The long handle of the SanYanChong rested against my shoulder, the heavy iron cudgel of a tip hung like a travelers bag on a pole. As we crunched our way back along the frozen, rutted path toward QingTian village, I finally found myself talking more comfortably than I had in weeks. The sharp, refreshing cold of the late winter air filled my lungs, and with every word, a thick plume of white vapor rushed from my lips, quickly snatched away by the mountain breeze.

  My mind had eagerly latched onto the tactical possibilities of the weapon I carried.

  "If you stagger the lines into ranks," I was rambling, waving my free hand to draw imaginary formations in the frosty air, "you completely negate the atrocious reload time. Probably three or four, depending on how fast they can reload, the front rank fires, falls back to tamp the powder, while the second steps up. A continuous, rolling thunder!" I stroked my chin as I marveled at my own innovativeness, "You wouldn't even need to spend years drilling archers to build their shoulder strength. Give me a month with a hundred levys, enough powder, I could shatter a heavy cavalry charge!"

  That should have brought up painful memories, but instead today all I felt was euphoric power. To be on the other end of the weapon made you feel as if no shield was too thick and no armor too strong.

  I laughed, a bright, surprisingly easy sound that echoed off the bare, snow-dusted pines. "No wonder my poor vanguard broke. We were fighting the future. You know, if you altered the touch-hole angle just slightly, perhaps added a mechanism so that you wouldn't have to hold onto the rope with your free hand you could steady the pole with your other..."

  "General Cui..."

  The voice was soft, but the slight, hesitant tug on the sleeve of my winter coat stopped me dead in my tracks.

  Caught up in the grand mechanics of hypothetical warfare, I didn't notice at first that my audience had grown entirely silent. The crunching rhythm of our footsteps had fallen out of sync. I was striding forward, energized by the cold and the conversation, but Lady Chen had hesitated, her steps slowing until she had fallen a full pace behind me.

  We stopped and I turned to look at her. The village gate was in sight but still a fair ways away.

  She looked noticeably ill at ease, her posture rigid. She took a slow, deep breath, a trembling cloud of white vapor escaping her lips as she visibly fought to steady herself.

  "General Cui," she repeated, her voice steadying into a serious register. "I have something I should tell you."

  The lighthearted warmth evaporated. The lingering smell of sulfur from our practice seemed to suddenly threatened to turn sour. "Of course," I said, my own smile not fading, my hand tightening slightly on the wooden stock of the gun. "What is it?"

  "I don't want us to continue traveling on false assumptions," she said carefully, every word sounding measured and agonizingly heavy.

  She reached a hand into the chest pocket of her green silk robes, beneath the heavy woolen coat I had given her. When she withdrew it, she was holding an object. It was smooth, featureless, and stark white against the grey winter backdrop.

  A porcelain mask.

  She held it out to me.

  "We've met before," she said softly but firmly.

  She held the mask out and I took it. Then, she lifted her chin, refusing to look away, and stared straight into my eyes with a terrifying, vulnerable honesty.

  "I... I am the Masked Specter."

  I stared down at the white porcelain. The smooth, cold ceramic felt deceptively harmless in the daylight, like a discarded prop from a festival troupe.

  Then, the sharp, unmistakable hiss of steel clearing a scabbard cut through the frozen silence.

  I started, my heart giving a sudden, violent thump against my ribs.

  Lady Chen took a step back and lowered her head. In her hands, resting flat across her upturned palms, was her dark steel jiàn. The very weapon that had sheared my spear in half before the gates of Luoyang. The blade that had held fast against the Heavenly Sword.

  "I apologize for the deception," she said, the words trembling in the frigid air, accompanied by a ragged cloud of white vapor. She bowed deeper, bending at the waist until her gaze was fixed firmly on the snow at my boots. "And... for what my role in your father's death was."

  Her voice cracked.

  "If you'd... choose to leave... whatever you chose to do... you'll need something to protect yourself..." she stammered into the frozen earth, "I'd understand."

  The mountain wind howled softly through the pines, filling the agonizing stretch of silence between us. I looked at her bowed head, at her long silk like dark hair dusted with a few stray snowflakes.

  I jabbed the SanYanChong into the snow so my hands were free. I gingerly took the jiàn with both hands.

  An incredible upwell of emotion rose in my chest.

  I tried to hold it in. I really did.

  I threw my head back and burst out laughing.

  It was a loud, booming, genuine belly laugh that chased away the winter chill and sent a flock of sparrows scattering in a panic from the nearby branches. I laughed and my breath plumed into the cold air like steam from a boiling kettle.

  Lady Chen’s head snapped up. She looked utterly bewildered, her large, almond-shaped eyes wide with a mixture of shock then alarm then confusion.

  "I... you..." she stammered, the serious script of her confession lost in the wind and snow.

  I leaned on the heavy barrel of the SanYanChong, using it to steady myself as I caught my breath.

  "I figured that out while we were in the cave," I said, a wide, irrepressible grin splitting my face, "But I'm glad you finally brought it up."

  I watched her process the revelation, the initial, wide-eyed shock melted into relief, which then rapidly boiled over into a bright, furious red that rushed all the way to the tips of her ears.

  "Why..." she sputtered, her voice catching between indignation and an unmistakable, breathless relief. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

  She lunged, making a sudden, embarrassed grab for her sword. But I had anticipated the reaction. I shoved the cold porcelain mask into her empty, grasping hand and pulled the dark steel higher and out of her reach. I held the blade aloft against the grey winter sky, inspecting it with exaggerated, dramatic scrutiny.

  "Tremendous Qi, an incredibly aggressive fighting style, and a sword..." I tilted my chin up, pointing with my free hand to a faint, faded nick just beneath my jawline. "...I’ve had the honor of studying at very close range."

  She let out a huff of frustration. Her fist rose and threatened to fire towards my shoulder. I ducked instinctively as no blow landed. Instead she leaped forward, her hand darting up to snatch the hilt from my grasp. With a crisp motion she returned the dark steel to its scabbard.

  I caught the fleeting, brilliant flash of a smile crossing her lips, quickly suppressed. Her grip tightened on her scabbard.

  "...and your father?" she probed.

  I sighed, the playful energy leaving me as the cold reality settled back over me. There was no bitterness, not at her. I offered her a sad smile and a long sigh a cloud of vapor rising between us.

  "Such is war," I said. "We who are soldiers. We who choose our paths accept our ends, regardless of whose hand delivers them."

  I took a step back, planting my feet firmly in the snow, and lowered my hands, bending at the waist into a deep, formal bow, mirroring the one she had given me moments before.

  "And I, too, owe you far more," I said feeling I meant every word. "For what I inflicted upon you. Upon your father as well."

  For a moment, there was only the whisper of the wind through the pines. Then, I heard the rustle of her silk and the crunch of snow. I looked up slightly to see her step back and return the bow, bowing just as deeply.

  When she spoke, her voice was earnest, matching my own sincerity.

  "It was my father who chose his path, General Cui. He lit the fuse." She paused, her voice steadying with absolute conviction. "At least for him... you are not at fault."

  We held our bows for a long, silent moment. Large, soft flakes of snow began to flutter down from the white sky. The winter air was freezing, but for the first time in months, the space between us felt undeniably warm.

  I heard the soft rustle of silk and wool as she straightened, but I kept my back bent, my hands still clasped firmly in front of me.

  "General Cui?" she asked, the rustle of her movement stopping. I could hear the confusion. "Why do you linger?"

  I kept my head bowed, hiding the grin that had crept onto my face.

  I pitched my voice with the formal, booming cadence, mixing polite phrasing with the dramatic flair.

  "I have yet to learn the name of the renowned filial daughter," I intoned to the snow at her boots. "And this unworthy one humbly requests the name of the great hero."

  When I stole a glance up at her.

  She was bright, brilliantly red from the collar of her green robes all the way to the tips of her ears.

  Then, rather than retreating, her hands snapped up. She opted for a crisp, formal martial salute, using her clasped hands and the thick wool of her sleeves as a makeshift shield to hide the lower half of her face.

  But she didn't look away. Over her knuckles, her dark, almond-shaped eyes locked straight onto mine. The embarrassment was still there, painting her features, but her gaze was serious.

  "This woman's name," she proclaimed, her voice steady and ringing clear through the falling snow, "is Chen QianYu."

  I straightened up, and grinned "Just call me Cui BoFeng"

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