Unconscious, I was adrift in a cold, grey dream. Spikes of pain, sharp and cruel, poked through the haze, reminders of a battle I could no longer recall. I was trapped, a ghost in my own broken body, unable to awaken. Then, a warmth spread through me. It was a gentle, flowing stream that started in my right arm and flowed into my core, a current of impossible heat against the frozen landscape of my pain. The piercing, poisoned fire in my meridians was driven back, corralled towards my dāntián like streams of lava being cooled and soothed by warm, life-giving water.

  Some time later, I awoke. The first thing I saw was the flickering light of a small fire dancing on the rough stone ceiling of a cave. The air was cold, and my clothes were still damp against my skin. Outside the cave's mouth, a curtain of white snow fell in silent, heavy flakes. My gaze drifted downward, to the source of the warmth that still pulsed gently through me. The girl in the green dress sat cross-legged before me, her eyes closed in concentration, her slender hand pressed against the meridians in my forearm and dāntián.

  Her hands were surprisingly rough.

  I realized then that she had been pouring her own qi, into me, healing my internal injuries, containing the poison. The poison wasn't gone, just contained and I could feel it like an ominous ball in my abdomen.

  A flood of profound, overwhelming gratitude rushed into my mind.

  We were in a cave, our clothing still wet. A small, crackling fire fought back the winter chill. Seeing me awake, her eyes met mine and a faint blush crept up her neck, and she quickly but gently pushed my arm away, setting it down on the stone floor that had been laid beneath me.

  Then she centered herself and closed her eyes. In moments her breathing evened out and I realized she was continuing to cultivate, no doubt to replenish the reserves of energy she had expended in my aid. I tried to pull myself up, to sit, but my limbs felt as if they were made of lead. They refused to obey. I took a breath, trying to channel my own qi to force them into motion, but a searing pain erupted from my dāntián, like a liquid knife threatening to burst our from my reservoir and I stopped with a choked gasp, beads of cold sweat erupting on my forehead.

  The spike receded back into my dāntián.

  Across from me, steam slowly began to rise from the top of the girl's head, a sign of deep and powerful cultivation. I shuddered as the thought of its power called forth unsettling memories I chose not to bring into focus.

  So instead, I took a moment to distract myself and truly take her in, unable to shake the impression of the maiden who had descended from the heavens to save me.

  She was a creature of contradictions. Shoeless, no doubt from her attempt to swim while carrying me through the river, but otherwise dressed in fine silks. A warrior in a delicate green dress ill-suited to the winter weather.

  Her features were surprisingly soft but lacking the suppleness so many women aspired to. She appeared about my age or perhaps a few years younger. She had her hair up in the manner of an unwed woman, which came as a bit of a surprise but then again the wealthy or powerful often had the luxury of delaying marriage until someone suitable was found.

  The way her silk dress clung to her arms suggested muscle underneath and I thought it suited her better than that plump beauty standard.

  She must have been quite tall as seated she was not too much shorter than I was. A sword lay beside her sheathed in a simple scabbard.

  That should have come as a shock; I would assume she knew me, or trusted a stranger to not go for the blade.

  She looked at once vulnerable and powerful, calm and troubled, put together and disheveled. I found myself lost in her visage for what must have been a long time.

  After some time, she took a deep breath and her eyes snapped open. The warmth of her cultivation was gone, replaced by a coldness so profound it sent a shiver down my spine as her eyes settled on me. I couldn’t tell if the look she gave me was one of hatred, but the sheer intensity of it roused me to action.

  Ignoring the chorus of agony from my bruised and battered body, I managed to raise myself to my knees. I probably imagined the flash of concern in her eyes as I moved, though her expression remained as cold as the stone floor. I didn’t mind. I probably deserved far more than a cold demeanor from anyone from LuoYang.

  I could not stand, but I managed to perform a full kowtow, lowering myself until my forehead touched the ground with a soft, dull thud. I realized I'd been apologizing a lot as of late.

  “Thank you for saving this unworthy one, ēngōng,” I said, my voice hoarse. I did what I could to insert sincerity and admiration in my tone for my savior.

  There was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside. I stayed there, forehead pressed to the cold stone, a little confused as to why she wasn’t saying anything. I heard her ask, her voice a quiet, almost hesitant whisper.

  “Why… were you killing your own soldiers?”

  With that there was no mystery she knew my identity.

  She had seen me fight. She had seen me on the bridge, the general at the head of the army that had sacked her city and destroyed her world.

  I did not lift my head, feeling myself utterly unworthy to face her. “Because they had become a scourge,” I confessed to the floor, the words tearing from me in a raw, ragged torrent. “And the fault was mine. My father… my father was killed in the battle for Luoyang.” I looked for a reaction from her without raising my head and I could see her hands tighten into fists on her lap. “I was blinded by vengeance, and in that blindness, I betrayed the very ideals that he, and I, had once held so dear.” I was sincere and transparent; I held nothing back. She deserved to know the whole, ugly truth, even if she chose to take my head for it. I would have understood.

  “Why would you do it,” she asked, her voice still quiet, “knowing that calamity would befall you when they turned on you?”

  I recounted the whole sorry tale. How we’d thought ourselves heroes traveling down from the south, how our camp burned in the dead of the night to flames from the sky. How we had laid siege and how we had scaled the walls in the dead of night. How the Sun Xiaozhe had thrown open the gates for us. How I had chased a man on horseback, a man I thought was the architect of my father’s death, only to find it was Chen Huarong. How in his final moments he had opened my eyes to the horror of what my own men were doing to the people of Luoyang.

  “It mattered naught what happened to me anymore,” I finished, “Nor how many soldiers I killed. All that mattered was how many of the civilians would be able to run away.”

  There was another long pause. I could faintly hear the soft patter of water that must have been melting snow.

  “Rise, General Cui,” she said at last.

  I lifted my head. Her big, almond-shaped eyes were red and they glistened in the firelight, catching the flames like captured stars. How many tears must have been shed in the last day? What terrible fate had befallen her family that she was now here, alone, in a cave in the middle of winter?

  I knew at that moment I had to make things right. That a simple death in battle would have been a premature and selfish escape from the debt I now owed.

  “Did… Inspector Chen say anything?” she asked, her voice small. She turned her head, facing away from me toward the flickering fire.

  I recounted my conversation with him on the bridge, the words feeling like stones in my mouth. I told her how he spoke of the price of order, of the duty of a soldier to bleed so that a scholar could write his poetry in peace. I told her his final, damning words, that my army had become a beast, and that he was doing what he could to stop it from reaching the next village. As I spoke, I caught sight of a single, silent teardrop that escaped her eye, falling with a soft patter to the already damp cave floor.

  “Did you

  ... know him?” I asked hesitantly, a knot of worry tightening in my chest.

  She nodded, more tears now streaming from her eyes and falling to the floor as she turned to face away from me.

  And there it was... a debt that could never be repaid. A wrong I could never right.

  I could only seek to change the subject, to pull her away from the abyss of her grief.

  I quickly asked, the words tumbling out in a rush, “How did you save me? And where did you learn that immense martial skill you used to do so?”

  It worked, a little. She took a shuddering breath, composing herself before she graced me with answer.

  “My mother, before she passed away, made sure I learned to swim,” she said, her voice still thick with sorrow. “I grew up in Luoyang, so I know the waterways. When the bridge fell, I simply let the river carry me away from the chaos.” She paused, trailing off. “I was taught my martial arts by my master…”

  “Tiān Hé Dàfǎ?” I asked, remembering the Abbot’s shocked outburst.

  She shook her head. The movement was slow, her confusion seeming to chase away the last of the sadness on her face. “I don’t know. My master never told me the story or the name of the Qigong she taught me.” She looked down at her own hands.

  “It’s not the first time someone has recognized it,” she muttered, more to herself than to me.

  She turned, and the tears had been wiped from her face by the sleeve of her simple green dress. Her gaze fell to my hand. “What is that?” she asked.

  I looked down, and realized I had been clutching the small wooden toy I had retrieved from the bridge, clutching it so tightly that its sharp corners had left three shallow, bloody cuts in my palm. It was my turn to be silent.

  “Where will you go next?” I asked her, my voice quiet. “I could… I could escort you to the warmer south. You would be taken care of there.”

  “Wherever An Lushan will be,” she said, and my eyes snapped back up to look at her. The grief was gone, replaced by a fire of cold, absolute determination. “To kill the traitor An Lushan and end this suffering.”

  Given what I'd seen I was not surprised to hear the request. I thought I would feel more conflicted at those words, a flicker of my old loyalty, but there was nothing. Only a weary acceptance. “I…” I didn’t know what to say. “I can take you to him,” I finally managed. “And… gain you a chance.” I knew this was not the time to make demands, but I felt I had to ask anyway. “All that I ask is that you remain hidden until I have tried to tell him of what his armies are doing. That he has the authority to stop them from deviating from his vision. You must remain hidden until I have tried.”

  To my surprise, she gave a single, sharp nod and muttered, “Fine.”

  Then, a low growl echoed in the quiet of the cave. Her stomach. A faint blush crept back up her neck, and she looked away, embarrassed.

  I cracked a smile, the first genuine one I could remember. I reached into one of the many pockets of my campaign tunic and found my oil-paper-wrapped pouch of dried food and a small, flat metal plate. I was, after all, a seasoned soldier. We melted some snow over the fire in the plate and chewed on army rations: strips of dried meat, hard flatbread, and a few sweet, dried persimmons. We ate in a new, slightly more comfortable silence until I started feeling utterly exhausted once more.

  I tossed her my heavy woolen overcoat, which was now mostly dry from the fire’s heat. “It’s too warm in here for me to sleep,” I claimed as she caught the coat, a perplexed look on her face.

  I didn’t wait to see if she used it. I settled myself down on the other side of the fire, my back against the rough cave wall. For a soldier, a smooth stone floor was as good a place to sleep as any, and it was warm enough for me.

  And instantly, I was sound asleep.