They found an inn, a small one tucked away behind a corner into an alleyway. There were two available rooms, but each had big beds, and judging from the innkeeper's expression, it was not because those visiting were rich and valued bedspace.

"We will send blankets and brazier, but it won't be enough if you're shivering already," he said, voice flat. "Beds on inns here are big to share body heat."

"Oh."

"...We will take one room then," Song Hua said slowly. "Are there meals served here?"

"Mm. And alcohol for the night, if you want. It's spiced."

"Sure. One jar, thanks." This time, it was Wan Yu that answered. Song Hua then sorted the meals and room out, and the two went to their room to wait for the food.

Though by all measures it ought to be late afternoon, the sky was so overcast it looked like evening had set in. There weren’t many windows in the inn, but those few  were covered with thick cloth drapes, including the singular window in their room. Peeking out of it, Wan Yu saw that the sky had only gotten darker, so he turned. The place itself was small and a bit cramped, with a sloped ceiling as they were at the highest, second floor, and the area near the window almost grazed the top of Wan Yu’s head. Despite the size and shape of the room, though, the bed was nice. To one corner of the room, there was a table and short chairs, and an unlit iron lantern sat atop the wood.

Wan Yu walked over to it and lit it up, whistling when he saw that the fat in it had cooled into a solid. The room was by no means warm, but it was warmer than outside. Sitting down, Wan Yu turned to Song Hua. "Sorry, just really needed something to drink. I'll pay you back later."

"It's okay," Song Hua said. "I just don't drink much."

Wan Yu knew, in a vague way. Fragments appeared to fill in the blanks without him consciously trying to remember. Growing up, the doctor that raised him would only brew very strong medicinal liquor, and the memories of having to drink them semi regularly had turned him off the stuff. He would still drink wine, but rarely unprompted.

Actually, Wan Yu also didn't use to drink much. He would have them, but… It was only later in life did he indulge in inebriation.

The food was taking a while, so the two of them settled in. Song Hua sat down on the bed; the other chair would’ve left him mere inches from Wan Yu, knees bumping against each other, and they just weren’t at that level again yet. Wan Yu tried not to think about it.  Someone came over with blankets, then refilled and lit the brazier, leaving with a curt sentence about the food being ready in another while. Wan Yu petted the fur blanket.

“Warm,” he commented.”

"Mm. Ah, by the way… Rushu. Would you mind reading to me a compendium? It's of medicinal ingredients."

"Huh? Oh, sure, of course."

Song Hua, getting an affirmative, then went to rummage through his belongings for the book. As he looked for it, though, he mused, "At times, I wish I had studied medicine rather than followed my shifu as a cultivator. But she had always said that fate had a different plan for me."

Wan Yu stayed silent. He wished the alcohol was here already.

Song Hua did not carry much with him, but even so his system of organization and storage was precise, impeccable, and complex. There were nestles within nestles, but his tight control over that was how he could access his items without spending too much time probing to guess what item he was holding. This was especially crucial when books were involved; he took a while to find them, but when he did, it was often the correct one. A thought visited Wan Yu’s mind: Even today I still would just take out the entire book bag. I have no hope of navigating that one.

Of course, that was for a past lifetime. A wry smile visited his lips, but disappeared as quickly as it came. Song Hua, none the wiser, continued.

"My shifu taught me martial arts and cultivation. But truth be told, fighting does not bring me much joy, and it is a source of anxiety whenever I think about cultivators who fight from afar. I am nearly incapable of retaliating." He let out a wan smile. "Frankly, my intention recently was to make my way north."

Wan Yu raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it currently chaotic there?"

North was Jing country, which had been beset by outbreaks of various plagues for the past few years. From what Wan Yu could glean a few years back, the seemingly endless waves of disease had been the result of decades of incompetent rule demanding far too much of the people, while providing little help when disaster struck. Wan Yu had heard of an entire stretch along a southern riverbank being flooded, and due to slow reaction by the government, disease spread rampant. The flood affected food supplies in the region. The diseases killed a substantial number of people. The area became more and more vulnerable as support only trickled in after being sieved by the rich and powerful in the capital. And even then, the factions of political powers fought each other, sometimes sabotaging aid to the needy to sour relationships in the capital.

Though the politics of the jianghu here could be rather turbulent, the current dynasty, still not yet 200 years old, had not yet utterly succumbed to the black mold of greed.

"En. There's a sect there named Luxuriant Willow Pavilion. It's a Mohist sect built by doctors, so it focuses on healing and defensive arts. I think if there is somewhere I wouldn't mind settling down in, it'd be such a place."

"The name sounds familiar…"

It ought to be noteworthy, Luxuriant Willow Pavilion. Mohism was a philosophy that did not survive the changing political landscape of many centuries ago, so it was all the more surprising that it did so within the jianghu of all places. There really was something of a clash between it and the concept of cultivation; one was a pragmatic, utilitarian worldview focused on value to society and the other was a striving for personal immortality. Of course, even discounting the passage of time, the Mohism of Luxuriant Willow Pavilion was not purely that of Mozi. Still, the jianghu was made up of mostly Daoist adherents, several Buddhist temples, the occasional sects worshiping local gods such as Frozen Dragon Sect, and one Mohist Luxuriant Willow Pavilion.

Before he could ponder it more, though, food arrived.

It was a fare Wan Yu was starting to recognize, though he understood that the dishes he'd had the chance to eat were versions served to the well-to-do. In this inn, the dishes had more of the tubular roots, hardier meats and very little fresh greens. Wan Yu peered at them to determine what was inside; Song Hua didn't eat certain foods. The man came back afterwards with the wine, as well as things to heat it up, and finally they were left alone.

Song Hua took his first sip of the soup and found himself leaning back a bit. "Very rich."

"Not much greens either, sorry," Wan Yu said as he clipped more of the vegetables for him. "You see how it is out there. Hardly a place to grow them. But I mean, new foods to try, no?"

"It's not bad," Song Hua slowly said. He took another thoughtful sip. "Just rather heavy. A lot more fat than I am used to."

Wan Yu laughed lowly as an answer. They ate, and warmth started to creep back up their limbs, its weight comfortable against their abdomen.

The temperature dropped as the sun started to set properly, plunging this mountain further into an icy grip. Winds started howling outside, its voice low yet swift as it wove around the buildings and in between cracks. Wan Yu told Song Hua, "Get under the covers. After we get through the compendium, we might as well catch up on rest."

And so they did. The fur blanket settled heavy on them. Wan Yu, still sitting up, started reading through the compendium from the chapter Song Hua instructed: Chapter two, where herbs and plants were listed in order of their properties.

"After that, please read me the second section of chapter four, the animal body parts."

Wan Yu’s voice was not particularly special, but its warmth came from within. He was an expressive person, and it bled in the way he spoke. He read the entries in a steady and patient tone, and the usually bright or wry voice softened into something soothing, like a drizzle.

Without realizing it, Song Hua relaxed. Without realizing it, Wan Yu had read through the whole of chapter four, pausing only when he realized he was two pages into chapter five.

"I…" Song Hua broke the silence.

"Hmm?" Wan Yu closed the book, though he still kept his fingers as bookmarks on the relevant pages. The moment broken, he also straightened up a bit when Song Hua did, as if shaking off sleepiness.

"If I may be honest, I'm simply shocked that the madame could afford Xiao Jing's medications for so long. Such is the dedication of a mother, I suppose…"

Song Hua looked conflicted, the furrow between his brows visible despite his blindfold obscuring it in part. Though the truth of that was evident back in Heiwu, perhaps what Wan Yu had read him had proved another facet of this truth.

Wan Yu's expression turned wistful. "Yeah. It's just… tragic that she's… being used. A part of me wants to tell her, but something tells me it'll just break her."

"But we must," Song Hua said quietly. "If we don't, beyond averting our gaze from evil, the consequences extend far beyond death."

After a moment for the words to settle, Wan Yu sighed. "You're right. It's just a matter of how to break it to her. Approach it wrong and… the damage will be worse."

They fell silent. Wan Yu, sighing once more, closed the book and handed it back to Song Hua.

"It's better to think about it tomorrow, after some rest. It's been a long day today."

They mentioned it being a long day twice now. It felt like it wouldn’t be the last.

____

 

"Ming-shijie, you're really back."

"Mm."

Moonlight was bright tonight, illuminating one of the many practice arenas within Vermilion Sun Sect's premises. The weather was warm, as it always was; the sun's heat was still radiating from the stone floor underneath too. Yun Zisu walked barefoot towards the other person just now approaching the fields— the one she'd called Shijie, Ming Xuemei.

“Zisu is glad you’re back safe. Are you here for practice?”

That was only a formality. Ming Xuemei, the second disciple of Nong Furong, was an elusive figure. She showed up here right now because she’d agreed to spar with Yun Zisu, after Yun Zisu had asked Da-shijie to ask her.

After spending most of the afternoon practicing, Yun Zisu was sweaty and pleasantly sore, but not enough to pass up guidance from her second shijie. Vermilion Sun Sect was built by a swordsman of a cultivator, but after generations, many of its members no longer focused on cultivation with the sword. Nong Furong was among them; she cultivated herself through music.

"I heard from Shijie," Ming Xuemei said offhandedly, pulling her sword from its sheath. "I didn't expect you to press Shifu that much. Good for you, I suppose. Tian-shimei didn't deserve any of this, but it might not be too bad outside."

Yun Zisu was left speechless.

There were still glimmers of conversation in the distance, but here was the solitary practice and sparring arena; those around weren't here to spectate or gossip, especially at this hour. Ming Xuemei showing up at this hour might have a point.

"Shijie…?"

Ming Xuemei looked at her, then flashed the faintest of smiles. The alienation in her eyes, present for as long as Yun Zisu could remember, looked especially cold today. "Yun-shimei, in life, there are times when the truth must lower its head in the face of maintaining the dignity of your shifu and sect. Haven't you heard of that?"

Yun Zisu stared back, eyebrows knitted.

Ming Xuemei drew her sword up in a perfect arc, a characteristic positioning move of the Vermilion Sun Sect. Arcs, circles, bursts of fire, overwhelming power. The sect's inspiration was no less than the golden crow itself, yet Ming Xuemei moved with such cold precision it looked as if she'd been enlightened by the moon instead. As she held up her sword, upright and pointed at the sky, she said, "But if you wish to defend the truth instead, then you know who you'll anger."

"Shijie, are you angry at me?" But even as she spoke, Yun Zisu moved into position too. Ming Xuemei's stance was a clear sign she intended to open with Vermilion Sun Sect's inner methods: Fusang's Five Branches. Unlike the more general set Yun Zisu practiced and taught Tian Ling, the Thousand Sunset Clouds Gold, this one was only taught after an inner gate disciple reached a certain milestone. Ming Xuemei was in her late twenties, but she had been practicing this method at age 18, ten years ago. She had been granted permission to learn after winning a duel against an esteemed, young direct disciple from Fire and Water Sect. That kind of thing was a good reason to be proud— Vermilion Sun Sect had always wanted full recognition of its capabilities by the older, more established wulin sects.

And yet the Ming-shijie Yun Zisu knew had always been isolated, stagnant, in the background. The so-called most-promising seedling of Nong Furong had wilted, and had been nurtured instead by a roster of other elders. This was the narrative whispered within the sect; not entirely true, Yun Zisu disagreed with parts of it, but it was hard to argue that Ming Xuemei hadn't only been sidelined by Nong Furong, but even actively avoided.

Ming-shijie often steered clear of her. There were some moments where Yun Zisu wondered, is she jealous of me? But those thoughts, the basis of it… were uncomfortable. Yun Zisu never liked thinking about it, for each and every one of her fellow sisters. The truth was, even though they had all been raised together, they weren't like a small sect where people could be like family. Ultimately they were dependent on only themselves in matters of winning resources, unless they could win the favor of the more powerful elders. Those old hearts had limited rooms and stringent requirements, and were conditional.

But now Yun Zisu wondered if Ming Xuemei avoided her because yes, Nong Furong favored her, but for a different reason than jealousy.

"I'm not," Ming Xuemei said. Without wasting another breath, she swung down her blade in yet another arc, this time advancing with the move. Yun Zisu held her sword forward, ready to deflect, because the next fraction of a second Ming Xuemei's blade flicked upwards and breached far too close, the movement akin to a seabird diving swiftly into the water and emerging with its prey. A spike of fear shot through Yun Zisu, but she forced that instinct down to instead redirect the thrust off to the side.

Were it Wan Yu fighting, he would've been able to retreat to reconsider, flowing around Ming Xuemei's moves to observe the patterns first. But that was because his fighting style was built around his element of water—  it afforded him enough flexibility that he could conserve his energy before pressing onto the enemy as the battle went on. A characteristic of Vermilion Sun Sect style was its confidence and strength; to fully draw out its power one must not falter, for its true defense lay in its offense.

Yun Zisu must not flinch. If she flinched and stepped back, Ming Xuemei's Fusang's Five Branches would only force her to concede and concede, until there was no more ground behind her.

She could not afford to be so weak-willed anymore. Fire coursed in her divine veins, burning ever brighter with the fuel of wood; they always did say to play to one's nature.

Lips thinning, Yun Zisu met Ming Xuemei halfway.

Blades sung.

They traded move after move. After a dozen or two, Yun Zisu visibly lagged to meet Ming Xuemei's next. Her shijie did the customary thing and swung her sword downwards and to the side, ending the round.

"Good," she said. "Regulate your breaths. Another round."

In the end, they did three in total. It was said that a genius could intuit a method after fighting against it once, reconstructing the heart of the moves by observation and analysis of its counter. Yun Zisu was no such genius, but after three attempts, the moves had slowly revealed itself in her head.

"That's it. I'll see you when we leave."

Still panting, Yun Zisu watched Ming Xuemei leave.

It had occurred to her then that her martial sisters were starting to show the sharper edges of themselves— Chen Qianqian was more pointed now, and Ming Xuemei spoke. In a sense, it felt like a reveal, an acknowledgement that the farce could not hold.

But the question that haunted Yun Zisu the most was:

What had Tian Ling's unfair punishment reveal about Yun Zisu herself?

____

 

Quan Su woke up in the middle of the night.

Nature was calling. In her attempt to not spend as much time with the Sun madame, she'd cited going to bed early, and in doing so skipped a routine or two. But as she sat up in the empty room, still holding traces of its previous other inhabitants, all she could think of was—

She needed to go to the bathroom.

Quan Su had become good at not drinking too much water before bed, and to take care of business beforehand— she often slept in the same bed as Wan Yu, and climbing over him was a hassle. But now that he wasn’t there, she didn’t have that part of the trouble, but another thing came troubling her anyway.

She didn’t feel safe walking around outside.

This was a small and sleepy town, and she understood that it was just a feeling, but…

But in the end, it wasn’t a choice anymore. And so, feeling bone-weary and tense, she got out of bed and tiptoed her way out. Should she use a lamp? She probably should, but getting it… She frowned. Taking a glance outside, she noted that it actually wasn’t that late. Would someone still be prone to waking up if she walked past?

Nevermind. She was going to do this as stealthily as she could. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had worse visibility. She only had one functioning eye, for heaven’s sake.

Being silent was not a problem for her. She had ample experience, and soon slipped out of the room without as much as a creak, part of the shadows. The moon peered down, but there were wisps of clouds obscuring it like scraps of a veil, saving her the extra effort. There were only evening insects and birds now, the rustles of distant wildlife out on a hunt— and then Quan Su froze.

“Aah,” a woman breathily… made a noise. It was faint and came from a room further down, but Quan Su really didn’t want to think about it. Oh, no. What is this…

“Shh,” a man said in amusement. “Those two cultivators are away, but you wouldn’t want to wake Xiao Jing up, would you.”

The voice was familiar. In fact, she had heard it earlier today.

The… weird tone in the woman— who else but— was snuffed out like a candle. “Oh, why must you bring up… Ah, no matter. Sorry. Now I’m back to worrying… They’re taking so long. The girl doesn’t know anything, too. At this rate, Jingjing is going to be…”

Now tiredness crept into the man’s voice, too. “I understand that you’re worried, but you also need rest. You’re already working so hard during the day, worrying through the entire night won’t make those two come back any faster. But they’ll definitely come back. They left the girl here, after all.”

Quan Su felt a shudder wrestle control from her very being.

“I know,” the woman said, voice almost a whine. “I’m not worried about that. It’s just, the medicine is running out…”

“I would help you buy it if I had the means, you know I would.” He sounded both tired and coaxing. “Give me a few days. Really, a few days.”

“A few days…”

“Those medicines really aren’t cheap. And, ah, you know… the wife is starting to kick up a fuss. Just a couple days. I don’t want her to bang on your door and cause a scene, you know.”

Quan Su really couldn’t handle more than this. A horror was setting in her gut, heavy and nauseating. Eyes darting, she started to take steps back, stilling when her heel thudded too hard against the floor. But the two continued their conversation, as if they didn’t hear anything. Swallowing, she turned around and rushed back to the bedroom, almost slamming the door shut. She bit back a yelp when she cushioned it last minute with her hand, the sharp pain still more bearable than— being outside. Being there.

She wanted to cry, but she really didn’t know why.

Even the urge to go to the bathroom was gone, overwhelmed by the gnawing pit in her stomach. There was so much to the conversation that terrified her, but at the same time, it seemed like nothing when she rewound it in her head. What could she even tell Wan Yu? She overheard… a conversation. Even the contents weren’t anything dangerous. She couldn’t pinpoint what the problem was, other than she overheard an affair.

It was an affair. It was just an affair.

Quan Su climbed back into the bed, wrapping the blanket over her shoulders as she curled up in a prone position. After a few minutes had passed and she didn’t feel any better, she rummaged for the cloak she’d worn when they climbed Slumbering Dragon Mountain. The weight helped. But more than that, tugging it over her head did.

She didn’t know how much time had passed. But once she finally had the strength to uncurl and let some air in, dispersing the built-up stale, stagnant heat, she reached for the bag of books and stationery Wan Yu had given her. There was a stack of talisman paper he’d prepared, few as the sheets were, where on one side he’d scribbled something and imbued it with his spiritual power. The other side was blank.

If you have problems, just use these.

Though her breath was still shaky, her handwriting was upright despite all the awkward angles.

When are you coming back?