heed of that quiet sigh. All austerity had faded from him like the dawn shed her mists. He stood quiet as he considered, a demure shadow in the verdant gardens.

  What was there to consider? Stay with him, had the older brother beseeched him on that st, bck day. “No,” breathed he, “you are right, Yin Yue. I will come with you.” Some small knot unraveled in his chest at this decision. He wondered if he would sleep at all, should the boy be sent with Lu Yuxin alone.

  “If,” he added, “and only if you are diligent when you see to the needful preparations before we leave.”

  Spared the indignation of begging, Ming-zongzhu bowed his head. “That I can do with my eyes covered, Huijin. I’ll be most diligent!”

  The answer he received was paper-dry.

  “I will give you some counsel there, and while we speak of counsel — Yue’er, how long will Mao Riguang remain here, you think?”

  Yin Yue raised a slow hand to the brim of his hat. Though his friend and sworn brother-to-be had not been forthright with his circumstances, he surmised that Mao Tainian was quite displeased with her younger brother. And who was Yin Yue to deny shelter to a friend in need?

  “Long enough to see us return triumphant, at least,” he tried. “He must see us return triumphant.”

  “Then,” said the ashen one with some care, “invite him to stay longer before we depart. I hoped you could speak to him.”

  Yin Yue peered at his servant’s face for approval and saw the dark, gray eyes lowered with careful thoughts.

  “He confides in you, does he not?” asked Huijin after a while. “His sister— Cn Mao has accepted more disciples this year than in the past five years. Word has it they admit disciples to strengthen their army.”

  Yin Yue crossed his arms over his chest, head titled.

  Unaware of the boy’s unuttered protest, the ashen one remained with his thoughts. Word also had it that Cn Mao had long desired to recim the nd they lost to Cn Ming in the old days, long before the older Yin brother inherited the cn. Jackals to carcass, said vile tongues.

  As if Cn Ming’s future was forfeit.

  “It would benefit us to know,” he hesitated, “what to anticipate, Yue’er. But we may speak more of this on the road.”

  “You don’t like him,” Yin Yue blurted.

  Huijin allowed himself a wan smile, his eyes veiled. What was there to like, wondered he. The way this Mao-gongzi smeared himself on Cn Ming’s fairest women? The way he would tell any man that his aunt thrice removed had a bosom friend whose maternal cousin has seen the pimple on the Empress Dowager’s royal behind? Should he be commended for the wastend made of the wine celr?

  Or, asked the ashen one’s hard eyes of the grass, should Mao-gongzi be uded for the way he calls me ‘gege’s little friend’?

  “Do you, Yue’er?” he returned. Before the boy could answer, he went on, “Mao-gongzi has grown into his most… difficult years. I remember him as a cheerful, vivacious boy who towed you around like a ragdoll. But he has changed, you know. He is no longer a child—,”

  Yin Yue took off his hat and revealed his solemn face. No mirth pyed on his mouth, no mischief hid in his eyes. Soft as moonlight did he decre his verdict:

  “I do like him, Huijin.”

  The gray eyes hardened for a breath, but a wearied shroud soon dulled them anew. “Either way, what I ask of you has no retion to likes or dislikes. I wish that you talk to him and learn what his sister means to do in the seasons to come. I will… teach you how to approach this while we stay in Caodi.”

  Yin had become Yang and Yang had become Yin, thought the boy as he bowed. The master bows to the will of the servant!

  “As you wish.”