The walk up to the lodging house went too quickly, and in no time, Pia ducked her head into the kitchen and looked for Buzhi.

She was surprised to see a well-supplied and spotless kitchen space inside. Counters held canisters of herbs and spices, and wooden pegs on the wall held various cooking pans and pots. Multiple ovens and cooking pits were placed along the walls, each scrubbed free of soot and smoke from the open fires. Fresh flowers and herbs hung suspended from the ceiling to dry. It was a delightfully cozy kitchen, and she longed to open each canister, inspecting what might hide within.

The dark and earthy scent of tea trailed on the wind. She followed the scent out the back kitchen door, through the main room, and into the dining room. The woodwork was honey-colored, warm, and cozy. Filigree curls lined the edges of the ceiling, curving along the pillars, giving the room an elegant aura. Two raised steps and four pillars enclosed in latticed strips of wood separated the area where the men were sitting.

Buzhi, Lan Tiao, and Zhe Mian were seated around a round table, four teacups set on the table. An empty chair waited for her, but she paused near between the two pillars that created a doorway. Lan Tiao saw her and gestured to the seat beside Buzhi.

The mood in the room seemed to have settled. The men lounged comfortably in their chairs, and though it was silent, it seemed amicable between them. As she took a seat, she saw the pinched expression on Zhe Mian's face. His arms were crossed, and his sword was placed right beside his hand. Perhaps not wholly amicable.

Pia placed her sword at her feet, feeling awkward as the silence continued. Just as she was about to speak up and break that silence, Lan Tiao beat her to it.

"I apologize for the absence of our manners in not greeting you. Welcome to the Wraiths, Pia. We've all been curious about Duke Zhi's disciple," he said, voice smooth and low.

Taking the opportunity to scrutinize him, she was surprised to feel a sense of familiarity prickle the back of her mind. Her eyes wandered his face as the feeling grew. Lan Tiao had thick brows, straight features, piercing brown eyes, and a thin mouth. His hair hung loose, save for the top half, pulled away from his face and held with a simple jade hairpin. He was average looking, but still, a niggling feeling persisted. One of his dark brows slanted upward, his lips quirking as she stared openly.

Flushing, she realized she'd been staring and had forgotten to reply.

"It's my pleasure to meet other fellow Wraiths. Based on what Master Ruwe said and the little Buzhi has told me, most of us are widespread across the lands?" she asked, hoping it didn't sound as rushed as it'd felt.

"Don't trust anything this sly-tongued viper says," Zhe Mian muttered under his breath.

Pia's eyes slid back to him, lingering on his sullen expression. The man had a rugged appearance. A dark shadow of a beard covered his face, making him appear older and grumpier at the same time. Yet his dark lashes were full, making his light brown eyes stand out, softening his features. His hair was tied off in a low ponytail that hung over his shoulder.

Buzhi sighed heavily beside her and reached for his tea.

"MianMian, such hostility," he said with a sigh. "When I last said you needed to open up more, I meant pleasantly." He finished with a loud sip of tea, making even Pia cringe at the obnoxiousness.

Before the two could resort to bickering, Lan Tiao cut in, snipping their side conversation off.

"Yes, many Wraiths do go years without crossing paths with another. Some of us hover nearby," he told her. He held her gaze and the sense of familiarity grew further, yet she just couldn't place where she'd seen him before. "Buzhi told us you're on the way to Guihai?"

She nodded, grateful that he was directing the conversation somewhere rather than letting the silence take hold.

"Yes. It's my first time traveling there, and I'm eager to see it for myself," she said, and some of her excitement bled into her voice.

Zhe Mian scoffed, and his leg kicked out, bumping the table. "Eager," he said bitterly. "Eager to see what? A graveyard?"

"Zhe Mian," Lan Tiao snapped in a voice suddenly brimming with wrath, brows lowering over his eyes.

Instantly, the temperature in the room seemed to freeze. Pia's hand fell to her waist, fiddling with her token, a comforting habit she hadn't managed to break.

Lan Tiao's voice was intense, startling her. His look at Zhe Mian was piercing and unrelenting. She shivered, suddenly feeling intimidated, though she wasn't sure why.

"Fine," he muttered, sinking lower in his chair, crossed arms tightening in agitation.

Buzhi's finger tapped the side of his teacup, but he wisely refrained from saying anything to worsen the situation.

Turning back to Pia, Lan Tiao's face was clear of the intense anger it'd held moments before. His rapid shift put her on edge, and she reached for her teacup as an excuse to avoid his gaze.

"Guihai is a beautiful land. I hope you find some of the heart you're searching for," Lan Tiao said sincerely. She peeked back at him, and he gave her a genuine smile. Yet…it seemed wrong on his face as if his face were meant for scowls and fierce expressions. She managed a half-smile in return. All the same, his sincerity did diffuse the tension.

Pia's eyes fell to her sword resting at her feet. She hoped that she'd find where her heart lay. For now, her blade was little more than spiritual steel. Awakening the spirit in her sword required more than skill or training. She had to forge a bond with the yi within the steel and meld her heart's purpose with the blade. Master Ruwe had explained that it was the only way to breathe life into its edge, twining two purposes into one. Only then would her sword have a spirit united with her. Just imagining that day filled her with anticipation. She could hardly wait.

Discovering who she really was—what values her heart held deep inside—would take experience in the world. As Master Ruwe had explained to her, it was a journey every martial artist must take. Forging the Heart marked the culmination of a martial artist's journey and the beginning of their true advancement as martial artists.

Though, as she looked at Buzhi, in his fine green robes and with his devil-may-care, she wondered how exactly this journey would go. Master Ruwe wanted her to visit every land, but there was no direction other than that. It was solely at the discretion of Buzhi and any plans Master Ruwe had withheld from her.

Buzhi leaned forward in his seat, placing his teacup down. He let out a loud groan as he stretched long and languorously. Pia saw Zhe Mian's mouth open as if he wanted to say something, but it closed into a firm line, and he held his tongue.

"So, can we stay?" Buzhi asked, tilting his head towards La Tiao, though his eyes slid to the silently disapproving Zhe Mian.

"You can use two rooms for the night," Lan Tiao said, being precise with his words. "Why don't you get settled and then return to dine with us?"

Hearing that, Pia wanted to leap from her seat, grab her sword, and go hide in one of those rooms until they returned to their travel. The odd, somewhat amicable, somewhat prickly mood between the three men was exhausting to try to gauge.

"Sounds lovely! Your hospitality is gratefully accepted!" Buzhi said happily, rising to his feet. The expression on his face was one that Pia had seen on cats who'd caught decorative fish from ponds. Smug and proud.

Lan Tiao smoothed out his robes and flicked stray hair from his face. Looking at Buzhi pointedly, he said, "I didn't say it was free."

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He held out his palm.

Pia reached inside her robes, seeking out her coin purse.

"No, Pia," Lan Tiao said, stopping her. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a thin-lipped smile, "You are most welcome at any time."

Looking back at Buzhi, he waved his hand in the air expectantly.

"He's too good at being a beggar, not so good at repaying hospitality."

Scowling, Buzhi stood up, reaching inside his robes for his coin bag, "There's no loyalty here," he complained.

Seeing the bag he pulled out, Pia coughed lightly and reached for her sword, standing. Her hand flexed around the sheath as she hesitated, wondering if it was wise to butt in. Yet, as she looked from the grumpy Zhe Mian to the calm, intimidating Lan Tiao, she took the risk.

Looking at Buzhi, she asked, "Is that the correct coin purse?"

Remembering how he'd conned the shopkeeper with the replication rune money, she gave him a knowing look.

"Oh Pia, you've hung around your Master too long," he said, with a mock sad sigh. Then, he tucked the bag back inside his robes. "We're going to have to work on that rigidness," he muttered. Sliding his hand into his belt, he retrieved the box from Hua's Finery.

Wiggling it before Lan Tiao, he said, "How about this? It should more than cover the cost."

Suspicious, Lan Tiao snagged it from his hands and opened it. When his brows rose in shock, Zhe Mian leaned over, peering into the box. The massive Blood Ruby sparkled up at them. Even Zhe Mian couldn't hold back a gasp of shock.

Her eyes slid back to Buzhi, wondering where the pearl necklace had gone. Seeing the questioning look, he put a finger to his lips and gave her a wink.

"Where in the realms did you find the Red Song?" Zhe Mian asked, irritation gone in the wake of his amazement.

Drumming his fingers on the box, Lan Tiao's eyes flickered up to Pia's hair as if confirming something he'd suspected. Shaking his head, he closed the box.

"I accept. However, I don't wish to know the answer to that question."

Pia's lips twitched as the cranky expression quickly returned to Zhe Mian's face. He settled back into his chair with a huff.

"Oh, you know me. I've got a good eye," Buzhi said with his trademark toothy grin. "Now, excuse us. We'd love a bath. MianMian, how about you be a darling and draw us one?"

Pia cringed at his repeated use of the unwelcome nickname. Zhe Mian's face turned dark, and he leaned forward threateningly in his seat. Buzhi made his quick escape before 'MianMian' could retaliate. Pia bowed, thanked them for their hospitality, and followed him out of the building and up the stairs to the second level.

Buzhi entered the room directly at the top of the stairs, pointing her to the one to its right.

"The baths are easy to operate; check the side of the tub for the runes. After you bathe, come back to the dining room. You don't want to miss Lan Tiao's cooking."

Then he closed the door to his room, and Pia could hear him happily whistling inside. Rolling her head to relax her shoulders, she entered her room.

It was a simple room but clean and tastefully furnished. Two dividers offered privacy: one separated the bed from the main room, and one separated the bathing area. Stepping into the bathing section, Pia was startled to see that the tub was slowly filling with hot, steaming water.

Before she could inspect it further, a knock came from the door. Seriously, what now? She couldn't help but think crossly. Buzhi was on the other side, surprising her, yet also not at the same time. His normally carefree expression was replaced with frustration.

"We'll have to get water from the well for the bath," he told her, pointing down into the yard. It sat in the corner near the stable. "There are blocking arrays over the rooms. No water yi can be pulled through it. That sneaky rat knows I'm wretched with breaking arrays." His voice rang with irritation, but his eyes sparkled with humor. It seemed Zhe Mian had taken his revenge.

Schooling her face into confusion, Pia pointed behind her.

"My tub is already filling with water." she told him, lips twitching as she waited for his reaction.

His mouth fell open with shock, and then his eyes narrowed.

"That vicious maggot!" he hissed, spinning around and stomping down the stairs.

She couldn't hide her laughter as she closed the door and heard Buzhi yelling at Zhe Mian from the first level.

The bathing room had tins of dried herbs and two folded drying robes. Sniffing them carefully, Pia selected Lovage, Saffron, Frankincense resin, Gooseneck flowers, and a pinch of turmeric. It wouldn't smell the best, but it'd help ease some of the tension and aches in her body. She tossed them into the water, followed by a square washing cake.

Disrobing and entering the bath was a relief. The strange mix of earthy, spicy, and warm floral scents wafted through the air. That alone was its own relief. One of the things she already missed from Cangzhi were the daily hot baths. It was a luxury she'd never had in Dwelling and deeply appreciated. The hot water soothed her body, making it feel as if it slid between every aching joint and tense muscle, and she sighed. Her lips twitched as she heard heavy steps stomping up the stairs—Buzhi, likely hauling water to his room.

She peeked on the outside of her tub and found that the runes on her tub were similar to the ones at Cangzhi. Whatever grievances Zhe Mian had with Buzhi, his act of kindness in filling her tub for her was a clear message that he had none for her. Still, for him to be able to fill her tub from such a distance…What excellent control of yi.

Sliding further into the tub made her hair float atop the surface, long tendrils that looked like creeping shadow fingers. Reaching up, she plucked the hairpin from her hair, allowing the rest of her hair to fall. The Yangui pin tingled her fingers again, the murky, thick feeling strange yet oddly thrilling. She dropped it into the water and began to loosen the braids Buzhi had made.

It was a much smoother process than untangling her regular two braids. The tickling feel of hair on her shoulders and neck was unfamiliar, but the lightness was a refreshing change. She made quick work of washing her hair and herself, and then relaxed, soaking until the water turned cool.

She exited the tub and wrapped herself in a drying robe, tying the belt firmly around her middle. The tub began to drain, water yi evaporating as fire and wind yi runes activated at her exit. Impressed, she crouched beside it, watching as yi turned a manual task into a breeze. Once it lowered far enough to avoid wetting her sleeve, she plucked her Yangui pin from the tub. Against her wrinkled fingers, the tingle had a bite. She hissed, almost dropping it as it thrummed against her fingers.

Grabbing her robes, she went to the bed to sit, depositing the pin beside her. Curling and bending her fingers to alleviate the strange sensation, her eyes wandered back to that all-black pin. It had no special design, merely a twisted black piece of stone. Obsidian, maybe, she thought. It was incredibly smooth. Perhaps heavenly meteorite rock? The spiritual power of the pin seemed too great for mere obsidian.

The dripping of her hair brought her focus back, and she finger-combed through the long strands. She debated on how to braid her hair. Her two braids felt like a part of her identity. Yet, the style Buzhi had done felt light and free. Parting her hair in three sections, she decided to braid the top of her hair in one braid, curling the end at the base of her skull and pinning it with the hairpin. It felt odd, yet the lightness of the style appealed to her.

With the hair done and nothing to do, Pia scooted to the back of the bed, stretching her legs out until only the ankles fell over the edge. She remained there, thinking over the day's events as she dried in the warm breeze that filtered through the windows. Her eyes grew heavier as the sunlight faded into the evening.

She was running through a field of golden-tipped grass, chasing after a figure. Around her, people shrieked her name, harsh and guttural sounds that caused her heart to crash against her chest, racing faster than her feet. Looking at the people, they were blurs, as if a film separated her from them. Yet, she knew they weren't as they grew closer and closer, louder and louder.

Ahead of her, a dark figure, almost too far away to see, kept getting further and further away. Every stumbling step forward that she took seemed to put more distance between them. For some reason, that terrified her even more. Her heart seemed to boom boom boom in her ears, an ominous war drum driving her on.

"Stop," she cried out, voice breaking in frustration. "Please wait!"

The voices rose around her, growing louder and more frantic. The figure ahead did not wait, did not slow. Stumbling in the grass, she fell to her hands and knees. The grass sliced at her, cutting lines into the flesh of her arms.

Bodies pressed against her, hands reaching out to cling to her arms and shoulders. Shaking them off only had others grabbing at her. She screamed in frustration, fighting off the bodies. Struggling to her feet took every fiber of her being, straining forward. Once on her feet, it made no difference. Running became impossible as their weight dragged her down. Tearing at them with her hands, Pia tried to shove and shoulder through them. More and more surrounded her, seemingly endless and unstoppable. Grasping at her with icy fingers that seemed unbearably firm.

Her eyes looked at each body, straining to see through the blur. They had no discernible faces to her—each appeared a blank canvas of skin, horrifying and surreal. The more she struggled, the harder it was for her to move. In frustration, she shrieked, letting all her rage and fear burn through her voice. A vibrant red-blue fire sliced across the landscape, scorching the wicked grasses and bathing the land with scorching heat. Panting, she stood there alone, bodies of men and women lying in the grass around her, their faces frozen in horror.

With a gasp, Pia sat up, heart racing, forehead wet with cold perspiration. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the tremors that rattled her body. It'd been years since she'd had a nightmare. She'd forgotten the horrible sensation they left in the body.

A knock came on her door, and she looked out the window, seeing only darkness. Remembering the dinner invitation, she scrambled from the bed, grabbed her robes, and called out, "I'm coming!" and hastened to change.

The dream lingered on her mind. It'd been so real. The terror, the feel of the grasses parting against her body, starting off soft and normal, turning to painful blades, cutting at her skin. She tossed the used robe over the tub, pulling on clean underwear.

As she slipped her left arm inside, she paused. Thin scratches lined her forearm, faint but red as if they'd recently bled. Trailing her fingers over them, Pia shivered, remembering the feeling of her dream. The bladelike feeling of the grasses piercing through her robes, reaching to slice her skin.

She shook her head and returned to dressing. It was a silly idea to believe that the scratches were related to her dream.