Xueming had only fallen asleep for a few hours when he was disturbed again.

  Lanzhi burst through the door with the look of a woman certain she was about to catch her husband in some compromising position. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, and he wiped it away as though he were swatting a fly.

  Xueming jolted awake, finding the surface beneath him too soft to be a dirt floor, and the room too light to be a cell. For a moment, he was utterly disoriented and quite puzzled as to his whereabouts.

  Xueming slowly came to as his hands clenched the red satin engulfing him, finding the clothes adorning his body unfamiliar. His brother almost blended in completely with the darkness, but he could make out his figure from the light streaming in through a window to his right. All of the candles had gone out since last night.

  “Xueming-di,” Lanzhi half-smiled, looking like an escaped prisoner himself. His eyes were wild, his hair a little messy, his clothes unchanged from last night.

  Squinting his eyes, his heart still pounding from the scare, Xueming said in a casual tone, “Did you even get an… incense stick’s… worth of sleep?”

  Lanzhi looked a little disoriented himself, and ran a hand over his hair, a damp cloth in his other hand.

  “Hm—yes, yes, don’t worry,” Lanzhi smiled casually. “It’s just… I was already here, and the honorable lady isn’t faring too well.”

  Xueming decided to stand up and stretch his body a little, letting his brother fill the silence.

  “Master Hao would definitely be less worried with a live-in doctor.”

  Xueming nodded, remaining quiet.

  Really, they both knew that was not an option now.

  “I am afraid I cannot provide sufficient symptom management for this.” Lanzhi paused, his expression twisting to one of turmoil. No matter the history between their families, this woman was his patient now. “I am considering calling a local Daoist priest or…”

  “Didn’t Master Hao say… he cannot trust anyone else with… this?” Xueming pursed his lips, watching his brother’s face carefully.

  Xueming couldn’t quite explain why, but he had learned enough to know this family had a turbulent past. And somehow, he was involved.

  “Yes, yes, the master did,” Lanzhi sighed. “But this isn’t really a private matter anymore. And things have changed.” He did not explain exactly what had changed, but his gaze was stern, his conviction strong. “Lucky the honorable lady has not fully turned into something demonic. But we cannot be certain that will not happen.”

  “Maybe the other doctor was… stabilizing her qi,” Xueming said.

  Lanzhi nodded in agreement, saying: “There really is no other reason the mistress isn’t worse.”

  Lanzhi failed to discreetly tuck away the damp cloth he was holding after realizing it was still in his hand, and Xueming spotted red.

  Lanzhi eventually left to go wash up and change and Xueming, after promising to remain in his chambers, ventured outside.

  The courtyard appeared quite different in the morning light; the atmosphere was no longer suitable for secret late-night conversations.

  Xueming spotted the same lanterns, now rendered useless by the morning sun, and the same main hall, its front now vacant of a furious doctor and an idle master inhaling from a bubbling water pipe. The morning air was crisp and chilly, and Xueming’s elegant white robes did nothing to stop it from biting his skin.

  Xueming hardly felt it.

  As if he were the master of the residence himself, Xueming strode directly to the main hall, pushed open the front doors and slipped inside.

  “What—”

  Xueming turned to see the same fox spirit servant dusting the table in the center of the hall. She was clearly startled, not used to having so many guests run amok in the residence. She remembered herself, though she seemed quite relaxed upon seeing Xueming.

  “Mister,” the fox spirit greeted him. “What can I do for you?”

  Xueming panicked for a moment, his eyes flickering around as he did his best to appear casual while he thought up an excuse for his presence.

  After a short moment, he grunted out: “Master Hao called for me.”

  Smiling, the female fox spirit replied, “Ah, then please take a seat. I will be finished shortly.”

  Whether she believed him or not, she could hardly protest.

  A few moments later, a door within the main hall opened and shut, and a raging Master Hao came hobbling out from behind a hidden corridor

  “You continue to clean even with a guest here?” He snapped.

  The servant girl jumped in fear.

  “Please, Master Hao,” Xueming interrupted, feeling a little guilty. “I am the one… that entered uninvited.”

  The fox servant peered over at Xueming, her mouth a grimace.

  His eyes offered a silent apology for his previous deception.

  “Please, there is no such thing as Brother Jian entering here uninvited,” Master Hao hastily replied, sending a glare over to the fox servant, who politely bowed, then walked away. Master Hao turned to Xueming with a smile, finding him seated at the large center table, eyeing his own willowing sleeves. “Brother Jian, is something the matter? Did these useless servants forget to serve breakfast?”

  Xueming smiled back, though it didn’t meet his eyes, and it was that same clumsy half-lift as before.

  “No, no,” he hurriedly replied, stumbling over his words. He didn’t want the servants to suffer any more blame on his behalf. “I… I am afraid… Lanzhi-ge and I will leave today… and… wanted to… extend my gratitude…”

  “Please,” Master Hao said, looking a little uncomfortable, and even moreso, a little guilty. “It is I who must extend my gratitude for Doctor Jian’s diligence and your support. I hardly expected him to come, let alone stay up all night caring for my wife.” He paused, glancing over at the front door. “Look, I know this may be imposing, and you just arrived in Chongqing a few days ago. But…” Xueming tensed, though he was unsure why. “...I wanted to know if you were in need of work. I… find myself in a difficult situation, and your brother told me… about what you went through…”

  Xueming hardly expected Master Hao to be this anxious. But he also didn’t expect himself to be so furious. At the mention of his new arrival and a hint at his past suffering, he began to tremble.

  “What would Master Hao… have me do?” He piped up, noticing the man was trailing off.

  Just then, the front door swung open again, and Xueming felt like he truly had been caught in an affair. His brother was frowning, and that frown soon turned to a hard-set line.

  “Master Hao,” Lanzhi said, his tone venomous.

  A slight breeze blew into the room, causing his robes to sway slightly, and some rebellious strands of hair to fly into the air. His expression was the most unsettling to look at.

  The two waited for Lanzhi to continue, but he said nothing more. There was really nothing more he needed to say.

  “Please, Doctor Jian,” Master Hao said, already admitting guilt. “Brother Jian seems interested. This could be—”

  “I said no,” Lanzhi snapped, his eyes wild as he looked at his brother. “We need to leave, but I just wanted to check on Master Hao’s wife once more.”

  Xueming nodded, unsure whether to stand or remain seated. If he had learned nothing else from overhearing last night’s conversation, it was that he would not be coming with Lanzhi to do that.

  “Doctor Jian—” Master Hao protested, though Xueming hardly knew what he could ask for now.

  Lanzhi was already treating his wife, despite how difficult his relationship with Master Hao was.

  “And Master Hao,” he interrupted sternly, his eyes clear. “Your wife’s situation is beyond my capabilities. I will be bringing in someone else to help.” As Master Hao opened his mouth, Lanzhi said: “The king has fallen. It will be fine.” Xueming, always out of the loop, could only guess what that meant, but it seemed to quiet down Master Hao.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Don’t tell me,” Master Hao finally grumbled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Her qi is out of whack. Demonic energy is consuming her mind.”

  Lanzhi actually burst out into laughter.

  “So you finally acknowledge it.”

  “No,” Master Hao said seriously. “But every doctor says the same thing.”

  “Well, if every doctor says the same thing, then one of them must be your teacher,” Lanzhi stated plainly. “What is the harm in just letting the doctors decide at this point? Your wife is already at her limits. This is beyond your desires now—if you do not let me treat her, then I will have no choice but to bring this to the closest sect. We cannot let her devolve into a demon.”

  “She had an incident when she was younger!” Master Hao protested. “She experienced great grief!”

  Lanzhi shook his head, bemused.

  “You bring a wolf into the house and deny it's a wolf,” Lanzhi said, though without malice. “This is like asking a ghost to write a prescription! I won’t be involved in such malpractice.”

  Master Hao was quiet for a moment, then suddenly looked over at Xueming, his eyes widening like he suddenly saw the light.

  “Is Brother Jian not capable? Did he not study under a priest his entire youth?”

  Xueming looked over at Master Hao in alarm, wondering how much more the man knew about his past than he did himself. Xueming only had faint memories of learning under a priest as a young adolescent, but they dispersed like clouds after a rainstorm just as he attempted to latch onto them.

  Lanzhi was silent for a long while, then shook his head, sighing in disappointment. There was even a flicker of disgust on his face.

  “You know my brother’s past and do not relent.”

  Master Hao was quiet as well. Even if he did not have the awareness to self-reflect, he at least had the wisdom to remain silent.

  Xueming, meanwhile, was struggling to recall anything about his years studying under a priest, though the pounding in his brain only worsened the harder he tried.

  “I will check on the master’s wife, then we will leave,” Lanzhi said quietly, sounding exhausted. His eyes remained on his brother, as if he were the only thing he had the energy to care about now. Lanzhi’s voice was harsh when he finally addressed Master Hao. “You have no say in this matter any longer.”

  Lanzhi turned to leave, and Master Hao’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

  “I—I had to keep it a secret for so long!” He quivered, looking like a shell of a man instead of a grandiose master. “I am… worried.”

  Lanzhi looked over his shoulder, almost reaching the front door. His gaze softened, but his tone was still harsh.

  “What do you not understand? The king is dead. You will hardly be shunned for keeping your wolf.” He snorted, adding, “This is not my place to say, but there is no one left to say it: it is your support of the previous king that has ruined your ambition. Not your wife.”

  Xueming and Lanzhi returned home on the ox cart with a bag full of minced pork buns.

  The last thing Lanzhi wanted to do was accept anything from Master Hao, especially after their most recent argument, but for the sake of his brother and what was left of Master Hao’s face, he begrudgingly walked away and let Xueming accept the steamed buns.

  It was the last thing Master Hao could do for them before they left.

  “Will you be visiting the… Hao residence… again soon?” Xueming asked hesitantly.

  What Xueming meant, of course, was whether Lanzhi would be caring for the mistress in person again.

  Lanzhi left Master Hao with the comforting news that his wife had calmed down a little following a night-long fit of coughing blood and hallucinations, and that she was peacefully asleep when Lanzhi left. Master Hao was grateful, but Lanzhi warned that what he had given her was a temporary measure.

  “Of course,” Lanzhi tsked, playing with the reins a little. “I must prepare her medicine tomorrow and deliver it.” He sighed, rubbing his face a little, looking quite haggard. “I need to sort out all the patients Doctor Liu needs me to take over. Most of them are my previous patients, but there are some new ones.”

  Lanzhi and the rest of the doctors working out of that little shop ranged from costly private doctors to those who practically worked for free. Lanzhi accepted any patient he thought he could properly treat for a reasonable price.

  Of course, the master’s wife was an exception, but Xueming did not know enough to understand why.

  “You had to leave them… for so long,” Xueming noted, pursing his lips a little.

  Lanzhi looked over at his brother with a surprising glare.

  “Doctor Liu is just as capable. Besides, I have watched over some of them for years.” His voice quieted a little, though he smiled. “It was time I spared time for my younger brother, no?”

  Xueming, a little startled, clumsily smiled back, lifting a shoulder in a sort of shrug.

  “No?” Lanzhi’s smile widened, though there was a sad gleam in his eyes. “You were good to sort yourself out there alone?”

  Xueming’s bottom lip trembled as he thought about it.

  How would he have gotten home by himself?

  He hadn’t even known his name.

  It was a privilege to have such a good older brother.

  Upon seeing Xueming’s eyes well with tears, Lanzhi’s eyes widened.

  “Ah, forget it. Your gege never knows the right thing to say.”

  Xueming shook his head, finding he could hardly control the muscles in his face as he hunched over and choked in silent, dry sobs. There was an ache in his chest, the kind he could only relieve with a scream, but he held his breath, unwilling to make any noise.

  Lanzhi immediately reacted, his face wet with tears and his shoulders beginning to shake as he too began to cry.

  They both remained painfully silent, as if a single sound would alert the other of their distress—only, both brothers knew of the other’s agony.

  Lanzhi stared straight ahead at the road, determined to continue leading the ox cart home.

  A while later, Xueming found himself alone at the front door of his house as Lanzhi parked the cart somewhere safe and ensured the oxes had everything it needed to spend the night nearby.

  Lifting his hand, Xueming almost wanted to knock, but it was his own home, so he felt a little awkward. Still, he hadn’t been here since he was an adolescent, and he felt somewhat like a distant relative from overseas coming for that once-in-a-lifetime visit, and so it felt awkward to just walk in.

  But Lanzhi soon returned, and not wanting to just stand there, Xueming forced himself to enter.

  “My sons are back?” Their mother called from the kitchen, her tone seven parts excited and three parts sarcastic. She appeared in the corridor and rushed over with a plate of steamed buns.

  But Xueming was holding that bag of steamed buns, which was now only half full.

  “Here, here, quickly eat,” she insisted, leading Xueming to the reception area. He plopped down on a bench and the bag of steamed buns hit the floor.

  “Mother,” Lanzhi clucked his tongue.

  “Oh, son!” His mother smiled brightly, urging her first son over as well. “Here, you must be hungry.” Then, to Xueming, who hardly moved, she insisted, “Eat, eat!”

  “Mother,” Lanzhi said again and Xueming winced. “We already ate—”

  But Xueming had already stuffed a steamed bun into his mouth, causing Lanzhi to pause. His mother clapped her hands together, and seeing her so pleased, Lanzhi just shook his head and disappeared down the hallway.

  Warm red bean paste exploded into Xueming’s mouth as he broke the skin of the steamed bun, overwhelmed by the flavor. He nodded encouragingly as his mother asked, “Is it good? Is it good?” with only her eyes.

  Half an incense stick’s time later, Xueming escaped to his room.

  He had kept his mind fairly clear for the past day and a half, a skill he had quickly developed after learning the prison guards’ favorite pastime was taunting inmates with their deepest worries. The more one cared about, the more one had to lose.

  Despite his unreliable memory, he would always remember what the prison guards claimed they had done to his mother, his father, his brother, and… well, to anyone else in his life whose name he could no longer recall.

  It was a relief to see those things hadn’t actually happened, that they were all safe and sound, but how could he have possibly known that in the dark? In that cell?

  The paper tiger that had been their king made it seem as though even the walls had ears and eyes—that nothing they did and nothing they said could be kept a secret. Any dissent against the regime, and it was like one had never existed to begin with.

  But surprisingly, Xueming existed even to strangers by the name Peerless, even when that name had certainly been forbidden to utter. He existed even after disappearing for twenty-five years, in the hearts of disgruntled civilians.

  In the hearts of his family.

  There was someone he had forgotten, or many that he had forgotten—who could be sure?

  But he knew there was surely someone who had meant quite a lot to him, or maybe just the concept of her did. Who knew if he had actually known her—it seemed quite impossible, given her station and his.

  Qingling.

  It had to be her—the master’s wife.

  There was much Xueming did not understand, but at the very least, her story had made an immeasurable impact on his life—enough to protest even a tyrant, knowing his life would be forfeit in doing so.

  And maybe he would have thought he had the wrong person, but Lanzhi and Master Hao spoke as if they knew each other from long ago. Lanzhi was also insistent Xueming stayed far away from the Hao residence.

  Well, he hadn’t insisted hard enough.

  Xueming started on the floor, then ended up on the bed, then at his desk, and then back on the floor. He felt his back and arms ache after just a short while, but he did not stop looking through all of the old textbooks he had.

  He indeed did have a past of studying cultivation, though he hadn’t bothered joining a sect. He was too old, and his background too insufficient to make the connections in order to join.

  Still, judging from the amount and level of the textbooks he had, it looked like he had reached a pretty high level under this priest Master Hao had mentioned.

  Xueming flipped through each book until he was called for dinner, quite frustrated at how difficult he found reading. Some books were so high a level he could hardly recognize the majority of characters, and as a result, couldn’t understand the content.

  His own notes seemed like they were written by a stranger.

  Sighing, Xueming shut one of the textbooks, choking on a cloud of dust as he did so.

  Who was he kidding?

  He was long out of practice.

  He had wasted away over the past twenty-five years until he was little more than a skeleton. He could hardly walk properly and sounded like a toddler when he spoke. His skull was empty, filled with nothing but memories of that dark cell and fragments of things he had learned as a child.

  He could hardly help himself, let alone some master’s wife.