The gap between the man in front of Lian and the man she’d beaten nearly to death four years earlier was so wide it was almost impossible to see across. His body had wasted away entirely, his large bony frame sucked down to its essence, his ribs visible and the prominence of his shoulders dwarfing the thin strips of muscle and fat that remained everywhere else. Most disorienting was his neck and head: his head still large, the skull of a man built to trample and tear things his entire life, was now atop a neck that look as frail as his daughter’s, the bulge of his throat the most visible part of his entire torso. His face was thin and bony, his lips pursed where his teeth had fallen out, his hair had mostly disappeared too, and his hands were permanently clutched into unnatural poses, the bones all wrong.

But his eyes were the truest indicators. Glassy and dark, they had no understanding of anything. There was a slight pause of recognition as they fell on his daughter, but only as a caregiver, someone who fed and washed him. Lian knew at once he had no awareness to speak of, just the base urges of trying to keep his once huge body nourished for another day, another meal.

“How long…” she started to ask, unable to take her eyes away.

“He wouldn’t wake up for seven days afterwards. He threw up or choked if we tried to feed him. When he did wake up we found out he couldn’t move his legs or control…anything. He doesn’t talk. His hands have been like that for a year or so now. They’re useless.”

The man, who had once roared at Lian, suddenly whimpered, a long, pathetic moan as he reached out for his daughter with one hand and made a motion to his mouth with his other. She didn’t even respond immediately, she’d become so numbed to his needs. Lian looked at the young woman and finally remembered where she’d seen her, on the ground as Lian had rushed out of the inn. A terrified little girl who had been running to find her father. Now she was a broken down looking thing, exhausted by the weight of too many responsibilities.

“What’s your name?” Lian asked.

The girl turned and looked at her. A small hint of pride returned to her voice. “Xue Fen.”

“I’m Zhao. Zhao Lian. This is my adopted son, Quan.”

The girl glanced at Quan but kept her attention on Lian. “His name is Kang.”

Lian looked back at the man and nodded.

Fen dropped her head and a measure of shame seeped into her words. “If you could step into the other room. I need to clean him.”

“Of course.” Lian turned and motioned for the confused Quan to follow her back into the kitchen.

Once there Quan immediately started speaking in Zhosian again. “What’s going on here? Who is that?”

Lian closed her eyes and sighed, wondering where she could begin. The headache she’d had four years earlier seemed to have found her again, this time from all the exertion of her fight and use of magic. When she spoke again, she spoke in Imperial.

“I did that to him.”

“Did what?”

“I fought him. Almost four years ago now. I was passing through this town, he picked a fight with me, and I… did that.”

Quan took a moment to consider. “You paralyzed him?”

“Apparently. I didn’t know exactly what happened, I was run out of town right after. But yes. It looks like.”

“Why did you fight him? Did he attack you?”

Lian was going to answer yes, of course she would only fight if attacked. But the reality of that day came back to her. The way his words stopped her. She could have just kept walking. No one would have been hurt. But she didn’t. She looked her son in the eyes, saw the certainty that she couldn’t possibly be in the wrong. She knew she’d have to break that belief to be in the right now.

“No. He picked the fight. And I gave it to him.”

Quan recoiled slightly. As a Keeper in training, he’d been taught every day of his life to only use his techniques in self-defence, and defence of the innocent. They were principles similar to those professed by the Shuli Go. And now one of the few people he trusted entirely had gone against those teachings. She saw the disorientation hit him as he processed the new information. It was a terrifying moment, as she wondered what her son would make of it, and what he would say next. She didn’t know him well enough to know for sure. He could be angry, righteous, defensive. She really didn’t know.

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked. Lian turned away to hide her smile. He’d accepted it and moved on to doing what right he could. She hadn’t expected that.

“Maybe. We’ll talk to her.”

Quan nodded, then fell silent. They waited in the room pretending to examine the meagre possessions there, but Lian was really just considering what she could say to Fen, and she was certain Quan was still considering how to make sense of the betrayal she’d performed on his image of her.

Fen walked back in looking more tired than before. She faced Lian and they stared at each other again. Lian spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

Fen’s face remained stony. “You’re sorry?”

“Not for kicking his ass. He deserved that. Your father was an asshole who wasn’t smart enough to know when someone stronger than him had walked into a room.”

“You know nothing about my father.”

“I don’t know everything, I’ll admit that. But I knew enough then. And now I know he doesn’t deserve this. He never did.”

“You just said he deserved it.”

“Not this. I know when this…” she pointed at the drab surroundings, “happened. It was the last kick I gave him, when he was on the ground. I heard his neck snap. That’s when the damage was done.”

Lian breathed in deeply.

“When you’ve been in as many fights as I have, you know when someone is beaten. And when someone’s broken. And you can’t always control when they cross that line, but if they’re close, you can always push them across it. That’s what I did to your father. And I’m sorry for that.”

Fen shook her head and her jaw jutted out, her anger finally surfacing. “That’s not good enough.”

“Of course not,” Lian responded. “I owe you. Your family. I have to make it better.”

“Make it better?” Fen’s voice turned abrasive, “How could you possibly make this better? You can’t cure him! There’s no cure.”

“No. Not him. But your family.”

Fen’s entire body vibrated with anger, but she looked down at the ground, then at her hands, the fingers encrusted with dirt and grime. Lian watched the spite exit with each breath, replaced with the possibility that Lian was offering.

“You have money?”

“I—”

The wooden door flew open and a middle-aged man, tall but thin, with a nobleman’s black hat and a long, thin beard, walked in. A small boy, perhaps eight years old, followed behind. The noble’s eyes went wide at the sight of Lian and Quan, but calmed when they fell on Fen.

“Fen, are you alright?” He asked. “We saw the fire.”

Fen made her way to the man and the boy, kneeling down next to the young child, who quickly fell into her arms.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“The Keeper again?”

Lian caught Quan’s face perk up. She gave him a look to remain silent.

“Yes,” Fen continued, “but I’m ok. These two… they saved me.”

The man’s face brightened at once. He brought his hands together to perform a formal bow, “Ah! Well I am Xue Li Jie and on behalf of my family I must thank—”

“Don’t thank me,” Lian said. “Your niece didn’t mention one important piece of information.”

The man pulled back, “How did you know she was my niece?”

“Because you look like your brother. I mean, you look a lot smaller than your brother. And smarter. Plus this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

The man looked at Fen, confused. “What is she…”

Fen looked back and forth between the two of them, picking up the small boy in her arms, holding him on her waist like he was her own child, even though she was barely any larger than him. Finally she said. “This is the Shuli Go.”

The noble took a moment. When he was finished he said, “You’re right. I don’t think I will thank you.”

Silence fell and awkwardness spread, the tensions between past weights and present gifts sparking the dark, worn out house into a fire of pressure. The boy in Fen’s arms whispered something into her ear. Fen leaned to whisper back, but it was Lian who spoke out loud.

“Me too. Don’t worry though, we’ll cook.”

She tapped Quan on the shoulder on her way out. They left together, defusing the room and walking back into the bright summer’s day. They made their way to the horses and Lian immediately approached the pack horse to remove some of the extra food supplies they’d brought along.

“What are you doing?” Quan asked as Lian worked. “What are we doing?”

“Cooking. He said he was hungry.”

“I mean what are we doing about this whole thing? Do you have something in mind?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“We’re going to take care of their bandits.”

Quan stared at her. A long, uncertain stare. “Is that a good idea?”

“Probably not, no.”

“Then why?”

“You’re the one who asked if there was anything we could do.”

“I thought maybe you could pay for them to hire a servant. Someone to look after her father. Or… I don’t know. Something else. Not fight a bunch of bandits.”

“I can’t help their father. And I don’t think they’d want me to. But this, I can do.”

“I don’t know. This seems dangerous. We were supposed to be quiet, under the radar. You made me promise I wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

Lian stopped, her shoulders hunched over one of the bags. She sighed deep and tired, her braid limp and dull over her shoulder.

“I know. But I did something stupid. And now I need to fix it.”

“But—”

“Listen. What’s the first rule of the Tiendu Shu?”

“…To bring happiness to one another.”

“And what’s your first oath as a Keeper?”

“To stop those that do harm and help those that need it.”

“To make the world a better place. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s what we’re doing.”

Lian put the last of the food and cooking supplies on the ground. She turned and grasped her son by the shoulders, craning her neck up to look him in the eyes. “Look. I don’t want anything to happen to you. And if you don’t feel comfortable helping me, I understand. You didn’t sign up for this and it’s not your fault what happened to him. If you want, you can wait here, help look after their father, and I’ll deal with this. It’ll be easier if you help. But we both know what that help looks like, and I don’t want to ask you to do that if you’re not ready.”

“I’m ready,” he lied. It was instinctive, forgetting for a moment that his mother could tell.

She forced a weak smile. “No. You’re not. But that’s ok. No one ever is.”

Lian picked up the supplies and put them over her shoulder and headed into the house.

Quan called after her. “How do you know getting rid of the bandits is going to help them at all?”

“I don’t. But they’ll tell us.”

“When? How?”

“I don’t know. But usually a good meal helps loosen tongues.”