Yuming

Once, you happened to catch a glimpse of the scars criss-crossing Yuming's skin.

The Nine Chapters of Dafeng can mend its enforcers' injuries, but only the ones that would hinder them in battle. The rest remain, etched into the skin for good. Over time, the marks layer over one another until they stop looking like wounds at all, but a permanent part of him.

In Icelake's taverns, some of the more boisterous Phoxhunters wear their scars like badges of honour, flashing them whenever the ale starts flowing. Yuming is clearly not that sort. Yet there are so many that it's hard to believe they're all chance.

You've heard that, in the far south where the Elysian Church holds sway, some ascetics flog themselves, offering pain as a testament to their faith. Yet you see none of that steadfast devotion in Yuming. Quite the opposite: gloom and doubt always gather in his eyes. The way he throws himself into danger makes you suspect those scars come from something darker than duty, self-loathing and self-reproach, perhaps, as if he's trying to atone for something that won't forgive him.

The Magistrates of Yingtian are renowned throughout Huaxu. As enforcers of Heaven's mandate, they inspire awe and admiration wherever they go. More often, though, the prevailing feeling is wary reverence, edged with fear. Wherever they pass, the crowd parts like water: grateful for the protection they offer, yet eager to keep its distance from the death and strife that follow in their wake.

People relish tales of their deeds, yet no one has ever known the true name of even a single Magistrate of Yingtian. Ask about it, and they'll knit their brows, trying to dredge up some vivid example, someone they knew who was once summoned into the Nine Chapters of Dafeng. In the end, they abandon the effort as a fool's errand. A sigh, then a muttered line: "Heaven's authority cannot be fathomed." Most Magistrates of Yingtian wear ferocious beast-helms fashioned after Bi'an. Their Loongscion features hidden behind the mask, and the mystery only deepens.

Yuming stands out among them: black hair, dark robes, and his face left uncovered. His expression is always impassive. He comes and goes alone, heading straight to wherever trouble strikes within his jurisdiction and keeping dealings with others to a minimum. There is an air about him that keeps everyone at arm's length. See that silhouette often enough, and you remember it without meaning to.

Few have ever heard him speak. Most who have were passers-by who blundered into the middle of his work and were sent away with brief, formal courtesy. There is only one exception: a child who saw Yuming once and insisted, "The officer in black was really nice!"

"That day I was chasing a bee, and when I looked up, people were fighting with spears and blades. I just froze. Then he came out of nowhere and stood in front of me, he blocked the bad guy's attack!"

"It was the first time I'd ever seen a Magistrate of Yingtian! I was so excited. I told him he was amazing, and that I wanted to become a Magistrate of Yingtian like him one day!"

"But... he didn't seem happy to hear that. He said things I couldn't understand. Something like, being a Magistrate of Yingtian means getting in a car... cerated? And he told me not to do it..."

"What? ...Do you mean 'incarcerated'...?"

"Nah-uh, it can't be that. Why would a Magistrate of Yingtian say something like that? Serving Lord Argent is an honour! Your whole family would be proud of you. You'd be happy, not warning people away!"

The crowd dismissed it as a child's imagination. A few people chuckled, and the onlookers soon dispersed. The boy lingered, pouting and on the verge of tears, until the scent of a freshly made sugar figurine tickled his nose and drew him away. No one spoke of it again. It slipped quietly out of memory, lost to an otherwise ordinary autumn afternoon.

Ever since Yuming became a Magistrate of Yingtian, almost no one has known his true name any longer, as if the title erased everything that came before.

Ironically, the few who still remember the name "Yuming" are the shrewd types in Haze Market: people who operate on the Nine Chapters' fringes, always hunting for loopholes to exploit.

After crossing paths with him a few times, the black-market crowd began passing his name around, along with his distinctive manner of dress. They even managed to unearth much of his history from his days as a Drifter in Outer Peaks. The leap from violent offender to Heaven's enforcer was so absurd it sent a buzz through the whole black market. A few even gave a rueful sigh, as if the turn of fate struck a little too close to home. They were already looking for ways to use it to their advantage, until Mr Qiu stepped in with that signature, unreadable smile and quashed the notion before it could take shape.

In a sense, the Haze Market crowd knew the man called "Yuming" better than the law-abiding citizens who admired the Magistrates of Yingtian from a safe distance.

You've noticed Yuming is never without his flute. He rarely speaks; more often, he plays. The plaintive melody sounds like the words he can't bring himself to say.

In Haojing, nothing draws a crowd for a storyteller like a tale of the Magistrates of Yingtian. There's too much left to the imagination, and too many people eager to listen. They're always in demand. New tales surface every month, but most are hollow hackwork, told for a night or two to blank stares, then quietly forgotten.

In a market that chews up new tales and spits them out, one fresh piece broke the rule. The first time it was told, it set Haojing buzzing.

Cashing in on the recent taste for increasingly daring plots, it cast the black-robed Magistrate as its protagonist and spun a lurid tale: an ordinary woman becomes obsessed with him, schemes without end to marry him, and, just as a happy ending seems within reach, resorts to forbidden means and transgresses the Nine Chapters of Dafeng. In the end, the Magistrate himself puts her to death.

At the height of the tale, the storyteller delivered the line with relish: "That black-robed Magistrate is cold as stone, born without a shred of human feeling! What could a mere mortal woman ever mean to him? He wouldn't even blink. A single spear-thrust, and it's done!"

A man in the crowd slammed his palm down and shot to his feet. "Rubbish! My shixiong isn't like that!"

Something at his side hit the ground with a loud clang. The cloth wrapping came loose, and a blade flashed cold in the light. The man was unmistakably a Drifter.

The onlookers blanched. What had this storyteller done to draw the ire of a Drifter? Afraid of getting dragged into it, they scattered in every direction. Near an overturned table, sunflower seeds and candied fruit spilt across the floor.

On the stage, the storyteller went white. His legs shook as he tried to back away, and in his panic he misstepped and went down hard. He scrabbled upright and tried to run, but his knees turned to jelly and wouldn't move. All he could do was shut his eyes in despair, babbling too fast to make out: "Lord Argent protect me... Lord Argent protect me..." as though the words themselves could keep him alive.

Moments later, the Bi'an on patrol came pouring in. The Drifter still wasn't done. He kept cursing over their blows, and only when more of them closed in did he finally turn and slip away. Later, witnesses swore that more than a dozen Bi'an chased him across half of Haojing that day. It was quite a spectacle, one these streets hadn't seen in six months, right at the foot of the Hall of Adjudication.

Under orders from the Nine Chapters of Dafeng, Yuming is sometimes sent to put down Drifters himself.

Most Drifters still remember the man who once fought beside them. When Yuming defected from Outer Peaks and pledged himself to the Nine Chapters of Dafeng, old bonds quickly soured into hatred. He knows their moves and tells; they know his polearm techniques just as well. Whenever they meet, it is the same tragedy: comrades forced to turn their blades on one another. And with the Nine Chapters' power behind him, Yuming is always the one left standing.

In the midst of it, he never answers their furious accusations. He turns himself into a marionette in Taihao's hands, moving by rote and leaving every judgment to Taihao's will.

Yuming has long since lost count of how many of his former companions' eyes he has closed. The only thing left to him is to gather their remains and raise a simple mound on the open plain.

After he left Outer Peaks, the Drifters changed every route and entry he once knew, lest the base be exposed. He can never return to the place he once called home. With nowhere to return the belongings of the Drifters he put down, he can only stand before those simple graves and play a tune on his flute in tribute. The mournful notes carry on the evening wind, drifting farther and farther into the dark until the night swallows them whole.

To Yuming, wakefulness is an unending punishment; sleep is only a brief reprieve. Only when a dream takes hold does he forget everything, slipping back into the past as if the years fall away.

Most who came to Outer Peaks carried either a vendetta that ran to the bone, or ideals too stubborn to bend. Yuming belonged to neither.

He was in his teens then: already tall, unsmiling, and sparing with words, always with that set, rule-bound air. The only thing that betrayed his age was his voice: it hadn't finished breaking. Now and then it cracked into a harsh, humiliating rasp, and he hated it. So he became even more reticent.

His parents were law-abiding citizens, two ordinary people among Huaxu's countless Starweavers. Growing up, Yuming had picked up scraps about Drifters from his parents, but never once imagined he would have anything to do with them. Not until his parents lay dying did he learn the truth: when they were young, they had helped the Drifters in their work. That connection ended when his mother became pregnant; his father withdrew for the family's safety and never involved himself again.

With their last words, they entrusted Yuming to a comrade they had once trusted with their lives: Yan Shanting. They left Yuming no chance to speak, and he couldn't bring himself to defy their final wish. After the funeral rites, he bowed three times before his parents' grave, beside a down-at-heel man he had only just met. Then that man took him to Outer Peaks, where the law held no sway.

Leaving home for the first time, thrown in among strangers, Yuming grew even quieter by the day. He shared less, showed less. He thought he was hiding it well enough, but Yan Shanting saw through him at a glance.

Yan Shanting told him to stop fussing over the so-called traditions and manners. Yuming agreed on the spot, yet carried on exactly as before. If anything, he grew even more exacting about it. Morning and night he came to pay his respects, standing straight with his hands folded, never missing a step of the ritual.

It did not take long to grate on the other boys. Most of the young men that Outer Peaks took in were orphans, and many were sensitive, quick to take offence. To them, this tight-lipped new boy with a sour face only acted that way because he thought he was better than the rest of them. The sniping turned into shoving. The shoving turned into a brawl.

Some of them knew how to throw a punch. It didn't take long for Yuming to taste defeat for the first time in his life.

When it was over, everyone else slunk away, leaving him where he'd fallen, sprawled in the dirt. It had rained the night before. Wet earth and snapped twigs clung to him, and the sour stench of rot clogged his nose. Somewhere in the scuffle his teeth had knocked hard against something, and the ache now came in sharp pulses.

Leaves crunched underfoot. Someone was coming. A pair of boots came into view and stopped in front of him. Yuming looked up to find Yan Shanting, crouched there, watching him with a faint, amused tilt to his lips.

"Lost the fight?" Yan Shanting asked.

Yuming stared back coldly and said nothing.

"Hurt pretty bad, eh? Want me to teach those brats a lesson?"

Yuming gritted his teeth and pushed himself up enough to meet his gaze. He shook his head. "No."

"Then I'll teach you a few moves. Practise, and next time you'll make them regret it."

After a long pause, Yuming said flatly, "The Admonitions say fighting is wrong."

Yan Shanting snorted. "You're a stubborn one, boy."

"If you won't fight, someone else will. And when that happens, what use is right and wrong? You can shout at the world all you like, do you think it'll listen? The wind snaps branches. Tigers take hares. Does the wind care? Do the tigers stop to ask how the hare feels?"

"If you can put a man on the ground and make him cry, and still choose not to, then you can say fighting is wrong. Only then will anyone hear you."

Yuming lowered his head. It was hard to tell whether he'd taken it in, or whether he was simply enduring the words.

"Listen, boy. Your parents left you in my care. I've not done much of what a teacher ought to, so here's your first lesson."

"A man's got one job in this world: live without regret."

"And how do you do that? Say someone you care about gets hurt right in front of you, and all you can do is watch. You curse yourself for being powerless. Tell me that isn't regret."

"Stand on your own feet first. Learn something you can rely on. Do what you can while you can, so you don't spend the rest of your life eating regret."

Yuming stayed silent for a long time. Just as Yan Shanting began to think he'd get nothing more, Yuming hauled himself upright. He brushed the mud from his clothes with careful, almost fussy precision, then bowed, deep, formal, full of respect.

"I was ignorant. Thank you for your teaching, Shifu."

Yan Shanting let out a hearty laugh and accepted the bow. This time, he didn't correct Yuming's formality.

Seasons came and went, and before he knew it, Yuming had grown into a fine young man. His voice had finished breaking, and the way he carried himself grew steadier with each passing year.

He trained in the polearm under his master, and improved quickly. In time, Yan Shanting took on another disciple named Kezhou.

Yuming found himself frowning more often. And somehow, without ever noticing when it began, he smiled more too.

Somewhere along the way, he began to introduce himself as Yuming of Outer Peaks.

You come to the bamboo grove at Outer Peaks. So many of the stories you've heard seem to begin here, and, given time, find their way back. There were bright, reckless afternoons when they slipped away from training at a glance and a grin. There were pranks hatched in whispers, and late-night talks beneath a wash of moonlight. In memory, the grove is always the centre of it.

Up close, though, it's smaller than the stories make it out to be, just a little grove, almost disappointing. Perhaps bamboo looks taller when you're a child. You look for any trace of sword practice and find none. The bamboo has put out new skin, green over green, and whatever scars it once carried have been swallowed up. Only one dead stalk lies slumped near the cliff, as if it fell to settle some long-forgotten wager. Its leaves have yellowed, and the air around it is heavy with a mouldy, decaying smell. You sift through the litter of old leaves and rotted husks, and find nothing.

Yan Shanting took on a girl disciple without any fanfare. Yuming and Kezhou, just as quietly, found themselves with a little shimei of their own. In Outer Peaks, that would not normally be anything worth talking about, except Kezhou, ever the loud-mouthed one, could not keep it to himself. Within a day, half of Outer Peaks had heard.

"So! Here's how it went," he said. "That night, my shixiong and I went fishing, figured we might bring something back for a proper meal for once. And you'll never guess what happened."

"The moment my hook hit the water, it snagged on something. I thought I'd landed a really big fish. I hauled and hauled, nearly pulled myself in after it. And what do I drag up? A kid! Snapped my rod clean in two."

"I told her she owed me a big fish to make up for it. She didn't even know what I meant. Just stared at me. Then Yuming insisted we keep her, so what choice did I have? We took her in as our shimei. And Yuming said once we've fed her well and she's grown taller and tougher, we'll send her out to catch fish. By then she can pay us back double. Ten big fish, at least."

Anyone who knew the pair could hear the grain of truth buried in Kezhou's story. He figured Yuming's calm made him sound more dignified, so he borrowed the sensible lines for himself and pinned his own jokes on Yuming. The truth was the other way round: Kezhou was the one who pushed hardest to keep the girl, while Yuming's first instinct was to find out who she was and return her to her family.

Kezhou left out one detail as well. When Yuming asked how she'd ended up in the river in the first place, she only lowered her head and said nothing. Seeing her soaked through and trembling in the night, he didn't press. They found a clearing to camp and built up a fire. When the fish they'd caught was finally boiled into soup, she sat wrapped in a blanket and drank the milky broth, pepper sprinkled on top, in small, careful sips. Only then did she begin to talk.

"My mum and I had a fight," she said. "She got angry and shoved me into the river. That's it."

"She's a great zheng player. I was born with one bad ear, and I'm an unruly brat. She was ashamed of me. She never wanted me. And I don't want to go back."

For a moment, neither of them knew what to say. In the end, all they learned was her name: Buxia.

Much later, she asked in a small voice, "But the Nine Chapters forbid taking life, right? My mum pushed me into the river... will she be punished?"

"One death is enough," she murmured. "Let her live. She's a great zheng player."

Something clicked in Yuming's mind. His brow tightened at once.

At the first chance he got, Yuming drew Kezhou aside, out of Buxia's earshot. His tone was even more grave than usual. He told Kezhou that what had happened to Buxia was partly on them.

Kezhou stared at him, completely at a loss. Only when Yuming mentioned the Tianluo Veil did he put on a show of sudden understanding, though it was clear he still didn't truly grasp it.

Yuming had no choice but to spell it out. Recently, Outer Peaks had been testing the device in the wild: installations meant to sever the Nine Chapters' reach. Evidently, it had worked. Under normal circumstances, the moment Buxia's mother pushed her into the water, the Bi'an would already have been on their way. But with the Tianluo Veil interfering, the chain of cause and effect had shifted.

Kezhou didn't care about the mechanics. From Yuming's careful explanation, he took away a single conclusion: Yuming was willing to take Buxia into the fold. That was all he needed to know.

Yuming was forever covering for Buxia, against his better judgment. That meant keeping more of her secrets than he wanted to. But there was one thing she told only Su Yi. They hadn't known each other long, and they were separated by several generations in the lineage. Even so, they were the same age, and they took to each other at once.

Buxia said she was preparing a "big surprise" for Yuming at her coming-of-age ceremony. As for what it was, she only smiled and refused to tell.

"What about Kezhou?" Su Yi asked.

"Not a chance," Buxia said at once. "He doesn't get one."

After a moment, she admitted, awkwardly, as if forcing the words out, that she'd caused one trouble after another and put her shixiong Yuming through no end of it. Kezhou was always the one getting into mischief with her; it was Yuming who had to clean up afterwards. She never said it outright, but she'd always felt guilty. To her, Yuming was like the big brother she'd never had. She wanted to give him something really good, something that might repay even a fraction of what she owed.

But she never lived to see her coming-of-age ceremony. And Su Yi never told anyone else about Buxia's unfinished plan. She kept it to herself, and never spoke of it again.

Ever since Buxia became his shimei, Yuming had been at the end of his tether.

Kezhou had always been caught between two forces: a roguish shifu too slippery to challenge, and a rigid, by-the-book shixiong breathing down his neck every day. Now, with a shimei to run wild alongside him, every mischievous idea he'd ever had seemed to spring back to life.

And Buxia, who'd called herself an "unruly brat" when they first met, more than lived up to it. The two hit it off at once. They skipped lessons, scrambled up hills to raid birds' nests, and used homemade charges to blast fish out of the river. Before long, all the wildlife around Outer Peaks learned to scatter at the first hint of them. Even so, next to Yuming's stoic endurance and self-discipline, the two of them looked far more like Yan Shanting's disciples.

For six months straight, the training steward and Miss Han, who taught the children to read, didn't lay eyes on the pair once. Furious, they bombarded Yuming with complaints. Left with no choice, he went looking for them and hauled them back himself. In time, it turned into a long-running cat-and-mouse game, and in that game, Buxia's footwork improved by leaps and bounds.

Kezhou was good at bringing trouble home and hopeless at taking responsibility for it. And Yan Shanting wasn't one for rules or fuss. In the end, the burden of keeping Buxia in line fell, as it always did, on Yuming's shoulders.

When Buxia first arrived, she was self-conscious about her hearing. In time, as she grew more at ease, that small insecurity quietly faded. Soon enough she was using it as a ready excuse: one day she'd claim she'd woken with a fever and a splitting headache; the next she'd insist she couldn't hear a thing. At first, Yuming fell for it, rushing to find a physician. In time, he learned better. He would simply keep a stern face and march her straight to the training ground.

Those days weren't all frustration. Sometimes, after one of their usual chases, the three of them would lie side by side in the grass beneath the trees. A passing breeze would dry the sweat from their skin, leaving them cool and refreshed. Buxia would point out a shaft of sunlight filtering through the leaves into the clearing, chattering on about the future as if it were close enough to touch. In moments like that, Yuming would catch himself thinking that if days like these could go on forever... it wouldn't be so bad.

When you learn that the unremarkable red plant found in Outer Peaks is what the massacre left behind, it gives you a jolt.

They say Buxia wasn't much in a straight fight. What made her dangerous was something else: she could release spores, vivid crimson motes drifting through the air. If you didn't keep your mouth and nose covered, a single breath could sap your strength within moments, leaving you at her mercy. Wherever the spores settled, the vegetation around them took on the same ominous red.

It's hard to believe Outer Peaks kept anything like it. The explanation is that the clean-up after the massacre went on for a long time, and the plant wasn't discovered until a full month later. Someone remarked that before the massacre it had been an ordinary green plant, common enough to be found anywhere. By the time it was found, life in Outer Peaks had already returned to something like normal, and no one had suffered any further ill effects from the spores. They kept it under close watch for longer, until they were sure it posed no immediate danger. Only then did they seal it away for study.

Kezhou wanted to cut it down and be done with it, but a Jishu Sect disciple stopped him at once. He almost came to blows with the man. In the end, he swallowed it, lowered his sword, and stalked off.

Outer Peaks was rumoured to be unreachable. But it was never wholly cut off from the outside world. Every few months, a handful of traders and itinerant physicians would still make the climb, bringing the necessities of daily life. That was how word of the massacre four years ago slipped out, piecemeal, in fragments and whispers. And the farther it travelled, the less it resembled the truth.

One version claimed it had been an internal feud. Two factions turned on each other, blades drawn, fighting from the mountain's foot to its summit, from first light until the sun dropped for the last time. In the end, they said, the worst of it played out around the assembly grounds. When it was over, broken weapons and Drifters' bodies lay strewn along the mountain path, and few were left able to stand.

Another tale blamed the Jishu Sect's construct: a failed invention, they said, a massive mechapuppet that went wrong and cut through Outer Peaks in the dead of night, scouring the place clean while everyone slept, like a machine built for slaughter.

There was even a third story: that the Sentinels of Juntian had finally found the place and wiped it out in a single sweep, cutting away a long-festering threat near the Nine Chapters. But no proclamation ever followed, and the Drifters did not vanish. That version quickly lost what little credibility it had.

No one could agree on what had really happened. But one thing was beyond dispute: Outer Peaks bled that day. With a go-between to make the arrangements, the Yan family's coffin shop was nearly cleaned out. Coffins were hauled deep into the mountains. Afterwards, self-proclaimed "witnesses" started turning up, each peddling a tale more outlandish than the last, all for the sake of attention. As for the one person who had truly been there, an apothecary from Zesheng Pharmacy, he said nothing at all.

It was not until the year-end gathering that the subject surfaced again. Light snow drifted down outside. Charcoal crackled softly in the brazier. After several rounds of drinking, with tongues loosened and cheeks faintly flushed, someone mentioned Outer Peaks in passing. A young apprentice, fond of Drifter storybooks, froze when he realised the older apothecary at his table had been involved. His eyes lit up. He wouldn't let it go, pressing for the truth, until, at last, the elder spoke.

"The stories are all wrong. It was Deterioration."

"Deterioration?" The apprentice frowned. "What's that?"

The elder studied the fresh-faced apprentice for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head gently.

"You were born and raised in Haojing. You've never travelled far. Of course you wouldn't know." He paused. "Go beyond Huaxu. Cross the sea to the Hyperborean Empire, and you'll see people blanch at the word."

"Even our founding master, Fufeng, spent half her life studying it before she grasped even the barest outline. You're only just starting out. Keep learning, and one day you'll understand."

"We Huaxu folk have been fortunate. Under Lord Taihao's protection, Deterioration was cut off long ago. As for the Drifters... they brought it on themselves. They tried to build some contrivance to shut out the Nine Chapters' reach. What do you think happens once that protection is gone?"

"But... aren't the Drifters all good fighters? Is Deterioration really that dangerous... that it could kill them all...?"

"Being good with a weapon won't save you from something you don't understand, something that strikes without warning. Huaxu hasn't had to fear Deterioration for a long time. People stopped watching for it. And that girl had been slightly hard of hearing since childhood. When the early signs appeared and her senses began to dull, no one recognised the danger in time."

"To make matters worse, the Filthoid she became was exceptionally vicious. And through a chain of accidents and missteps... that's how so many ended up dead."

"Still... I don't think the Drifters were villains. They only wanted to step off the beaten path, to see whether there was another way to live. And without meaning to, they paid a price far, far too cruel."

"In the end, they were only poor souls."

People speak of Drifters in the most exaggerated terms, as though they were all butchers, drenched in blood. In truth, most are the sort to draw steel when they see wrongdoing, and to live by their own rules, and most have never had a death to answer for.

In the Outer Peaks massacre, when Yuming killed his shimei with his own hands, it was the first time he had ever taken a life. The slight resistance as his spear went in, that tiny, dreadful hitch, stayed with him for the rest of his life.

After he became an enforcer of Taihao's will, killing turned into work done by rote. He had long since lost count of how many had fallen to his spear. And yet, each time he drew it free, his mind would snap back to that first moment, as vivid as ever.

The setting sun was blood-red.

Deep in the mountains, Outer Peaks always had an open view. Even so, a sunset like this was rare.

The light poured over everything before it faded, washing sky and land in the same red. It was so fierce it could almost pass for noon. Under that searing glare, Yuming couldn't tell what the red liquid on the ground was. It ran in thin rivulets, pooling in shallow hollows. Crimson motes drifted through the air, turning the world hazy. It was almost beautiful.

If he could lose himself in it, take it for nothing more than some grotesque dream, perhaps he could escape the horror in front of him. But he knew, with brutal clarity, that he had no such luxury. He had to face what was there.

At the edge of his vision, his shifu lay on his back beside a rock. Yan Shanting's abdomen had been pierced straight through, torn open. Blood and flesh were spattered across the ground; a length of intestine lay among it all. His favourite robe was in tatters, soaked dark with blood. The wine flask he always carried was gone. Yuming had carried this man home more times than he could count, slung over his shoulder, dead drunk. He had never once seen an expression like this on his face. Even in death, Yan Shanting's eyes were still open, as though he were waiting to see his disciples one last time. Only days ago, he had been wounded in a clash with a Magistrate of Yingtian. He should have been in bed, recovering, not lying here in rags, dead in the dirt. Yuming's temples throbbed. The pressure behind his eyes felt like it might split his skull.

He didn't know how it had come to this. He only knew that the thing ahead of him, writhing, its tentacles lashing, was to blame.

"Yuming..."

A dying Drifter clutched at the hem of his clothes, forcing out a final warning through failing breath.

"Don't go... that's... that's Buxia..."

Two hours earlier, Yuming had been on the road to Haojing to fetch a Zesheng apothecary. Buxia had been complaining of pain again. The apothecary took one look at the signs at the foot of the mountain, went pale, and made his excuses at once. As a last courtesy, he left Yuming with a warning about Deterioration.

Even with that warning, Yuming couldn't bring himself to believe it. He couldn't square the cheeky, ever-laughing girl with what stood in front of him now: a horrifying, bloodstained monster that had already taken more than a dozen lives.

What had happened was clear enough. Something monstrous had awakened inside Buxia. It had gone after the defenceless: the old, the weak, women and children. His shifu, trying to protect them, had been forced to fight, and had died here. The only thing Yuming couldn't account for was Kezhou. Where was he? And then, in spite of everything, a flicker of relief rose in his chest. Thank goodness Kezhou wasn't here.

The creature had nothing human left of it. And yet it kept forcing out the same broken words, again and again, from what passed for a mouth.

"Yuming... Shixiong... help me..."

Yuming's stomach lurched. Only then did he realise how much he had been breathing in the motes without noticing. The spores were already taking hold, draining his strength with every second.

He had heard those words from Buxia countless times. Sometimes she tossed them out with a cheeky grin. Sometimes they were flustered when she'd been caught skiving and wanted him to smooth things over. Sometimes she whined them like a spoiled brat. And sometimes, more recently, they were real: her hearing worsening again, asking him to bring back an apothecary. Most of the time, he hadn't taken her cries for help seriously. Now came the price. This was his sin. His punishment. And now, even if it was already too late, he moved.

Before the spores could numb his limbs completely, he lifted his spear, slow but unwavering, and drove it into the creature. It wailed, but did not try to dodge. He leaned his weight into the shaft and twisted the head, forcing it deeper. The thing convulsed at once, writhing hard enough to wrench at his arms. Barbed tendrils raked his skin again and again. A shriek tore through the air, sharp enough to make his ears ring. Spores poured from its mouthparts in a torrent, throwing up a red haze so thick it blurred the world.

In that moment, Yuming's mind went blank. He didn't even try to cover his mouth and nose. He drove the spear on, bracing it against the rock face with everything he had left. For a while he was sure he was losing. His arms felt fused to the shaft. He couldn't tell how long it went on, minutes, perhaps, or longer than he could measure. Then the resistance along the spear began to ebb. At last, the creature stopped struggling. Yuming let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Only then did he understand that he had forgotten how to let go. The skin at the base of his fingers had split under the strain, and sweat soaked the shaft, his palm clinging stubbornly to the wood.

He stared at the thin stream pooling around his feet. The sun was almost gone now. Only then could he see it for what it was.

It was blood. Blood spilt from the bodies of those who were once at his side.

From that day on, scenes like this returned to him again and again. A nightmare he would never be rid of.

With Zhuyin restored to their rightful place and the Nine Chapters of Dafeng reset, the existing system of law enforcement was inevitably shaken. Bi'an, the enforcers who acted more on animal instinct than human judgement, were temporarily recalled. The Magistrates of Yingtian had once served under Taihao and had been unable to step beyond the strictures of the Nine Chapters; now, these Loongscions were at last free to return to ordinary life. Yet even then, Yuming continued to carry out his duties as a Magistrate of Yingtian.

With the reforms temporarily disrupting the system, more minor matters of public order were placed in the Magistrates' hands. Many of them were petty neighbourhood disputes and domestic troubles. Though people still held the Magistrates of Yingtian in deep respect, once their own interests were at stake, they confronted one another head-on and refused to yield an inch.

Was he still serving as a Magistrate of Yingtian out of nothing more than numbed habit? He did not know. He simply let one trivial matter after another fill his time. That remained the case until one evening, when, after chasing down an unusually nimble young Loongscion thief, Yuming snatched back an ice lolly and returned it to its owner before it could melt. The girl bounced with delight, rummaged through her basket, and stuffed several ripe fruits into his arms, thanking him again and again, her young face shining with joy.

"...Buxia?" He froze.

In that moment, he seemed to understand why he still carried on. He wanted to see that same innocent smile light up the faces of children. That was what he now wished to hold fast to with all his strength.

Yuming had once believed that time had stopped for him, that he would remain forever trapped in that bloodstained moment, burdened with a guilt he could never put down.

Then one day, it struck him that in his dreams, the faces of his shifu and Buxia had begun to blur.

When he woke, he sat there for a long while in a daze.

Only then did he understand: time flows on like a river, never pausing for anyone. No matter how tightly the living may cling, it carries what they cherish farther and farther away all the same.

That day, following Little Tangerine, a fox he had once kept, Yuming found himself back at Outer Peaks before he even realised it.

The place had changed since he had last been there. Even the greenery seemed different, and the base was now full of fresh-faced newcomers. Xu Hong, who had always greeted him with a scowl, was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had left the mountains and gone home to see his family.

With the Nine Chapters of Dafeng no longer hunting down the Drifters, the whole place seemed easier now, almost at peace.

When Kezhou first saw him, disbelief was written all over his face before it gave way to sheer delight. He seized Yuming by the arm and talked on for hours.

At first, Yuming still felt somewhat out of place and kept a polite distance. But in the end, worn down by Kezhou's relentless pestering, he let his guard slip. Just like old times, he laid into Kezhou with the butt of his spear.

By the time their little brawl was over, the moon hung high in a clear, star-strewn sky. Kezhou brought out a jug of wine, and the two of them sat in the bamboo grove, drinking side by side in silence. In that quiet, the past seemed, at last, a little easier to live with.