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A-Qing felt a stark shift in the room, like a sudden ill wind had blown through, sweeping away the companionable quiet when they should have been settling into their evening routine.
“Repeat yourself,” Daozhang said, with a dangerous edge to his voice. A-Qing had never heard Daozhang sound so cold.
She knew before she turned that it had to be that ruffian’s fault, and there he was, his smile showing too many teeth. “Daozhang. You wouldn’t forget me, would you?” His voice was pitched higher than normal.
A-Qing squeezed her bamboo stick so hard that her knuckles ached, trying to figure out what had happened between the two men on opposite sides of the table. Daozhang had been his usual self, laughing and carefree, when A-Qing stood to grab three bowls for their supper.
A-Qing took a few slow steps toward the back of the hall, putting the table and Daozhang between herself and that unsettling grin. It might be nothing — a misunderstanding or a disagreement — but there was no question who A-Qing trusted more if this turned into a fight.
Daozhang finally broke the silence with two words: “Xue Yang?”
“The one and only. Are you sure you’re only missing your eyes? You weren’t always this slow to figure things out.” Xue Yang laughed. Daozhang couldn’t see his red-rimmed eyes, but A-Qing thought it was an odd detail, out of place with the rest. “Or was my acting clever enough to fool the high and mighty Xiao Xingchen?”
A-Qing saw the moment Daozhang reached for his sword, the moment he remembered setting it aside with his horsetail whisk before he settled into his usual chair, the moment his hand relaxed instead of summoning Shuanghua from its sheath.
Xue Yang’s eyes followed the motion; his expression went flat and still. Adrenaline flooded A-Qing’s limbs, raising the fine hairs along her body, and she was unable to shake the creeping feeling that she needed to leave, even if it meant fighting her way out.
“Relax, Daozhang, I’m only here to say goodbye and offer some advice. You really should ask who you’re helping next time. It’s horseshit to claim that it doesn’t matter. Case in point,” he said, thumping his chest.
Before Daozhang changed his mind, and before A-Qing could act on the impulse to leap for a weapon or throw a bowl at his head — even if it meant giving away her secret — Xue Yang stood and crossed the room in a few quick strides.
“Well, it’s been fun,” Xue Yang said, toneless. “Goodbye, Daozhang, A-Qing. If we’re lucky, this will be the last time we cross paths.”
He turned and disappeared into the late evening gloom.
It was a long time before A-Qing stopped shaking, and even longer before Daozhang looked up from the table, bandages soaked red.
After a week of jumping at shadows and restless looks over her shoulder, A-Qing accepted that she and Daozhang were once more a pair, and their third housemate wasn't coming back.
Relief was a welcome feeling. A-Qing's gut instinct — that Xue Yang was a bad man and someone to be wary of — had been right all along, even if she’d grown used to having him around in their years together. Though Daozhang wouldn’t talk about how they knew each other, it had to be something bad for the good-natured Daozhang to sound so unlike himself, to threaten to draw his sword on a living person.
That day troubled her thoughts like a rock in her shoe whenever she tried to make sense of all its mismatched details. Why then?
The day had been uneventful but pleasant. The three of them had gone into town together for fresh vegetables and fruit, walking the familiar road, teasing and laughing as always.
As always, Daozhang had purchased a small pouch of candy.
As always, he’d tucked one piece into A-Qing’s hand, and another into Xue Yang’s, for the journey home.
Xue Yang had stopped on the road, staring at the candy in his palm like it was somehow different from the other hundreds of candies from Daozhang. A-Qing would have teased him mercilessly most days, poking and prodding until their argument grew rowdy enough to draw Daozhang's attention, but she'd been too focused on rolling her own candy around between her tongue and cheek, and thought nothing else of it.
There had been little for Xue Yang to take along, only his sword and a few roughspun robes, which he must have packed before confronting Daozhang.
Their food was freshly restocked and untouched; Xue Yang had haggled for all of it on their behalf, but hadn’t taken any when he left.
The atmosphere inside the charitable mortuary was stagnant, as one would expect of a coffin house, though it remained physically the same: no laughter, no chatter, no intentional sounds to differentiate the living from the dead.
Daozhang worried her most of all, spending more time than usual in meditation, sustained by his cultivation core while he turned his focus inward.
Daozhang was powerful, and he was probably fine, but by the third week A-Qing grew antsy enough to interrupt.
“Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about him?”
A-Qing forced a bowl of congee into Daozhang’s hands, nudging it when he still refused to eat. His head dipped in acknowledgement.
She spat in the dirt at her feet. “Daozhang, he’s long gone, and good riddance.”
“I wish it were that simple. Xue Yang and I have been tangled together for years,” Daozhang explained. Finally he took a bite, and they ate in silence, weighed down by their thoughts.
When the bowl was empty, Daozhang cleared his throat. “I have a story to tell you, A-Qing.”
It was not what A-Qing would call a story.
Picture yourself as a young child who has only ever known a harsh life on the streets, trampled down by the unkindness of others. The three of us are not strangers to this cruel reality. We cannot choose our circumstances.
Someone offers you a hand out of poverty and deprivation, thus deciding your path.
One path follows a benevolent shifu who offers to raise you beyond your lowly birth. You are limited only by your own efforts and inner potential. You may leave at any time, but you may not return to the mountain once you go.
The other offers a form of power that is drawn from without and requires no innate spiritual ability. You are an angry child turned bitter adult; what happens when one is handed unlimited power and resources after living a life of cruelty and scorn with no recourse? What happens when your worst impulses are encouraged for someone else’s gain?
A-Qing mulled this over against what she knew about Xue Yang. The sweet-loving child from his story, the laughing youth whose violence lurked just under his skin, pulsing along with his lifeblood.
“Was he a cultivator like you? Xue Yang? I figured he must be because you let him go on night hunts, but he seemed… different from Daozhang.” The name felt awkward in her mouth after not knowing it for so long.
“That is,” Daozhang began, trailing into silence for a long time. “That’s a complicated question, A-Qing. He was a guest disciple under the Jin clan of Lanling, but the form of cultivation he practiced was not cultivation in the traditional sense, no.”
“Good. There’s no way I was going to call him Daozhang too.”
If nothing else, this earned her the first smile she’d seen from Xiao Xingchen in weeks. “Please don’t.” Daozhang laughed, even if his laughter was forced, but it was an echo that made the silence of the charitable mortuary ring louder afterward.
A-Qing was happy to leave Yi city and its funereal mist, and while the thought of the charitable mortuary brought an ache to her chest for weeks after, she kept those feelings to herself. The coffin house had been home for far longer than A-Qing could remember staying in any other place; it had been nice while it lasted, but it was time to move on.
As they traveled further into the mountains, through river valleys and remote villages in the foothills, on paths often no wider than cattle trails, A-Qing listened carefully whenever they encountered groups of people.
Daozhang’s white robes and sword drew attention wherever they went. Rogue cultivators weren’t uncommon, especially this far from the major sects, but they stood out enough that the common folk noticed and talked.
It wasn’t enough to listen for rumours of any cultivator in the area. Xue Yang could pass himself off as a charming youth, handsome and smiling, with his vicious black sword wrapped in cloth. A-Qing’s best leads always came from village markets; the odds were good that anyone selling sweets would take notice of a cultivator with one gloved hand.
A-Qing adjusted their course when they wandered for too long without a lead.
Daozhang would object if she told him the truth. He preferred to drift where his skills were needed, guided by rumours and signs of trouble, flowing from one night hunt to the next rather than seeking a particular destination.
A-Qing had never been the type to sit down and take life as it came, though, and she could tell that Xue Yang still troubled his thoughts.
They wandered this way for many weeks, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about themselves. Daozhang spoke fondly of people A-Qing had never met and a world she only knew from stories — his shifu and martial siblings, interesting cultivators he’d encountered in the great sects, a man who’d once journeyed at Daozhang’s side and shared his ideals — and he seemed to enjoy hearing about A-Qing’s childhood antics, scrubbed clean of unsavoury details.
Many subsisted through barter and trade in these remote villages, so when money was short, Daozhang’s services were repaid in food, information, or a sheltered place to rest. All three on a good day.
A-Qing didn’t mind. Sleeping under the lean-to where the local village chief housed his chickens, with makeshift straw mats and spare robes for blankets, they talked into the night as they often did.
“Daozhang, why did you leave your teacher’s mountain?”
A-Qing was long past the ideal age to develop a strong spiritual core, as Daozhang explained, but she absorbed everything she could learn about Daozhang's own cultivation practice, his philosophies and dreams, in the hope that she wasn't a lost cause. Daozhang had been lifted from the streets by his own teacher. What would it be like to live in that world?
“A difference in views. Our disagreement, at its heart, was this: what good is immortality and enlightenment for one’s own sake? There is so much misery in this world below the sacred mountain; if shifu’s teachings can ease that suffering, if those ideals can be taught and shared, I would rather walk among the people than walk above the clouds.”
It sounded like a worthwhile dream to A-Qing, even if it was dreamt in a draughty old shed that smelled of straw and bird droppings, with an audience of one girl and a dozen sleeping hens.
They wandered for several months — a circuitous route that led them on night hunts and missions while pushing westward — before A-Qing spotted a familiar silhouette.
A-Qing slipped away while Daozhang sorted out their lodgings, with a white lie about searching the local market for fresh fruit, and began the tedious process of searching for someone in a crowd while giving the impression that she couldn't see. For every person who stopped there were ten more who rushed on without sparing A-Qing more than a glance. A young woman with a small child balanced on her hip eventually led A-Qing to a tavern, tucked into an alleyway off the main street, where the owner was more likely than most to know about anyone passing through.
A-Qing carefully entered the tavern, tapping her way to the bar with her bamboo stick while the bar patrons jostled and pointed.
“May I speak with the owner?” A-Qing flicked her wrist to smack the ankle of a leering old man with her walking stick, feigning innocence when the man cursed. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Please take pity on this unfortunate one. Can you tell me where to find the owner?”
Xue Yang’s eyes only left her long enough to count out a handful of coins.
He looked like he’d stepped right out of A-Qing’s memories of Yi city. Dressed in the same clothes under a heavy outer cloak, hair a bit shaggy and unkempt, but otherwise the same little punk.
“Please have mercy. I’m searching for someone who may have traveled this way,” A-Qing said, using the simpering tone that usually worked on old drunk farts like these.
“Sure, I might’a seen someone,” one patron grumbled, waving a hand in front of A-Qing’s eyes that she pretended not to see. It was hard to bite her tongue.
Xue Yang’s steps hesitated.
Perfect. Xue Yang had intervened on behalf of Daozhang and A-Qing countless times against shitheads like these, whether to threaten them into better behaviour or haggle on their behalf. It would make things easier if he stepped in now, and even if he walked away, at least A-Qing knew they were on the right track.
“Do you get many visitors out this way, daye? I’m looking for a young man—”
The man who’d waved his hand in front of A-Qing’s eyes had the nerve to lean further into her space, wafting sour breath directly over her face. You disgusting pig, A-Qing raged to herself, trying not to wrinkle her nose. Already drunk at this hour! It would serve you right if I puked on your lap!
“Hold on, hold on. If I tell you, what’s in it for me?”
“You answer her question and you’ll get to keep your face intact,” Xue Yang cut in, drawing the attention of everyone seated at the bar. “It’s a good deal, daye. You’re ugly enough without a broken nose.”
“You,” A-Qing said, faking surprise.
A-Qing saw what these cowards saw: Xue Yang was smiling and unbothered despite the ugly looks directed his way, and the hilt of a sword was clearly visible over his arm. The men returned to their drinks and hunched their shoulders.
“A-Qing still finds trouble wherever she goes,” Xue Yang teased, turning back toward the door.
A-Qing followed him out of the tavern, into the gathering fog, watching Xue Yang scowl toward the busy main street while he couldn’t see her. She hadn’t planned what to say once she found him.
“How are you and Daozhang managing, Blindie? I figured you would've headed east or south from Yi city; this is difficult terrain.”
“Hey! Who are you calling Blindie! I know you’re not talking to me like that.” A-Qing stomped her foot.
Xue Yang laughed. “Touchy! Actually, I think I know why you’re here. Heard a rumour that some nasty creatures have been terrorizing the only good road through the mountains to the north, and the locals have been begging anyone who'll travel this far out of the way to deal with it. Is Daozhang here for a night hunt?"
“Daozhang’s searching for you,” A-Qing said, lying through her teeth, turning her face in Xue Yang’s direction while looking just off the mark over his shoulder. “Ugh, you’re a real pain in the ass to track down, you know?”
Xue Yang’s stormy expression cleared into disbelief, like a break in the clouds, only to return stronger than before.
“All right, you found me. Take me to Daozhang,” he said, a thin veneer of calm over something savage and impatient.
Daozhang’s head shifted toward the doorway of their rented room, drawn by the sound of two pairs of footsteps. “A-Qing?”
Xue Yang cut in before she could explain. “Planning to chase me across three provinces again, Xingchen-ge? Thought I might get farther away this time, now that you’re down a pair of eyes and your friend.”
Daozhang froze.
A-Qing wondered, not for the first time, if she’d been wrong to pursue this shadow and lead him back to their doorstep. Xue Yang crouched on the balls of his feet, elbows balanced on his knees, like an urchin scoping out a busy street from the mouth of an alleyway, ready to stand up and bolt toward an opportunity or away from a threat. His hand was poised to draw his sword. “Figured you’d want to finish what you started.”
Daozhang frowned. “Finish what I started? What do you—”
“Daozhang didn’t know anything about this,” A-Qing interrupted. “It was me. I asked about you every time we reached a new town.”
Xue Yang’s stare flicked from A-Qing to Daozhang and back again. “Did A-Qing miss me? How sweet. You didn’t have to lie.”
“Who would miss you, you rotten egg! Besides, I didn’t do it for you. You left without explaining yourself after Daozhang was so good to you. The least you can do is answer his questions.”
Daozhang was quiet while they bickered, falling easily into old habits, but he cut through the noise without raising his voice when he eventually spoke. “Why?”
It took a while before Xue Yang huffed and finally lowered his hand from his sword pommel. “Why what? Daozhang will have to be more specific.”
Daozhang considered for a long time, until A-Qing felt restless enough to crawl out of her own skin, wondering why he’d spoken up just to make them wait. To be fair, though, she'd hoped to give him more time to prepare. “You could have left Yi city at any point without identifying yourself. If you wanted revenge, you had ample opportunity. You stayed with us for years. To what end?”
“That’s what’s got you all twisted? I wanted you to know exactly who you helped. You should have seen the look on your face when you said my name.” Xue Yang grinned, like anything about that night had been funny.
“I want to understand. Why did you leave?”
“Daozhang’s kindness wasn’t meant for me,” Xue Yang said, tapping his fingers against his thigh, fidgeting with a loose thread on his cloak. “There was no way it was going to last once you figured out who you were living with, so I cut my losses like I should’ve in the first place.”
Daozhang opened his mouth — to argue, to agree, to ask another question? — but Xue Yang cut him off. “Lying is beneath you, Xingchen-ge. I will not hurt you, Xue Yang. There’s no need to dwell on the past, Xue Yang. None of that matters now, Xue Yang! Sounds wrong, doesn’t it?”
Xue Yang’s voice was an eerily accurate impression of Daozhang’s, aside from the pointed way he said his own name. A-Qing shivered.
Xue Yang’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You know, it’s kinda funny. If the good Daozhang hadn’t intervened, A-Yao would have followed through on the punishment the great sects agreed to in the first place, and you wouldn't have to follow me all this way just to dirty your own hands. Maybe next time you’ll mind your own business and cut out the self-righteous shit.”
“I'm not here to kill you.” Daozhang pursed his mouth. “A-Yao… as in Jin Guangyao?”
There was a strange glimmer in Xue Yang's eyes. He smiled and said nothing.
A-Qing didn’t know much about their shared history, how Daozhang and Xue Yang knew each other, but she could tell from his expression that this confirmed something for Daozhang. Xue Yang barked out a laugh in the otherwise quiet room. “You think you've got it all figured out, Daozhang? Let's hear it.”
"Xue Yang. If not for Lanling Jin, you would still be a mere thug in Kuizhou.”
A-Qing looked away from Xue Yang’s answering sneer. Ugh, Daozhang, surely there are better ways to say something like that! You’re going to piss him off. “There you are! The holier-than-thou Xiao Xingchen-daozhang. Couldn’t wait to look down your nose at me again.”
“Your reputation in Kuizhou is a consequence of your own actions, but our investigation during the Chang case turned up nothing to set you apart from any number of regional tyrants.” Daozhang let Xue Yang’s irritation wash over him without rising to meet it. “This world is filled with thugs in all walks of life. In this you are not unique.”
“You know what? I changed my mind. I didn’t come here for a lecture, Daozhang, so if you’re not here to kill me then I guess we’re done.” A-Qing felt smothered by the escalating tension; she had no idea how to stop it.
“Please hear me out,” Daozhang said, calm in the face of Xue Yang’s growing anger.
Xue Yang remained crouched while he studied Daozhang. Not relaxed; coiled to strike.
“If not for the Jin, the worst you might have done is terrorize a single prefecture. What you did to the Yueyang Chang clan wouldn't have been possible—”
“You’re so fucking naive,” Xue Yang snarled, breathing hard, the redness of his eyes highlighting the sudden slip of his composure. He reminded A-Qing of a feral dog, snapping at the person who’d backed him into a corner, regardless of that person’s intentions. “Fuck off. The Jin kept me around because I was good— better than anyone else except the founder himself! Daozhang doesn’t know half of what I’ve done. Want me to tell you? If there’s a line I need to cross, a number of people I have to kill to earn your disdain, I bet I’ve crossed it a thousand times! So spare me the pity!”
“You’re right. I was — I am — naive,” Daozhang said.
Silence descended on the room like a physical force.
“Xue Yang. You were a child when we met. You're barely an adult now. I don’t believe it was an accident that the Jin sought out a commoner from outside the cultivation clans; whomever took you in as a disciple wanted the benefits of demonic cultivation without dirtying their hands, not to improve your life in any meaningful way. I’ve considered this question many times since we parted ways: What would justice look like in your case?"
“You’re the expert, Daozhang. You tell me.”
“I don’t have an answer,” Xiao Xingchen said, quiet and self-deprecating. “There was never going to be a simple solution. Bringing you to face punishment before the same cultivation clan that enabled your worst actions — with a vested interest in allowing you to continue — changed nothing. Your death will not return the people you killed to life; at best it would allow the Jin to shrug off their involvement without facing lasting consequences. You have hurt me and those closest to me beyond measure, committed horrific acts of violence, yet I do not regret saving your life that day, nor do I wish you further harm."
Any lingering tension in the room was snuffed as effectively as a candle flame.
“You cannot undo what you’ve done,” Daozhang continued, rising to kneel on the straw pallet. He looked more determined than A-Qing had seen him in months. “Is this the path you want to continue to walk?”
Xue Yang laughed.
The sound of it grated at A-Qing’s ears; mocking and strange, lacking any hint of joy. “I've walked it this far.”
Daozhang persisted. “Do you wish to continue to walk this path?”
Xue Yang’s face settled into almost unnatural stillness. It wasn’t the predatory look from earlier. Instead, it was the look of someone convinced that there was a catch; the wrong word would cause the hand to pull away; a step forward would spring the trap.
A-Qing hated that she could recognize it from her own experience. When you depended on the good nature of others to survive, you learned to think ahead, always presuming the worst. A-Qing had survived by ingratiating herself when possible, ready to run like hell if people responded to her desperation with violence; Xue Yang had become meaner than the unpredictable violence that had been aimed his way. Maybe that was why, in spite of everything she knew and the looming shadow of everything she didn't know, A-Qing couldn't bring herself to hate this person.
Daozhang reached forward. His outstretched hand caused another reaction that A-Qing was familiar with: Xue Yang flinched away from the sudden movement as if expecting a blow, unaware that anyone could see.
When the moment passed, Xue Yang held out his hand, palm up and slightly cupped, waiting for the gift of a single piece of candy, a small kindness.
He startled when Daozhang’s fingers touched his hand, settling palm to palm.
“I also wonder… Resentment isn’t exclusive to the dead,” Daozhang explained, speaking in a low voice, almost too quiet to hear. “It is a powerful energy that accumulates while alive. Your energy is severely unbalanced. The way forward would be simple if you had returned as a resentful corpse: liberation from your resentment, suppression if that wasn't possible, and elimination as a final measure. As for the living..."
Daozhang often talked about qi and dantians and meridians while they wandered, and while A-Qing had pieced together a decent understanding, whatever was happening now was beyond her sight. Xue Yang’s mouth twisted, fever-bright eyes riveted on their joined hands.
Daozhang’s fingers closed around Xue Yang's wrist when he tried to pull away. “Our paths have crossed too many times to be considered an accident. If you truly wish to walk a different path, I am offering to walk it with you.”
“You’re wasting your time.” Xue Yang tried, once again, to pull his hand away.
“If the day comes — if you are truly unrepentant and irredeemable — then I will cleanse you from this world as I would any other resentful corpse. But I don't believe that's the case.”
Maybe this was a mistake. Daozhang would end up dragged through the mud, brought down to Xue Yang’s level. Maybe A-Qing would change her mind once she learned about the violent things he’d done.
But A-Qing was not unmoved by the shaking fingers that finally, giving in, grasped at Daozhang’s outstretched hand.