Irene woke with the vague feeling that she had forgotten something important, but it was swiftly wiped away when the events of the previous day came rushing back. An evil Puddle, tengu assassins, hellhounds. She would have groaned, but for the sheer weight of the situation laying upon her. Instead, she stared at the thatched ceiling, unseeing. The darkness outside the hut was rapidly lifting, but the rapid sunrise - dayturn - did little to lift her spirits.

‘Come on Irene,’ she thought to herself. ‘Isekai adventure, just for you. There are no-lifers writing about this, but you get to live it. Up and at it.’

The dimensionally displaced young woman summoned the energy for a groan, but only because she remembered the events of the prior night in particular. Add inept bandits to the list of things to stay in bed and ignore.

Croak.

Well, maybe it wasn’t all bad. Magic powers, lightsabers, frogs. Isekai adventure, onwards and upwards. “I’m up Charles,” she said, forcing herself to rise and swing her legs out of the bed.

Croak, Charles said from his tub, splashing a little. Most of the water was gone, only half an inch remaining, but it didn’t look to have leaked out onto the floor, and his colour was rich and blue.

“I know,” Irene said, picking at her sweats and shirt. She had spent hours walking and even fighting in them, and now she felt grimy and dirty. “My kingdom for a shower.”

“The trials and tribulations one must endure when venturing away from civilisation,” Yangjie said, making his presence known.

Irene started as she looked over to him. He was still where she had left him, sitting on the mat by the bed. “Morning, Yangjie,” she said. There was sleep in her eye, and she rubbed at it. “Did you sleep well?”

“I cannot sleep in this circumstance, only meditate,” Yangjie said. “I must work to circulate and build my Qi, rather than benefit from my meridians.”

“Is it like when someone points out you breathe without thinking, but then you have to do it deliberately?” Irene asked. She pulled a face as she donned her slippers; she hadn’t noticed much last night but the soaking had not been kind to them.

“Not an inapt description,” Yangjie said, “but also I have no lungs.”

“What uh, what are you going to do about…all that?” Irene asked, gesturing vaguely at him.

“I have sufficient resources and favours held with my sect,” Yangjie said. “Once we reach Hóuchéng City, it will be a simple matter.”

“That’s good,” Irene said. She decided she did not want to know if he was going to somehow grow a new body, or have his head transplanted onto another one, or something even more outlandish. She rose to her feet, stretching. A thought occurred to her, and she grimaced. Forget a shower. She would pay an ungodly amount of money to whoever could give her access to somewhere with plumbing.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting the awful realisation she had come to, and Irene took the distraction eagerly. Despite being dark not a minute ago, the sun shone down like mid morning, and a familiar young girl was waiting outside.

“Great one,” Huan said, bowing her head, though she kept her eyes on Irene’s. “Elder Yan sent me to show you to the baths.”

“Oh thank god,” Irene said. Please let it have toilets.

“Hao is readying a breakfast for you, and people are gathering in the square for healing,” the teenage girl said. Her expression was mostly blank, but she couldn’t hide a hint of dubiousness as she looked over Irene’s ratty attire.

Irene could not bring herself to care, glancing back at her companions. “Yangjie, are you coming?”

“My hair is a lost cause, and no village bathhouse can change that,” he said, morose.

“What about the healing?”

Yangjie made an indelicate noise of disdain. “Leave me here to meditate,” he said. “I do not wish to engage with the peasantry.”

Croak, Charles said, reproachful.

“Ugh,” the head said.

“Charles?” Irene said, ignoring him.

Croak, Charles said, settling deeper into what water remained in his tub.

“Right then,” Irene said. She retrieved her hanfu and turned back to Huan. “Lead the way.”

Huan said nothing, only marching off, and Irene followed.

X

A short time later, and feeling much refreshed, Irene followed Huan back to the square where she had confronted the assassin the night before. It was a different place in the light of day, pleasantly shady with no ominous shadows threatening to conceal an assassin, though it might have just been the waiting crowd that turned to face her in a wave as she arrived. She wished Charles had come.

“Great one!” Hao said, emerging from the crowd. There was something boyishly earnest about his bearing, and he almost bounced as he spoke. “I have gathered everyone in need of healing. We wait at your pleasure.”

Huan had fallen in behind her as they arrived, and she made a small sound that might’ve been a tch, but it was too quiet to tell for sure.

Irene felt bad for stopping to eat after bathing, but she could hardly help everyone on an empty stomach, and she pushed the feeling aside in favour of assessing the task before her. It might not be a hospital, but here was something she knew, something familiar. Here was something she knew how to do, and do well.

“Okay,” Irene said, taking it all in. The table that the elders had been playing at upon her arrival yesterday was still there, the chairs around it, and she nodded. “Hao, I’d like those most hurt or sick to be brought to me at the table, one at a time. Can you organise that?”

“Of course, great one!” Hao said, smiling earnestly. Somehow, his hair seemed more artfully tousled than some boy band idols.

The crowd parted for her as Irene made for the table, settling in and readying herself for the work to come. Huan disappeared, and Hao began to speak with those in the crowd, questioning them. It did not take long for her first patient of the day to be seated across from her.

“Great one,” the man said, bowing low in his seat. He looked like the definition of a weathered peasant, past middle aged, and one hand was wrapped in bandages. They were clean, but slowly staining red.

“Please call me Doctor He-” Irene cut herself off as panic flashed across the man’s face. “-whatever you’re comfortable with,” she said. “Show me the injury.”

The villager put his hand on the table, and Irene began to undo the bandage carefully. A red gash of a wound was revealed in his palm, and further inspection revealed the injury to go right through. It was still fresh enough that it had not yet begun to heal, but it was red and inflamed.

“How did this happen?” Irene asked, turning his hand this way and that.

“Slipped on the coracle, great one,” the man said, eyes on the table. “Was gutting a fish.”

“Let’s see what we can do about it then,” Irene said, more to herself. The scar across her collar was a reminder that her healing mist wasn’t perfect, but she saw no reason it shouldn’t work here.

Irene breathed in of the world around her, of the worry and the sickness and the pain and the hope and the flow of every living thing, and then she breathed out. She barely heard the awed murmurs as the familiar white mist flowed from her mouth, like morning fog on a soft breeze, and it carried with it a soothing coolness.

Seeing the weeping gash heal was like watching a time lapse, and soon there was a shiny patch of skin in its place. The scar was noticeable, but it was leagues better than letting it heal naturally, and with none of the dangers of infection. Irene spent a moment to think of all the people she could help if she ever – when she got home. Not to mention the fortunes billionaires would pay for her new abilities. Assuming she didn’t end up in some lab being dissected, that is.

“There you go,” Irene said, pushing away the morbid turn her thoughts had taken. “All healed up.”

The man was looking at his hand, jaw slack. After a moment he swallowed, recollecting his bearing. “One thousand thanks, great one,” he said. He rose from his chair, but only so he could begin to kowtow.

Irene was quick to spring to her feet and catch him before he could do more than bend his knees, taking him by the hand and shaking it. She didn’t need any of that, no thank you. Although - no, that was the way to cults and a plucky adventurer slaying her and stealing her stuff. “Be more careful next time,” she said, smiling.

He had frozen when she took his hand, only moving when she released it, and only to bow deeply, backing away without looking up from the ground. The crowd parted around him as he left, and Irene found her smile becoming fixed as she sat back down. This was going to be a whole thing, wasn’t it.

“Next please, Hao,” she called, but he had already anticipated her, and an old lady with her leg in a splint was helped over to her by what looked to be her son.

“Great one,” the son said, helping his mother into the chair.

Irene took a moment to appreciate the fact that everyone she had met so far spoke her language, but didn’t think too hard about it. She fell into the familiar routine of patient care, turning her sharp mind to the problem at hand and how she could apply her healing mist to it. The fact that it left scars suggested she would need to be careful with what she applied it to, and…

The morning passed in a blur of patients and healing. It seemed like over half the village had some malaise or injury, and isolated as they were, some had been nursing them for months between visits by travelling medicine men. There were few issues she couldn’t see to, either with her Qi or with her medical knowledge, and for a time, it was like she had never left her home. The awe and deference was a bit uncomfortable, but it was much better than difficult patients and annoying coworkers.

After a time, the crowd no longer stood in a cluster, having relaxed enough to find places to sit in the shade, talking quietly and socialising. There were very few people around her age, but children brought refreshments for the elders in between tasks and chores, and an almost festive air crept in, the healing and spectacle of it spreading cheer. A cup of water and an empty plate that had held pan fried fish sat on the table beside her, the scent of the simple meal still lingering in the air.

“Hao,” Irene said, unspoken request hardly needed as he already brought yet another patient forward.

“...thanks again for fixing my net,” an old woman was saying, moving slowly and carefully with a cane as Hao offered her his arm.

“It was nothing,” Hao said.

“Nonsense,” the tiny lady said. “I’ll send my granddaughter over with some of my son’s rice wine.”

“That’s too much!” Hao said. “You know it fetches silver with the traders.”

“The two of you can share it then,” the grandmother said. “You know you did me a great favour.”

Off by the tree trunk, Irene spied Huan glaring at the old woman.

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“Huan is still too young for rice wine,” Hao said. “Please, just the catch of the day the first time you use the net, and we’ll be more than even.”

The expression of grandmotherly care was briefly replaced by frustration, before she settled into the waiting chair and patted him on the arm. “If you’re sure.”

Irene was pretty sure Hao had completely missed the elder’s attempt to set him up with her granddaughter. “Thank you, Hao.”

“Of course, great one,” Hao said, as he had every other time she had thanked him. He was already stepping away to give them a semblance of privacy.

The grandmother was watching her with narrowed eyes now, like a mob boss might a rival. “He’s a good young man, that Hao,” she said.

“I’m sure he is,” Irene said, noncommittal. Her tone must have reassured the older woman, because some of the stiffness left her spine, but given the way Huan was still glowering at her, Irene wasn’t sure she should be relaxing.

For a moment, Irene tried to puzzle out why Hao had been warned off asking to marry her, like it was something he was known for, but swiftly decided she wanted nothing to do with whatever relationship shenanigans were at play.

“Only ever approaches women from outside the village,” the old woman nattered on, like she had come for tea and biscuits and not a medical appointment.

Or maybe she wouldn’t have a choice in the matter, as her patient showed every sign of warming to her subject. Maybe there was something to this ‘great one’ business…she quickly began to summon the healing mist, and it almost felt like it was coming easier. Only half the crowd to go.

By the time she was almost finished, it felt like it was early afternoon, though the light from the sun had hardly changed. It was a little harsher, but the shade hadn’t changed, and there were no signs she could see that might indicate how long until it would set - turn, rather. It left her feeling slightly disorientated, like when she woke up after a too-long nap. The last patient of the day was Elder Fan, he of the long and droopy moustache, and Irene was eager to be done.

“You said you had a sore back?” Irene asked, businesslike.

“I do, but I was wondering,” Fan said, and here he leaned across the table, conspiratorial. “What can you do to aid in…follicle growth?”

Irene sighed. “I can’t help with the baldness.”

“No, not that,” Fan said, flicking his hand. “But, perhaps my moustache…?”

Irene eyed the spectacle that was his moustache. The ends fell from his lip to his bony chest, white yet not wispy. “No.”

Fan breathed out a philosophical sigh. “Well, if one never gazes at the mountain, it will never be climbed.”

Before the moustache could be given any more consideration, the easy atmosphere of the village was broken by the obnoxious braying of a donkey. Heads turned and scowls asserted themselves from those that still lingered in the village centre, and the braying grew louder. It seemed to bounce off every wall and echo through the canopy of the tree above. Closer and closer it grew, and another sound joined it, the rumbling of wooden wheels on dirt.

When the donkey made its entrance to the square, it did so with the loudest bray yet. Its withers were soaked with sweat, its nostrils were flaring, and its eyes were wide. It pulled a simple cart, and on it was the source of the animal’s distress. A man in plain clothing, slumped back onto the goods the cart carried, his clothes stained red with the blood that flowed from a broad gash across his chest. The donkey stopped suddenly at the sight of people, heaving in great breaths. It gave a plaintive bray and swayed in its harness, exhausted.

Irene leapt to her feet, rushing for the wounded man. Even as she ran, she was breathing in of the world around her, the process coming easier after half a day of repetition. She felt the alarm of the observers, the agony of the half conscious man, the worry of his donkey, and then she reached the cart. She had an instant to take in the wound, far too broad and shallow to be any typical weapon, and then she breathed out. A torrent of mist came forth, faster and stronger than any before, seemingly drowning man and donkey. The pain and the worry began to disappear from the world, muted - or soaked up - by the healing mist. A long moment later, and the whiteness began to fade away.

The man was blinking up at the canopy as he took in a breath, surprised at the lack of pain. Aside from the ruined blood soaked tunic, he was a normal middle-aged man, features weathered from a life lived outdoors, and short black hair thinning. A hand groped at his chest, feeling the mass of scar tissue that had replaced the bleeding wound. It was not as bad as Irene had feared; the scarring was even and smooth, no ropy twists of skin to be seen. He looked over at her, mouth working silently as he looked for words.

“You saved my life,” he said, like he didn’t quite believe it. His donkey brayed as it tried to look over its shoulder, not as loud as before, and no longer exhausted and distressed.

“Give your donkey some credit,” Irene said.

“I always knew you were smarter than you let on, Goat,” the man said, looking over to Goat the donkey. Cautiously, he began to lever himself up from where he had slumped over the goods in his cart. They looked to have been disturbed from how they were packed, like they had been dug amongst roughly. He still seemed to be in something of a daze.

Irene looked around; they were the centre of attention of those in the square, and the ruckus of it all had drawn more. Fan had disappeared, but Hao was already approaching her side.

“Great one?” Hao asked. “Should I fetch Elder Yan?”

The cart driver startled, his eyes widening. “You - great one -” he made to hop off his cart with a sudden frantic energy.

Irene put her hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Don’t move yet,” she said. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“As you say, great one,” he said immediately. “I am Fú.” He bowed his head as best he could. “One thousand thanks.”

“What happened to you?” Irene asked, removing her hand from him. She had seen many injuries, but nothing like that before. It was like something had scored him across the chest, but it was too deep to be road rash, and it didn’t fit the scene besides.

“I would also like to know,” Yan said as she drew near, tap of her cane preceding her. Fan was at her side, explaining where he had gotten to.

Fú took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I - it was at the canyon bridge. There were bandits, collecting a toll-” he sneered as he spoke, before faltering, “-but their leader, he was different.”

Yan and Irene found themselves sharing a look.

“Different how?” Yan asked, leaning forward on her cane.

“He knew the arts of the great ones,” Fú said. He touched a hand to his chest. “He did this with a wave of his hand.”

Yan’s eyes closed to slits as she considered his words. “And his name?”

“I think I heard them call him Xiang,” Fú said, voice uncertain.

“You are lucky to be alive,” Fan said, stroking his moustache. “Xiang Yu has slain three other travellers who could not pay his toll.”

“I did pay!” Fú said, indignant. “I know better than to argue with bandits like that, alone on the road.”

A grave look crossed Fan’s face, and he glanced at Yan. “If he is killing for sport…”

“Word will spread. Trade will stop. The village will suffer,” Yan said, lips thinning.

“We should go and stop them,” Huan burst out. She was at the forefront of those watching the drama play out.

“‘We’?” Hao said, voice forbidding. The slightly goofy young man had vanished in the face of the protective older brother.

“We,” Huan challenged. “Who else?”

Eyes flicked to Irene, conspicuous in her black hanfu.

Yan stamped her cane into the ground. “I will pay you for Xiang Yu’s head,” she said to Irene bluntly.

“I thought I was already going to deal with him for you,” Irene said, hiding how unbalanced the offer had left her. It wasn’t every day you were asked to kill someone for money.

“We had hope he would cross your path,” Yan said, “but if his thirst for blood is so strong, we need certainty.”

“You’ve helped me already, I can’t take your money,” Irene tried to argue.

“It is a treasure worth a year’s wage in Hóuchéng City,” Yan said. “A great boon, once you arrive there.”

Irene bit her tongue to stop herself from shouting ‘Sold!’.

Yan gave her a knowing smile. “You need not worry about parting me from a sentimental keepsake. It has no value here.”

“Well, I suppose if you insist,” Irene said. She couldn’t exactly access her savings here, and while she was sure Yangjie would reward her for her help, she would still need to support herself while she was stran - while she was on her adventure.

“We don’t need he- the great one,” Huan said. “We can protect ourselves.”

There were some shocked murmurings from the small crowd at her disrespect.

“Huan,” Hao said, nearly hissing.

“A cultivator is no trifling foe, no mere bandit,” Yan said.

The girl would not be dissuaded. “If we work together we can take them. You did it when I was young.”

“Not against a cultivator,” Yan said. Fan was frowning.

“But Jin slew a grea-”

“Be silent,” Yan said. Her grip on her cane tightened. “You do not know of what you speak. My son-” she stopped, mastering herself. “Only a cultivator can slay a cultivator.”

Huan’s jaw clicked shut, and she looked like the young teen girl that she was.

“I will deal with him,” Irene said. Her voice was steady, belying the heavy thump of her heartbeat. She could do this. She had her new abilities, and she had Charles. “How far away is the bridge they’re blocking?”

“Half a day’s walk,” Hao said. “I can take you.”

“I’m going too,” Huan said immediately.

“No you’re not,” Hao said, and an argument immediately broke out between them, the kind that only siblings could have. They seemed to pay no heed to the others, or the dozen strong crowd around them.

Irene waited for Yan to put an end to it and deny them both, but the old woman was frowning in thought. “How many lackeys did Xiang have?” she asked of Fú.

“Fewer than ten,” Fú said. “Though I do not know if that was all of them.” His colour was starting to come back, and without the strain of pain colouring it, he had a voice for radio.

“Then we shall accompany you,” Yan said to Irene.

“‘We’?” Hao said, shocked this time.

“Yes,” Huan said, eyes bright.

“Yan,” Fan said, beseeching, a world of meaning in the word.

“Fan,” Yan said tartly. “I know. And Huan needs to learn, before her tongue carries her into trouble. The next great one to pass through our village may not be so relaxed.”

“I’m not telling Han for you,” Fan said.

Yan gave a hmph.

“Should we go now?” Irene said. She didn’t think much of the decision to bring a teenage girl to a bandit fight, but she didn’t know how things were done here, and maybe Yan was just that kind of badass.

“Right now?” Yan asked, gaze flicking back to her.

“Well, I’d need to get Charles and Yangjie first,” Irene said.

“You do not need to recover after the morning’s work?” Yan asked, inspecting her with a narrowed gaze.

“I feel fine,” Irene said. She felt invigorated, even with the looming sense of confrontation that the conversation had brought with it.

Goat the donkey gave a bray, but he was ignored by most. Fú leaned forward to scratch at his rump.

“Then we will go now,” Yan said.

“I want to help,” Fú said. “You saved my life.”

“Can you fight?” Yan asked, eyeing him critically.

Fú coloured slightly. “Not well.”

“Hrmm. I suppose you could help Hao bury the bodies,” Yan said.

And now the old woman was talking like they were going to kill all of Xiang’s men too. Irene tried not to think of what had happened to the assassin she had left in her care. No, they were bandits, and they had murdered travellers. That made them fair game for murder hobos. Not that she was a murder hobo. Her killing had been self defence.

“I can,” Fú said, completely on board with plan murder-them-all. A thought seemed to occur to him. “I must show you my appreciation,” he said to Irene. He twisted in his seat, digging through what was left of the goods in his cart.

“That’s really not necessary,” Irene said, more strongly this time. “You’ve already been robbed and helping you was the right thing to do-”

Fú found what he was looking for, and turned back with a pair of calf high leather boots. Even at arm’s length it was clear the craftsmanship was exquisite, the stitching fine and the leather supple. Even more, they were practical, not a mere showpiece. Curse her newfound weakness to bribery.

“-but if accepting them will make you feel better, it would be rude not to,” she finished.

The weathered trader smiled at her, revealing slightly yellowed teeth, though all were present. “Also, if I could prevail upon you further, I would ask to share the road with you on the way to Hóuchéng City.”

“Yes, of course,” Irene said, eyes still on the boots. She forced herself to look back to him. “Are you sure you want to come with us? You almost died.”

Fú gave a grin that was only partially forced. “Ah, but this time I walk in the shelter of your shadow, great one. This Xiang Yu had no arts as impressive as yours.”

Now it was Irene’s turn to force a smile. “Of course.” Oh, she hoped this guy had been kicked out of his club for being a dick and not because he was too powerful for them. She looked to Yan. “How long will it take you to get more people?”

Yan raised a brow at her. “More?”

“To deal with the other bandits?” Irene said, feeling like something had been lost in translation. “So you’re not outnumbered?”

“We are not coming with you to deal with the bandits,” Yan said, speaking slowly like she was the one who had misunderstood. “They will prove no challenge for a cultivator, no matter what meagre tricks Xiang has taught them. We are coming to see the deed done, and to force some common sense into a child.”

Irene screamed internally. Apparently Yan wasn’t the kind of badass who could bring a teenager to a fight and expect to keep them safe, but she thought Irene was.

Huan’s face was one of disappointment. “But I thought-”

“No,” Hao said, and his tone was final.

“I’ll fetch Charles and Yangjie,” Irene said, maintaining an outward calm with the ease of practice.

“Then we shall meet you at the road,” Yan said. She stamped her cane into the dirt like a judge’s gavel. “Huan, help an old lady prepare…”

Irene turned from the square and made for her lodgings, trying not to look at the faces of awe and gratitude on the villagers that watched her go. Oh, she was not prepared for this. She needed advice. Her steady steps turned into a hurried scurry as soon as she was out of sight, and she soon made it to her hut.

“Yangjie,” she hissed as she entered, shutting the door forcefully behind her. “Help.”

“Hmm, what,” Yangjie said, startled from his meditation. “Did the peasants force some odious experience on you?”

“They want me to kill a dozen bandits and that rogue cultivator,” Irene said. She dropped her lovely new boots on the ground and began to pace.

“Was this not already agreed to?” Yangjie asked.

Croak, Charles said in agreement, apparently under the same impression. His bucket was mostly empty of water now, but he still seemed comfortable.

“That was just them hoping we’d come across the cultivator and deal with him!” Irene said, pausing in her pacing to grab Yangjie, placing him on the bed so she didn’t have to look so far down. “Now they want me to kill him and all his lackeys too!” She resumed her pacing.

“I fail to see the problem,” Yangjie said. “They are bandits, after all.”

“What about the law? Police? A trial and prison?!” Irene asked. She could feel her hair frazzling as she spoke.

Yangjie gave her a strange look. “They are bandits,” he said again.

Irene stopped pacing and pressed her hands to her face. She let out a long, slow sigh.

“This is not how things are done in your homeland?” Yangjie asked.

“No,” she said. “It’s not.”

A considering frown crossed Yangjie’s face. “You are a healer, a doctor, yes?” he asked.

“I am,” Irene said, lowering her hands at the apparent shift in conversation.

“Have you ever had to remove a diseased part to save the healthy whole?”

“This isn’t the same,” Irene argued.

“Perhaps not,” Yangjie said, expression implying a shrug. “But the people of this village cannot challenge a rogue cultivator. If not you, then who?”

“With great power comes great responsibility?” Irene asked.

Yangjie gave her a look, a mix of surprise and respect. “There is wisdom in your thoughts.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she was quoting a comic book character. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“Justice is the privilege of the strong,” Yangjie said. He paused, thinking over his words. “When you slew the tengu, did you seek to cause harm, or prevent more?”

She was pretty sure she had been panicking about seeing a man beheaded in front of her, but she got what he meant. “I wanted to defend myself.”

“Had I not been caught off guard in a location I felt safe, it would have been my privilege to defend you,” Yangjie said. “Now, you are privileged to defend these unwashed peasants.”

Irene gave him a look. “You were doing so well.”

Yangjie sniffed. “It may be righteous to defend those who cannot defend themselves, but that does not mean I wish to wallow in the mud with them.”

Croak, Charles said, reproving.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Yangjie said to Charles. “You know I’m right.”

Croak, Charles added, eyebrows rising pointedly.

Yangjie’s face grew pinched. “Tis’ not as if I am insulting them personally-”

Croak.

“Ugh, fine,” Yangjie said. He looked back to Irene. “The road to the heavens is paved with worthy deeds. There are those who think such a dao to be a relic of the past, of more barbarous days, but it is right to defend those who cannot defend themselves.” His tone had none of the disdain for peasants it had held before, and a glimpse of the mysterious man she had first seen playing a flute in a forest clearing shone through.

Irene let out a breath. “Ok. I can do this.”

Croak, Charles said supportively.

She began to gather what she needed, putting on her lovely new boots, tying her lightsaber at her hip, and settling Yangjie at her back. Charles hopped up onto his favourite perch on her left shoulder, and then she was ready, just in time for a knock at the door. She could tell it was Huan, the young girl impatient to leave.

“Are we ready?” Irene asked her two companions.

“Are you?” Yangjie asked.

Croak.

“We’re ready,” Irene said, nodding to herself. “Let’s go be heroes.”