The silence in our small alcove was heavier than any armor I had ever worn.

  We were seated in a circle where the nuns assisted the maiden in suppressing my internal poison. She had her palms on my quchi and dantian meridians and they transferred their qi to her through her back.

  Then finally we could relax as I felt my rampaging qi finally settle back into place. Gently coaxed back into place and contained by their powers combined.

  "It goes without saying," JingXi breathed out slowly and smoothly, "you shouldn't do that again. You are lucky your lady was here. If it had just been the two of us" She motioned at LingZhu, "You'd be dead".

  Then the two of them turned their gazes to the young woman next to me.

  The maiden’s face, usually a mask of stoic composure, was now a study in embarrassment. A faint blush crept up her neck and onto her face as she hastily withdrew her hands from my body and she couldn’t quite meet the inquisitive gazes of the two nuns. Seeing her discomfort, and frankly, being tired of the whole charade, I figured the direct approach was best. A general who couldn’t be honest in defeat wasn’t much of a general at all.

  I gave them all a short, weary bow. "Forgive me, Shītài, we didn't intend to deceive you." The words felt strange but right. "My name is Cui BoFeng. I was a general in An Lushan's army, and I am responsible for the fall of Luoyang." I looked over at the maiden, who flinched at the bald admission. "It is something I hope to atone for."

  The nuns were shocked, their eyes wide, but I was relieved to see no immediate hostility in their expressions. Jìngxī, the one with the scar, turned to the maiden. “The Luoyang Man Butcher? You knew this?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm. "But you died assaulting the Northern Gate?"

  I winced at the epithet which called back to BaiQi. I deserved it.

  "If I died getting into the city I wouldnt have been there to Butcher the city."

  JingXi and LingZhu blinked.

  The maiden just nodded, her gaze fixed on the dirt floor between them, unable to meet their eyes.

  Língzhú, ever the peacemaker, broke the tense silence. “The night is long, and the mountain is cold,” she suggested gently. “Let us get what rest we can. We will take turns on watch.”

  Jìngxī turned to the maiden. “You need your rest. You are our strongest fighter and ShiShu might choose to suprise us by doubling back.” Her gaze flicked to me, and though her expression was kind, the implication was clear as a polished blade. “You will take the first watch. I will join General Cui for the third.”

  I knew what that meant. In my current state, poisoned and barely able to channel a wisp of qi, I probably couldn’t fend off a determined bear, let alone wake them if a real threat appeared. It wasn't a matter of trust; it was simple, battlefield pragmatism. I gave Jìngxī a deep, grateful bow. "As Shītài commands," I said, offering a sincere, unburdened smile. It was a relief, really. Being treated as fragile was a novel experience.

  I settled into my bedroll, the warmth of the fire a small comfort. Sleep came quickly, as it always does when you need to get sleep in whenever you can, but it was a light, restless thing. I dreamed I was on the plains before Luoyang again, leading my cataphracts in a glorious, thundering charge against Zhang RuLin’s strange army. The ground shook, the wind sang past my ears, and my spear felt like an extension of my own will. Just as we were about to crash into their lines, I turned in my saddle to give the final command, only to find no one there. I was alone, a single rider on an empty field. The high-pitched whine in my ear grew louder, a screaming crescendo that drowned out the world. From the enemy ranks, a figure in green darted towards me, her movements a blur of impossible speed. The masked maiden. Her sword flashed towards my neck. “It’s ok,” I thought, and closed my eyes.

  A gentle hand shook my shoulder. “Cui Shīzhǔ,” Língzhú’s soft voice whispered in my ear. I awoke with a start, my hand instinctively grasping the splintered shaft of my spear. The fire had burned low, its embers casting a faint, red glow on the walls of the alcove. “It’s time for your watch.”

  I stretched, my body a chorus of aches and pains, and sat up. As I pulled on my boots, I watched Jìngxī step out of the nuns' tent with a yawn. To my surprise, before Jìngxī could turn, Língzhú reached out, her fingers lovingly caressing Jìngxī’s scarred cheek. She then rose on her toes and planted a soft, lingering kiss on her lips.

  Daoist nuns, I remarked internally with a grin, lived up to their reputation.

  Jìngxī settled onto the stone opposite me, her movements economical and sure. We fed a few fresh branches into the embers, coaxing the flames back to a cheerful crackle. The warmth was a welcome shield against the biting mountain wind that whipped through our small alcove. She filled our small copper pot with snow and set it over the fire to boil, then produced a small, cloth-wrapped packet of fragrant tea leaves. The quiet of the pre-dawn was a comfortable thing, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the hiss of the fire.

  She hid another yawn behind her hand as she poured the steaming, pale-gold liquid into our cups. After we’d warmed up a bit, she finally asked the question that had clearly been on her mind. "So," she began, her gaze direct and appraising over the rim of her cup, "why is a man like you traveling with a woman like her?"

  I took a slow sip of the tea, its bitter warmth a pleasant shock. I chose my words carefully. "It's a rather embarrassing story, to be honest. I couldn't maintain my army's discipline after we breached Luoyang. In my quest for vengeance I hadn't realised they had become... wolves." I stared into the fire, the memory still raw. "They turned on me when I tried to stop their pillaging. The maiden," I glanced towards the tent where she slept, "saved me. Hence, I owe her my life." I placed a hand over my dāntián, a gesture that was becoming uncomfortably familiar. "That was where Lady Yin cost me the ability to channel qi."

  I picked up the splintered head of my spear, inspecting the familiar steel in my hand as I spoke. "I'm now a wandering ghost, thought dead by most of the people who knew me." I looked at the patch of frozen blood on the path, a grim souvenir from the Heavenly Sword's visit. "Well, I suppose at this rate, either I'm not a ghost for long, or I become one forever."

  Jìngxī sipped her tea and nodded, accepting my explanation without judgment. A comfortable silence settled between us as we watched the sky in the distance begin to lighten from inky black to a deep, bruised purple. Dawn was coming.

  "Wait," Jìngxī said suddenly, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why did you just call her 'the maiden'?"

  I couldn’t help it. A chuckle escaped me, and I quickly stifled it so as not to wake the others. "A fair question," I admitted with a grin. "I'm afraid I've never had the honor of knowing even her family name."

  This was evidently so far outside Jìngxī's expectations that she let out a surprised snort of laughter, which she quickly tried to hide behind her sleeve. "You're serious?" she asked, her eyes wide with amusement. "And yet you are fine with traveling alone with her through these hostile lands?"

  "She saved my life!" I said earnestly, the humor draining from my voice for a moment. "In the moment where I thought all was lost, when my own brothers-in-arms would have cut me down. It doesn't matter who she is. I'd follow her to the ends of the earth to repay that debt."

  "Well, I wouldn't blame you for that," Jìngxī said, a teasing grin returning to her face. "Though I'm not sure your motivation is so... pure."

  I took her words in stride and shrugged, affecting a grand, chivalrous air. "Who could be so heartless as to abandon a young lady like her in this now-frontier world?"

  "Especially a pretty lady like her?" Even Jìngxī's eyes were laughing now. "A shame you were born to such a family"

  The sun finally crested the mountains, casting long golden rays into our alcove.

  I couldn't stifle the laugh that rose to my throat and echoed throughout the hills.

  "None of us choose how we are born! And for me its still too soon to tell!"

  By the time Língzhú and the maiden emerged from their respective tents, I had a pot of last night's congee, which had frozen solid, bubbling over the fire. I presented them with hot food and steaming tea, which both accepted with grateful smiles. We packed our camp with a new sense of camaraderie, boiling the last of our water to clean the pots and utensils.

  I took some of the heavier supplies from the nuns' packs, tying them into a bundle with a sturdy branch that I hefted over my shoulder. It was a good feeling, to be useful in a way that didn't involve a blade. The nuns, in turn, produced a detailed map of the area. I recognized the swirling contour lines and precise symbols immediately.

  Língzhú read it as we walked, turning it in her hands until it lined up with the path ahead. "We are about half a day's journey from QingTian village," she announced, pointing to a cluster of structures on the map, one labeled with the symbol for a blacksmith. "We should be able to get our equipment repaired there." She looked at me. "And get your spear a new shaft."

  The morning's journey melted away as the conversation, now freed from the weight of secrets, became much livelier. Even the maiden seemed to be in higher spirits, proactively asking the nuns about their journey.

  "Our Guo Shīshū was adamant we join him in his quest to aid the populace of the north," Jìngxī explained. "Something about a daemon in his heart he couldn't dispel, a knot he couldn't undo without it. Not that we wouldn't have set out anyway, given the conflict."

  "Is your Guo Shīshū a martial artist like you both?" the maiden asked, her curiosity piqued.

  "Our master used to say he had such potential in martial arts," Língzhú chimed in. "He's said to be one of the strongest masters of the Zheng Yi Sect, but I don't think anyone has heard of him ever fighting anyone."

  "He's never fought anyone?" I asked with interest.

  "No, Master said he'd always been more interested in studying the classics than in conflict," Jìngxī replied. "That's why we thought it was strange he was the one to send for us."

  The ground ahead began to flatten out into a clearing, and through the trees, I could see the smoke of a village winding its way into the late morning air. I also noticed small, distinct puffs of smoke rising from the bushes along the path. Lookouts.

  I held up a hand, and our party stopped. "Who goes there?" I called out, my voice carrying in the quiet.

  A dozen men, looking more like terrified farmers than bandits, emerged from the forest around us. They were armed with a motley collection of hoes, sickles, and wood axes.

  "H-h-h... halt!" The man in the lead stammered, his knuckles white where he gripped his hoe in a stance that was more likely to hurt himself than an enemy. "This is as far as you get!" He took a shaky breath, trying to gather his courage.

  The four of us exchanged glances. The farmers took another hesitant step forward. Seeing a young lady, two nuns, and a single unarmored man with a broken spear, their leader seemed to find a new reserve of bravery.

  "If you want to raid our village," he declared, his voice rising with misplaced confidence, "you'll have to go through us!"