(1) Master Nine-Four

Mist curled soft through the air, and birdsong drifted among the trees, in this hollow of Kunlun Mountain where heaven's own grace seemed to gather. In a small pavilion beside the water, two men sat over a game of chess. The one, a man of some forty years, scratched his head and knit his brow in anxious thought, until at last he heaved a sigh and clasped his hands in a bow. "Your skill at chess runs deep, sir, and your mind moves in ways I can scarcely follow. I am too dull-witted to grasp even a fraction of it."

"Lord Xu flatters me." Master Nine-Four lifted the cup of tea at his hand and drank, his every movement unhurried, touched with an effortless, noble grace.

"The state of the realm today is very like this board before us — tangled and difficult to read, its patterns treacherous and hard to divine, and yet, thread by thread, a way through can still be found."

"I confess myself at a loss. I beg you, sir, enlighten me."

　　Xu Cheng called it a game of chess between them, but in truth it was instruction he sought from this man. The stranger's brow and features were fine and striking, touched with something otherworldly, unlike anything of this mortal realm. A year ago, wounded and fleeing, Xu Cheng had stumbled by chance into this place, and at the sight of the man's bearing — eyes clear as autumn water, bones fine as carved jade — he had stood struck dumb with wonder. Could such a being truly exist in this world? He had spent ten days, half a month, recovering from his wounds there, and never learned the man's true name; only, at their very first meeting, he had heard him murmuring a line to himself: "Nine-Four: he may leap into the depths, no blame." Something in the word for "the depths" — yuan — struck an odd chord with him, though he could not have said why. And so he had begun calling him Master Nine-Four. The man himself seemed to find the name fitting enough, and so it had stayed with him ever since.

　　For all his immortal bearing, the man's constitution was frail as a willow's, unable to bear either summer's heat or winter's cold. In the fierce heat of summer his brow would bead with sweat fine as jade; in the bitter cold of winter he never went without his fox-fur cloak and a brazier of coals close at hand. Now and again a cough would catch in his throat, and always he answered with the same faint smile: "Only an old ailment. Nothing to worry over."

　　One day Xu Cheng found the man playing chess against himself, and watched, transfixed, unable to look away. Could this truly be some being touched by the divine? That a man could play against his own hand and still make of it something so breathless, so full of twists and turns — Xu Cheng could not follow it at all. And yet he sensed something of its flavor all the same, and his admiration for the man's skill deepened until it bordered on reverence; he asked, humbly, whether the man might teach him something of the art. Seeing how earnestly he wished to learn, the man consented, sometimes letting him simply watch a game unfold, sometimes playing against him directly, answering whatever questions he raised. The man held nothing back, and yet Xu Cheng often found himself lost all the same, as though wandering through a thick fog.

　　Xu Cheng himself was the commander of one of the many armies now vying for the throne amid the realm's turmoil. He prided himself on his mastery of every martial art, and counted his chess no weak suit either — and yet here he had discovered, to his astonishment, that there was always a greater mountain beyond the one he stood on. Master Nine-Four's skill at the board was something rarely seen in this world; even if such skill existed elsewhere, Xu Cheng himself had never once encountered its equal. And so he found himself utterly drawn in, unwilling to leave even once his wounds had healed. Only the fear of his troops growing anxious without a commander at their head could ever pull him away. His army lay encamped at the foot of Kunlun Mountain, and so, though he returned to it when duty called, whenever he had a spare day or two, he would climb back up to spend it at the master's side.

　　It was now deep winter, the snow falling thick and heavy. The master sat wrapped in a cloak of ink-black fur, two braziers of glowing coals already lit within the pavilion. Xu Cheng, hardened and broad-shouldered from years of campaigning, could have borne a single brazier well enough, but two left his whole face flushed red, sweat pouring down him. Rather than drink the water warming over the small stove, he strode instead to the jade-green pool outside, hammered a hole through its frozen surface, and scooped out chips of ice to hold in his mouth against the heat.

　　What manner of old ailment could leave a man so frail, so sensitive to every change of cold and heat? But the master spoke little; beyond his lessons on the art of chess, he would often pass an entire day without a word, so that Xu Cheng remained entirely ignorant of his origins or his family.

　　And it was precisely this strangeness that stirred his curiosity all the more. There was a nobility in the man that seemed born into his very bones, and even Xu Cheng, a man with his own eyes set on the throne, found himself moved to something like awe in his presence.

"Lord Xu, if you would bring out the map of the realm's affairs you were studying yesterday."

　　Xu Cheng started in surprise. Only the day before, he had sat alone poring over the map his officers had drawn of the realm's shifting fortunes, turning over in his mind how he might break free of his present impasse, and finding no good strategy at all. Several rival powers had held each other in check for so long now that none dared make the first reckless move, each fearing to become the mantis stalking the cicada while the oriole waited behind, or to find itself suddenly caught in a pincer from both sides at once. In the end he had only sighed up at the sky in helpless frustration, and tucked the map away into the lining of his robe, his face heavy with gloom.

　　He had never imagined the master had noticed any of it.

"Lord Xu's ambitions run far from small, and yours is a heart that truly feels the suffering of the people under it. That you should have found your way into this Mingshan Hollow at all is itself a bond of fate between the two of us — I ought to lend you what aid I can."

　　At these words Xu Cheng started violently, and for a long moment could not gather his wits.

　　He had said nothing of any of this — how could Master Nine-Four have seen through it all?

　　And this beautiful hollow in the mountains — Mingshan Hollow, was it called? Only now, after more than a year, did he learn its name at all.

　　Haltingly, Xu Cheng drew out the map and spread it across the table.

　　Without the slightest hesitation, Master Nine-Four pointed to a vast stretch of territory marked upon the map. It was a forest no one, since ancient times, had ever dared to enter — its canopy so thick it blotted out the sun, its air thick with poisonous miasma that killed at the merest touch. It was precisely this forest that blocked Xu Cheng's advance, and it had been the source of no small torment to him. To skirt around its outer edge would cost far too much time, and would surely betray his movements to the enemy — and so he found himself trapped, unable to advance or retreat, besieged within his own indecision.

"Cut straight through this dense forest, and you will catch your rivals entirely unprepared. By the time any of the other powers realize what has happened, it will already be too late — Lord Xu may drive straight onward and lay claim to the Central Plains. This path costs the fewest lives, and settles the realm the fastest."

　　Xu Cheng stared wide-eyed at Master Nine-Four, murmuring, "But the forest is thick with poisonous miasma — no man can enter it. If it were otherwise, I would hardly have exhausted myself in worry, trapped here as I am."

"Do not trouble yourself over that, Lord Xu." Master Nine-Four withdrew his hand, coughed lightly into his sleeve, and took another sip of tea before continuing, unhurried. "Nine-Four has an old friend who dwells within that forest — one I have not seen in many years, and miss dearly. It is well past time I paid a visit. That old friend will surely be able to help you resolve this difficulty."

　　Could it be that this old friend of his was no mortal being at all — how else could anyone dwell within that forest, let alone help solve such a problem? Xu Cheng's mouth fell open, and for a long while he could not bring himself to close it again, his mind churning with thoughts and suspicions he dared not give voice to.

"Nine-Four will accompany you back to your camp. Have your entire army march swift and silent, gags in their teeth, and send me on ahead to the forest's edge before the rest of the army arrives; let your troops make camp there and await word from me."

　　Xu Cheng felt a fresh wave of astonishment. Compared to the man's usual reticence, today he had spoken little but struck true with every word — though he had said nothing of formations or troop deployment, he clearly understood the art of commanding an army, calm and assured, every step already planned out in his mind. Recalling the man's mastery at chess, Xu Cheng wondered — could he be a master strategist as well?

　　At the thought, Xu Cheng's face lit with joy — perhaps, with this man's help, the long deadlock might finally be broken. And so he did exactly as the master instructed, in every particular.

　　Nine-Four arrived at the edge of the Mist Forest and climbed down from the carriage. Snow lay thick upon the ground, and the treetops beyond were already blanketed in white — a sight achingly familiar to him. It was on just such a day, snow falling heavy from the sky, that he had once slipped down from the heavens under the pretext of recovering from a lash-wound, come to the Mist Forest, and watched the girl who had claimed his heart come running toward him, radiant with joy, leaving him startled and overjoyed all at once. Now the scene before him remained unchanged, and yet everything else had changed beyond recognition. He could not help but let out a long, heavy sigh.

　　Xu Cheng hurried down from the carriage and fetched an umbrella, holding it up to shield the master from the falling snow.

　　That the master, with his frail body so sensitive to the cold, should abandon the warmth of his braziers to venture into the forest in the depths of winter — for his sake, no less — filled Xu Cheng, for all his inexplicable trust in the man, with real and heavy worry.

　　The master was frail enough as it was — how could he possibly withstand both the bitter cold and the poisonous miasma?

"Wait patiently for word, Lord Xu." Master Nine-Four spoke the reminder gently, drew a pill from within his robe and placed it in his mouth, took the umbrella from Xu Cheng's hand, and set off, step by step, deeper into the forest.

　　Every step of this walk cost him dearly. Not a single day in these two hundred years had passed without his longing to come — but he was no longer the man he had been, deep in cultivation, rich in power. It was Elder Mu who had first stepped into this matter of his own accord, telling him at Yan City of a hollow in Kunlun Mountain called Mingshan Hollow, a place steeped in the grace of heaven and earth, wreathed in immortal energies, well suited to nourishing a soul back to wholeness — and shielded, besides, by the old man's own immortal ward, so that even the Celestial Sovereign could not sense it for a time. Elder Mu had also given him the Soul-Gathering Pill, instructing him to place it in his mouth the moment anything went wrong, so that his soul, already beginning to scatter, could be drawn back together in time and returned to the Dragon-Rider Sword to be nourished there.

　　The Dragon-Rider Sword had carried its master all the way to Mingshan Hollow, and there, within the sword, he had spent over a hundred mortal years before he could reclaim his immortal form. But without the strength of his former cultivation to sustain him, he was now little different from an ordinary mortal. Worse still — Celestials by nature were untouched by heat or cold, but with his power spent to the very last ember, he now felt the seasons' bite for the first time in his existence, and felt it more keenly, even, than mortals long inured to it. Without his cultivation, his power of swift passage no longer answered him either, and so, like any mortal man, he had to walk step by step into the Mist Forest, bearing the poisonous miasma's cruel assault as he went. It was only thanks to Elder Mu's Poison-Warding Pill that he could set out on this road at all — this road back to find his wife.

　　The snow in the forest fell heavier with every step. Xu Cheng had given him a small hand-warmer, but how could it possibly be enough? Even sheltered within Mingshan Hollow, it took several braziers to keep the cold at bay — a single small warmer offered scarcely more than a token comfort. His hand, gripping the umbrella's handle, had long since gone numb with cold, and his body trembled faintly, but he refused to turn back. He had come this far, at such cost — how could he give up so easily now?

　　The girl he had traded his own life to save — through two hundred years in which each day felt worse than death, each day stretching on like a year, he had never once forgotten her. It was only that he had been so battered, so reduced, so utterly broken, that it had taken him this long to find his way back to her.

　　The snow-slicked ground made every foothold treacherous, and he had to place each step with careful deliberation, slowing his progress further still. At last his whole body began to go numb, his senses dulling one by one. The small umbrella could not shield him from the snow driving in from every direction, each flake striking him like the prick of a needle, and worse, he began to feel a tightness rising in his chest, his head growing heavy, his feet unsteady, the world spinning before his eyes.

　　These were the signs of poisoning.

　　Not far now from the cottage, and already darkness was creeping across his vision.

　　This should not be happening. How could Elder Mu's Poison-Warding Pill prove so useless — how could its effect fail so soon?

　　But he had no strength left to puzzle over it now — he had to press on, the cottage lay just ahead. Stumbling blindly, he managed perhaps another ten steps before his body finally gave out beneath him, and he sank into unconsciousness...

　　As for Anu — these two hundred years had left her, too, suspended somewhere between life and death. Ever since Hemuda had carried her back to the Asura royal court, Elder Mu had said that the power still coursing full within her had shielded her whole body from harm, and that apart from the wound left by the Qian dagger, she remained entirely unhurt. But a wound of the flesh mends easily; a wound of the heart is far harder to heal — even he, for all his skill, could do nothing for that. And so, once her physical wound had closed, he had Hemuda carry her back to the Mist Forest, to recover there in peace. The Queen, having lost three sons in battle and now watching Anu linger between life and death besides, had wept until her tears ran dry, and in her bitterness toward the Asura King she went to the Mist Forest as well, to stay beside her daughter, refusing to return to the royal court. Seeing this, Hemuda could not bring himself to return alone either, and so he too remained in the Mist Forest. In time Xiaoyi took on human form once more, and looked after Anu with tireless, painstaking care.

　　With the three of them reunited, it almost felt as though time had rolled back six or seven hundred years, to the days when Elder Mu had first come to the Mist Forest to teach the three of them together. But time never lingers, and good days never last — nothing now could be as it once was. For the first hundred-odd years, Anu simply would not wake; no medicine, however rare or precious, could rouse her. For his sister's sake, Hemuda had a comfortable couch made, and carried her out to it beneath the eaves each day, so that she might feel the sun upon her face. The Queen hung a string of wind chimes beneath the eaves as well, hoping that even in her deep sleep, her daughter might hear their clear, sweet chiming — that perhaps, one day, it might be enough to call her back.

　　For over a hundred years the Queen wept without cease, weeping until her own eyes grew weak, weeping streaks of white into hair that had once been black as ink. It was only once Xiaoyi returned that her eyes were healed again, and only after his gentle scolding that her weeping began, at last, to ease.

　　After all, no amount of weeping would bring her dead sons back; no amount of weeping would make her daughter open her eyes.

　　And yet perhaps the weeping was not entirely without effect, for in time Anu began to have moments of waking — brief as they were, her eyes empty and unseeing. Those once-brilliant violet eyes had long since lost their light, gone still and lifeless as stagnant water; she would sit clutching the jade pendant Ziyuan had once given her, staring blankly into nothing. Now and again she would try, softly, to call his name — "Ziyuan" — and always, exactly as she expected, there came no answer. Then she would weep, and weep herself into exhaustion, and slip again into a heavy, troubled sleep, plagued again and again by nightmares. No one in the whole of the Mist Forest dared try to comfort her, for they knew well enough that words could do nothing — Ziyuan had traded his life for hers, had scattered into nothing before her very eyes. How could she possibly let go of that so easily?

　　Today, Anu had only just drifted into hazy wakefulness, and as always, drew out the jade pendant to hold in her hand — but this time she felt something strange about it. A faint warmth was rising from it, growing from something barely perceptible into something unmistakable, just as it had, once, when she had used the pendant to trail after Ziyuan all the way to his army camp.

"Ziyuan... Ziyuan..." Anu could not believe it. How could this be? Ziyuan had been gone two hundred years — every time she had called to him through the pendant, seeking some small comfort, there had never once been an answer. Why should it suddenly grow warm now?

　　Did that mean Ziyuan had not died after all? That his soul had not truly scattered into nothing?

　　Had Ziyuan come?

　　Anu shot up from the couch and rushed frantically around the courtyard, calling Ziyuan's name over and over, until the Queen, Hemuda, Xiaoyi, and Xing'er all came running, disbelief written across every face — certain, at first, that Anu was only lost again in some half-waking dream, for she had called out Ziyuan's name so many times before, in her dazed and troubled states, that no one could even count them anymore.

Note: "Nine-Four" refers to the fourth yang line of the Qian hexagram in the I Ching (Book of Changes), whose line text reads: "Nine-Four: He may leap into the depths (淵/yuan), no blame." It signifies "gathering one's strength while waiting for the right moment."