CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

COVER-UP

No one at the Longxian Northern Fist School of War was having a good time. The magistrates had paid Guanshi a visit that very evening with a summons to the Tower of Fiery Vigilance, which Jian had always thought a peculiar name when the magistrates’ uniforms were a dull lime green and their work hours extraordinarily reasonable. The master was gone for most of the next day and had returned late in the evening red-faced, drunk, and furious. The school had also obviously lost the warehouse security contract. At the very least Southern Cross hadn’t gotten it either.

Xinde avoided everyone. He didn’t teach classes, nor had he shown his face at the dining hall. He wouldn’t even see Jian when Jian brought his meals. Worse yet, news of the altercation had spread like weevils on rice. By the time Guanshi left for the tower, everyone knew that Xinde, the golden boy of Longxian, had choked in battle, twice. Students were whispering that he was a porcelain prince, a lot of pretty smoke. His very presence became a black mark on the school and the style. Guanshi made no effort to break through his senior’s self-isolation.

Rumors about Jian spread just as quickly, cobbled together from the Southern Cross’s mocking embellishments. In their account, Jian had had to step in to defend his hapless senior because Xinde couldn’t get back up after Keiro’s first attack. Jian had ambushed Keiro from behind like a coward, but had fought with the skill of a master. Keiro had managed, albeit barely, to prevail over this stranger who masqueraded as a novice.

Students brought the stories back thinly wrapped in disdain and disbelief, but that didn’t stop them from telling and retelling what they had heard. No one gave him credit for saving Xinde or defending Longxian’s honor. Everyone just glommed on to the idea that he was a master who had infiltrated their ranks. Never mind that no one in the history of the lunar court had ever become a master-level war artist before the age of twenty-five, let alone twenty. No one, not even the Longxian students, not even Auntie Li, even bothered to challenge the facts or ask Jian for his account. The outlandish tale was far more salacious.

They whispered to one another that Hiro, if that was even his name—that hit too close to home—was a spy sent from another school. Or he was here to steal war arts secrets? Or to rob Guanshi of Steed Slayer? Also, wasn’t there a rumor about Hiro getting death-touched? Who death-touches a beggar boy? For that matter, why would Master Guanshi take him in, offer him free room and board, and train him for nothing? Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart. Could Hiro be Master Guanshi’s bastard love child?

A week later, Jian was right back where he had started, an outsider. Or worse, since everyone assumed he was a traitor. The theft of war arts secrets was considered especially heinous. Even Auntie Li regarded him warily. Unfortunately, there was just enough truth in the rumors that neither Meehae nor Xinde could deny their veracity. In fact, their defense of him and explanation of the events made things worse. Xinde admitted to remembering very little, which made stories about how he had panicked and frozen even more plausible. And Meehae, sweet bighearted and terrible-liar Meehae, had tried to spin a story so bizarre it sounded like a cover-up.

Surprisingly, the one person everyone thought would go absolutely crazed, didn’t. When word of the incident reached him, Guanshi only grumbled and jabbed Jian on his forehead with a finger. “Stay out of trouble.” Then he turned and marched into his residence. The fact that Guanshi didn’t immediately expel him only further fed the rumors.

Jian wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did the master believe him, or did he not care? It was more likely Guanshi was more concerned about Xinde and what his rapid fall meant for the school. Regardless, Jian did his best to stay out of sight. He spent the days volunteering to polish and clean the school’s weapons and reorganize the kitchen storerooms. He cleaned out the drainage pipes to the city’s sewer system and swept debris off the roofs. He cleared out the chicken coop. Unfortunately, he still had to return to kitchen duties, which put him in range of everyone’s silent, judging glares three times a day. He had felt just lonely before; now he felt hated.

It was a shock that the days went by without incident. No one tried to pick a fight with him—he’s a secret master!—nor was he taunted or ridiculed to his face. No one hurled food or insults. The only things he had to deal with were glares and isolation. In retrospect, he would much rather have taken a beating.

By the sixth day, he had had it. Jian climbed the back wall and spent the early night on his back gazing up at the sky. It was the night of the Ash Revelry, when the twins intersected. The Princess ascended from the south and aligned with the Prince, who was disappearing into the northern horizon. The two moons together cast a hazy, eerie gray ghostly light across the land.

It was a stark reminder that the last season of the third cycle had arrived, with the burning steaming summer and soon the bitterest freezing winter. This could be a problem, because Jian had decided to leave, not just the school, but Jiayi and Caobiu entirely. It was the worst time of the year to travel, but he didn’t have any other options. His cover may have been blown, Taishi had vanished, and it wasn’t as if he would learn anything from Guanshi. He should have been promoted a cycle ago, but Guanshi kept making him do basic drill after basic drill.

Worst of all, and this bothered Jian the most, nobody liked him. Piled on top of their months of mockery now were those constant judging glares, and it was intolerable. Jian wanted a fresh start, a real one this time, not one haphazardly strung together by Taishi as a means of getting him off her hands. He had been a nuisance to her all along, as he probably had been to everyone.

Jian glanced on the other side of the wall down to the sewage alley running between the walled estates. He wasn’t given a choice the last time; maybe now he could be. For the first time in his life, he could control his own destiny. Jian stood up and pointed to the end of the alley. “I’m going to go this way and not look back, ever.” Then he realized that that direction led to the Grass Sea. He faced the other way. “I’m going to go this way, and not look back, ever.”

He dropped back down into the garden and made his way to the ramshackle hut he called home. It wouldn’t take long to gather his few meager items. He paused and held up the old robe that he had worn when he first arrived in Jiayi, the once fine silk now dirtied and torn. It was the robe that the tailor had made for him the night all five dukes came to the Celestial Palace. It felt like a lifetime ago. Now it was just a torn and tattered rag. Jian didn’t know why he had kept it, just that it brought him back to his time at the Celestial Palace, the bitter and the good, mostly bitter. He packed it anyway.

When he was finished, all he had to show for it was one small satchel. He had few possessions and even less money. Really, no possessions save for the school uniform he wore now and padded robes, both of which he was pretty sure he didn’t actually own. He took them anyway; he was owed that much. He and his small knapsack were back out the door within a few minutes.

Jian considered creeping to the main hall and kitchen to pilfer some food and valuables. The two strings of copper liang he had wouldn’t get him very far. In the end, he decided against it. Longxian hadn’t been the kindest, but it had provided him shelter and food. He didn’t want to leave here a thief. Besides, a war artist’s reputation followed him for the rest of his life. He shouldn’t squander what little goodwill he had left on petty theft.

Jian was about to drop down the other side of the wall and be away from the Longxian Northern Fist School of War forever when a voice called out. “I would be careful there. The other side is a slippery slope of mud and sewage. From our drains, I might add. At worst you’ll break your ankle. At best you’ll slip and slide in shit. Instead, might I suggest this thing we have called a front gate?”

Jian looked back down into the garden and noticed Xinde lying on a bench near the pond. “Senior,” he acknowledged. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was going to say, probably the same as you, but judging by your pack, you have more extreme measures in mind. Want to talk about it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He crossed the garden to the wall and climbed to the top on the tips of his toes and fingers. It was a Longxian technique, although Xinde had adjusted it for his individual talent and style. Jian personally thought this skill bland—truthfully that’s what he thought of most Longxian uses of jing—but who was he to talk? He was the one who had had to climb up a tree to get to the top of the wall.

Xinde was next to him a moment later. The senior pulled out a gourd and offered it. Jian gratefully took a swig and turned a little green as he choked and forced it down. He was not ready for the harsh burn of cheap zuijo. He passed it back to Xinde, and the two sat together silently under the two moons.

Jian was very grateful when Xinde finally spoke first. “I feel like we have much to discuss.”

They probably did, but Jian couldn’t share his secret, and he was just as fine not prying into Xinde’s personal business. It wasn’t like they were ever going to see each other again after Jian skipped town. The senior was his only friend at the school, although to be honest he wasn’t sure why. Everyone wanted to be Xinde’s friend, but why did Xinde care about the lowest student in the school? Still, Jian was dying to know what the senior’s deal was. Jian’s concern for his welfare was genuine. Plus, he could tell the man needed someone to talk to. For once, it was the senior who needed a friend.

After a brief, uncomfortable silence, he probed. “Well, you first.” He was still figuring this friendship thing out.

Xinde looked like he was expecting another answer, but shrugged. “That’s fair. I was the one who invited myself up here.” He looked up at the stars. “Do you know why I enrolled in Longxian?”

“Because you wanted to be a great war artist?”

Xinde chuckled derisively. “I actually wanted to be a dancer. I hated violence, it made me queasy.” He raised one leg straight up in the air and pointed his foot. “I was good too. My teacher said I had a chance at the Songgua Academy in Allanto. A couple months before the test, my ba decided that no son of his was going to join the opera to be some painted dancer, so he dragged me to Longxian’s front gates and dumped me here. Told me not to come home until I could best him in a fight.”

“That’s fortunate.” Jian hesitated. “Or is that bad?” He actually wasn’t sure.

Xinde shrugged. “It is neither good nor bad. It is simply what happened. Turns out the physical qualities that make a great dancer are not that different from the ones that make a great war artist. My talents translated well from leaps and twirls to punches and spin kicks, so here you have it”—he gestured at himself—“the dancing senior of Longxian.”

“That explains why you’re so graceful,” said Jian. “Even if this wasn’t your dream, you didn’t do too badly for yourself. It could have been much worse.”

“Or much better. I could have been the next great opera star at Songgua Academy. We’ll never know. I honestly have no regrets.” Xinde did not sound like he meant his words. “Life here has been good, mostly. Master Guanshi treats me like the son he never had. Auntie Li acts like the mother I never had.”

“To have a mother and father, to have a family, is all most of us can wish for.” Jian couldn’t mask the wistfulness in his voice. At least Xinde had parents.

The senior gazed off into the night sky, lost in thought. “A family can be more than just a mother and father, husband and wife, parent and child. My father views me only as an instrument to carry on the family name. My stepmother stopped acknowledging my existence the day she moved into our home. Love and respect is what makes family, not blood. It can manifest in different ways and shapes, sometimes from people you least expect.”

The senior must be referring to the Longxian school, or was he? Jian wasn’t sure anymore. Thinking about his parents, whom he didn’t remember, only grew the empty black hole in his heart and made him feel raw. He decided to change the subject. “What happened with Keiro? I’ve never seen you fold from a punch like that. I’ve seen you take harder blows in practice.”

Xinde cracked a sad smile and tapped the side of his head. “That’s the thing about sparring and tournaments. They’re games; it’s not real. They have judges, rules, and limits. The competitors—most of them—don’t want to hurt the other person. Fights on the street are completely different. No judges, rules, or limits. No one wears pads, and the weapons are sharp. I’ve been lucky up until now. I’ve avoided most street fights on sheer reputation. I’d show up and talk everyone down. And I managed to avoid getting hurt the few times I’ve had to fight.”

His voice cracked when he spoke again. “I don’t like violence, Hiro. I’m afraid of fighting, I have been ever since I was a boy. My ba thought Longxian would drive that fear out. I thought so too. I had a trick. Whenever the fighting got real, a little voice in my head convinced me to treat it just like a tournament. But the first time Keiro cut me, the little voice went silent. I got so, so scared, and now that trick doesn’t work anymore. I’ve broken.”

Jian started intently at his own feet. What do you say to someone who just called himself a coward? He had always thought the opposite of Xinde. The senior was strong and brave. He was everyone’s idol. Half the students at Longxian wanted to be him, and the other half couldn’t decide if they wanted to be him or be with him. Maybe that was what Xinde needed to hear. Jian could tell his friend that he was completely wrong and absolutely not a coward. Or instead maybe Jian should try to help him overcome this problem? Wasn’t that why the senior was telling him this, so he could help? Jian could perhaps offer personal examples of how he had overcome his own fears.

What Jian really wanted to do was just play dumb and gloss over this uncomfortable conversation, pretend it wasn’t happening. He racked his brain, and ended up going with the first thing that came to mind. “Wow, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, Xinde looked genuinely relieved. “Thank you, Hiro.”

Jian tilted his head at Xinde quizzically.

The senior continued. “For once, it’s nice not to have someone think there is something wrong with me and want to fix me. And it feels good to finally tell someone.”

Jian didn’t understand. Something was wrong with Xinde, but he kept that thought to himself. “You’re welcome.”

Xinde breathed out a long sigh. “What about you, Hiro? What secret are you keeping? I remember enough from that fight to know you are not any sort of novice I’ve seen before.”

It was Jian’s turn to explain himself, except while he trusted Xinde to an extent, Jian knew he couldn’t tell him the truth. They may have been exchanging secrets, but there was a slight difference between I’m a coward and I’m the central figure of our religion.

Taishi had told him several times that he was a terrible liar, so he decided to just tell the truth, but as little of it as possible. “You’re right,” he began. “I’m not who you think I am. There are people after me, so I’m in hiding.”

“I don’t think you’re a spy,” mused Xinde. “The techniques you used didn’t come from any of the local schools. Now that I think about it, you exhibited northwestern, southern, and central flavors.” He paused. “You must have been trained in multiple styles.”

That hit uncomfortably close to home. Jian gulped. “Maybe.”

Xinde fixed him with a look, as if perhaps if he stared hard enough he could decipher Jian’s real identity. “Nobleman’s son, I knew it. Your hands were always too soft for a street beggar.”

“That’s not true!” Jian held up both hands. “I have calluses.”

Xinde snorted. “At the base of your fingers from holding weapons. You also have no accent.” His grin grew sly. “So I’m right.”

For the first time since Jian arrived in Jiayi, he felt important. “Maybe.”

Xinde rubbed his hands. “Interesting. Are you blood with any of the dukes?”

Jian shook his head.

“So, your noes are noes, and your maybes are yeses. Are you from the Caobiu court?”

“No, I mean—no you’re right, no.” Damn that smart guy.

The senior went on excitedly. “Another duchy then. You don’t have an eastern face, but you’re skilled enough at a young age to give Keiro a good fight. Lawkan nobles frown upon their children practicing war arts.” He snapped his fingers. “You pointed north a little bit ago. You must be from Shulan!”

“Maybe.” This was too easy.

Xinde smirked. “You say people are looking for you. Are you a runaway? Is it your family searching for you, or enemies?” Xinde snapped again. “Enemies. You were death-touched, which means your family had powerful enemies. The assassins sent after you weren’t common thugs, but why would you hide out at a war arts school instead of in one of your family estates?”

Jian could hardly believe how far the rumors had gone, but before he could answer, Xinde went on. “You’re not at a family estate because the threat must be coming from within.” He paused and leaned in. “You were betrayed, weren’t you?”

“May…Maybe.” Jian squirmed.

Xinde suddenly frowned and fixed him with a hard look. “You’re not the missing Champion of the Five Under Heaven, are you?”

Jian could feel the blood drain from his face. He tried to speak but couldn’t manage to push the sounds up his throat. The wall felt like it was suddenly spinning under him. Then Jian realized Xinde had broken into a laugh.

Jian chuckled along weakly. “Hah, good one.” Was he really that easy to read?

Xinde held up a hand. “It’s all right. You don’t have to talk about it. Your secret will be safely guarded, Lord Hiro.” He clapped Jian on the shoulder and dropped gracefully back into the garden.

“Hey, Xinde,” he called after the senior. “You’ve gone out of your way to be friendly to me. Why? I appreciate it, but you don’t need me, I’m nobody. Why did you go put in all this effort?”

Xinde shrugged. “Since we’re both spitting out truths, Master Guanshi asked me to watch over you when you first arrived. I saw in you a kindred spirit. I could tell you didn’t want to be here like I didn’t when I first came to Longxian. So I wanted to be your friend and look after you.”

“Are we really friends?”

Xinde shook his head. “No, we’re not friends, Hiro. We’re brothers. Regardless of what the others think, one does not choose their brothers, nor shed them easily. Think about that before you decide to leave.” He turned. “By the way, if you still plan on running away through the back, I wasn’t kidding about that slope of shit.” Then Xinde turned and disappeared into the night.