Pia didn’t stop running until she was safely behind the latched doors of Lunar Haven. She slumped back against the heavy wood, sliding to the floor, her muscles coiled with tension, a tremor running through her hands. What in the heavens just happened? Whoever that man was had terrified her. The mere thought of him felt like a foreboding shadow in her thoughts. She’d thought Ruwe and Mow made her wary, but Lang Tao… Just thinking his name sent a chill down her spine.

Her heart, a wild drum only moments ago, began to slow, yet her thoughts spun in a chaotic blur. Trying to make sense of it all was impossible. She pushed herself up and into her room, retrieving the small book she kept concealed beneath her bed. Grabbing the book provided her with something to anchor herself to and ground her amid the mental chaos. Returning to the main room, she placed it on the table, dragging the fire brazier closer for warmth and light. Opening the book to the page of hasty notes, she read through what she’d learned so far:

What I know:

Ruwe— Duke Zhi? Ruwe’s apprentice?

Xieya Sect— ( / )

Mow—Sect leader, Ruwe’s Master—crow spies? Bond runes?

Veiled Cranes—female-only undercover division, Chasu connection

She left spaces between each line for things she might later learn. Then, her brush hovered above the page, and her mind wandered to the night’s events.

Lunar New Year— the four realms touch?

Lang Tao—??? all in black, average appearance, powerful—who are you?

Pia— shaman connection??

Debating whether it was worth writing, she skipped a few more lines and added: Protection for memorial offerings/shrines? Disturbing the dead? Dangerous?

Putting down her brush, she exhaled deeply. The chaos in her mind calmed down as she looked over her list. It wasn’t much, but writing them down gave her some peace of mind. Her thoughts kept replaying the encounter with Lang Tao, the sheer bewilderment of it all. Who was he? What had he intended? Why was he so furious? The questions spiraled endlessly.

Once her notes were finished, she closed the book and returned it to its hiding spot. It might be excessive, but Pia felt safer with it concealed from any curious eyes.

Not wanting to sit so close to the door anymore, she dragged the table, cushions, and fire brazier back to their normal spots further inside the main room. Sitting down, she stared at the cold food with dismay. So much food remained. It felt like a waste.

Pia buried her face in her hands, a mix of frustration and loneliness washing over her— a steady, relentless tide. She tried to push those heart-troubling emotions down, but they rose up, dark and sickening. Closing her eyes against the tumult of her mind, she let her body sag with exhaustion, and sleep crept in, stealing her away into anxious dreams that left her eyelids fluttering.

Then, a blast of cold air roused her. She blinked, disoriented, her eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room. The doors to Lunar Haven stood wide open, allowing a view into her courtyard, where snow continued to fall as the moon lit up the snowy expanse and the merrily bobbing decorations. Open doors? She stretched, stiff from sleep, and a blanket slipped from her shoulders. Surprised, she turned to grab it and stilled mid-action.

Against the wall near the door sat a figure, calm and unmoving. Her mind whirled with every illogical possibility—Lang Tao? Yingzhan? Or Qian Hong, coming to haunt her? Each one kept her chest seized tightly with terror.

As her eyes focused, she took in the broad shoulders, the straight posture line, and the braided hair gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

Heart in her throat, she whispered, “Master Ruwe?”

Convinced she had lost her sanity—the only rational conclusion she could fathom—Pia couldn’t even begin to entertain hope.

Yet, he turned his head, and between the low light of the candles and brazier and the outside moonlight, Pia saw his coldly handsome face. It was truly him! Her heart stuttered, and the world around her slowly faded, leaving only him in her vision. She didn’t know if she should laugh joyfully or burst into tears.

“Happy Lunar New Year,” Ruwe said softly, giving her a weary smile. It might have been tired, but it was packed with affection.

Her breath hitched, and her hands trembled as disbelief flooded her. Joy surged through her, warming her chest, even as shock froze her in place. A whirlwind of emotions swept through her, and she couldn’t contain the elation bubbling within. He was back! Lightning danced in her belly—bright and sparkling. She shuffled closer, sitting as near as she dared, cautious of overstepping propriety despite the warmth of his greeting.

“When did you return? How did you get here? Are you going to stay?” her words stumbled over one another in their eagerness to escape.

No wonder Lei had been so eager when they’d returned to Cangzhi. All the emotions and anxieties pooling in her heart spilled from her lips in a chaotic rush.

Tiredness lined his face, but he gave her a surprisingly frost-free smile. She weakly returned it.

“I just returned a short time ago,” he said, answering at least one of her questions.

Now closer, Pia noticed that his clothes were damp with snow and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. She reached out, pulling his hood up and frowning in concern. Surprise flitted across his face at her open concern. Too amped up to care, she wiped lingering snow from his shoulders.

“You should’ve changed first, at least,” she scolded, though inwardly, she felt secretly delighted that he had come to see her immediately.

“I’m glad I made it back on the Lunar New Year. I was worried I might be late,” he told her.

Those simple, heartfelt words were a balm to her battered and worn spirit that evening.

Letting out a breath that turned to mist between them, Ruwe leaned back against the wall and patted the space next to him.

“Come sit; I think we have much to discuss,” he said. When Pia hurried to sit beside him, he shocked her further by curling his arm across her shoulders and pulling her into a half hug. What a strange day. Getting an almost hug from her Master had never crossed her mind, but in that moment, it felt like everything she needed.

“Tell me how things have been going.”

If he’d had even a hint of his usual coldness or sternness, she’d have clammed up. No matter how thrilled she was to have him back… He’d come back for her!

Yet, his words were calm and inviting. He seemed to genuinely want to know. As if she’d been waiting for him to return and ask, Pia’s tongue slid loose and free. Words she didn’t even realize she’d been holding back flowed from her lips. Patient, quiet, and attentive, Ruwe sat there and listened. She shared everything about her training, all she had been learning, the challenge of the Demon Pillars, and her archery struggles. From her head injury to tripping Lei, the encounter with Mow, and the friendship she had found with Chasu and Lei.

At first, she danced around the Winter Solstice, but eventually, that escaped her lips. The gravity of the traditions, the heartache of the funeral. She felt disloyal when discussing the rift that had formed between her, Haojie, and Yijun. Trying to rush past those moments, Pia’s voice quickened, and she continued recounting everything up to that evening.

“—then I left Lunar Haven to clear my mind and visit Tudou. I noticed that Wine and Ransa were gone! I couldn’t help but worry about them. I wondered where they went. If they’d left Cangzhi without telling me…” she trailed off, reluctant to reveal the later event involving Lang Tao.

Feeling drained from how much she’d spoken, Pia fell quiet breath, slightly uneven from the weight of her spiel. Ruwe was quiet beside her, processing all that she’d told him.

“It’s been such a long time since Lunar Haven was decorated,” he said, looking into her courtyard. “I hadn’t realized I’d missed seeing it look so lived in. You three did good work.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The small praise brought a small smile to her lips, even as her mind took in that information and stored it away. Who had lived in Lunar Haven? Lei? His family?

“To answer your questions now. I left Siji the day after the Winter Solstice. It went well, and we were able to leave even quicker than I hoped. I won’t be returning to Siji for some time. Hopefully, at least,” he told her, pulling Pia’s attention back to him.

Relief poured over her. Thank you, thank you, she whispered in her mind, to whichever deity had heard her ongoing pleas since Ruwe had left. Despite his words and her staying in his home, the fear that he’d never return for her had never left her mind.

“About Haojie and Yijun…” Ruwe said, and his voice was tinged with regret. His hand on his leg tightened into a fist as if he couldn’t bear to say the words.

“Losing Qian Hong…” he stopped as quickly as he’d started. Inhaling deeply to center himself, Ruwe continued a moment later. “It was difficult for them. Hong was Shun’s cousin and like a sister to both Haojie and Yijun. The mission she had been sent on wasn’t supposed to be dangerous for her. Losing her was…devastating.”

From his other side, Ruwe brought up a white jug, which he offered to her. Pia took it and drank. Despite the liquid being cold and sweet on her tongue, it burned a hot path down her throat. He took it back from her with a wry smile as she coughed.

“This is a traditional New Year’s wine from Siji called Snowburn,” he explained before taking a long swallow from the jug. “The contrasts are meant to remind the drinker that all which is cold can be melted.”

“The name fits,” she said quietly, bumping her chest, which still felt hot within.

He hummed in agreement, resting the jug on his right knee. Pia waited, hoping he’d continue. After a few more sips, Ruwe did.

“They need time. While I hope you never do, in the future, you might come to understand that certain people are harder to lose. We have lost many great men on our paths, even a few great women. But, losing someone like Qian Hong…” he trailed off, eyes going distant. “That pain leaves a scar. Haojie and Yijun never experienced a loss like that.”

Sliding her eyes over to him, she heard what he did not say.

“You’ve experienced that?”

He was quiet, eyes looking straight ahead, yet clearly gazing far into the past. His voice was heavy with emotion as he spoke.

“Yes. The pain never goes away. Though, with time, others arrive and begin to fill in some of the cracks of your heart,” he said. Pia saw his hand around the jug squeezed so hard the knuckles turned white. She held her tongue on any further questions on that topic.

The sorrow in his voice was so uncharacteristic that it pained her, too. This wasn’t the icy, unrelenting Master who’d left months ago. Something within him had thawed. Maybe he’d always been this way but didn’t know how to relate it to her. Whatever it was, Pia was thankful for whatever had caused the change. It felt as if he’d not just returned to Cangzhi but fully embraced her as one of his people.

It wasn’t like her Master to be so forthcoming. Gratitude welled within her. Each little bit of information soothed her fraught nerves. It was as if the gods had heard the sorrows in her heart and brought Ruwe back with all the right words to say.

“Haojie and Yijun did leave without telling you,” he admitted with a heavy sigh.

Pia went rigid under his arm, and Ruwe squeezed her shoulder in comfort.

“They knew I’d be back today or tomorrow. So, they weren’t abandoning you. They left to carry Qian Hong’s belongings to her family in the south.”

The warring feelings of betrayal, sorrow, and relief stirred her, and she reached forward, plucking the jug of Snowburn from Ruwe’s fingers. He let it go with no complaint. Taking a long draft from it made her grimace at the icy heat that spread from her mouth to her belly.

“I ask that you not hold it against them. You know them well. Neither of them held any desire to hurt you. They needed to leave Cangzhi, so I told them they could go. I traveled back as quickly as possible, but the weather delayed us. I regret not being here for her funeral,” he said softly.

Pia offered the Snowburn back. He took it, resting it on the ground before his folded legs.

“I’m not upset with them,” she admitted, fingers playing with the tassel on her belt. “I missed them. I don’t know many people here. At first, Lei and Chasu were hard to get along with. Haojie and Yijun were like a lifeline for me,” she paused, then softly admitted, “I felt bad for wanting them to go back to normal.”

Sighing, Ruwe gave her a pat on her shoulder this time. It was an awkward gesture but touching nonetheless.

“Yijun sent me a letter. You struggled with losing Qian Hong, even without knowing her?” he asked.

Suddenly embarrassed, Pia’s cheeks burned. It felt silly to have been so upset over a stranger’s death. Remembering her breakdown brought her shame. It still made her feel weak.

“I…Yes. I’ve seen death before. Never someone that was loved by people I care about…” she told him.

“And?” he asked, pushing her for more.

Biting her lip, she hesitated, trying to find the right words.

“It felt so final. I saw her in the litter. It was like she was only sleeping. Then, the pyre took her body and turned her back into ash and dirt. I know she’s probably already reincarnated. But…I couldn’t help but feel the total loss. Wonder if there would be proof that Qian Hong existed, other than just a small spirit table hidden inside a memorial hall.”

It felt good to verbalize her internal worries. The thoughts had plagued her since the funeral. Mow’s words had brought some relief, but the concerns hadn’t abated.

“There is no shame in mourning a loss. Your body likely knows loss keener than most of us,” Ruwe said comfortingly.

She turned to look at him, and he met her gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“You lost your parents as a child. You might not remember it, but your heart and mind do. That pain lingers in the soul.”

Stunned, Pia tried to process that. It felt like Ruwe had just given her permission for her lifelong sorrow—that it wasn’t a child’s fault their family tree was burned to ash, leaving them alone to find a way to grow roots. She looked away, blinking away the sudden tears that welled.

“You’re being scarily forthcoming with me. Are you sure you’re my Master?” Pia asked, trying to diffuse the moment.

He grinned, rolling his gaze away to look out the open doors.

“While in Siji, I visited with my sister. I got a lengthy scolding about my personality and needing to speak more. When she found out I had an apprentice, she really dug into me. It went like, ‘I bet you’re just a solid block of ice, and that poor girl has no idea which way is up around you!’” he said fondly.

Pia smirked. His sister was wise, it seemed.

“You have a sister?” she asked curiously. A bit of information about her Master was always welcome, and the change from the heavy topic was also a relief.

“I have a few sisters and brothers,” he admitted.

“Oh,” she said, not knowing what else to say, and the silence that fell between them was not unpleasant this time.

They watched the snow together, taking comfort as Master and apprentice.

Finally, Pia couldn’t help but ask the question she’d been wondering.

“How are we going to train without Haojie and Yijun?”

Laughing lowly, he asked, “Don’t trust me to handle your training anymore? Haojie and Yijun must have surpassed me.”

She grinned, enjoying his unusually playful side.

“I would never say such a thing,” she told him.

He shook his head wryly.

“Our training will continue, with or without them. You’ve made great progress, but there’s much to learn. On the cusp of a New Year, put the worries and sorrows of the last year aside. Go into the year thinking only of the hopes you have for the future. Spring brings blossoms, as surely as the skies bring rain.”

Those words filled her heart with hope, and Pia exhaled deeply, feeling the weight in her heart lighten. The two sat in comfortable silence as the ceaseless snow filled the courtyard and the New Year rolled in.

Spring did come, with blossoms aplenty, nurtured by the melting snow and early spring rains. White turned green, and the tree in Lunar Haven budded into glorious Plum Blossoms. Yet, Haojie and Yijun never returned. Time slipped by as every waking moment was filled with studying, training, learning, and survival.

Master Ruwe spared her no leniency and drove her ever onward. While his icy demeanor had thawed, he was still no Haojie or Yijun. For a long time, Pia believed their absence would never stop hurting, and Lei, Chasu, and Ruwe couldn’t fill the void they’d left behind. Hope at every person’s arrival to Cangzhi would leave her crushed when it wasn’t Haojie or Yijun. Ruwe would explain they were on missions, but it never lessened the pain of their absence. Nor did she fully believe him. Something kept them from Cangzhi, and in her heart, she feared it was her.

No letter arrived from Fewl or Conch, and Pia forced herself to write regardless until time slipped from her grasp, and that habit dwindled away.

Days morphed into weeks, months into years. Winter became spring, and summer bled into fall. Seasons flew by unappreciated, often grumbled about, as training continued relentlessly. Ruwe used good and bad weather to evolve her training. Rain, snow, heat, drought, flood, storm—anything was a chance for her to ‘improve.’

Pia’s life revolved solely around Ruwe’s training schedule. Mastering the Demon Pillars led to learning how to spar while climbing the tower. Regular full-out fights anywhere on the training grounds with Chasu and Lei became normal. No longer was there a ‘no contact’ rule—yi attacks were expected.

Staff training turned into sword forms, using old practice weapons Ruwe gave them. He drilled her in using metal yi, constantly forcing her to adapt, and never above using physical punishment as an incentive. Only once she got good with metal yi, did he finally introduce Jingtai— the advancement of yi into special attacks. It only brought a fresh bout of torturous training.

Riding Tudou was always a joy, but Ruwe forced her to ride many different horses. Slow ones, fat ones, fast ones, short ones, tall ones, all types and speeds. He pressed her on until she could manage to ride any horse at any speed, with or without tack, and adequately handle a bow, sword, dagger, and yi attack while riding. Men from his guard would ride against her or with her. If a combat or survival skill involved a horse, Pia learned it and then mastered it at Ruwe’s insistence.

The knowledge she had longed for consumed her, pushing aside the time for worries and grief. Under Ruwe’s direct attention, Pia had no time to think about anything, especially not the inner workings of the Xieya sect. She was to become his disciple and, as such, an honorary disciple of Xieya. He kept her too exhausted, too engaged to question the ‘whys’ or ‘hows.’

The notebook of knowledge gained that she’d started gathered dust beneath her bed as it went forgotten. Thoughts of Qian Hong and Lang Tao faded to the back of her mind. There wasn’t enough time in a day, let alone a week. Each waking, and often dreaming, thought centered around improving.

Two years passed as if Pia were in a never-ending fever dream. Each dawn brought new tests as Ruwe pressed her to try harder, become more precise, and demanded greater control of her yi. Each dusk, Pia chased success single-mindedly, studying, revising, and briefly sleeping.

And then, Pia was seventeen, standing beside Chasu and Lei as they received their disciple badges. She beamed happily, proud of her friends, clutching the disciple badge Master Ruwe had privately awarded her.

The spring rain brought Plum Blossoms to Lunar Haven, and though it’d slipped Pia’s mind, Qian Hong’s name was once more crowned in flowers.