Pia jolted upright, her throat still gripped by the phantom chokehold of unnaturally strong hands. Every muscle of her body seemed to quiver with weakness as if she'd been running and fighting for hours, not just in her dreams. Her sword sprawled across her lap, and, typically such a comfort, now it reminded her of the cold, damp arms that smothered over her in her dreams, and she pushed it aside, unnerved.

Raising her legs, she wrapped her arms around them tightly, resting her head on her knees. Would she ever be able to sleep again? she wondered. It was worse than being haunted. Pushing her eyes against the hardness of her knee, Pia refused to cry. It was just so frustrating. She longed for sleep, yet she feared even resting her eyes.

The sound of shifting fibers, someone moving in the darkness, pricked her ears. Lifting her head, Pia peered at the door, remembering Right-Eye guarding it for her. The space by the door was empty, so she scanned the room. Buzhi was sitting propped against the wall, one knee tucked under him, the other stretched out before him. Even in the darkness of the room, his eyes glinted. Without addressing her nightmare, Buzhi drew a sigil on the floor, and thin threads of light cut through the shadows. It wasn't much, but just that little bit eased some of the anxiety from her gut.

"You know the story of the Phoenix and his five sons?" he asked, voice low and soothing.

Though Pia was confused by the question, she nodded. It was a common story, one she'd grown up hearing.

"When I was young, my father often recited it for me," Buzhi told her.

He rose from the ground and crossed the room to her.

"May I sit with you?" he asked, surprising her with the question. He was not one to normally ask for permission.

She nodded to him, and he sat beside her. Once sat, he pulled a blanket across his lap and her knees, saying, "A bit of chill in here."

The heat of his body transferred to her, and slowly, her muscles began to unbind, loosening from their contracted state of terror.

"His favorite became my favorite," Buzhi said, and she could hear a smile in his voice. "Feng Huang, the greatest creature in all existence!"

She tried to imagine him as a young boy, eyes big in his wideset face and wild braids bouncing in excitement. He was probably a terror; she couldn't help but think, and it almost cracked her lips into a smile. But her nightmare still gripped her, keeping her locked in a braced state.

"It is said that when the Great Ancestor Lianmo first split the vastness of time into the four realms—heaven, hell, mortal, and abyss, the Feng Huang came to greet him, embodying all that was righteous in existence," he intoned in a soothing voice.

Pia's legs lowered, and she tugged the blanket over them, slowly relaxing into his storytelling.

"Moved by Lianmo's commitment to life, Feng Huang gave his and his sons' lives to the Great Ancestor."

He paused, and Pia was struck with a hard sense of nostalgia when Buzhi drew an image of Feng Huang in the air before them. It flashed brightly, majestically showing the long-plumed tail, striking beak, intelligent eyes, and wide-stretching wings. It reminded her of the dinner with Mow when Haojie and Yijun were still present. That thought was bittersweet. Her lips unconsciously curled up, yet her heart ached, missing those who had disappeared from her life.

"We know them well. Feng Ri, our sun, sits in the heavens and guides us with his light during the day. Feng Yue, our moon, guiding us through our darkest moments."

She knew this story well, but hearing it from Buzhi was riveting. His voice was a balm for her strained nerves.

"His smallest yet purest son, Feng Wuming, is the door to hell, guarding the gate of judgment. Not to forget, Feng Yi, our wild ocean waters, who records all that happens across the realms."

A long pause followed, and she believed he had finished. Pia was disappointed; she didn't want it to end. She wanted to beg him to tell her another story, and she bit her lip, hesitating.

"Yet," he said, and Pia turned her head towards him.

Was there more to this story? Her ears perked up, curiosity growing.

"Many modern versions leave out that the Fuang Huang was two Phoenixes," he said, voice once more sounding distant as he recalled his father's words. "Sounds less masculine and heroic, right?"

She frowned with confusion. This was a version she'd never heard.

"I suppose," she said, though it didn't sound very certain.

"My father said the Feng Huang was a mated pair. They were the Great Ancestor's right and left hands. Feng, his right hand, the sword to strike with. Huang, the left hand, the shadowed sleight in darkness. Together, they made five righteous, glorious sons. Yet, cunning and wily, Huang held back her mighty daughter, keeping her as a hidden asset."

Pia was intrigued. There were two Phoenixes? And a daughter? She frowned when he didn't continue, hoping he wouldn't stop there.

"A daughter?"

His teeth flashed at her, and she realized he'd been teasing her, waiting for her to reply.

"Yes, Huang Silan. My father said all that he knew was she comes quietly when most needed and fades back to nothing when her purpose is fulfilled."

Hooked, Pia found that irritation was quickly replacing her previous anxieties. His slow divulging of details was worse than pulling rocks from the river mud.

Sighing, she asked, "Her purpose?"

"Can't say that I know," he said flippantly. "The myth varies between Huang Silan coming as death to bring life anew, or as the sword of justice. I've lived through many dishonorable injustices and never saw evidence of her."

Pia digested that information. It was a fascinating story, but Buzhi's words were a solemn reminder of reality. As captivating as myths were, they were often just exaggerations.

"What made your father believe in the myth?"

Buzhi waved a hand at that.

"Many things can be threaded together as truth to create a tapestry of colorful events that never happened. Also, events can happen that are credited to stories that brought people peace, even if they were not the truth."

"What did your father believe?" she pressed.

"My father thought the ancient war of the Guimu against the Matakaji many centuries ago was evidence." He held up his finger to make a point. "It is ancient for us, but he lived through it. Long ago, the Guimu wandered throughout all the lands before Chean, Baisha, or Liyang existed. The Guimu were a single, peaceful, nomadic tribe then."

Now, Pia was even more curious. Compared to other nations, much of the history of the Guimu nomads was lost after the war. Hearing new information was fascinating, and she waited eagerly to hear more.

"The Matakaji was a powerful nation far across the ocean, and they came seeking new territory to conquer land. My father said that was when the Guimu changed, having to learn to survive such a vicious onslaught. When they were being killed in droves, it brought the arrival of Huang Silan."

"Your father saw this? Was he from the Guimu tribes?"

Buzhi hummed in the back of his throat, not answering right away.

"No. As a child, he often left the demon realm and enjoyed his time with the carefree Guimu. He believes he saw a woman who fit the myth arrive during the war, bringing a decisive victory to the Guimu. I can't say for certain what he saw, only what he believed."

"What an unforgettable experience," she said with awe.

"It certainly was unforgettable," Buzhi agreed, crossing his legs under the blanket and leaning further against the wall. "I think that war changed him. Of course, I didn't know my father as a young man, but his idealism was replaced with a harsh reality that found hope only in myths. After the war, my father returned to the demon realm and never came back to the human realm."

They fell into their thoughts, silence falling around them. Part of her ached to ask about her father; what kind of man was he? Why didn't he come back? What happened to him? But she bit her tongue, not wanting to potentially open old wounds.

Her shoulders had loosened, and soon, she found herself lounging against the wall, her shoulder pressing against Buzhi's. It was comforting to be in his presence. He had a certain smell about him, a little warm and spicy like cinnamon or clove and an earthiness like cedar or moss. She half suspected he carried scented sachets inside his fine robes.

After thinking it over for a while, she asked, "Why isn't the myth of Huang Silan known?"

Many myths had evidence, but not all. No one had seen the sons of the Feng Huang, nor the Feng Huang. Yet they were believed in wholeheartedly, people crediting the moon and the sun as evidence enough. Not having heard of Feng and Huang being two Phoenixes or of Huang Silan was strange.

"Probably because of the fondness the demon realm has for it. You might imagine that Huang Silan," he said with emphasis, "is popular amongst demons. Many hope she'll someday arrive to bring justice for all spirits. Hope for the oppressed is, ironically, often repressed."

"All?" she asked, wondering what he meant. Were there different types of souls?

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"Such as for demonic animal spirits, green spirits, and creatures."

"Wait," she said, brow furrowing further with confusion. "Aren't those from the heaven realm?"

Buzhi scoffed, and it was a jarring sound.

"From but no longer allowed in," he said bitterly.

The word 'justice' made more sense. Though it was a terrible realization.

"You mean…no spirits are allowed in the heavens?" she asked incredulously.

"Trickster demons aren't. Only a few flower spirits and 'heavenly' creatures," he said scornfully, showing exactly what he thought of that term.

Pia's heart sank. "But…anything outside of heaven realm…" she couldn't finish that sentence.

"Yes. Fair game for hunting."

That made her feel ill. Animal and green spirits took many years to cultivate a human form, and many brought their wildly playful yet innocent hearts over when they did. To consider them tricksters, spiteful and evil-hearted demons who sought to create havoc, was just so wrong. The idea of them being hunted, killed, or punished for their nature made her feel sick.

"The more I learn about the cultivation world, the less I want to be part of it," she said, anger suffusing her voice. The things Buzhi told her had her doubting the virtue and honor of martial artists. They were like seeds of doubt that furled their way into the soil of her heart.

He let out a huffing laugh and patted her on her leg.

"Not all are terrible, darling," he said comfortingly. Then he ruined it by adding, "It's just that the worst of them leave the most damage."

It wasn't a reassuring thought. Were people always cruel if they could be? Yet, that thought brought to mind Right-Eye and the kindness he'd shown her. He didn't have to treat her well, yet he had.

"Not all, indeed," she said softly. "Say, Buzhi, where is Right-Eye from?"

"He's from southern Baisha; that's where he gets that accent if you were wondering."

"I was. He was very kind to me," she said, remembering Right-Eye's broad smile and protective nature.

Meeting Right-Eye had been like finding shelter in a flood. Whatever reason he'd chosen to take her under his wing, she was grateful.

Buzhi chuckled, and Pia frowned, looking at him quizzically.

"What?" she asked defensively.

He shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Right-Eye is probably one of the deadliest people I've met, which is saying something, and you called him 'kind.' It's just a little funny to me."

Stunned, Pia thought back to her interactions with the man. Right-Eye had been considerate, patient, and protective of her. Her eyes narrowed, believing Buzhi to be joking. Even in Right-Eye's disagreement with the 'cheater' Wumei, he'd acted honorably.

Seeing her face, he grinned again, enjoying her disbelief.

"It's true!" he protested. "Many know him as the Shanghuai Butcher. Don't ask him about it; it's a touchy subject."

Her arms crossed against her chest, and she felt defensive anger well in her heart.

"I don't believe it," she said hotly. "He's not a bad man."

"Oh, darling," Buzhi crooned, and it was so condescending that her cheeks flushed. He might've well as said, 'You poor naïve child.'

"I never said he was bad," he told her. "I said he was deadly. Personally, I felt his actions were lenient. He only massacred one town. If I'd been in his shoes, I can't say I wouldn't have killed everyone."

She swallowed, fighting the urge to shift away. Looking at Buzhi's profile, it seemed sharper, pointier, less human. It was as if she were seeing a glimpse under his mask, at the demon under the skin. Liu Buzhi acted as a human well, and she forgot that he wasn't one. These few moments reminded her of that.

"He showed me a picture of his daughter," she told him, eyes tracking his face, wondering if he'd give her any information.

His head rolled on the wall, and his gaze landed squarely on her. A yellow ring encircled his normally brown eyes in the dim light, and she shivered slightly. Though, she wasn't sure if fear or fascination brought it.

"I won't spill his story. Not because you can't be trusted, but because he is worthy of mine," he told her solemnly.

It was a bit disappointing; he'd baited her by giving sprinkled details about Right-Eye's story. Yet…it also brought a soft glow of warmth to Pia's heart, and she nodded in acceptance. Maybe Buzhi was a demon, but he was not a dishonorable one. Not learning something about Right-Eye was worth it when the reason was admirable. She thanked the gods that Master Ruwe had given her such a good Wraith to learn from.

Speaking with sincerity, she said, "I like him. He's a good man."

Buzhi let out a little sigh. "You've got good instincts. He's the kind of man I'd trust with, let's say, a darling borrowed pet."

The reminder of his earlier comments startled a small laugh from her. From his words, she got the impression he'd known that Right-Eye would look out for her, even if Buzhi hadn't asked him to. It was comforting to know.

Feeling much more herself than she had after her night terror, Pia said, "Thank you for the tale. It helped."

Buzhi was not very good at being sincerely helpful, yet these little moments filled her with gratitude. The story had been his attempt at soothing her after the nightmare, even if he'd deny it outright.

"Who wouldn't be comforted by my dulcet voice?" he drawled lazily, confirming her belief that he'd brush it away.

She rolled her eyes but let him have that one. He fell silent again, but Pia had other questions ready to pepper him with. She wanted to take advantage of this moment. A time when they weren't traveling or around people and had no distractions at hand.

"Liu Buzhi," she asked hesitantly. "About earlier…"

"I wondered when you'd finally ask," he teased, but she noticed a shift in his tone.

It was so subtle that she might've missed it if they weren't sitting in near dark and near total silence. That subtle shift, a slight decrease in his timbre, as if preparing himself for a conversation he didn't want to have.

"I don't even know where to begin with questions," she admitted, idly fiddling with the token around her neck. Her thumb traced over the cloud design, worrying the surface for comfort. "There's the obvious—what is this place? Who are Wumei, Right-Eye, and Yao Hu? Who is Meijing? But…”

Her voice trailed off because while she was dying to know why Meijing had reacted as he had, some part of her also dreaded it. Such a stoic man didn't seem prone to emotional outbursts. That he'd had one on her simple admission of being a war orphan made a knot in her stomach tighten.

"I know," he said simply. "I also apologize for, as they say, throwing you into the serpent's fangs…"

Pia shivered at those words, instantly reminding her of that horrifying chant from her dream a few nights prior. It was only a common phrase, but she hated remembering that nightmare in particular. It'd chilled her to the marrow of her bones.

"—wouldn't have let him do anything to you, of course," Buzhi continued. "It was a good chance for you to think on your feet. You did well, by and by. Giving information cautiously as you did was smart. Can't always trust a friend's friend."

Master Ruwe had told her something similar, though she'd never had to practice it on strangers. Practicing with people who already knew you was one thing, another on the fly.

"With that busy brain, I'm sure you've assumed Meijing is from Guihai?" he asked.

Pia nodded, and he continued, delivering straight facts with a brutal honesty that gutted her.

"You'd be correct. Meijing's family traces back to the earliest days of Guihai. His daughter and son-in-law were killed in the war. Well," he paused to rephrase it. "Killed isn't the right word. His son-in-law was publicly executed in front of the remaining Guimu. Still alive, he was cut into pieces and fed to dogs."

The tone of his voice, so matter-of-fact, honest, and coldly factual, pierced her. Having suspicions about someone and getting it vividly confirmed were totally different levels of awareness. Nausea rose in Pia's stomach just hearing about it, but Buzhi didn't stop there.

"Meijing and his daughter were forced to watch it in full. After the son-in-law was dead, dogs still feasting on his body, Meijing's daughter was cut from breast to gut, her child pulled from her body, and she was thrown to the dogs, still gasping her last breaths," Buzhi said, voice cold with fury.

"What happened to the baby?" Pia asked, voice thick with emotion, almost afraid to ask.

Nausea, horror, fury, and sorrow crashed over her, leaving her almost numb, trying to process it all. All that horrific torture…how could anyone do that to another? It wasn't that death wasn't common in the martial arts world. But…such disrespect for life…It was unfathomable to her.

Buzhi's hands gripped his pants tightly, the knuckles of his skin growing white. He was furious, just remembering it. Had he been there? She couldn't help but wonder. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and squeezed his wrist, briefly offering comfort. His hand relaxed, and he exhaled before continuing.

"The child was taken away by them. Later, they brought the corpse, bundled in horsehair, and presented the 'heir' of the Guihai back to them."

"The heir? Meijing's son-in-law was the warlord?" she asked, stunned.

His head shook, sending his braids flying.

"Meijing was the warlord, and he passed it on to his daughter after losing his spiritual core."

"A woman was the warlord!?" she asked, stunned. "That wasn't in my studies...In fact, most of my studies seem to be off. I thought all the connections to the warlords were killed."

Immediately, she felt terrible for her surprise after learning such a tragic piece of history. But Buzhi took no offense, understanding her surprise.

"Only skill and bloodline mattered to the Guimu tribes. She was a proven, fierce fighter and a wicked negotiator," he told her. "The loss of Meijing's family was devastating for the survivors. Meijing was spared because he had no spiritual core left, and the people still respected him. It's easier to keep them in line with him here."

Pia swallowed heavily, not wanting to imagine that scenario. Being forced to watch your loved ones not only murdered but publicly and in such a horrific manner. Unable to do anything to stop the ones doing it must've been a hellscape of its own. Then, to live on...Meijing's and his people's strengths were laudable. She couldn't imagine. Her hand tightened around the token, its edges biting into her palm.

"Was he upset because, unlike his grandchild, I was an orphan of the war who survived?"

"No," he said, with surprising emphasis. "Meijing can be vicious, but he'd never wish harm or loss on any child. Outside of his personal loss, many children were left orphans in the war. Even if his people had won, the many orphans left from the war are a regret he bears deep in his heart."

She digested that slowly, her hand unclenching from the token and falling back to her lap.

"What did you talk about after I left?" she asked, curious.

"What most old men talk about when together," he said, sighing. "Nostalgia and regrets."

Not wanting to pry into that, she asked another question she'd wondered. Part of her hoping that her studies had been wrong and some Guimu had survived the war.

"Are they all gone?" Pia asked.

He understood what she meant, "There are a few stragglers, the broken and the old, who travel in small groups, constantly roving, never staying anywhere for long. It's not the same, but…" He shrugged, encompassing it all.

Though she'd expected it, the news was disappointing nonetheless. A part of her hoped for some silver lining, some tiny bit of flame in the overwhelming darkness.

"What were the Guimu horses like?" she asked. "One thing I read was that their horses were a class of their own. Strong, brave, loyal, and fierce in battle."

Buzhi chuckled under his breath, a taunting noise that said, 'I know something you don't know.'

"What?" she demanded.

"Perhaps I'll share a secret with you...eventually. Maybe after we get you some a less dreadful set of robes. It is such a grand secret, and those clothes you wear just won't do it justice."

Her mouth fell open in surprise at his sudden shift from solemnity to silliness.

"You—!" she spluttered, trying not to laugh but failing, laughing from sheer surprise. "I hate when you do that," she admitted ruefully.

Yet, she was grateful for his shift in tone, away from the overwhelming information and the bleakness of the martial arts world. The more she learned the heavier her heart grew. As excited as she'd been to visit Guihai, now a large part of her wanted to leave, to avoid facing the realities of the world.

Buzhi reached out and pinched her cheek, and then leapt from the bed grinning.

"The secret to a long life is to always be unpredictable," he informed her, stretching his arms high above his body.

Pia got up and joined him in stretching. The room was small, barely enough for them to stretch comfortably without bumping into one another.

She bent over, rested her palms on the floor, and asked, "Are we leaving this place today?" She hoped that they would be.

Buzhi leaned heavily into his split, curling one arm over his ribs, up across his head.

"Yep. By and by, to answer your earlier question, this place is Meijing's official post. It's his job to oversee Xiewu, though it's only a title, in a town where his people are forced into manual labor. It's not good to stick around here too often; it attracts too much attention."

Remembering the scene at the gate, she asked, "Is that why you're considered a General? Is it under Meijing?"

He chuckled as he switched arms, stretching his other side.

"Yes, to an extent. He can't hold an army but is given mock official rights. I'm a General of an invisible army."

She grinned at his self-deprecating tone, though it wasn't amusing. It was another grim reminder that Meijing and the people of Guihai were still pierced through with a knife held by an iron fist. That reminder wiped the smile from her face, and she powered through her stretches, eager to start the day and put Xiewu behind them.