The interior of the building was dingy and dimly lit. It smelled faintly of sweat, metal, and, oddly, duck fat. Square tables and benches were arranged around the room, filled with an odd assortment of individuals. Many of those individuals were holding daggers and knives, crowding together as they watched the spectacle in the middle of the room. Voices clamored over one another, but most of the noise came from two men in the center.

In the center of the room, two men held raised swords, poised and ready to attack.

"Said no cheat," the man on the left growled, voice thick with an accent she didn't recognize. The sides of his head were shaved, and the rest of his hair tied back in a ponytail.

The other man, short and lean, with messy hair, rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Did you see me cheat?" he demanded. He swept his sword wide, turning his back on the angry man. "Did anyone see me cheat?"

"You cheat," the man insisted, despite the guffaws of those still sitting.

Pia had expected Buzhi to strut into the situation and worsen it. Yet, he held back, taking it all in. A woman on the side of the room turned her head toward Buzhi, and her eyebrows pulled together in a look Pia couldn't quite decipher. The woman had a solemn face with a thick scar that cut from her right eye to the left side of her chin. A curved blade did that, Pia couldn't help but think. She sat on a table, feet on the bench, elbows on her knees. Between her hands, she twirled a dagger by its blade.

The 'semi-friendly' warning Buzhi had mentioned was starting to make sense.

"Look, if you don't believe me, we can do it again?" the smaller man said, lowering his sword in good faith.

The man with the shaved head let out a heavy grunt of dissatisfaction but honorably lowered his sword in return.

"Go get 'im, Right-Eye," called someone from the left side of the room, and the right side of the room stomped their feet hooting in response.

The two men moved to stand shoulder to shoulder, bickering about who should go first.

She wanted to watch, but when Buzhi strolled over to the side of the room where the woman lounged, she followed him.

"Yao Hu," he said, respectfully tilting his head towards her.

The dagger between her fingers spun round and round.

"Liu Buzhi," she said cooly, not appearing pleased to see him. Her eyes slid to Pia, lips twisting with a derision that discomfited Pia. The move pulled her scar, giving her face a menacing edge. "I see you've gotta pet."

Pia bristled inside at that, but she kept her face calm.

"I can't claim this one, I'm afraid. Her real owner would remove my hands."

"Does it have any teeth?"

Buzhi touched his nose, rubbing the bridge, while his lips stretched upward.

"A decent bite for a cat."

It was hard to stand there and be talked about in such a manner, but Pia clenched her jaw and bore it. Buzhi's words annoyed her, but she knew him well enough that they slid off her back. The woman's words got under her skin.

The woman let out a scoff full of doubt. She pointed at Pia with her dagger and said, "It looks barely off its mother's teat."

That…was much harder to take, and Pia forced herself to breathe out, hold it for twenty seconds, then breathe in for ten seconds, calming herself. She hated references to parents, a weak spot that sliced through her control.

Before Buzhi could respond to Yao Hu, the left side of the room erupted in loud yells as the man with his head half-shaved threw his dagger, directly hitting the center of the target. The target, Pia saw, was a small, wooden circle suspended in the middle of the wall. It rolled from the impact, turning over and over. A hole had been bored through its center, and a rope pulled through, creating an imbalance in the target. A challenge for the throwers.

The smaller man stepped up, and before the target finished rolling around the rope, he let fly his dagger. The solid thud seemed to echo in the room, and then the right side of the room erupted into cheers and laughter again.

The leaner man's dagger was stuck right beside the first dagger. Pia's brows rose, impressed. That was skill.

Or, maybe not, she thought, as the man with the sides of his head shaved once more let out a cry of outrage.

"Cheat!" he declared, turning and swinging a broad fist at the shorter man.

"I'd say you weren't keeping an eye on the process, but y'know, that'd be stating the obvious," the other man drawled, dodging the man's punch. He danced away a few feet, grinning broadly.

Had he cheated? Pia wondered. She'd seen him toss the dagger, and there'd been so pulling on yi that she could sense.

"Wumei," a voice boomed out, instantly quieting the room. The 'cheater' man, Wumei, closed his mouth so fast his teeth clacked together in the sudden silence.

From the dark corner of the room, a man unfurled from the shadows. He was massive, tall, and thick with muscle. His hair was braided in multiple ways and sizes, tied at the base of his skull. The skin of his face stunned Pia. It was almost completely covered in scars—across his forehead, chin, nose, cheeks, and lips. Someone had mercilessly cut his face to pieces.

The other man, Right-Eye, bowed respectfully to the man as he approached. It was a strange bow, one Pia hadn't seen before. He crossed his right arm over his chest and bent deep at the waist. She jolted in surprise when she saw his face clearly as he stood back upright and turned slightly. The man's right eye was gone, leaving behind a sagging hole where his eye should be. She swallowed, feeling ill. Who were these people? What had happened to them?

"How about you and I give it a go?" the new man said, his voice so void of emotion that it made Pia shiver.

There was no feeling in his face or voice. Was he angry? Amused? She couldn't tell, which was more unnerving than if he'd been raging.

Wumei shifted on his feet, suddenly showing much less bravado than before.

"It'd be an honor, Miejing," he said, though his tone said he'd prefer to do anything but go up against him.

Letting the moment hold, Miejing's eyes slid across the room, coming to a brief stop on Buzhi, and finally landed on Pia. The intensity of his gaze gripped her. Even across the room, there was a fierceness in his eyes, which made every defensive instinct in her body respond. Those were the eyes of a wild animal, a tiger in the grass, waiting, tensed, and ready to sink its teeth into her neck. Unconsciously, her hand fell to the hilt of her sword, curling around the grip. His eyes narrowed, lips thinning. The whites of his scars stood out starkly across his face.

Then his eyes shifted back to Buzhi, and relief poured over her.

"I see we have guests," Miejing stated dryly, and all turned their gaze to Buzhi and Pia.

Yao Hu scoffed, and it was loud in the quiet of the room.

"I didn't realize we were open to guests," she said bitterly, her eyes on Pia.

The tone might've rankled Pia, but that brief stare with Meijing had rattled her already. Who was he?

Meijing's eyes wandered back to the woman, and it only took a second of his cool gaze on her for Yao Hu to concede to him. Pia shivered. What kind of power did this man hold for someone as contentious as Yao Hu to bend her neck?

It seemed as if Meijing had finished whatever he had been assessing. Turning, he called over his shoulder, "Join me for a meal," he said, and it was a statement to Buzhi and Pia, not an offer or a question.

"That'd be lovely. I so missed the dumplings here," Buzhi sighed, acting as if he hadn't been ordered into joining.

The tension that had gripped the room dissolved at Buzhi's quip, and a few chuckles slid across the silence, breaking it up. Even the corner of Meijing's lip twitched ever so slightly. Before he turned away, he stopped to give Wumei one final look.

"Play fair," he warned, returning to the back corner and disappearing from sight.

Wumei let out a whoosh of air, then turned and bowed to Right-Eye.

"Drinks on me?" he offered holding out his hand.

Right-Eye grinned and clasped the offered hand, and cheers rose from both sides, loud and effusive.

Amidst the noise, Buzhi grabbed Pia by her shoulders and steered her through the room, ignoring those who called out to him to join them.

"Later, my darlings," he called back. "Business first, as usual!"

Though she didn't look back, Pia could feel Yao Hu's stare on them all the way out of the room.

"Who are these people?" Pia asked as they stepped out of the main room into a hallway.

"Just friends from another life," Buzhi said nonchalantly.

"Another life?"

He turned her around a corner, heading for the sole door at the end of the hall. The small hallway was dark, and the lanterns on the wall gave off only the thinnest light streams.

"Yes, my darling parrot," he teased, and the memory of him calling her a pet earlier flooded Pia's mind.

She trod on his foot in the dark, grinding her heel down. He grunted and released her shoulders, stepping away from her.

"That hurt," he complained sulkily. Pia doubted it'd hurt as much as she wanted it to.

They'd reached the door, and Buzhi winked and opened it, leaving her no time to question him further.

Just you wait, she thought darkly. His ears would burn from all the questions when they were finally alone again.

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The room was small but warm. Multiple coal heaters were burning, bathing the room with their hot air. She couldn't help but wonder if Meijing's body was as scarred as his face. Scars that deep left untouchable aches upon the body. It'd be a constant pain in the cool, damp spring air. Was that the reason for all the heaters? He was already seated at the table, a platter of dumplings and jugs of drinks on the table.

"You know me well," Buzhi said with delight, eagerly taking a seat to Meijing's left. It took him only seconds to sit and snag a pair of chopsticks, aiming for the dumplings.

That left only the seat to Meijing's right for Pia, and she took it, steadfastly avoiding meeting the man's eyes. She could feel them on her, heavy and probing as if he could see her soul through her skin.

"Who are you?" he asked bluntly once she'd sat.

Busy stuffing his face, Buzhi said nothing, leaving Pia alone to find her way.

"I'm Pia," she said, feeling inadequate and off-balance. What should she say? What kind of information was customary to give out? "I'm a disciple of Duke Zhi, traveling with Liu Buzhi while I forge the heart of my sword." Finishing, she gave a respectful hand bow.

That seemed appropriate, she thought. Not too much or too little.

"Hmm," he said, and finally, she sucked up her courage and met his gaze.

It was as intense as the first time, yet more so because of the closeness. Her feelings would be the same if she sat beside a snarling tiger: uneasy, untrusting, wary. Her skin prickled, and her hands itched to wrap around her sword.

Each cut line of his face was jagged and thick. Her eyes slid across them without meaning to, tracing each horrible cut from start to finish. Thankfully, he did not notice as he intently stared at her face in return. It took her some time to recognize his expression's barest hint of puzzlement.

"Have you had Guiyin Long before?" the man asked, breaking their moment of silent studying.

Mutely, she shook her head. She'd not even heard of it before.

Reaching for one of the jugs, he poured the liquid into a cup and set it before her.

"It's also known by its longer name, Returning Hidden Dragon, and has a long history, which I won't bore you with. It is a traditional Guihai drink served when greeting old friends or new acquaintances."

Looking at Buzhi, she saw that he was busy putting yet another dumpling in his mouth, not paying attention to their conversation at all. Some help he was, she thought, irritated. With trepidation, she leaned forward and eyed the liquid. It was dark red, and sniffing it brought the scent of sweet cardamom, bitter peppercorn, and…she sniffed again. Was that goji berry?

Nothing she smelled in the drink should give it that deep red color. Curious, she lifted it, taking a cautious sip. The taste was awful. Nothing in the drink harmonized. It had a bitter bite, and something pricked her tongue with numbness. Pulling the cup back, she stared at it, swishing the drink across her tongue. Then, the warmth registered. A slow, scorching heat spread from the tip of her tongue to her cheeks, even her lips tingled.

She laughed, surprised. It was a poison. Neutralized to half its potency, but still poison.

"Is this Ghost Flame?" asked Pia.

Dipping her finger into the cup, she rooted around the bottom, searching for sediment. There was none, which disappointed her.

"You're familiar?" Meijing asked.

"A little. I had instructions on many poisons of the nations. I'd never tried this one. I heard it requires a specific type of toad tongue…" Pia trailed off, trying to recall the name.

"Few Spot Toad," he provided.

The heat spread from her mouth, down her throat and gullet, and spread out from her belly. Flipping her hand over, she took her pulse, feeling the irregular beat. Two too fast, a slower beat, two too fast. Ghost Flame wasn't a deadly poison, but it had strange effects. A quick and furious heat was the first symptom. Numbness, nerve pain, and hallucinations were secondary. Judging by the heat, Pia guessed the poison was balanced to bring heat, rather than adverse reactions. Still, she continued taking her pulse, curious.

The blazing heat was already dissipating, disappearing as quickly as it'd started. The drink might be poison, but it wasn't meant to harm.

Meijing turned to Buzhi as Pia examined herself.

"You're working with Ruwe again?" he asked.

"Y'know me," Buzhi said, pouring himself a cup of the Guiyin Long. "A demon of habit."

"Yes, with terrible manners, per usual," Meijing drawled.

Buzhi took a sip of the drink and waved his hand dismissively.

"It slipped my mind," he said.

Adopting a formal tone, Buzhi said, "Pia, this is Meijing, a dear friend from my past. Meijing, this is Pia. A pest of my present."

The temptation to respond to that was quelled by Meijing's thoughtful hum.

"What bloodline does she hail from?" he asked Buzhi.

Buzhi paused as if considering his following words. He rested the tip of his chopsticks on his lips, thinking.

Finished with taking her pulse, Pia rolled down her sleeve and answered the question herself.

"No one knows," she said with certainty. "I was a war orphan."

Meijing's face twisted bitterly at those words. Leaning forward in his seat, he turned the total weight of his stare on her. Something about his look seemed frenetic, almost crazed, and her shoulders and neck stiffened with tension.

"You're eighteen?"

"Seventeen, though nearly eighteen," she said, somewhat cautiously.

The look he was giving her set her on edge.

Meijing stood suddenly, startling her. His legs hit the table, which rattled at the sudden move. Her cup of Guiyin Long spilled across the surface, dripping off the side. The rapid shift set her heart racing, and her eyes went wide with shock. Buzhi tutted as dumplings slid off the dish, but he spared Pia no glance, leaving her feeling entirely alone.

"Out," Meijing bellowed suddenly, sounding extra loud and terrifying in the small room. Anger suffused his face, turning it a dark red that made the whites of his scars stand out savagely. "Go!" he added with a roar when she remained frozen, and he leaned toward her as if he might pick her up and throw her if she didn't listen.

The change was so intimidating that Pia leapt to obey without thought. Jumping to her feet, she hastily scuttled from the room, feeling very much like a scolded child. Yet, she couldn't find her anger. Cold fear had seized her instinctively. Something about Meijing daunted her, making her feel incredibly small and vulnerable.

Outside the room, she pressed her head to the wall, letting it cool her burning cheeks and forehead. Pia rested her head there, composing herself. It took a few minutes for her heart to calm from its rapid pace to a normal rhythm. Beneath her forehead, thin strips of wood dug into her skin, grounding her. The smell of cooking meat trickled through the hall, rousing her from her slouch. The scent brought her hunger to life.

She hesitated, not wanting to go back to the main room alone. As if the gods heard her internal thoughts, a figure peeked around the corner from the end of the hall.

When he saw her, his face brightened. "Come," he beckoned, waving her toward him with his fingers.

Slowly, Pia inched her way to Right-Eye. Closer, she saw he was not much taller than her, but he was broad and muscular. He wore tired brown robes and a black sash for a belt.

She wasn't sure where to look when she met his eye with her own. Not wanting to be rude, she kept her stare locked onto his good eye.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She nodded, and he grinned widely, surprising her with a handsome smile that lit up his face. His sole eye crinkled happily, and she realized Right-Eye was a good-looking man. He had a wholesome, pleasing face, even without his right eye and with his strange hairstyle. The tension that had gathered in her shoulders eased at the sight of his friendliness.

"Come eat," he said, turning back around the corner.

Balking, her feet refused to move. Admitting to being intimidated by the crowd felt like a weakness, but she was. Hungry and exhausted, her nerves felt strained and frayed already. She couldn't handle one more hostile situation.

When Right-Eye saw she hadn't followed him, he came back.

"Come, come," he said. "No bother. Come."

Not wanting to refuse him twice, she complied. Stepping back into the main room, the smell of cooked meat was heavy and rich. A wheeled table had been brought out, showing a half-carved deer carcass.

Right-Eye led her to an empty table and pushed her into a seat, saying, "Sit. Wait. " Then he left, only to return in a few moments with two platters bearing food and drink. He slid one to her and then sat across from her.

"Eat."

It was a massive portion of steaming deer meat, two thick sweet buns, and a tall pile of cooked vegetables. There was no way she'd be able to eat it all, but it looked delicious.

"Thank you," she said, bowing to Right-Eye and then picking up the meat with her fingers.

It wasn't something she'd do outside of life on the road, but she'd seen others eating that way and didn't want to seem too good to do the same.

Right-Eye gave her a smile of approval and dug into his own food. They ate in peaceful silence, and though a few people came near, a glare from Right-Eye kept them alone. Pia appreciated it immensely. She wasn't sure why this peculiar man had taken her under his wing, but she was grateful he had.

The drink was spiced milk, though she couldn't place the texture. It seemed thinner than cow milk and sweeter, too. Honey had been added, she thought.

When Right-Eye saw her staring into her cup, he tapped the side and said, "Mare."

Surprised, her eyes went to his.

"Horse?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded, grinning wickedly at her shock.

Pia took another sip and, with her new knowledge, could taste a bit of sourness under the spice. It wasn't bad tasting, but she'd never considered mare milk consumable. It was strange. Horses were dear to her and the thought of drinking their milk was hard to wrap her head around.

Just as she took a large bite of a bun, Yao Hu came to their table. Pia's face fell, feeling as if her brief peace was over. Right-Eye slammed his sword on the table to his left without pausing, eating with his right hand.

"No," he said sternly, not even glancing at Yao Hu.

"You can't tell me no," she said, crossing her arms.

Pia chewed her bun quickly, swallowing it thickly.

"No," he repeated firmly.

Right-Eye put down his chunk of meat and turned in his seat to face Yao Hu. He slowly stood when she didn't back down, staring her down. Her eyes flicked to Pia, then back to Right-Eye. Behind Right-Eye, a few men had stopped talking, their eyes locked on the exchange. Pia saw their hands drifting near their swords, and her food felt heavy in her gut. Were they on Right-Eye's side or Yao Hu's?

Finally, Yao Hu spat on the ground between them and spun around, storming off. Right-Eye sank back into his chair, picked up his meat, and resumed eating. She watched him, bun still in her hand, worry clawing at her belly. The men who'd been watching had turned back to their meals as soon as the scene ended.

Right-Eye knocked his knuckles against the table, getting her attention.

"Eat," he said.

She nibbled on her bun, washing it down with long sips of the milk, stealing glances at Right-Eye as she did. If he noticed her curious looks, he was unbothered by them. When she could eat no more, she pushed the remainder of her meal towards him. He gave her a frown, but when she insisted, he took it, sliding the meat and veggies onto his plate.

"Is it normally so…chaotic here?" she asked.

"Yes. Loud always."

The way he said it so emphatically brought a smile to her lips. She was curious about his odd accent and speech. It felt wrong to pry, so she kept those questions to herself, as she kept her eyes from his missing eye. Her mind buzzed with questions, but she silenced them.

"Is Meijing always so…" she started to ask, but then stopped, feeling it was likely off limits.

Right-Eye chuckled, low and deep.

"Yes. Always so…" he repeated, making her smile again. Yet she'd understood what he'd meant.

He surprised her by speaking unprompted.

"Good man. Much past," he said, then he frowned as if he wasn't sure if they were the right words. "Heavy past," he amended with a more confident nod.

Surprised at the forthcoming information, Pia wondered what that could mean. Yet, as soon as that thought came, so did Buzhi's words about Guihai. Right-Eye didn't seem to be from this land, but…Meijing could be. She was confident he was older than most in the room. The level of respect the people here gave him seemed to support that.

If she had to guess, these were warriors for hire, mercenaries, sell-swords as they were often mockingly called.

As she thought it over, Right-Eye finished his meal, gathered their trays, and then returned for her.

"Come," he beckoned again.

She followed him, even though she knew he was a stranger—likely a dangerous stranger, even if he had only one eye. His kindness had her trusting him, even though in the back of her mind, she could practically hear Master Ruwe berating her for false trust.

He led her out of the room and down a hallway on the opposite side of the main room. Multiple doors lined this hallway and he led her to one in the middle. He opened it, peeked inside, then stepped back, making shooing motions for her to enter.

Pia did, then once more, balked. It was a bedroom. Though she'd not thought of it in a while, Mo Jing's words of caution fluttered back to her. Spinning, she dropped her hand to her sword, face paling.

Right-Eye's hands raised, concern on his face.

"You sleep," he said, voice soothing. "Not hurt. Sleep."

Right-Eye reached inside his robe when Pia remained defensive, pulling out a tattered piece of leather skin.

With gentle fingers, he unfolded it with utmost care. Though heavily creased, the paint fading, and many scuffs across the skin, Pia saw the portrait of a young girl. Her face was painted mid-laugh, her eyes crinkled in merriment. Even with the time-worn picture, Pia could see it'd been painted lovingly, capturing the heart of the beautiful girl. Cherry blossoms drifted down in the picture. Pia saw dark brown stains in the corner, and her heart squeezed with pain. Those were blood drops.

Her eyes returned to Right-Eyes, and her hand fell from her sword.

"Daughter," he said, and his tone was sad. "No hurt."

Tearing her gaze from the sorrow in his eye, Pia looked at the bed.

"I'm sorry," she said, and the words felt empty. What was she sorry for? She wasn't entirely sure. Even if she knew, no words could ever make up for it.

He folded the leather skin as carefully as he'd unwrapped it, tucking it back inside his robe, close to his heart.

"You sleep. Me watch," Right-Eye said, pointing to the door.

Then, without waiting for her permission, he pulled a cushion close to the door and sank onto it, propping his back against the wall. No one would be able to enter the room without disturbing him. Right-Eye closed his left eye, but his hand remained tight around his sword.

Eying the bed, Pia sighed and pulled the blanket over the mat. Then, she laid down on it, putting her back to the wall. Holding her sword in her arms, she curled her hand around the hilt and lay there. Exhausted as she was, she felt sleep would never happen in such a tense environment. Of course, she was wrong, and sleep rose to seize her in its cruel grip. As it did every night, without fail.