Lady Fu Hao tightened the straps of my shield, her eyes shining like a mother sending her child on a long journey.

  “Why are they at war?” I asked, tugging at the loose shirt nervously.

  “The emperor of the Maurya needs access to trade routes,” she said, checking the laces on my low boots. “He sends his strength against the Kalinga and King Raja Ananta Padmanabha, but it will probably change the young emperor’s heart forever,” she said.

  I swallowed. “Why?”

  “Because even the toughest of hearts cannot witness so much bloodshed and remain unaffected.” She stood, satisfied at my appearance.

  My hands trembled. All my previous fights had been safe. If I were injured here, I knew that I wouldn’t die. But back on earth, there were no assurances.

  I turned to Guan Yin who waited solemnly beside me. “Will I recognize my parents?”

  “Yes. The shade of their souls will be draped across their new physical bodies. But they will not know you and won’t recognize each other until a moment before one of them is slain.”

  “How many times have they…” I couldn’t finish the question.

  “They’ve been born and died a hundred times now, maybe more.” She looked me in the eyes. “Do not try to save them this time.”

  “What? Isn’t that what I’m going for?” I protested.

  “This is your first taste of battle. I can only take you so far, but you must reach them on your own. You have studied battles, but nothing can prepare you for the experience. Soldiers will see you as an Itikar, a lance bearer, and they’ll try to kill you.” She clapped her hands on my shoulders. “Do not let them.”

  Fu Hao placed a spear in my free hand and said a small blessing over me as my teeth chattered in my skull.

  “I don’t want to kill anyone” I whispered in Guan Yin’s ear.

  “Then don’t,” she said and clapped her hands.

  #

  I marched through tall blood-matted grass, surrounded by a mass of tired men donned in dirty tunics and short pants. It was easy to tell who had come from wealth by the quality of their footwear, boots versus straw shoes. They yelled and cursed in that strange language that I struggled to master.

  The man beside me pointed upward as arrows blackened the sky. I crouched and raised my shield as arrows thudded into it. The blows reverberated into my shoulder. We marched over slain horses and men. Elephants thundered by, ridden by soldiers firing arrows at the opposing army.

  It was chaos and blood as men were brutally hacked to death or driven clean through with swords or spears. One man was crushed under the feet of a startled elephant, his agonizing screams mercifully silenced by a slit to his throat from a passing soldier. I searched for my parents, Niu Qiang and Zhilan, amongst the carnage, while dodging blows.

  A man suddenly loomed before me. His raised sword caught the light. He knocked my spear aside and lunged. To my shame, I forgot my qi and training as he hammered blows upon my shield until it splintered. Then Fu Hao’s voice roared through my mind, spurring me to action.

  I brought the shield up to the man’s face, the corner of it breaking his nose as I kicked him in the groin. Grabbing the spear, I darted away, leaving the man bleeding, and screaming on the ground.

  From the hill crest, I saw the valley filled with thousands of men fighting atop of thousands of corpses. The battle spanned to the horizon as fires burned along the perimeter. Ashes of burning bodies darkened the sky grey. But above the smell of death and burning flesh, was a scent foreign to this land. The smell of home. Plum blossoms.

  My father stood in the valley below, dressed like all the other men, but I knew him by his walk and Guan Yin’s gift which allowed me to see beneath the curse. His helm had fallen from his head while he traded blows with a larger man. Blood sluiced from his ribs and dripped down his leg.

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  Running, my heart hammered against my ribs, my screams swallowed by the crowd. I leaped over bodies, dodging blades and arrows as I sped forward.

  Zhilan stood fifty feet from father, although she was a male Kalinga soldier in this life, I knew her in an instant. Blood dripped from her blade as she stared at Niu Qiang with a small tilt of her head.

  Nui Qiang stumbled as his opponent raised his blade high. Zhilan yanked off her helmet and charged, sword raised to attack. She yelled his name, but it was too late. The soldier’s sword cut into my father’s neck. H fell to the earth. Blood pulsed from him, the light dimming in his eyes as he saw Zhilan.

  I screamed louder and ran harder. I was only fifty feet away. If I could save one of them…

  Zhilan sliced the back of the man’s legs, dropping him to his knees before impaling his gut. She held Niu Qiang and called his name. But a moment before I reached her, an arrow pierced her heart. She collapsed on top of him. It was over too quickly, and I felt the failure of it.

  Their souls were gone by the time I reached the bodies. These men bore no semblance to my parents.

  I had no time to grieve before a soldier attacked me. I deflected his sword, ducked low, and brought him to his knees in a waist-lock. I held his neck with one arm while he thrashed beneath me. His strength was offset by his inflexibility. We wrestled for control until I lay pinned on my back beneath his, his throat trapped in the crook of my elbow. I held fast. He rose and slammed himself back repeatedly. His skull repeatedly met my nose. The blinding pain nearly caused me to lose my grip as I tasted blood. But I held fast. He struck my arms and elbowed my ribs until his frantic gasps turned to wheezes and he lost consciousness.

  I shoved him off and stared up at the ashy sky. Struggling to my feet, Guan Yin appeared at my side. Dirt and blood caked her worn hands and face. She had been there the whole time, answering the prayers of the suffering.

  She shrugged at my expression. “Compassion is a dirty job.” Then she sighed as her gaze found the figures on the ground. “Do you understand your training now?”

  My voice failed me. I nodded and wiped the blood from my mouth. More soldiers ran past, one paused and charged toward us. She clapped her hands, and we returned to my rooms. Guan Yin wore her crisp white robes again.

  “There’s a bath waiting for you,” she said, then gestured to the small table, where a pitcher and a plate of osmanthus cakes waited. “Drink. Eat. We can talk later.”

  I downed the elixir in the pitcher, feeling stronger in my body, if not my soul, and sunk into the bath. Far removed from the battle, I trembled more than I had on the field.

  The day was still bright, although I had been on earth for several hours, it was less than a minute in celestial time. There were still my afternoon studies with Wang Lao Shi where I would have to act as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t witnessed violence and death.

  In the night’s darkness, as I slept, my dreams were filled with my parents’ anguished faces. I woke filled with doubt, if each time were like this, how could I succeed?

  Lady Fu Hao allowed me to sleep in the following morning, but I woke at my usual time and enjoyed a quiet breakfast with Shan Tsai and Lung Nue. The dragon girl waited until Tsai had left before telling me that she was always available if I wanted to talk, but she didn’t press. After breakfast I tended the ponds and allowed the sprites to braid my hair as I stared at the lotus flowers strewn across the water’s surface.

  “How are you today, little river?” Fu Hao asked. She enjoyed the play on my name and would often say that even little rivers could be dangerous when filled with purpose. She liked to remind me that water was the most powerful of the elements, it douses fire, spits in air, breaks the earth, and can either fortify or break the spirit. But today this little river felt on the verge of breaking.

  “I am well.”

  She sighed and sat beside me. In this moment she was more than a general staring into the eyes of a soldier after a lost battle, she was a mother holding strong for a grieving child. “I doubt that.”

  I cleared my throat. “Thank you for your training, I wouldn’t have survived without it.”

  “We can learn from Kalinga and improve where we need to,” she said, watching me with hawk-like clarity.

  “Is it always like that?” I whispered.

  “Yes, mostly.” She said. “Sometimes better. Often worse.”

  “Does it get easier?”

  She stood and moved toward the pond, running light fingers over the flower petals. “Do you get used to violence and death?” She asked. “No. But you prepare yourself better. Each fight offers a lesson on your opponent and yourself. You must learn their strengths and weaknesses, while also examining your own. And must know how far you’re willing to go to win.”

  I stared at her profile while she spoke, her wisdom was tinged with sadness.

  She turned to me. “Yesterday, you fought to survive. Someday, you will fight to win.”

  We headed back to the small training field, and she worked me through basic stances and forms with a spear instead of a staff. She placed a sword in my hand, and we danced across the ground until I was breathless and sweating.

  “How do you feel now?” she asked.

  “Better,” I said as we walked toward Guan Yin’s palace.

  “It will get easier in some ways but the task itself—this mission that you are striving to accomplish—will never be easy,” Fu Hao said as we stopped outside the door. “You have declared war against the Jade Emperor’s edict and will have to fight Heaven and Diyu to win.” She smiled sadly. “If you were my daughter, it would be a battle I would advise against.”

  I swallowed. “Thank you for your counsel.”

  “I will see you on the field tomorrow.”