Cleaning up the court was not unlike that of a hurried cleaning right before New Year’s eve.

  After locating the other half of the tiger tally, Xi Yu and Hu Yingliu went off to fetch seasoned troops from the North. With the fastest horses, a team of skilled soldiers and several bags of chicken feet, they set off for the month-long trip.

  The journey, Hu Yingliu found, was challenging in ways she hadn’t expected.

  One time, she found herself wandering by the side of a winter river, one too fast and too strong to be frozen, in the dead of the bck sky.

  After that night, Xi Yu did not let her out of her sight.

  But then the nightmares came.

  Twisting figures screamed at her — some she knew, others she didn’t, but the most terrible of all was a little girl who cried beside her mother’s corpse, lying in a bed embroidered with silken swallows.

  ‘Why couldn’t you stop?’ The figure wailed as her red eyes welled with tears, ‘why couldn’t you, when this whole time you could?’

  Three had no answer.

  And when she was dragged down by countless faces, an endless tide of men and women, children and elderly, some kind and some cruel, she felt she would drown.

  It would be good if she did.

  But then she would wake, gasping like a beached fish, and Xi Yu would cradle her head in a silent calm.

  She couldn’t die, she realised. If she died, how hurt would Xi Yu be?

  And one morning, in the endless fields of the Northern Pins, she stacked the stalks of long grasses on the other’s eyeshes, whispering numbers with each one.

  She counted, from One to Two, then Four to Eight, and then she ran out of numbers to count.

  Xi Yu blinked her eyes, and all the leaves scattered away, vanishing into the sea of grass. ‘Ah-Liu,’ she whispered, ‘are you alright?’

  ‘Of course,’ Hu Yingliu said.

  But Three still woke that night, blue eyes wide.

  *

  They did not abate.

  She could not sleep.

  *

  Xi Yu made soup one night.

  It was a big pot of pork stomach and chicken soup, a little pin and seasoned only with the most basic of condiments, but when Hu Yingliu lifted it to her lips, the warmth filled her from the inside out. Like a particurly compassionate fire, it burned in her stomach and warmed her hands in the winter air.

  The moon was as small and as bright that Xi Yu had once told her. The world of the pins was as quiet and still as the breaths between their words; it was as though everything had slowed down to just breath.

  They finished the soup and pced the bowls into a stack.

  Then, Xi Yu paused and lifted her head. ‘Ah-Liu,’ she asked again, as she had every night before, ‘are you okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ Hu Yingliu said. ‘I always am.’

  But maybe something in the soup had melted her. The answer she’d given so many times before was now trembling in her lips, in the redness of her eyes and nose; that, she knew, was what had betrayed her when Xi Yu reached out to pull her into a firm hug.

  Those arms were thin, that body weak, but somehow it was stronger and safer than anything she had ever felt.

  She hugged Xi Yu back, her hands fisting in the other’s thin white robes.

  ‘I’m always fine,’ she said. Her words broke through her lips like water crashing through a dam — she tried to curb bit, but it just bubbled out in a horrid mix of ughter and wet breaths. ‘I know I’m alright. I’ve never been hurt, it’s always me hurting others, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve spilt so much blood I could drown in it —’

  Xi Yu clenched her tighter. ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  And those words broke her. They broke a wall deep inside her chest, the void in her stomach. ‘I’ve killed and tortured hundreds of people — schors, officials, soldiers, sves, children, mothers, fathers, siblings, wives and husbands and loved ones and I —’ she heaved, as though to vomit. The hug grew a little tighter. It would’ve been better if it could choke her. ‘How could it not matter? I have made far too many Bao Jinmengs in this life; creating nothing but suffering, why am I even alive?’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Yingliu!’ Xi Yu pulled away, cmping her face between pale hands. ‘Did you like killing people? Did you want to kill people? You were brainwashed into killing —’

  ‘But when I didn’t want to hurt you, I stopped, I stopped killing, so I just, I just didn’t, but how — why couldn’t I stop before? Why couldn’t I just —’ She wailed, ‘Xi Yu, I always thought that I couldn’t, that I had no choice, but did, I stopped myself, so why did this whole time I never —’

  She paused. She swallowed down the sharp air, drowning in the dim night sky.

  ‘We all do things that we hate,’ Xi Yu said. ‘It’s a fact of life.’

  Tears, hot like boiling oil, trickled down her face. She watched them fall through blurry eyes, as they speckled the grass below and Xi Yu’s legs with dark spots.

  ‘But I didn’t know,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to live. I didn’t know living would be like this. It’s such a terrible thing.’

  ‘Did you know, Ah-Liu?’ Xi Yu wiped away her tears. ‘During times of war, the existing troops that the armies have usually aren’t enough. Often, the emperor will conscript hundreds and thousands of able-bodied men — fathers, husbands, brothers and sons. All were ordinary men, and they went to war at our borders, against other conscripted men, other fathers, husbands, brothers and sons. Do you think what they did was wrong?’

  She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘They killed other innocents, just like you. Maybe you’ve killed many more than them, than the average soldier, but they too were fighting for a cause they believed in. Be it fighting for their kingdoms, fighting for their lives, fighting for victory or a soldier’s compensation and merit — you did the same. You were fighting for orders, for your happiness. Am I right?’

  She swallowed. Her throat was painfully dry, sparking short bursts of sharp, needle-like pain all down her throat and neck. She let those red eyes, bolder than jewels and brighter than stars, drag her up to the air. ‘Right.’ Swallowed again. ‘I thought, I thought it could make me happy.’

  ‘And it didn’t.’

  She hummed, ‘It didn’t.’

  ‘But you know now, don’t you?’ Xi Yu combed through her hair with fine fingers. ‘We will just have to live with all this blood. Everyone deserves a chance to live a happy, fulfilling life — so we’ll just live with it, try to repent for it, try to minimise the hurt we have on others, try to smile, and when death comes for us, we’ll serve out our punishments in the Yellow Springs. Isn’t that alright, Ah-Liu?’

  She took in a shaky breath. ‘That… sounds good,’ she said. Then she forced a ugh, ‘You sound like you’ve prepared this before.’

  ‘It’s what my mother told me.’

  She froze.

  ‘When I lived with the army, one of the lieutenant-generals tried to commit suicide. He couldn’t handle the pressure — the sin of killing so many others, of watching his soldiers die, and finally sacrificing his men to ensure the survival of the regiment.’

  Pushing her head down into Xi Yu’s shoulder, she breathed, ‘Did he live?’

  ‘Yes. In the medical tent, my mother went to meet him and told him what I told you today. He never tried to kill himself again after that.’

  ‘Your mother… she seems very kind.’ The image of General Jian’s hard, steely look as she held the bde up to the woman’s neck fshed through her mind. She trembled a little before she added, ‘And very determined, too.’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘…I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t bme you.’ Xi Yu whispered. ‘We were all fighting. Someone was bound to loose.’ Then the beautiful woman looked down at her and said, ‘I want to ask, one more time. Are you okay?’

  Hu Yingliu stood up. Her bck hair, unbound and loose, fell from her shoulder to scatter down onto the other’s shoulder. ‘I’m not okay,’ she said. ‘But one day, I will be.’

  And only then did Xi Yu smile.

  *

  The nightmares did not go away.

  But at least she could sleep through them now.

  *

  The whole trip took them two months. Once they got the tiger tally’s other half, bringing a quarter or so of the army was a simple matter.

  With troops, horses, weapons and rations in tow, they came back just in time for Xi Chanzui’s coronation ceremony.

  In the time that they had been away, the youth had done something — of which likely involved a lot of threatening — to make every official a quivering quail under his eyes. He hadn’t even used the power of the shadow guards. The only ones that dared defy him were the families of the Southern, Eastern and Western Armies — but their voices died once Xi Yu and Hu Yingliu returned with seasoned troops and the bck tiger tally.

  ‘It’s impressive,’ Three mused, sipping from a jug of fine wine, ‘what that little prince could do.’ Her blue eyes fshed. ‘I wonder how he did it.’

  ‘Don’t ask him,’ Xi Yu said, calmly watching the gssy kes from the swing, ‘We may decre that we trust each other, but it’s best not to test it.’

  She picked up a pebble, smooth and bck like broken obsidian, then threw it into the ke. The surface rippled, their reflections dancing on the surface. ‘Alright, Xi Yu.’

  The wooden swing rocked under them. Hu Yingliu couldn’t help but kick her feet; with each tumble of stones, the boards would ctter, and Xi Yu would sigh as the wine jars by the tree were emptied one after the other.

  Sometimes she would turn to the other, a question on her lips, but when she met that face, all her fears and uncertainties were washed away.

  Xi Yu was waiting for something, and it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more patient.

  ‘Chicken Feet,’ Xi Yu said, ‘my brother intends to bring down the Shadow Hall. What… do you think should be done?’

  She downed the jar of wine and reached for another. Far away, near a pavilion that stood on white stilts, a small snow fox treaded across the winter ke ice. ‘To the guards and trainees, you mean.’

  Xi Yu pulled the jar from her hands and took a sip before handing it back. ‘Yes.’

  She paused and mused, ‘Most of the trainees under the age of ten are probably free to go. Older than that and they may have… a mindset like the one I once held.’

  ‘…Could it be corrected?’

  ‘Probably. If they saw more of the world, I suppose.’ The wine slid down her throat smooth; Xi Yu had bought them one with low strength. ‘All of the older trainees are already dead from the st Ripening Ceremony, and of the living shadow guards, only Nine and Ten live. They…’

  They would not understand why their world had come crashing down.

  She could only let slip something between a sigh and a chuckle. ‘Ten is a rational man. He wasn’t that close with us, and likely won’t be affected by death. Nine, though… the person he cared for most in this life was Eight. He had become Nine’s missing hand, and now that he’s gone, I don’t know how Nine will cope. But I suppose they will both live.’

  Xi Yu was quiet for a bit. Then, a sigh. ‘Will they willingly disband?’

  ‘If ordered to.’ She sipped more of the wine. ‘The head shadow would, too. But they might kill themselves if they had no purpose. No masters to bme for their sins.’

  Three would have, not so long ago.

  Xi Yu just murmured, ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ Then they watched the sun’s red glow sink below the horizon.

  *

  Xi Chanzui’s decision to end the Shadow Hall was a minor thing in his barrage of new reforms and orders. It was almost impossible for her to comprehend — the institution that had ruled her life, her thoughts, and her very mind, ended with just a sentence from Xi Chanzui’s lips.

  A bit like the afternote at the end of a lengthy story.

  How could it have ended so easily?

  Xi Yu kept her imperial surname, though only after she made it very clear she had nothing but support for her brother. He, in return, made her the lord of the Northern fiefdom.

  ‘Stingy little brat,’ she sneered. The princess’s grip on her brush was so tight it seemed it would snap. ‘Giving me all the paperwork and calling it a gift.’

  ‘Take it as a sign of his trust,’ Hu Yingliu said, leaning over as she rapped the bck table. ‘He gave you quite a bit of power and money, at least in the north.’

  Then there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she called.

  A maid stepped in. ‘Your Highness, midy, His Majesty has called for your summons…’

  She reached down and pulled Xi Yu up. ‘Let’s go.’

  The other chuckled as she reached out to grip her hand; the ink from Xi Yu’s fingers ended up smearing her wrist.

  Then Hu Yingliu grabbed the brush to paint a little smiling face on the back of Xi Yu’s palm before they left.

  The Pace of Gentle Snow had lost its mournful air; with Xi Chanzui’s new position as emperor, he brought not only a flood of wealth but also skilled servants. He kept the best for himself and sent the rest of the decent to Xi Yu. Now, with the lightest hints of a bustle — ughter on the wind, dustless floors, and well-made beds every morning — the princess’s shadow was no longer cking a maid’s footsteps, nor were her meals delivered from her own hands. But even with this new power, this new status of the emperor’s respected elder sister, Hu Yingliu walked with her, shoulder to shoulder.

  The maid took them to a small room near the emperor’s quarters. The redwood pilrs and tticed window cast a light shadow from the early morning sun; the green of jasmine vines flickered through the open door.

  Inside was a small redwood table and two chairs. There was nothing on it, bare but for a man’s clenched fist.

  Nine.

  ‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ Xi Yu said. ‘Call for me, if you need anything.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘Tell your brother I thank him, as well.’

  Xi Yu nodded and stepped out.

  Nine didn’t speak as she closed the door and pulled out the chair. Only his lips pursed when she sat — his head tilted down, fiddling with his empty left sleeve. ‘Three. It’s been a while.’

  ‘I’m called Hu Yingliu now,’ she said. ‘But yes. It has been a while.’

  She paused. ‘You… have you been well?’

  He just ughed. ‘I’ve kept my neck, haven’t I?’ He ughed harder. ‘Amazing, honestly.’

  Then he looked up at her.

  His eyes, bcker than ink and thicker than ashen sludge, met her blue-fme gaze. There was, she realised with a jolt, a terrible depth that she’d forgotten he was capable of; his humour, blunt honesty and drug-obsession had all been stripped away from his features.

  Three, in her long years of ughing with him, being experimented on with him, and testing her wines for his xatives, had made her forget he was far older than her, yet so very young.

  He was twenty-nine.

  She was nineteen.

  He had spent many more years than she did in the bottomless river of the Shadow Hall.

  ‘You don’t seem happy,’ she said. ‘I’ve wronged you.’ Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Do you…?’

  ‘I don’t hate you, Hu… Yingliu,’ he murmured, ‘and none of the others do, either. It’s just that most of us are at a loss right now. We didn’t have the push that you had to leave. So right now, we’re just… coming to terms with it, I suppose. Ten, he needs a lot of time. More than I will.’ He leaned over and slowly, almost agonisingly, ruffled her hair. His hand was warm on her head. His empty sleeve rustled, swinging free. If Eight were here, he’d have pinned it up with a chiding scowl. But he wasn’t. ‘Though, we have a lot of it, don’t we?’

  ‘We do.’ She clenched her fists and said again, ‘We have… a lot.’

  ‘You’re just a kid,’ Nine said. ‘So don’t worry about adult things too much, yeah?’

  Nine was a fanatic for medicine and drugs. He loved insects, had a stomach stronger than iron, insensitivity on his lips and a worrying penchant to practice acupuncture on captured birds.

  And Nine was also her big brother.

  ‘I won’t,’ she said with a smile. Then she stood. ‘I’ll see you around, Nine.’

  He grinned and said, ‘Maybe next time, you’ll call me by a different name.’

  Her smile became a grin.

  She hoped so, too.

  *

  Three had done many terrible things in her life, but she didn’t quite regret.

  She’d done the best she could at the time.

  So when she had some spare time, Hu Yingliu found a jeweller.

  To make her broken lily’s earring into a pair.