Joseph kept to himself in the evening, taking the scrolls and maps up to his room at the inn, reading through each and every entry and cross-noting them with the maps. There were plenty of mines in the mountains that had fallen out of use, since the precious minerals and jewels had run dry. Plenty of places to hide a Darwinist project. Joseph marked down, in his journal, which of the tunnels and mines that he thought would be the most important, based on proximity to the town and relative obscurity.
He took dinner again in his room, eating quickly. He went to bed early, again, feeling uncharacteristically tired. Perhaps it was the mountain air. Perhaps it was being in a new place. His dreams were fitful, involving long hallways and Elven scimitars and men in dark trenchcoats who could break into storms of glass.
But he was used to these nightmares. They burned him even through the hazy pills Becenti gave him, pills designed for dreamless sleep. He awoke in the morning with a headache that only went away with a cup of tea and breakfast. The air outside smelled of the mountains and wood-smoked fire. He could already hear children playing again, the sound of a dog barking on the other side of the village, the call of a great bird in the distance. Joseph craned an ear to listen to it.
“That'll be Zi Shi Ying,” a voice said behind him.
He turned. At the door of the inn was Guo Liling, the innkeeper's daughter. She was around his age, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail to keep out of her face as she manned the counter.
“One of the spirits?” Joseph asked.
“Yes,” she said. She sounded nervous, as though she had been working up to speak to him, and when she continued her words came out in a tumble, “He usually calls in the mornings before a rainstorm. I think we'll need to go up to his shrine to give him his customary gift, in thanks for warning us.”
“Hmm,” Joseph said. He heard the call again. Long and almost mournful, “Has he been here at Opal Hills long?”
Liling nodded, a bit quickly.
“You talk like spirits travel,” she said.
“Maybe some do,” Joseph said, shrugging, “I don't know. Not too many of them, where I'm from.”
“Sounds like a boring place,” Liling said.
“I've got plenty of other things to worry about,” Joseph said, “Trust me, where I'm from, it's chaotic.”
Liling leaned against the doorframe.
“Oh?” she said, “And what is it like?”
Joseph almost grimaced. Time to think quick.
“It's...” he said, “I live in an old castle, with lots of people from all walks of life. It can get chaotic, sometimes, since everyone's rowdy and everyone's got their own goals. We can argue a lot. Sometimes I wonder why some of them are even there. But...”
He looked at the rising sun in the distance.
“It's good, though,” he said, “We watch each other's backs.”
“You go on lots of adventures?” Liling asked.
“Sure,” Joseph said, “Take on jobs. Travel the mult- the world.”
Liling nodded at that, and she gave a soft smile.
“It sounds wonderful,” she said, “I've... I've never left the Opal Hills.”
The call came out again. Shorter this time.
“Why not?” Joseph asked.
Liling's brow furrowed.
“It'd take time,” Joseph said, “You'd need to save up money. You'd probably want to make a plan for where you want to go. But you could do it.”
“Did you do that?” Liling asked.
“Yeah, with my parents,” Joseph said, “...It involved a bit of arguing.”
“Ha,” Liling said, “Then you know how it goes. I've talked a bit with my father before.”
She sighed. Looked out the window, her eyes inscrutable save for that familiar glint of yearning.
“He doesn't want you to go,” Joseph said.
“There's still an inn,” Liling said, “And it was his mother's. Her father's. Since the beginning of the Opal Hills, there has been a member of the Guo family to tend to its visitors.”
Joseph bit back a sarcastic remark. He only nodded. He didn't need to use much imagination to think of Liling's arguments with Guo Kenan. Liling seemed to drop this train of thought, and her voice took on a shivering edge as she spoke again.
“I... I'll probably head up to Zi Shi Ying's shrine tonight, to pay respects,” she said, “Y-You, you can come if you like.”
It would make sense. If Zi Shi Ying was old, he probably would have knowledge of the hidden areas of the mountains. Who went to those hidden places. He could find the location of the Darwinist project, as well as its agent, in one fell swoop.
“I'd like that,” Joseph said, giving her a smile, “Is it possible to talk to this Zi Shi Ying?”
She beamed at that.
“Y-Yes!” she said, “I'll make sure to make his favorite meal. He prefers century eggs. I believe my father made some the other night for Pan Baihu, I can check. If we give him that, I'm sure he'd be amenable to talking with you. Especially a newcomer. He likes travelers, he gets them so rarely.”
She began jabbering, talking about her plans. Evidently the fact that Joseph was joining her had awoken something in her. She regarded him with renewed excitement.
They made plans for the evening, dinner with a spirit.
***
Tai Haoran and Xiao Rai were the only students of the White Flame Sect. During the sect's golden age, its seventeen monasteries had been home to hundreds of young Anri users, some raised at birth in the temple walls, others traveling from across the empire to learn all four realms of the White Flame Technique.
But the golden age had died long ago, yes?
When the Emperor and his Solar Dance Sect had systematically destroyed them, during the War of the Sovereign Horse.
Ironic, the White Flame temples ablaze. For the sun burned brighter than any wildfire.
They filled Grandmaster Zhou Winyan's nightmares. The dying children. His dead friends. The way Emperor Sun Rao's eyes glittered like stardust as he shattered Zhou Winyan's spine.
It was only the energy of Anri, as well as techniques hidden deep within the White Flame's fourth and final realm, that he had survived at all. He still walked with a limp. His back ached, almost always, and shivered when rain was approaching.
Like it was now, as he watched Tai Haoran and Xiao Rai spar in the courtyard. Xiao Rai, at first glance, had Tai Haoran on the defensive, and she spun at him with a variety of kicks and jabs. Tai Haoran was keeping his distance from her, dodging her strikes, the air filling with a burning scent as white flame overtook her hands and feet. It was paramount, in the first and second realms of the White Flame, that one learned how to convert Anri into fire. Externalization before internalization. Xiao Rai was well on her way to reaching the second realm.
But Tai Haoran was at the third. The internalization of the White Flame quickened his movements. Strengthened his strikes, as he gave a counterattack to Xiao Rai, his fist striking her in the stomach. She wheezed, stumbling back.
Tai Haoran waited for her to catch her breath. Xiao Rai fell to her knees. The Grandmaster could tell that Tai Haoran had put too much force into his attack. His face was impassive. His eyes spoke the truth, for there was a bit of guilt in them.
Finish her, Grandmaster Zhou wanted to say, Kill her. If a simple strike would down her, she is not worthy of the White Flame.
That is how they would have done it in the old days. Zhou remembered having slain his rival during his youth in another such training exercises. He chalked it up to miscalculating how much force he was striking him with. His master had accepted that answer. And that was that.
Yet this was not the old days, was it? He could not dote upon Tai Haoran as he had been doted upon. Not brought up as the foremost pupil of the White Flame. That would imply there were more than two students.
Besides, Tai Haoran needed someone to spar with. No one in the village would do. Zhou himself was too old and broken. Xiao Rai was… enough
Perhaps that Zheng Jo, with the strange way he breathed Anri, with the way it seemed to filter in his blood, would be a match.
But that would have to wait, for now. Xiao Rai rose to her feet, a dark and ferocious look on her face. She knew she was the lesser of the two students. This fact enraged her, Zhou Winyan knew. He intentionally gave her the more difficult and frustrating chores around the monastery as a result. It would strengthen her, encourage her to do better.
Encourage her to act like she was in the old days.
She threw herself at Tai Haoran. The two danced a dance of fists and kicks.
Then...
“That's enough,” Grandmaster Zhou said, “That's enough!”
They broke apart immediately, standing to attention, side by side.
“Tai Haoran,” Grandmaster Zhou said, “You must learn to control the power behind your strikes. The White Flame encourages absolute destruction of your enemy. It requires much willpower to hold that power in check. Work on this.”
“Yes, master.”
“Xiao Rai!” Grandmaster Zhou snarled, “You are too weak. Your strikes were pointless. Be direct. Be intentional. Review your basic strikes, and use them. Don't throw out a hundred hoping they hit, throw out one and know. Tai Haoran knows this. It would be better if you were like him.”
“Y-Yes, master,” Xiao Rai said, grimacing.
“Attend to your chores, Xiao Rai,” the Grandmaster said, “I want the rooms clean and free of dust. You will also take Tai Haoran's duty of sweeping the temple grounds.”
“Master!” Xiao Rai said, “That gives me no time to-”
“To what? Frivolously waste the day doing nothing? You must learn discipline, Xiao Rai, and discipline is learned by working.”
She looked mutinous. Opened her mouth to say something rash. Then closed it. Tai Haoran sneered at her.
“Dismissed!” Grandmaster Zhou snapped.
The two of them were off at once. Tai Haoran made for his room. Xiao Rai strode away with a huff, shooting one last glare at her fellow student's back, before she went into the supply room to grab a feather duster.
***
“He is interesting,” Wang Ro the Younger said, “I bet he has many stories.”
He and his father, Wang Ro the Elder, were in the physician's office. His father had just returned from a checkup with Lai Huan, who had come down with a fever of some sort. He had prescribed a few medicines to her, and told her family that he would visit them again in a few days. Nothing to be done except for the fever to work its way through her body like a bad meal.
He was reading over a few notes now, a couple of wrinkled old pages that Wang Ro the Younger had never seen before.
“Father?” he said, “What are you doing?”
“Reviewing old records,” Wang Ro the Elder said, “Our visitor is making me delve into the past once more.”
“Once more?”
There was a glimmer in his father's eyes.
“Yes,” he said, “I was on a similar road myself, once. A visitor to this small town. I went to the library, too, to get an idea of the Opal Hills' history.”
“And you married mother,” Wang Ro the Younger said.
“Well,” Wang Ro the Elder said, “That did not come until later. Perhaps Zheng Jo will follow me there. Perhaps he will not. It depends on whom he speaks to.”
He glanced over at his son. Wang Ro the Younger was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head, fingers laced with uncombed hair. He was balancing his glasses on his nose.
He was, Wang Ro the Elder noted, bored.
“You can visit him, if you wish.”
His son looked over.
“You can have him tell your stories of his travels,” Wang Ro the Elder said, “Say it is payment for helping him yesterday with the books.”
“Do you think he'd accept that?” Wang Ro the Younger asked.
“Perhaps,” Wang Ro the Elder replied, “You will not know, until you try.”
“I'll ask him, then,” Wang Ro the Younger said, jumping to his feet, “I'll go now!”
And he scampered off. The Elder smiled at his son's energy, and part of him wished he were still that young. He was an older father. He should have had a child thirty years ago.
But then, thirty years ago had been a busy time.
Wang Ro the Elder looked back at his notes.
At the handmade map of the mines in the region. Zheng Jo was poking his nose in secret places. He would need to be steered carefully, lest he find something he should not.
There was a knock at the door.
Wang Ro the Elder closed up the map.
“Come in!” he said.
The door opened. Tai Haoran sauntered in, all muscles and sweat and energy. He regarded the room with his usual cool air, for Wang Ro the Elder knew that, for all of his swearing on the need for knowledge, Tai Haoran was intimidated by the medicines of the clinic. He did not know what most of them did.
“Ah, Tai Haoran,” he said, “Are you here for your prescription?”
“Yes, Wang Ro,” Tai Haoran said, “I hope all is well?”
“All is as it should be,” Wang Ro the Elder said. He rose from his seat, moving over to his cupboard. Tai Haoran was a regular customer. Flying in the face of all of the Anri user's blustering, his White Flame Techniques, his love of the moving body, was a heart condition. Few knew of it. Perhaps only Wang Ro and the White Flame Sect. Without the proper medication, it could lead to sudden and fatal attacks.
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Especially if one overexerted himself.
Fortunately, the proper medication was here. Wang Ro the Elder put the bottle of pills into a bag, and presented them to Tai Haoran.
“And what,” the physician said, “Do you think of our newcomer, Zheng Jo?”
Tai Haoran blinked his tiger-like eyes.
“What about him?” the Anri user asked.
“I recall you were rather suspicious of him, were you not?” Wang Ro the Elder said, “You followed him to the library. I think you were helping him, not out of any sense of goodwill, but to keep an eye on him.”
Tai Haoran's eyebrow raised.
“Perhaps I still have suspicions,” he said, “He has not done anything yet. But it has only been a day.”
Here was an opportunity. Insurance. A suspicious Anri user was a weapon that could be used, if the need arose.
“Yes,” Wang Ro the Elder said, “...I will tell you, if anything happens. I will do my own private research into Zheng Jo.”
“And you will let me know?” Tai Haoran said.
“If he is dangerous, if he is from a rival sect, you will be the first to know, Tai Haoran.”
The smile that appeared on Tai Haoran's face was predatory and triumphant. Yes, Tai Haoran, not Zhou Winyan, not Xiao Rai, would be the one to face down this outside threat. The glory would be his, and his alone.
The two bowed. Tai Haoran took his leave.
Yes, the arrogant were easy pieces to move on the board.
***
It was just after lunch at this point. Zheng Jo was at a table on the inn's first floor, a flurry of scrolls and notes spread out around him, sipping at a cup of tea. Guo Liling was at the bar’s counter, giving her father time to rest before it came time to make Zi Shi Ying's dinner. The older man was in the back taking a nap. One could hear his snores from his room in the back of the inn, and the louder ones made Zheng Jo and Guo Liling steal mirthful glances at one another.
Wang Ro the Younger barged into the inn, his breathing heavy as he re-adjusted his glasses.
“Wang Ro,” Guo Liling said, “Be quiet. My father is sleeping.”
“Oh,” Wang Ro the Younger said, and he bowed, “Sorry.”
“It's alright,” Guo Liling said, “Just be quiet. My father has a busy evening ahead of him, he and I are making Zi Shi Ying's meal tonight.”
Thanking and respecting the spirits of the Opal Hills was not child's play. Wang Ro the Younger gave a slight grimace, before he bowed again. His eyes found Zheng Jo as the newcomer was finishing up writing a few notes into a book.
A book, as was becoming the style, from what his father told him. Bound differently than what Wang Ro the Younger was used to, not like a scroll, not like the butterfly bindings that he sometimes saw in his father's study. The very sight of it excited Wang Ro the Younger.
And, with the arrogance that comes with all children, he strode over to Zheng Jo.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Zheng Jo paused, turning to look at the Younger. His eyebrow raised, and Wang Ro the Younger had a feeling he was being an annoyance.
But he didn't care.
“I'm working,” Zheng Jo said, “I've got a good idea of where I want to go when your dad and I go out tomorrow to survey the landscape, so I'm just looking at a personal project of mine.”
“What is it?” Wang Ro the Younger asked.
Zheng Jo sighed. Looked at his book.
“It's...” he said, “I'm doing a bit of translation work.”
He gestured at another book on the table. This one was far more worn. Wang Ro the Younger noted Guo Liling lean against the bar, listening to their conversation. She was interested in the book, too.
“Translation?”
“Yeah,” Zheng Jo said, “I've got a journal from my Nai Nai. She was a traveler, like me. Went all over the place, wrote down stories of her travels in a dozen different languages. I've been translating them.”
He showed Wang Ro the Younger his journal, but the boy did not understand the language that Zheng Jo was translating the journal into, either.
“You must know a lot of languages,” Wang Ro the Younger said.
“Ha!” Zheng Jo said, “Only a few. Not as many as her. Hence why this is taking me time.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“Something I can help you with, man?” he asked.
“I...” Wang Ro the Younger hesitated, “I was wondering if you could tell me more about where you're from. A-As payment.”
“Payment?” Zheng Jo said.
“For helping you yesterday.”
And, to his delight, Zheng Jo considered that. Shrugged, gave a frown of agreement, for he could not refute Wang Ro the Younger's argument.
“Alright,” he said, “I'm from a castle. People from all over the place live there.”
“In Old Gate City?”
“...Yeah,” Zheng Jo said, “In Old Gate City.”
“Are there lots of people there? And spirits?”
“Yeah,” Zheng Jo said.
(At this, Guo Liling grew perplexed, for Zheng Jo had told her that the castle had no spirits, and Old Gate City was known for having many.)
“What are the other people in the castle like?”
“Oh, they're all jerks,” Zheng Jo said, laughing, “But not in a bad way. Like...”
He thought of his words.
“Like Tai Haoran?” Guo Liling added, helpfully.
Zheng Jo snapped his fingers.
“Yeah, like Tai Haoran, I guess,” he said, “A jerk, but you keep him around because he's useful.”
“He's kind to me,” Wang Ro the Younger said, “He helps me with my chores, sometimes.”
“Yeah, well,” Zheng Jo shrugged, “You're not an outsider.”
Wang Ro the Younger went quiet at that. He pondered Zheng Jo's words. Guo Liling spoke up.
“Give it time,” she said, “I'm sure once you're seen in town more, or in here, people will start trusting you.”
“Eh, it's alright,” Zheng Jo said, “Just as long as I can get my work done, that's all I'll need.”
He gave her a smile. He'd been smiling more, lately. Since his talk with Guo Liling.
Guo Liling thought it was because he had taken up her offer to go to Zi Shi Ying together.
(Joseph, meanwhile, while he thought she was pretty, was smiling because he was getting somewhere in his investigation.)
“And why are you doing the work?” Wang Ro the Younger asked.
Zheng Jo frowned.
“This job, you mean?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Well,” Zheng Jo said, shrugging, “It's mostly because I was the one assigned to it. Our... boss, we'll say, he has a list of jobs from our clients, and suggests that we go on them. I took this one on his suggestion.”
“Is it what you like to do?” Wang Ro the Younger asked.
Zheng Jo winced.
“Partially,” he said, “But, you take the partials in life, I've found. Get what you can get, while the getting's good.”
He fixed Wang Ro the Younger with a level look.
“I think you'll get that, when you're a bit older.”
Wang Ro the Younger was quiet. Guo Liling was staring at the bar, busying herself by wiping it down, despite the fact that it had yet to be used.
She thought about Zheng Jo's words.
She thought about talking to her father again. About leaving. And having adventures like him. Her daydreams for the rest of the day were filled with castles with a thousand people, each one different from the last.
***
The preparation of a century egg, or the pine-patterned egg in certain parts of the empire, was a slow process. It required the coating of duck eggs in a mixture of lime, ash, rice, and mud, a specific mixture that Guo Kenan had learned when he was but five years old. For these eggs were the favorite of Zi Shi Ying, and thus many people in the Opal Hills were skilled in making them. The innkeeper had already prepared the month's batch quite some time ago, pulling them out of storage. The eggshells had taken on a chalk-like quality, though they fell away easily. The white and the yolk had blackened, with pine-shaped indentations on the surface, for all the world resembling a black opal. Baptized in mud, it had taken on the appearance of a mineral from the mines.
Guo Kenan added these eggs to a bowl of congee. He spent his evening preparing the rice porridge, adding slips of lean pork into the mix, a bit of ginger, and some green onions.
Despite the relative simplicity of the recipe, Guo Kenan was sweating. For honoring one of the spirits of the Opal Hills, even if they were benign, required a level of perfection that mortals normally didn't require. Everything had to be exact.
He spent the evening agonizing over it. Guo Liling, his daughter, spent her time in the kitchen as well, cooking up rice noodles for her and Joseph.
“Want me to help?” Joseph asked.
“N-No!” Guo Liling said as she chopped rough vegetables, “There would be too many in the kitchen.”
“I get that,” Joseph said. He knew the feeling too well. But, feeling like he wasn't doing enough, he got permission to man the counter of the bar.
The regulars filed in, and Joseph learned their names. Lo Qiu sauntered in first with his high, reedy, almost annoying laugh. He fixed Joseph with a look like he was in on some sort of joke, before guffawing himself to his customary seat at the table. Joseph poured out some rice wine for him.
Yin Biya and Han Deming came in next. They ordered some warm tea each, then sat down at a table and started playing one of their board games, Han Deming gingerly pulling it out of his bag as though it were a sacred thing.
Finally, Li Bai came in. In tow was his son, Li Tian. Around sixteen, maybe.
“Ah, working the bar?” Li Bai asked.
“Y-Yeah,” Joseph said, “Hope that's alright.”
“You're not pillaging my fields, so I suppose it's fine,” Li Bai said, “This is Li Tian's first time drinking alcohol.”
That you know of, Joseph thought.
“What would you recommend?”
Joseph thought for a moment, crossing his arms.
“Most of the stuff I drink isn't available here,” he said, “Probably equivalent to cheap baijiu.”
“Ah, I had that once,” Li Bai said, “My father took me to Old Gate City, and we went to an inn there. Was very strong.”
“Mm,” Joseph said, and he poured Li Tian a glass.
Behind him, in the kitchen, he could hear Guo Liling and Guo Kenan having a whispered argument.
“Please, father,” she was saying, “It's a chance for me to do this on my own. If I am to stay here, then I must be able to speak to Zi Shi Ying alone. If I am to leave, it is a chance to show...”
“Show what?” Guo Kenan asked.
“That I am capable,” she almost squeaked out this last part.
“You are capable, my daughter,” Guo Kenan said, “But I don't want you going alone, because that newcomer is still a stranger.”
“He's kind, father.”
“Many people are kind,” Guo Kenan said, “Until you get to know them. Little Jasmine, the fact that I am letting you go up the mountain at all shows how I trust you.”
She was quiet at that. For she knew her old man was right.
But yet...
“Please, father.”
“No. That's final,” Guo Kenan said, “Now, please, pass me the garlic.”
***
They left for the mountain shrine just as dinner was arriving. Guo Kenan had Li Bai take over the bar, for he trusted the farmer enough (certainly more than the already drunken Lo Qiu) to pour out the usual drinks for the usual patrons, for everyone had their favorites, and rarely deviated. They went up along the mountain path near the White Flame monastery, and they could hear the shouts of Xiao Rai, the second student, as she practiced in the courtyard. The air up here smelled vaguely of flame.
“She practices a lot,” Guo Liling explained to Zheng Jo, “Wants to get better than that braggart, Tai Haoran.”
“He's definitely... a personality,” Zheng Jo admitted.
Guo Liling snorted at that.
Guo Kenan, older than the two youths, stayed a bit behind them. Despite himself, he smiled at the sound of their conversation, at his daughter pointing out various landmarks to the newcomer. The small grave of Pan Shun, ancestor of Pan Baihu, who had insisted on being buried nearest to the mine where he had discovered emeralds and thus saved the town's economy in his day. The old tree by the river that had small stones slung on string wound 'round its lower branch, made by young couples to signify their newborn devotion.
Guo Liling spent perhaps a hair bit longer gazing at the tree. She didn't meet Zheng Jo's eyes for a while after that.
They wound their way up the mountain, mostly taking old dirt roads up to the meeting point, passing by the river, the grasses, hearing the calls of birds in the trees, a distant wolf's howl. The sun was nearly set as they arrived at the site. Guo Kenan brought out a lamp, lighting it for the three of them as they sat in a small circle. The clearing was at outcropping of stone, a stretch of land that jutted from the mountain, with a gingko snaring out, like a rogue limb, towards the sky.
It was where Zi Shi Ying came to meet the villagers of the Opal Hills. Where he accepted their gifts.
Guo Kenan removed food from his pack. Simple rice noodles for himself, his daughter and Zheng Jo. The century egg congee for the spirit, which was in a covered bowl that he removed and placed in the center of the clearing.
A few moments passed. The cold mountain air stilled.
The flame in the lantern took on a whitish hue. They heard the shuffling of feathers on the wing.
And Zi Shi Ying, the Fluorite Bird, landed in the clearing. He resembled, in some ways, an eagle. A hawk. A seagull or a crow. Any bird, and yet no bird atop Dà Xiàng's back. Zi Shi Ying's plumage was white, though flecks of stones glittered in his feathers, of every color, almost glass-like in their make.
(Guo Liling noted Zheng Jo's shudder.)
(Joseph could not help but remember Silicon, at Death Valley, and phantom pains burned in his soul.)
Zi Shi Ying moved towards the bowl of congee, head flickering back and forth, eyes the color of marble considering the meal. He brought a beak down, pecked at it, fished out a slice of egg, and swallowed it whole.
The eyes closed. He let out a deep, purring rumble.
“Mmm,” he said, and his voice was like the earth itself, deep and throaty, “You honor me, Guo Kenan. Most delicious, most delicious.”
He picked at it his meal some more. Rice stained his beak. Those ivory eyes considered his three guests.
Lingered, for but a second sooner, on Zheng Jo.
“A newcomer,” he said, “Rarely do we get visitors, especially up here. Introduce yourself, traveler.”
Zheng Jo bowed.
“I'm Zheng Jo,” he said.
“Ah, good,” Zi Shi Ying said, “Zheng is a powerful name, in more ways than one. You carry yourself in an honorable way.”
“I...” and Zheng Jo hesitated. Zi Shi Ying let out a chuffing laugh.
“I kid with you,” Zi Shi Ying said, “Come, far traveler, eat. You must be hungry after your long journey.”
At this, Zheng Jo's eyes narrowed. But he started eating, together with Guo Liling and Guo Kenan. Zi Shi Ying tucked back into his congee. In four quick jabs, he was done. His three guests ate quickly, as well. They finished soon, too.
“And how is the village, Guo Kenan?” Zi Shi Ying asked, “Are they ready for the storm?”
“Will it be a big one?”
“Oh, a few days, a few days,” Zi Shi Ying said, “And not a small gale, either. A squall, I should think.”
His words were weighted.
(And Joseph understood them.)
“I thank you, Zi Shi Ying, for the warning,” Guo Kenan said, giving a slight bow, “On behalf of myself, and for my village.”
“Gah, think nothing of it, young one,” Zi Shi Ying said, “So long as you cook me the occasional meal, I am satisfied.”
The bird turned his attention to Zheng Jo.
“I am curious, however, of this newcomer. Who are you, Zheng Jo? Why did you decide to join us, on this night of nights? Guo Liling I understand. She wishes to see the world outside her village.”
At this, Guo Liling reddened. She looked away from the others.
“But you, you seem well traveled already, despite your young age,” Zi Shi Ying continued, “You are from Old Gate City, yes?”
Zheng Jo fixed the Fluorite Bird with an odd look. His eyes spoke words that only the spirit could understand.
The bird unfurled his wings. White and glittering.
“The two of us will speak alone,” he said, “You two, you are dismissed.”
Guo Kenan and Guo Liling exchanged curious looks. But they both rose, father and daughter, and went down the path, out of earshot of the two of them. Guo Kenan took the lantern with him, leaving Zheng Jo in darkness with Zi Shi Ying.
“Odd of him,” Guo Kenan commented, “Usually he doesn't do that.”
“He doesn't?” Guo Liling asked.
“When he speaks alone, it is usually to Grandmaster Zhou, or Pan Baihu,” Guo Kenan said, and he stroked his beard, “Never to someone like our visitor.”
Guo Liling bit her lip. Turned back to look at the clearing.
After a moment, she started heading back up, making sure she made no noise.
“Liling!” her father hissed, “What are you doing?”
“I'm going to see what they're talking about,” she whispered back.
“My daughter, a sneak!”
“You want to know too, father, don't you?”
And Guo Kenan faltered. For he could not disagree. Besides. It was an opportunity to see if Zheng Jo was truly an interloper or not.
“Be careful,” was all he said.
Guo Liling nodded, her face set. She brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face that had escaped from her haphazard ponytail, and went back up the path. She hid nearby, in a bundle of bushes, and craned an ear to listen in. Zi Shi Ying's voice was almost supernaturally low.
“...As I saw your ancestors,” he said.
“So you know,” Zheng Jo said, “I'm a metahuman?”
“Hnn, your kind are rare here, very rare,” Zi Shi Ying said, “But the Anri flows through you, not around. To an Anri user such as I, it is a dead giveaway.”
She heard Zheng Jo swear under his breath.
“Explains why that Grandmaster Zhou guy and Tai Haoran are so suspicious of me,” he said, “I must look like a freak to them. Ah, well, I'm a freak to a lot of people.”
The two were silent for a while.
“...And you know of the multiverse,” Zheng Jo said.
Guo Liling's eyes widened. Her heart started to race.
“I do, far traveler,” Zi Shi Ying said, “I speak with Dragons. And I am old. I know you are not of this place. It is in your voice. The way you carry yourself. You are a curiosity.”
Zheng Jo was quiet.
“Your secret is safe with me, Zheng Jo, if that is even your name.”
“Thanks.”
“What brings you from beyond Dà Xiàng's back?”
“I'm looking for... a project. One that was left behind, by a fellow traveler,” Zheng Jo said, “I don't know much about it. But I think it's in one of the mines.”
“Hmm hmm, well, old Zi Shi Ying knows quite a bit of the mines in this area.”
The flurry of paper. Zheng Jo was pulling out a map.
“It would have started up maybe thirty years ago. A bit later, maybe. That's when... that's when a war out there ended.”
“And the losers of that war spread out across the multiverse.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
Zi Shi Ying was quiet. For a long time. Guo Liling clutched her chest, the way her heart pounded. It sounded like a war drum in her ears, so loud she swore that the spirit could hear her. But if the Fluorite Bird knew where she was hiding, he gave no indication. She heard him bring up a claw. Tap on the map
“This mine,” he said, “And this one. This one, too. They are close to the town. But not so close as to be remembered. They also run deep.”
“Thanks,” Zheng Jo said.
“Of course, far traveler,” the spirit said, “Now, run along. Beware of other newcomers in the Opal Hills, those who came before you.”
“...Should've thought of that sooner,” Zheng Jo said, with a grunt, “I'll ask around.”
“Yes, do so, Zheng Jo. Metahuman.”
And marble eyes flashed in the darkness.
Looked directly at Guo Liling, who nearly fainted from shock.
“Walk carefully, on your way home.”