Without hesitation, Moy Dongbin drew out a wooden talisman. “This talisman will call the Sect’s higher-ups to us in an instant! One squeeze of my hand, and you’re as good as dead! Tell us what you’ve done to Lang Mou!”

“And even if the Sect’s higher-ups arrive as fast as you say, these two men standing by me are also disciples. Whose to say the Sect would side with you on the matter?” Booker countered. “As for Lang Mou, I’ve poisoned him. Here, this is the antidote.” He drew the last of the Toxin Repelling Pills pills out of his bag, holding it up to the light.

“Give it here!” Dongbin shouted.

“Ha.” Booker replied coldly. “Drop your sword and kick it across the ground to me. Do what I say, and Lang Mou will live.”

Moy Dongbin’s face contorted, but slowly, he leaned down and put his sword in the dust, kicking it across to Booker.

Once Booker had taken it – pausing even, to admire the balance and the make of the beautiful hilt and flexible blade – he glanced to Fairy Ying. “You too.”

She looked unimpressed, and wasted no time in telling him as much. “A cold-hearted man would kill me the moment I gave up my sword, and then kill Lang Mou anyway. A soft-hearted man might let me live, but he’s liable to spare Lang Mou regardless. I don’t think I’ll bet on you being the coin that lands on its edge, and is just soft-hearted enough to let me live with no weapon, but cold enough to let Lang Mou die if I don’t. And anyway… I don’t care that much.”

Damn, she doesn’t lose her head at all. Cold as ice.

“I have a question.” He demanded. “Answer it and the pill is yours. Where have the Lao-Hain gone?”

Moy Dongbin scowled and kicked at the dirt, but there was nothing he could do. There really was every chance the Sect sided against him – and now Booker was sure, that talisman might call the Sect, but it wouldn’t do so instantly. Not in time to save Lang Mou, who was choking and gurgling between them.

“They were driven away by the bandits we were hunting for…” Moy Dongbin attempted, but Booker immediately cut him off.

“Bandits? You expect me to believe rootless wildmen did this?”

“Fine! We were told to drive them further from the Sect!” Moy Dongbin shouted. “Two nights ago they finally got the point.”

‘Drive’ them away, sure. I don’t imagine that three disciples were ever going to do much more than annoy their best cultivators… but then, if their best cultivators attack mere disciples, then the greater Mantis Sect has an excuse to move against them openly.

This was an attempt to provoke a counter-attack.

“Then why are you still here?” Booker asked.

Moy Dongbin’s face twisted. “We– we are only awaiting further orders.”

Bingo. They didn’t achieve their real objective – provoking an attack that could be spun into justification for further violence.

Booker threw the pill back behind him, out onto the grassy road, and said, “Fetch that within a few minutes and he might live. But don’t dare run or make any fast movements. We’ll simply walk past each other, at a good distance, and part ways.”

Slowly, carefully, both groups circled around each other in the ruins of the camp. Booker and his friends kept walking, as Moy Dongbin began to frantically search the road for the pill and Fairy Ying simply watched.

Leaving behind three people who can all attest they met a masked man traveling with Xan and Fen… It’s not ideal. But killing them…

Beyond just moral qualms, that talisman really might have summoned the Sect onto our trail, and led to annihilation. What’s more, while from their perspective it was a two versus three they couldn’t win, in my current state I could barely contribute. I might count Snips as a third, but then I’d have to reckon with Moy Dongbin’s summoned spirits as their fourth…

No, the fact is, Fen isn’t really a fighter either. Moy Dongbin and Fairy Ying are both well-known powerhouses. Manipulating them into a stalemate with our apparent position of strength was the right move.

When they had put the camp far behind them, Xan let out a tremendous sigh of relief, wiping his forehead. “I nearly shit myself when he went for your mask, R- ‘Northsparrow’.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that.” Fen frowned. “But I was worried as well. How did you know?”

“It’s the little things.” Rain responded. “And he’s not that good at hiding his killing intent.”

“In any case… Where the fuck are the Lao-Hain?” Xan growled.

“They never stray too far from the river.” Fen answered. “If we keep following the river, we’re sure to find them eventually.”

And we’re likely to encounter those three again. But I didn’t stall for nothing. That pill… was only a poison suppressing pill, not a healing or poison purging one. It will stop the poison from progressing, but not reverse the effects.

They’ll be dragging a sick and weak Lang Mou with them if they choose to follow, and hopefully he won’t be back to battle strength until well after I’m able to become a cultivator.

He looked down, examining the sword in his hands. It was made of a beautiful blue steel that was rippled with lines of pearly silver.

“Ah, that’s a pearlescent luster flare sword.” Xan noted. “A low-grade treasure, but still a treasure. When you fill it with qi, it can emit a bright flash. Useful for surprising enemies.”

Booker nodded. “I’ll consider it payment for their medicine.”

— — —

The shrine, at least, was still where it was supposed to be.

Booker thought it looked similar to a hunting lodge, a long building of stacked log walls with two stories, a front supported by wooden pillars, and a peaked rooftop shingled in red. All around the outside of the building, bells hung by lengths of twine and made soft music when the wind blew through them.

On the steps that led down to the river several men and women in white robes were doing their laundry, but they paused and looked up as the trio approached. One of the women, who had long dark hair fastened back into two buns held by ornate jeweled picks, stepped forward – she was the overseer, and had long nails and delicate nail guards made of polished red wood on her left hand.

But Booker could see that the fingers of her right hand were manicured short, and bore faint scars from sword practice.

“Greetings, wandering cultivators.” She said. “Please know that this shrine has been declared holy ground by both the Mantis Sect and the Lao-Hain: we will have no trouble here.”

Fen stepped forward, bowing his head, “Excuse me miss, we’re not here on official business but we’re seeking the Lao-Hain.”

“Ah, they were driven away recently and moved further down the river to an old stronghold of theirs. If you follow the ruins you’ll soon find them.”

“Really?” Xan said. “By those three runts?”

“By bandits.” She answered coldly. “Maybe there were three of them. Maybe more. All I know is that any hunters the Lao-Hain sent into the woods failed to come back, and the three Mantis Sect disciples sent to ‘help’ us never found any trace of the bandits…”

So to keep their neutrality they’re going with the Mantis Sect’s hastily slapped-together story of ‘bandits’ harassing the Lao-Hain…

What a mess.

Even Moy Dongbin’s part in this affair is a shit deal for him. In terms of missions, it’s not a total death sentence, but it’s a risky one. Provoking a superior opponent and escaping…

Xan shrugged. “Well, we met some bandits on the road, funny enough. They’re gone now. Might be back, might not.”

A faint smile before she said, “I think they won’t bother us either way.”

Fen laid a hand on Booker’s shoulder, whispering, “This shrine is run by the Snow Tribe, and protects an ancient purifying art they sometimes share with outsiders. We should definitely try to curry some favor here…”

“Excuse me.” Booker stepped forward. “But what is this shrine and who are you? We’ve gotten so far into conversation without introductions – I’m the Daoist Northsparrow, a traveling healer.”

“Northsparrow… You’re awfully forward with your name for a man who wears a mask, which likely means your name is an illusion.” She smiled viciously – she was exceptionally beautiful, Booker had to admit. “I am Maiden Snow Blossom. In this shrine, I maintain ancient bindings that protect the whole of the valley. For this reason it is known as the Valley Pillar Shrine.”

Snow Blossom…

Gorgeous, dangerous, and refined. I can see why the first Valley Rain chose them as allies.

“These bindings and protections… They wouldn’t happen to be against the curse of this valley, that I’ve heard so much about, would they?” He asked.

“Ah, what an educated question. You’ve taken an interest in our affairs, then?”

“A physician has a natural curiosity for all manners of sickness.” Booker replied.

“So your name is a fiction, but your profession is real.” She replied, to which Booker could only wince behind his mask. She’s sharp. Very sharp. I should really cut my losses and retreat… but who could resist such an opponent? “Well, my fellow daoist, this shrine does indeed protect the valley against its ancient enemy. This curse dwells within the hills and rivers, and is held back only by the repetition of ancient rites laid in place by our ancestors. If you wish to learn more about these matters, you are invited to partake… There’s only one small matter that must be settled before we begin the next rite.”

Let me guess…

You need a sacred deer.

“We require the heart of a certain type of deer that dwells within the valley, bearing silver fur and a noble demeanor. They’ve been systemically hunted nearly to extinction, but we believe a few still live.” She explained. “Previously, we relied on the Lao-Hain to find them. It seems that’s no longer an option.”

Booker glanced to Fen and Xan, offering, “Fellow travelers, I’m quite interested. Both in helping these people and experiencing their magics.”

Xan looked to Fen, who nodded. “It seems worth the diversion.”

— — —

Together they ventured out into the woods, searching slowly, careful not to be overquick and startle away the very creature that was their goal.

Fen took point. Being the most experienced hunter, they searched for hoofprints and signs of deer. But there was little to distinguish the feces of a sacred deer from the normal, decidedly common variety, and more than once a promising trail ended in them letting a rusty brown deer dart away, disappointed at the lack of silver in its hide.

In the end they had little to show for several hours…

Except that they had spotted an old watchtower among the trees.

It was a hollow tower of gray stone cracked open along one side, and filled with nesting owls, their piping and hooting echoing up the empty tunnel and filling the forest. Crows perched on the roof, which was collapsed in above the scar in the walls. Ivy had long ago crawled between the bricks. An outer courtyard entered into four walls with no roof remaining between them, many of their stones fallen away to lie among the wild grasses.

“Should we?” Booker asked. Old ruins could be very dangerous in this world. It only took a single body harboring a vengeful spirit to begin an angry cycle, as those killed by ghosts would often rise as ghosts themselves. In an out of the way place like this, the dead could pile up, vengeance fueling vengeance until a truly vile situation had developed.

Xan said, “It’s a little close to the shrine and the old Lao-Hain camp for there to really be that many ghosts. I think they would have warned us if it was a known danger.”

Fen nodded.

As they approached, squirrels fled from the underbrush – but no deer. Instead, a certain scent entered the air.

The scent of blood.

Flies buzzed over the body that lay on the ancient flagstones. Booker winced. “Probably one of the hunters.” He moved towards it cautiously, very aware of the danger of spirits, but he felt no rising killing intent and saw no ghostly mist erupting from the corpse. Kneeling down, he rolled the poor woman over onto her back.

Deep, thin wounds criss-crossed her chest, biting straight through her clothes.

“A sword did this.” Booker said. “Definitely the work of one of those three.”

“Bastards. We should have killed them.” Xan clenched his fist.

Booker sighed. “Probably. It looks like they were worse than the pests I took them for. Definitely, if they trouble us again, we wipe them out.”

“Killing other disciples isn’t my first choice, but when they’re out on a dangerous mission, with nobody to observe… I think we could arrange for them to meet an accident.” Fen added. “The difficult thing will be making it clear it wasn’t the Lao-Hain, and denying the Sect a reason to attack them, without exposing ourselves…”

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

But Booker was beginning to feel… strange. A familiar sickening prickle on the back of his neck. The feeling of being watched. He turned his head up slowly, and spotted a crow sitting on the edge of the walls. It was looking straight at him. The moment he returned its glance, it shot up into the air, dark wings beating frantically.

“FEN!” Booker shouted. “Kill it!”

Without hesitation, Fen’s hand shot out and a steel needle flew. The bird let out a shriek as it was pierced through the chest and plummeted to the ground.

Xan went forward to stomp it into paste, but Booker extended a hand to hold him back.

The corpse had already begun to dissolve into a nest of writhing white maggots. As they watched, the horrid things erupted from the flesh and wriggled across the stone, finding gaps in the tile underfoot and vanishing back into the earth.

“What…” Xan blanched, his face whitening. “What is that?”

“The curse of the valley.” Booker replied.

“I thought that was a myth…” Xan said, his nose wrinkling with disgust as one of the maggots wriggled towards his foot, forcing him to step back.

“It’s very real.” Fen confirmed. “But I didn’t realize how bad it had grown.”

“Hmmm.” Booker considered for a moment, then said, “It can possess both humans and wild animals. Do you think the curse can also take control of corpses?”

The both of them made ugly faces when they realized the implications. If the trio of disciples really had been hunting the hunters for several days, the forest would be littered with corpses. Add the curse’s power to animate them, and…

“Let’s burn this one.” Xan said. “And camp by the road tonight, where nothing can use the trees to sneak up on us.”

All three nodded, and Xan grabbed the body by the legs, dragging it out of the ruins while Fen set up a bed of dry wood and tinder to burn it on. Booker was left to wander the ruins for a quiet moment, examining the ancient stones and the sunlight that fell through the pine boughs shading the roof.

Reaching into his robes, he took out his last qi detection talisman and let it flutter in the wind.

Very quickly, he picked up two distinct areas of qi. One was the lingering stink of foul cursed energy around the corpse of the crow. He scowled, wishing he had some way to wash away its influence.

But the other had the same eerie, unpleasant feeling as it radiated out from the talisman. It was coming from…

Booker couldn’t be sure, actually. He walked back and forth for a while, feeling the talisman go hot and cold under his fingers as he walked under the shadow of the northern wall. Naturally, he went outside and checked the opposite side, then took a stick and began to dig about, looking for something that might be causing it. But there was nothing on either side. No buried treasure, and no hidden passage below the flagstones.

There was only the wall itself.

“What are you doing?” Xan asked. He had come in while Booker was distracted, and Booker glanced up, frowning.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “But there’s something here that has qi. I think it might be inside the wall.”

Xan paused, then came forward, putting his hand against the stones of the wall. Soon his frown matched Booker’s. “Definitely.” He muttered. “It’s faint, but I can feel it. Go get one of Fen’s needle, will you, Rain? I need something to pry out the stones with.”

“Hold on, I have someone…” Booker reached into his bag and took out Zhu-Zhu’s jar, holding it to the wall. “Go inside and see what’s there, Zhu-Zhu.” He instructed.

To his surprise, the little mole squeaked and backed up to the bottom of the jar.

“Huh?” Xan lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”

“Maybe, maybe.” Booker said. “It doesn’t give me a good feeling.”

“No.” Xan agreed.

“I’ll go get that needle.”

Soon, Booker and Fen stood watching as Xan used the point of the needle to scrape out the ancient, dried-up mortar between the stones, opening space to pry the bricks free. Booker already had an ugly premonition of what they would find, but it hurt to see it confirmed as the first glint of bone showed through.

“What the fuck…” Xan muttered, hurrying his prying and pulling, until a window-sized hole had opened and they could all see the small, entombed skeleton clearly. It had been bound with decaying strips of leather and killed by a narrow hole pierced through the skull.

With a sudden shout of anger, Xan grabbed the remaining wall around the hollow and ripped it down, bricks tumbling to the ground in a crash of stone that sent owls and crows fleeing into the air.

“What the fuck!” He shouted again.

Fen laid a hand on his shoulder. “It was a long time ago…”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

“No.” Booker agreed. “And it’s still happening.”

They both turned to look at him, Xan red with fury and Fen only lifting a single eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.

“Sorry… So much has happened… I should have told you both earlier. When I… after I lost my amulet, I took a commission to help with a haunting in the bathhouse on Thorn Street. I had the help of the same foolish exorcists who accidentally raised the spirit to begin with. We discovered a similar entombment… the victim was just as young.”

“Is…” Xan looked back, at the curled and painfully small bones hidden in the wall. “Do you think it’s the same thing? A ritual, or a cult, or… or something?”

Fen nodded. “A ritual, it must be. Blood magic is ancient and powerful and prefers the innocent for its victims.”

“I informed the Sect, but they didn’t seem too interested. I had to beg and get lucky to even get it put down as a charity commission.” Booker admitted. “But this is still happening. And when we go back to the city… it’s past time we put a stop to it.”

“Do you think it has something to do with the curse?” Fen asked.

“I think so.” Booker could only conclude. “I get the same feeling from these bones and the remains of the crow.”

“It’s been so long, there’s not even a ghost…” Fen said, turning back and gently examining the skull. “This cult or practice must be ancient…”

“Don’t.” Xan insisted. “Just… help me bury them…”

Lifting the miserable bundle of pale bone from the wall, he carried it out beyond the walls and past the fire where the hunter’s corpse was burning. They all helped dig, using their hands to scoop out the soft, rainfall-softened earth and make enough of a pit to bury the bones in. For a long time after they sat on the tree roots nearby, nursing their foul tempers.

Finally, Xan cracked his knuckles. “Let’s go back to the shrine and see if they can tell us what’s going on. And if not them, the Lao-Hain.”

“If possible,” Booker added, “We should rest there for the night. It’s safer than the river.”

— — —

By the time they returned to the shrine, the sun was low against the distant trees and the washing-up was finished. Snow Blossom invited them in to the shrine, leading them to a small room where every wall was covered by solid redwood panels depicting ancient cultivators in meditation, battle, and flight. She poured the tea from an ornate black teapot, and after days of rough travel and river water the taste was heaven, a molten heat pouring down Booker’s throat and warming him from within as he savored the sweet, faintly bitter taste.

“Well…” She said in response to their questions, once they’d explained what they found. “I can see you’ve stumbled upon one of the darker secrets of the valley. Yes, there are those who worship and give sacrifice to the curse. They’ve existed since ancient times, and I’m not surprised to hear they dwell in Mantis City now… The Mantis Sect has always turned their nose up at what they see as an ignorant superstition. They may believe the curse exists but they certainly don’t believe it’s a threat. It’s a prejudice against the valley, and it makes them vulnerable, so why wouldn’t the curse-worshippers exploit their blindness?”

Incredible. In a world with magic… they still refuse to believe.

“I’m not surprised.” Fen answered, his voice cold in a way Booker hadn’t heard before. “Their existence is justified by being a higher cultivating power than us ignorant valley-folk. If they accept we have something to teach in turn, that excuse crumbles, and they would have to answer for their crimes against the valley.”

“Exactly. Acknowledging that someone has something worth saying… doesn’t it also mean acknowledging they have a right to speak?” Snow Blossom’s ever-present smile bore a sad irony.

“What is this curse?” Booker asked. “I have heard people talk about it before, but they didn’t know the origin.”

“The origin lies, in part, beneath this very shrine.” She answered in a cool tone.

Xan sat straight up, burning tea sloshing down his hand and making him curse. “Fuck! What!?”

“Don’t be alarmed. This shrine exists to render the portion beneath us harmless. Long ago, the curse was a single being with a physical form. You would know it as a demon. Now it can only act by possessing others, because its body and its cultivation are still restrained and slowly withering to death. Only the third portion, its will, has escaped to wreak havoc. It can only attempt to free itself, tortured by the feeling of its body starving and its power decaying…” Snow Blossom continued.

Booker couldn’t help but think of the wolf-woman’s explanation.

Either we wither and die… or it does. It’s simply a matter of who collapses first, and both sides have been clinging to the other by their teeth for decades.

“A demon? Really?” Xan looked, not exactly doubtful, but uncomfortable. “I always heard demons were… well, stronger than any beast or cultivator.”

“Indeed. It was the work of immortals to seal it, and it is now far weaker than it was. That is the only reason we can continue to hold it back in the days of our own decline. Do not forget – you are all children of the valley – this land was once a mecca for cultivation. In the ancient days, the Lao-Hain were one arm of the Mist Cauldron Sect, which ruled over these valleys and mountains. Their influence was great and their wisdom greater.”

“And what befell them?” Booker asked.

“They were annihilated by a single cultivator.” She sipped her tea. “So it goes. A sect can be the pillar that holds up the heavens, but that will not stop even one true cultivator from tearing it apart. Each true sect is a legacy, founded by a rising greatness, and by the hand of another rising greatness it will meet destruction. The Mantis Sect, which is only cowering in the shadows and has no true foundation, cannot compete.”

Annihilated by a single cultivator…

Uncomfortable silence held for a moment, until she added, “Don’t look so stiff. I know you two are disciples of the Sect. I merely want you to know how high the mountains and the heavens rise, and not allow short-sighted men to cloud your potential.”

Xan shook his head. “The peace of the valley is enough for me. All I care about is living a good life.”

Fen raised his fan. “How did the will escape, though?”

“As I said, the demon was divided into three pieces. This shrine, the Valley Pillar, holds the body in captivity. The cultivation is held in a grave to the south, defended by the Mosscrypt Tribe. The last portion was restrained by the Cloudforest Tribe, but they’ve failed to produce a worthy inheritor for years, except for a bastard branch of the clan, named the Valley Tribe.”

The Valley Tribe!

Rain’s family. And if Valley Rain was the last inheritor…

His death led to this? Then, this isn’t just a fight.

It’s Rain’s fight. It’s my fight. I see now what Valley Tiger meant about accepting responsibilities alongside finding allies. This Snow Tribe would probably do quite a lot to see a successor appear…

“He passed some time ago, defending the valley from an outbreak of the Red-Eyed Plague. Since his absence, nobody with the talent for the rituals has appeared to become a successor, and his appointed heir has vanished into Mantis City and the Sect’s hands.”

Booker could feel the effort it was taking for Xan and Fen not to look directly at him.

“Following his death, we believe the seals have weakened, and one portion of the demon has been able to reach out and take control of the weak-willed. Actual cultivators have so far been beyond it, but many lesser beasts and ambitious hearts have fallen under its sway. As for what you can do about all this, the answer is simple. We desperately need those sacred deer. Their hearts are the key sacrifice in the rituals to renew the seals we maintain at this shrine. If you find one, you absolutely must kill it and bring the heart to us immediately.”

“But…” Fen pointed out. “If we kill the sacred deer when they’re already on the edge of extinction, won’t there be even less next year?”

“On that front, we have no choice. We don’t need more than one heart every year – their dwindling numbers come chiefly from the Sect hunting them for alchemical purposes, and likely the demon sending its possessed beasts to hunt them down.” Snow Blossom said sadly. “We can only hope we haven’t reached the tipping point where the extinction is inevitable.”

— — —

That night they slept on the hardwood floor of the shrine, near the entrance. Rain pattered down on the roof, making a soft and constant drumming that lulled them to sleep. Xan snored loudly, but Rain simply closed his eyes and let meditation sweep him away, sinking into the comfortable state alone with his thoughts where his mind ran swift and clear…

What do I do about this?

The demon’s will has escaped because Valley Rain’s successor is missing, and the sacred deer are likely all but gone. This problem grows dramatically if the body and the will both get free – at that point, I probably don’t survive, so forget any short-sighted self-interest here.

If I can take inheritorship from Valley Rain, I will. Even if I don’t intend to remain here forever, if I have to stay a little longer to stabilize the situation… I’ll do that much, without hesitation.

But that’s accepting the solutions that are presented by other people.

I have the book – I can build my own solution.

Surely there are… demon-purging pills. Pills for spitting out demonic influence and killing evil. A better way to end this than just sealing it and waiting for it to die.

The book’s pages flipped through his mind, the forest-green tome as real as anything he could see or touch. But instead of immediately giving him the recipe, as it always had before, the book flipped to a strange page outlined with a border depicting chained gods. The letters written on that page were red.

Beyond this point, heretical knowledge waits

Even by learning this recipe, you will begin the countdown to judgment

After 500 years a tribulation shall come

Every time you create a pill, or access additional heretic recipes, the countdown shall accelerate.

Incredible… I’m trying to save the valley and heaven itself gets in my way?

I…

Fuck.

How bad is ‘a tribulation’. And what can I expect to do in 500 years?

Maybe a tribulation is so bad, it requires a level of power most cultivators won’t achieve in 500 years.

Yet, Rain doesn’t know of any cultivator who lived past 200. So I have no clue how difficult it is to achieve even a normal amount of power in a 500 year lifespan.

I can only blindly gamble if I open this page…

And I still will, if it’s the only option.

But for now… I should follow the path of Valley Rain. Receiving the inheritance officially will mean I’m sheltered and have time to grow my cultivation. It just leaves me in a better final position than unlocking this heretical recipe, even if the tribulation turns out to be nothing to fear… Which I doubt it would.

A soft creak dragged him out of his innermost thoughts. Someone was padding across the floors, and soon Snow Blossom kneeled down beside him, putting a finger to her lips. She whispered, “You are a physician, yes? I have a patient. Come with me.”

He pushed himself up, adjusting his mask on his face, and followed her out of the shrine. At this hour, the forest was a web of black tree limbs against an equally black sky, only distinguished by the thinness of distant starlight shining on the drops of dew among the pine needles. Mist wreathed between the trunks.

Soon they were deep in the woods, and Booker was beginning to worry.

Is this a trick? An illusion luring me out into the dark to assassinate?

Cautiously, he slipped Snips out of his bag and whispered to the little fellow, “Go wake Fen up and lead him to me.”

The mantis buzzed away into the dark, and Booker felt more confident in the gloom.

But before Snips could return, they had arrived. It was a pool, silver with moonlight, beneath a mossy outcrop of stone. And in the pale light of the night-time sky, a magnificent stag stood atop the stones. Azure-blue scales covered its back and its branching horns rose high into the air. A finned tail and whiskers like a catfish suggested it was in some way aquatic.

But strangely, it didn’t seem to be entirely real. It appeared painted onto the landscape, with brushstrokes of ash and charcoal and watercolor inks. Its body swam with numerous talisman marks, drifting in patterns that writhed across its scales.

“This is a beast from the Lao-Hain holy grounds. It is named the Azure-Scaled Stag and it contains a great power..” Snow Blossom said, stepping into the pool and letting the cold water soak through her robes. With an agile movement, the stag leaped down, landing without a splash or even a disturbance to the pond’s surface. It was like the beast was weightless. It nuzzled against her outstretched arm, and she gestured for Booker to approach. “Examine its left flank.” She commanded.

He stepped around the beast, and knelt down. There was a deep wound, painted blood trailing down its leg from a black scar. But worse than that, silver maggots infested the black region. Unlike the rest of its painted body, the maggots were alive, organic, squirming.

That sweet-water elixir the wolf-woman used might help. But this wound is far more advanced than Yue-Fu’s. The truth is…

“None of the medicine I have is strong enough.” He said with resignation. “But I do have a technique that might cure it.

“If you succeed, the reward will be great.” She said, stroking the stag’s muzzle.

He cupped his hands to the wound, beginning to slowly summon the power of Dialyze. Pulling out infections was far harder than simply slicing with the water, but if he could remove poison, who was to say he couldn’t also remove the powers of possession?

But something changed. A minute sound caused the stag’s ears to prick up, and it let out a panicked bellow. Before he could try to purge the wound, the stag nearly kicked him in the head as it went darting away, vanishing among the tree. Hand still lifted to shield his face from the beast’s hooves, Booker saw by moonlight a wave of shambling and ruined bodies emerging from the treeline. Maggots gleamed on their flesh.

“I’ll try to clear a way to the shrine.” He said. “Stay behind me.”

Snow Blossom snorted indelicately. “And who do you think you’re talking to?” She waved her hand, and an enormous centipede spirit beast crawled from the sleeve of her robes to arch up into the air, poison antenna and yellow scissor-jaws tasting the air. In her other hand, a dagger gleamed. “Don’t fall behind.”