During breakfast, a staffboy came with a strange delivery.

“Message for you, Guardian,” he said, bowing to Ziyuan with a roll of parchment.

Anjie, who was stirring honey into his sister’s herbal tea, glanced up at the staffboy’s odd tone. The boy had been serving as Ziyuan’s messenger for several years now, and it was the first time his voice pitched like so. Anjie’s eyes caught on the parchments unfolding in Ziyuan’s hands—two stacked sheets, the frontmost a near-empty white. The only lettering on this coversheet read, For Mu Zi Yuan.

“This is unusual,” said Ziyuan, lifting the coversheet.

The messenger said, “The file was encrypted. It came a few hours ago from an unknown sender. I had to ask Master Zhang to decrypt it for you. We haven’t looked at the contents, Guardian.”

Ziyuan and Anjie shared a glance.

“Thank you, Liwei,” said Ziyuan.

The messenger boy nodded, leaving only three Guan siblings and Ziyuan in the tea room.

“Encrypted?” echoed Jinyue, setting down his chopsticks.

Ziyuan was inspecting the documents in their hand and did not respond. Though intensely curious, Anjie went back to stirring the tea for Wenbo, choosing to respect the privacy of the message. But he had no sooner slid the teacup to his sister than Ziyuan handed the second sheet his way. In the brief moment before Anjie glanced down to inspect this sheet, he saw a confused frown on his friend’s face.

It was immediately apparent why.

The document that had been encrypted for Ziyuan contained a single colored photograph of an unfamiliar, aristocratic man. Below this photograph was a detailed profile of the man’s name, birthdate, weight, height, affiliations, land holdings, last seen, and a list of frequented locations. The bolded name was Hua Junli.

“Do you know this man?” said Anjie.

Wenbo tugged at Anjie’s sleeve and peered over his arm.

Ziyuan shook their head. “I don’t.”

“Who?” said Jinyue.

“Hua Junli,” said Anjie.

Jinyue blinked. “Hua Junli...isn’t he the younger brother of Hua Jiayu? The former regent of Anzhou?”

A pause.

“I’m still not sure why his information has come my way,” said Ziyuan. They shook their head, taking the paper that Anjie returned and tucking it into their robes. “I’ll ask someone to look into it later. See if we can figure out where this message came from.”

“And who addressed it to you,” said Jinyue. “Who beyond Guilin knows you by name?”

“Perhaps the cranes talked,” said Ziyuan.

Anjie frowned.

“An-Ge,” said Wenbo, tugging at his sleeve again, “you haven’t tried the plums yet.”

Anjie turned to his sister, letting the odd matter slide for the time. Smiling, he picked one from the bowl and inspected its speckled, tough form. He took a bite of bitter sour and hummed. “It has a strong taste. Here, have a bite.”

Wenbo leaned over and took a bite. She spat it right back out onto her plate.

Anjie laughed. “You see? Wait for it to soften next time, Ah-Bo.”

The girl bit her lip, eyes drawing at the edges. “I’m sorry, An-Ge, I…”

Anjie took another bite of the plum. “Well, it compliments the porridge nicely.”

The frown on his sister’s face evaporated to a smile. She turned back to her meal happily.

“Is Wenzhan sleeping in again?” said Jinyue.

With a mouth full of porridge, Wenbo said, “He left this morning.”

“He left?” said Jinyue.

“Said he was goin’ to a shrine. Said he’d be back in a few days.”

A tinge of worry knotted in Anjie’s chest. It wasn’t uncommon for Wenzhan to vanish for days at a time, and frequently like this, leaving a message for any Guan house member and expecting it to reach Anjie eventually. But yesterday had been...particular. He hadn’t the chance to speak with his younger brother about it yet, hoping for a sober and proper conversation. Perhaps he should have taken the drunken talk to avoid this new anxiety. He could only imagine what Wenzhan was feeling right now, the kiss still unaddressed like an open sore.

Anjie folded his fingers over his stomach and gazed at his reflection in his dark tea. That knot of worry coated with a layer of ache. Loving someone in vain, loving someone with thick guilt interlacing that intensity—helplessly, alone, as if eaten by a curse—Anjie knew it all too well, and it was the last thing he wanted for his brother. But perhaps, for Wenzhan, it was not so incurable yet. With time, patience, and a chance to live with freedom…

“An-Ge?” said Jinyue.

Anjie looked up. “Ah. It is nothing. Let us finish eating.”

The morning passed.

Late afternoon, Anjie and Ziyuan returned from a checkup in the southern Guilin town and stopped by the training hall, where Jinyue was leading practice. The younger Guan back-pedalled on a barely-parried strike when he saw Anjie, but knocked his opponent down moments later. His opponent was Feng Sueyi—a copper eyed crane. Anjie smiled, proud of his talented, ever-working brother. Jinyue glanced up in time to catch this smile, and then, flushing, he struck his sword against the ground and called the hall’s attention. He gave a smooth order to rotate pairings.

“Shall we join them?” said Anjie.

Ziyuan chuckled. “You go ahead. I’m going to—”

A pair of footsteps rushed down the open corridor. A gasping messenger bent over his knees before the two of them.

“First Lord, Guardian. Quan Caihe—Quan Caihe—”

His voice carried. The clamour from the training room began to fade.

“Quan Caihe is in Beicheng.”

A chill ran down Anjie’s spine. “What is she doing there? And why are we only hearing of this now?”

“She’s with the Council, my lord. I think she came on their invitation, so the guards didn’t run the message. I heard from the villagers.”

“How many are with her?”

“Only a handful, my lord. And...and a one-eyed man.”

Anjie’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword, his throat tightening. He swallowed.

“Ziyuan.”

“Here, my lord.”

“Let’s go.”

Anjie moved too quickly for Jinyue to stop him. By the time he caught a full glimpse of his brother’s white-robed back, Anjie and Ziyuan were already saddled on their horses and galloping down the Guilinhe road. Swallowing a curse, Jinyue ran back to the estate to grab his sword and his proper Guan attire. Then he made his way as fast as he could toward the stables.

He had not reached the front gate when hooves drummed up to him. Atop his familiar stallion was little Wenbo, still wearing her black training garments from a youth exercise in the training wing. She must have overheard the talk from the main hall.

How she understood the significance of it enough to rush out a horse, he had no idea.

“Bobo, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting your horse. Get on!”

“No, Bobo, you’re staying here—”

She pulled the horse away from him, her eyes in a sharp glare. “No! I’m going to help An-Ge.”

“He doesn’t need your help—”

“Yes, he does! Hurry up and get on!”

Struck by his little sister’s assertion, Jinyue climbed on the horse. Wenbo urged the stallion before he could settle. By the time he regained his balance, sending his sister back to the estate no longer seemed reasonable.

It was not long before another set of hooves joined them.

“Master Guan!”

Jinyue glanced over his shoulder. It was his attendant. “Cailan? What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

No helping it. Jinyue didn’t even know what they were riding into, but that the messenger had said Quan Caihe and Anjie had gripped his sword. The vivid memory of those fingers closing around the hilt, the skin stretching pale across his knuckles, chilled Jinyue to the bone. Nobody survived Guan Anjie that he did not wish to survive, but bloodshed in Guilin tonight meant a long, brutal war.

When they were past the Rizhai township, Jinyue glanced down at his sister.

“Bobo.”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know An-Ge needs help?”

She rubbed her nose carelessly, snot smearing on her palm.

“‘Cus he looked scared, Jin-Ge.”

Jinyue swallowed and snapped the reins. With a heavy grunt, their horse hurried faster down the valley road.

By relentless horseback, it was still an hour ride from the Guan estate to the Beicheng Council House. Evening closed in on Anjie and Ziyuan as they pulled in front of the old, strict structure, those painted wooden gates shut like an insult. At a glimpse of their crane white robes, the guards bowed and stepped aside. They left the horses untethered and entered the council house.

A familiar man walked out of the main hall to greet them. He was elderly, white hair prim, blue robes rich. It was Councilman Lang, who had come to deliver dove silk to Anjie on the night of the Remembrance thanksgiving. Today, he wore not gratitude but reserved, nervous guilt.

Anjie swept back his robes and collected his anger.

“Councilman Lang. I hear you have a guest.”

“She came on some trivial legal business, Lord Guan. We didn’t wish to involve the guardians.”

“Trivial legal business?”

“A matter of jurisdictional justice…”

“Speak clearly, Councilman.”

The councilman brought his hands together, sleeves closing beneath a frown. “A man of Anzhou was wrongly punished for the rape of a Guilin woman. The Empress sought reparations. We resolved the issue, Lord Guan. There is no need for House Guan to interfere.”

To start a war, said those eyes.

“Resolved?” Anjie echoed quietly.

The councilman looked away. “We are deeply grateful to our guardians, Lord Guan. We could not betray your house, no matter where the fault lies… So we gave her the accuser to judge, just as House Guan judged the accused.”

An image flashed before Anjie’s eyes: an old woman with an exhausted bun, her young daughter beside her, bruised and shivering. A soft voice gathering strength through the wracking, trying to reclaim her soul.

And that man, Chang Dazhe, unrepentant on his knees before Anjie.

“Where are they now?” he said.

A pause.

“They left when news came of your arrival in Beicheng, Lord Guan.”

Anjie turned and left the council house.

Outside, just as he was remounting his horse, he sighted two familiar faces in his peripheral.

“An-Ge!”

It was Jinyue and Wenbo. Panic welled inside him. Only briefly—there was no time.

“Ah-Yue, take your sister back to the estate.”

“But—”

“That’s an order. Go!”

“An-Ge!”

He snapped his reins and galloped toward the Beicheng exit gate, Ziyuan at his side. Behind, his siblings and their attendant ignored his command. He smothered the frustration and focused on catching up to Quan Caihe.

“She’s baiting you, you know that,” said Ziyuan over the hooves.

“She crossed the line,” hissed Anjie.

The town body of Beicheng faded away. The modest entrance into Guilin appeared in the distance, a traditional wooden archway into the sacred valley. Moments later, their horses stomped beyond this gate.

Waiting down the foreign dirt road was Quan Caihe.

She leaned against a sleek, modern van, as if she had been patient for a while. Only five were in her company: three uniformed guards, a familiar battered girl, and her new imperial chief.

“I was expecting you, Lord Guan.” Caihe glanced at the hooves catching up to him. “And it looks like you bring young company.”

Anjie dismounted. He dusted smooth the folds of his robes and walked forward. Beside the empress, her trembling young captive fell to her knees and began to sob.

“Lord Guan, Lord Guan, please…please, I didn’t do anything...”

Anjie kept his expression flat as he glanced over the girl. There was blood on her face. A split lip.

He stopped five paces from Quan Caihe, only because her guards and that man had stepped forward. As over that blood-soaked dinner table, he met her eyes.

“I made you a promise,” he said quietly. “Touch my land, and your gold will dye red.”

“I remember very clearly, Lord Guan.”

The weight of his sword at his side intensified. His eyes lidded.

“Your arrogance astounds me, Quan Caihe. Did you truly believe you could come into my home, harm my people, and expect to return to Yincheng alive?” Her guards tensed at his threat, reaching for the oddly thick weapons at their sides. Anjie continued before they could draw. “Do not bother. It will take me less than a swing of your blade to be rid of you all.”

The empress chuckled. “No doubt. My chief here says your skill is matchless for thousands, let alone five. Relax your arms, men. We didn’t come here to start a war.” She cocked an eyebrow at Anjie. “And please, Lord Guan, make no mistake. If I die here today, you will still have the wrath of the new Quan dynasty to face. I am not alone in name anymore, after all.”

Anjie smiled, cold. Behind him, the footsteps of his siblings padded to a stop.

“If you think I am so afraid of war as to let you take an innocent woman of Guilin, you are not as sharp as I thought you to be. Or do you imagine I will exchange myself for her? I am no fool, Quan Caihe. Let me repeat myself: If it is Guilin you want, make your graves.” He tilted his head. “You may rest in the valley, if you lust for it so desperately.”

The empress gazed back at him.

A wind swept the path. Beneath it, Anjie’s heart drummed.

Run, he prayed. Tuck your tails and leave, for these threats are all I have.

But Quan Caihe smiled.

“You are mistaken about something, Lord Guan. I suppose you can’t be blamed. I did want Guilin, once.”

She stepped forward, passing the protection of her guard, stopping a single pace from Anjie. She glanced at Ziyuan beside him. She turned back to Anjie, sharp eyes sweeping his crane robes. It was a predatory motion, stirring those bodies at Anjie’s back. Ziyuan held out an arm for the younger guardians as Caihe continued.

“You see, Lord Guan, the gift you left me has given me quite a lot to think about. I’ve come to realize that while Guilin may be beautiful, extraordinary, it is but a piece of land. Let’s say that we war, shall we? I have your secrets. I have a hundredfold your numbers, if not more. I can beat you down in waves until your beautiful land is just a wet, red one. Perhaps you survive it. Perhaps I die. But perhaps I win—and I do think I will, Lord Guan, truly. But what then? What if victory means I’ve slaughtered you to the last crane? Was Guilin not named for its cranes? Is the legend of the valley not the legend of the cranes?”

Anjie breathed. His fingers slid around his sword.

Caihe followed the gesture and chuckled.

“Don’t be so defensive, Lord Guan. I am trying to strike a bargain we’ll both prefer. What I desire is not the aesthetic of a valley, but something as immortal and untouchable as justice…”

She reached out, fingers nearing the robes over his heart. The implications of her words were unravelling, striking Anjie motionless. Before she could touch, Ziyuan moved and a small shadow bolted past Anjie.

Wenbo shoved the empress back. Ziyuan held a blade before the woman, a steel guardian in front of Anjie. Behind Caihe, her guards drew their weapons too slowly.

“Don’t touch him!” shouted Wenbo.

Seeing his little sister between himself and the enemy, surrounded by deadly metal, Anjie forgot everything for a moment. He pulled her back quickly and pushed her behind him. This time, his grip on his sword hilt was firm, and his look for Caihe was fueled, fierce.

Caihe straightened her dress, looking between Anjie and his sister. That smile on her face took a different curve. “How precious. Your sister?”

Anjie drew his sword. Caihe pedalled back, but her words didn’t relent.

“I would hate for a child to lose her entire family. So I can make you a promise, Lord Guan, if you would like. If I have what I desire, Guilin will not see the bloodshed of war during my rule. In fact, I’ll swear it upon the honor of my dynasty.”

“You expect me to trust your word?”

“Well, only to a degree,” said Caihe. She gestured back at the captured young woman. “I can cut out this girl’s tongue right now as payment for my wronged man. Maybe you will stop me before then, or maybe you won’t. Or you can come back with me to the capital. I will write an imperial proclamation on Guilin’s autonomy in perpetuity, and with just your honorable signature, Lord Guan, I will make this public across the empire. Of course, I won’t ask for your, ah, submission, before it is done.”

Anjie didn’t move. His pulse drummed in his ears.

The young woman on the ground inhaled, a hitched breath through her bloody lips. Voice shaking, she said, “It is but a tongue, Lord Guan, it’s but a tongue…”

Behind Anjie, Jinyue’s breaths intermingled with his attendant’s, that girl who had devoted her life to his house since the age of eight. Wenbo’s grip ensnarled his robes, refusing to let go. And Ziyuan stood, wordless. Not calling any lie.

Indeed, the secrets of House Guan, embedded in his body, would make the new Quan Empire truly immortal. What need would they have for a beautiful piece of land then? Pride, perhaps, would come to take Guilin in time, when the empress was gone and her proclamation ruptured...but still, it was decades of peace for the people he knew and loved. And perhaps by then, the Guan defenses would evolve beyond what his body could give the empire...

Family? Or duty?

I’m not good enough to protect you, said Wenzhan.

Anjie swallowed.

The truth was that he had made his decision years ago, when he ended the lethal making of the copper-eyed cranes. He simply hadn’t expected to be given clean, hard finality like this.

“Ziyuan.”

Nothing.

He sheathed his sword. It weighed heavy at his side, that ancestral piece of guardianship passed down from First Lord to First Lord, carried beneath the calligraphy script of their tea room. But Anjie ate breakfast with his family in that same room.

He turned to Ziyuan, who would not look at him. Yes, if the empress spoke lies, Ziyuan would have called it long ago.

“Do not make me interpret your silence,” said Anjie.

Another breeze swept the path. Dusk was coming.

Ziyuan closed their eyes. After a moment, they turned to Jinyue’s attendant. Said, “Cailan. Take Wenbo back to the estate.”

Cailan hesitated. In that moment, Wenbo tugged closer to Anjie.

“I don’t…”

Cailan took two steps and scooped Wenbo up on her arms.

“Wait,” said his little sister. Her fingers dug into his robes. “No! No! Let me go! An-Ge!”

Anjie took her hands. Wenbo grasped at him as he pried her fingers free.

“No, no, I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna leave!”

Cailan pulled her away. Anjie let her small hands go, feeling everything to the last graze of her skin. He looked at her face, reflecting his heart, and he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the words before Cailan ran toward Guilin, struggling too much to keep his sister contained in her arms. Her screams trailed, raw and terrible.

“An-Ge! An-Ge! Don’t leave me! An-Ge!”

Anjie reached for his sword and removed it from the holster. Turning away from his sister, he pressed the sword into Jinyue’s chest. His fingers brushed a trembling, unsteady pulse.

Jinyue staggered back. Blinked. Looked at the sword, at Anjie.

“No,” said Jinyue, hoarse. “No. You’re not going.”

“Ah-Yue.”

“No. I refuse. I refuse, An-Ge, you’re not leaving—me—”

“Guan Jin Yue.”

Jinyue stopped speaking. His eyes glistened.

Calmly, Anjie said, “Watch over this for me, brother.”

Jinyue’s hands closed slowly around the sword of the First Guardian. When Anjie let go, a broken noise fell out of his brother’s lips.

Anjie looked last at Ziyuan. It was a short moment. Ziyuan merely bowed their head.

He faced Quan Caihe. The empress smiled for him before she turned toward her men.

“Would you mind escorting our Lord Guan, Chief Quan?”

For the first time, Anjie allowed himself to look at Musheng. That man knelt briefly to pick up the young Guilin girl, to cut the bindings around her wrists and shove her forward. She stumbled past Anjie, crying, “Lord Guan, Lord Guan…”

Musheng stopped before Anjie, his dark eye unreadable. Anjie looked down, meaning to walk past him, to follow Caihe by his own will. He had been ready to do this, but suddenly his feet would not move. After a moment, Musheng took his shoulder and shoved him forward. Anjie inhaled sharply.

Ziyuan: “Jinyue!”

As if shaken from a stupor, that voice screamed.

“Don’t touch him! Don’t touch him, you traitor, you disgusting snake!”

“That’s enough, Jinyue—”

“Get your hands off of my brother!”

“Stop it—”

“Jun Musheng! I will kill you! I’ll rip your heart out of your lying throat! You sick, heartless coward!”

Musheng’s fingers tightened around Anjie’s shoulder.

“An-Ge! An-Ge, wait! Wait, please! Please…”

Musheng pushed him into the imperial vehicle. The door closed with a slam, muting his brother’s desperate cries, sealing away the soft valley breeze of Guilin.

“Jinyue! Jinyue, that’s enough!”

The vehicle disappeared down the long road, taking with it the air from Jinyue’s lungs. His brother’s sword dug into his palm, dirtied against the foreign ground. Nothing that had just happened seemed real, not the hard ride to these outskirts, not the empress, not that horrifically marred face, not the white robes of his brother disappearing beneath that black door. As if caught in a nightmare, he screamed without sound, beat his knuckles into the ground, like the pain would somehow wake him up.

Ziyuan pulled his body upright and grabbed his hands. “Enough now, Ah-Yue.”

Ah-Yue.

Jinyue stopped for a brief moment. But when he looked up, it was Ziyuan. He shut his eyes and felt the tears come again.

“M-Master Guan…”

The girl. The girl Anjie had saved with—

His life.

Jinyue shut away her voice. Beside him, Ziyuan turned. Ziyuan stilled suddenly.

Jinyue looked up.

The girl was holding something out to them. Blinking away the tears, Jinyue saw that it was a jade pendant on a red string. An unforgettable dragon he hadn’t seen in nine years.

Ziyuan took the pendant. “Where did you get this?”

The girl said, “I think...I felt that man put it inside my pocket. The one with the eye.”

Jun Musheng.

Jun Musheng, who had come to Guilin wearing this jade dragon fifteen years ago, and had never, ever taken it off—except once, to hang like a promise around the neck of Guan Anjie. The pendant had vanished from Anjie’s chest like that broken promise, but now it glistened unmistakable in the red dusk.

Heart pounding and tears forgotten, Jinyue looked at Ziyuan.

“What does it mean?” whispered Jinyue.

Ziyuan paused. After a moment, Ziyuan reached into their robes and pulled out parchments—the strange, encrypted message from this morning. Gazing between the papers in one hand and the pendant in the other, Ziyuan spoke a quiet murmur.

“He needs help.”

Jinyue inhaled.

Looking down Jinyue, Ziyuan’s infallible eyes sharpened.

“Pick up your sword, First Guardian. We have an empire to destroy.”