A boy jolted awake. Eyes wide, he stared around him. A shed, roof leaning. Hay strewn thin on the floor. Thin, threadbare robes, covered in patches. Faint light spilled in through the gaps in the walls, sun barely rising. A cold wind blew, cutting through the cool air of early spring. He shivered, running his hands over bony arms. Lean muscle stood out through the robes, though less than he expected.

Where am I?

He blinked. Looked down at his hands. Tanned skin. Old scars on his knuckles. Slender, so slender the bones stood out on the backs of his hands and at his wrists. He turned them over. Sword callouses. Worn, hardy palms, chapped and used to work.

Who am I?

A jolt ran through him. He grimaced and clutched his head. Pain pounded into his temples, throbbing deeper with every beat of his heart. He bit his lip and shivered, afraid, unwilling to cry out.

Sensations roiled through him one after another. Too many to make any sense of. Orange. Night. Darkness. Poison, coiling through veins. Cobblestones. Pure white, icy cold. Slimy wetness, filthy pipes. A rush of power. Growling, low in his chest. A handsome face. White glow, golden light. Indistinct forms, bright as the sun, smiling. Scowling. A locked door, heavily guarded. Rushing water, a riverbank. Willows. Fur. Branches. More, more, more. Sensation after sensation, as real as the breeze shivering over his skin, as real as the gooseflesh creeping over his limbs, his eyes flickering, his body uncontrollably trembling.

What—what—who…?

A face welled up out of the innumerable sensations. Incomparably handsome, framed in long black hair. Phoenix eyes, flashing in the dark. A gentle, scholarly set of the cheeks, distorted with righteous anger, lips lifted, teeth bared.

He’s angry… at me?

He blinked, eyes closing. When they opened, he no longer sat in the shed. Instead, he stood opposite the incomparably handsome man. His body felt tall, strong, powerful. Brocade robes draped his body. A sword sat in his hand, as familiar as his own arm, as if he’d held it his whole life.

I have. My sword, Xiong Zhao.

The handsome man darted through the air, white robes billowing, a slash of white racing down the center of an impossibly opulent hall, walls lined in black jade shot with gold, floor laid with a plush crimson rug. Down below, eight heroes in gleaming armor and fine robes battled a dozen hideous creatures.

He stepped forward, lazily lifting his sword. His and the handsome man’s swords clashed in a shower of sparks. Dark robes embroidered in gold and crimson fell back from his hand, revealing red gauntlets underneath. A mantle of black feathers floated back from his shoulders and tickled his throat. He laughed haughtily, with a voice not his own, a voice always his own. “We meet again, Kai Bailong.”

“Qiu Xuanwu! Your evil reign ends today,” the handsome man replied, narrowing his eyes.

He—I, Qiu Xuanwu—chuckled. His hand flickered, and shadowy crows flew at Kai Bailong from behind. Kai Bailong’s expression twitched. White light burst from him, smashing the shadowy crows apart. Kai Bailong leaped back. Qiu Xuanwu chased after him, eyes burning red. In the space of a breath, they traded a dozen blows. Far below, the heroes and the hideous creatures alike shuddered, barely able to withstand the force of their attacks.

The two of them leaped apart, facing each other from opposite ends of the hall. Pacing in the air, they stalked around one another, swords at the ready.

“Qiu Xuanwu, I give you one last chance. Turn back from the path of an evil god. Return to the righteous heavens, and leave the underworld behind. I can forgive all your transgressions, if—”

“Transgressions? Righteous path? Do you know what you’re saying? Even after all this time, you’re still clueless.” Qiu Xuanwu laughed, amused.

“Release the other gods. Restore order to heaven,” Kai Bailong demanded, lifting his sword.

He tipped his head back, smirking. “Make me.”

In a flash of white, Kai Bailong rushed at him. Black blurred after him as he rushed to meet the other god. Again, their swords danced, clashing back and forth.

Qiu Xuanwu launched a two-handed blow down, slicing at Kai Bailong’s head. Lifting his sword, Kai Bailong parried the strike, then trembled, barely able to hold the sword back. Locked in midair, their eyes met.

“Give up. You can’t defeat me. Even after all these centuries, you’re still a hundred years too early,” Qiu Xuanwu said, bored.

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“The world cries out. Can’t you hear it? You, too, were once—”

“Shut up!” Qiu Xuanwu roared. He sliced sideways. Kai Bailong stumbled back.

Light burst out from below. Weight slammed onto Qiu Xuanwu’s shoulders, and he sank in the air. Startled, Qiu Xuanwu looked down. The hideous creatures laid on the ground, defeated. The eight heroes formed a hexagon below him, lines of light connected them together. The hex beamed upward, restraining him.

“A spell array? You—underhanded…”

Kai Bailong rushed at him, sword held out. Qiu Xuanwu struggled to lift his sword, arm too heavy to swing, Xiong Zhao a thousand pounds.

The sword sunk into his chest. Blood spurted out. It fell to the ground and drenched the hex. White light burned to red, and the hex strengthened. Its power restrained him. Qiu Xuanwu fought it, to no avail. His power poured out of him. Weakness consumed him as qi fled. His eyelids grew heavy. He slumped, falling into a deep sleep.

The scene jumped, fragmented. Kai Bailong stared down at him, face less fierce, brows furrowed.

My memories. These are—

Another jump. Helpless, he watched as the iron doors behind his throne swung open. Brilliant forms cloaked in white light stepped out, so bright they burned his eyes to look at.

“—can’t allow this! We should destroy him!”

“It’s too dangerous! Even as a mortal. As an evil god, he overturned the heavens and sealed us all away. What if he ascends again?”

Kai Bailong shook his head, just visible in the half-sphere of his vision. “I will go with him. We will enter the cycle of samsara together and once more walk the path of reincarnation as mortal souls. I put my own immortality up as guarantee.”

The hall fell silent, but only for a moment. All the voices began to speak again, arguing over one another.   

“Kai Bailong, think again. You saved us all. To ascend the Jade Throne isn’t out of the question.”

“Unacceptable. You escaped the cycle of mortality. Why would you—”

“—a mortal. A mere mortal! Are you insane?”

“Even so, it’s dangerous!”

Kai Bailong’s voice cut through the furor. Quiet, exhausted, nonetheless it broke through, a hot knife through butter. “I have already begun the process. There is no going back. You can destroy both our souls here, but with my last breath I will release him from the hex and curse you with what little power I have left.”

Silence once again. Swords shifted in their sheathes.

A soft female voice spoke, for the first time. It cut through the silence, the kind of voice that invited one to stop and listen. “Let him go. Is there any harm in it?”

“Lady Nuwa!”

“You—”

Kai Bailong smiled. He bowed. “With your blessing, I go.”

Black. Fragments again. Buzzing. Sweet. A hum, a purr. Soft silk pillows. A thousand beams of sunlight. Dark filth, shifting against the earth. More, more, overlapping one over another. Pain. Death. Pain. Blood. Water. Death. Bone. Ice. Death. Death. Death.

The boy’s head ached harder, about to fall apart. He grit his teeth and slammed his hands against his temples, then lifted one hand. He made six handsigns in quick succession and slammed his hand back against his temple. The pain faded, and with it, the memory fragments vanished as well.

Panting, the boy leaned over, one hand against his forehead. “Sealed. But for how long? So many memories… how many lives did I remember?”

He shook his head delicately, still sore. Focus. My name is… Lie Zhang?

No. This life’s name is Lie Zhang. My name is… was Qiu Xuanwu.

Taking a deep breath, he sat up and shoved his hair back. “Qiu Xuanwu. Autumnal Black Crow. When I ascended to heaven, then fell to the underworld as an evil god, that was what they called me. Now… I’ve lived a thousand lives. I am no longer that man. From this point forth, my name is… Chen Wuya. I awakened in spring, therefore, Spring Crow.”

Chen Wuya let out a sigh and scrubbed his forehead again. He looked at his hands, then at his threadbare robes, and finally stood. A rusty sword hung at his hip. Firm legs supported a slender torso and powerful arms, for his age. He clenched his hands, remembering this life.

Turning, his eyes fell upon the man sleeping in the shed as well, robes equally threadbare, body equally bony.

Lie Zhang is the disciple of Wen Mengli, a wandering swordsman. We’ve been wandering the western countryside for some time, myself practicing swordsmanship while Master seeks out work as a bodyguard or teacher. Master found me as a beggar child, abandoned on the streets, and picked me up. I owe him my life. That being said, it seems we aren’t doing well.

He took a deep breath and lifted his hand to wake his master.

The shed door flew off its hinges and slammed into the back wall. Wen Mengli jolted awake and snatched up his sword. Before he could climb to his feet, a trio of burly, heavyset men stomped into the shed and surrounded him, kicking him.

“Wen Mengli! Where’s that money you promised us?”

“Ah, don’t tell me to wait! No one’s paying for your poor swordsmanship? Then join in with the laborers and help carry loads! Don’t tell me you’re crippled, too?”

The third man kicked Wen Mengli silently, nothing to add.

“I paid back the ten liang! What more do you want?” Wen Mengli protested.

The first bully sneered. “What about the interest? It’s been ten days. That’s another hundred liang!”

Gritting his teeth, Wen Mengli jumped up and drew his sword. It slipped out of his hand and flew away, sticking in the wall of the shed. One of the men punched him back to the floor, and the three went back to kicking him.

Chen Wuya sighed. That’s right. Master has no skill with the sword, or else he’d have more than one peasant disciple.  He walked over and drew the sword out of the wall, silently comparing it to his own. Though made cheaply, and nothing special, it bore no rust nor warpage. He yanked it out of the wall, tossing his own sword aside.

“Lie Zhang! You aren’t ready!” Wen Mengli shouted.

The biggest of the three bullies turned to Chen Wuya and snorted. “Oh? Want to take your master’s place? What a good disciple.”

“Not at all.” Chen Wuya slashed the sword in the air once, twice, getting a feel for the blade. He assumed a fighting stance and gestured with his free hand, welcoming the men.

The bully chuckled darkly. “Wen Mengli, wait there. I need to teach this mewling pup of yours a lesson about interfering in the affairs of adults.”

Wen Mengli struggled, reaching toward Chen Wuya. “Lie Zhang, it’s fine. Calm down. Let Master handle it. You can’t fight them yet!”

Cocking his head back, Chen Wuya smirked. A faint black aura coiled around his body, almost imperceptible. “We won’t know if I don’t try.”