Chapter Text
“Thank you very much,” says Sizhui with a bow. “Do you happen to know the name of anyone else who might help us?”
Jingyi hides a yawn behind his sleeve as the old lady thinks out loud. The sun isn’t very high, and they’ve already been at this for ages. The market bustles around them, people hurrying to do their business and be done with the chill morning. Jingyi watches a pair of men pay a fruit merchant, and then urge their donkey down a side street, no doubt headed for home and a warm fire. He envies them. His errand’s end is far from sight.
“Thank you,” he parrots hastily, just after Sizhui says the same to the old woman in goodbye. They turn up the road. “Where are we going?”
Sizhui shoots him the barest of looks. “The inkmaker’s house.”
“Another victim?”
“A survivor.”
Jingyi gapes at him.
A pause. “Where were you?” Sizhui asks. “I thought you were standing right there. Are you well today?”
“Fine, I’m fine,” Jingyi says. “Tired.” A cart of wine jars rolls through their path, and they stop. “Slept more than you, though.”
He watches Sizhui’s face tighten out of the corner of his eye.
“Did you sleep at all?” he presses.
“The practice of meditation as a replacement for sleep is a necessary skill that must be honed.”
“Thought not. When did it…I mean. When did it go quiet? For you?”
They haven’t talked about it—none of them have. By some tacit agreement, when they woke this morning, they all simply dove into dividing themselves and then the town for investigation. But the dip of Sizhui’s brow has had him worried all day.
They start on their way again, and Sizhui is quiet as he leads them down this road and that alley, as if he knows this town as well as Caiyi. Jingyi pauses to ask a stall minder if he’s heard anything about the disappearances by the river, and gets brushed off. It isn’t until he’s asked two more people, and gotten one more lead, that Sizhui answers.
“It went quiet the same time as it did for you, I think. Judging by when your snoring started.”
“Weird you didn’t fall asleep then, I know my snores are so soothing.”
Sizhui makes a deniably sarcastic sound he learned from Hanguang-jun, and says, “You must teach me how to fall asleep when tied to a donkey.”
Jingyi grins, satisfied, and then prods at the thing that’s been keeping Sizhui quiet.
“So what kept you up?”
“I still felt…,” Sizhui pauses, searching for the word. “Afraid.”
With a nod, Jingyi processes this while trying not to think about it too directly. He doesn’t want to relive it himself. “So the voice stopped, but the feeling didn’t.”
“Mn.”
“It wasn’t the demon.”
Sizhui shakes his head once. He has that particular expression on his face that Jingyi doesn’t normally try to poke at.
“Was it memories?”
A soundless nod confirms it. Jingyi bumps his shoulder into Sizhui’s as they walk.
“That’s hard,” he says. “Would keep me up too.”
Sizhui bumps him back.
“Did you get to talk to Wen-qianbei about it?”
There’s another pause. “I…don’t think it is something I want to remind him of.”
Jingyi frowns. “I get that. But I don’t think he’d want you to just be thinking about it alone.”
This doesn’t gain him a response.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
For once in their lives, he’s not sure what Sizhui will say. For so many years, they were the same: orphans of the great war with the whole clan as their family. But ever since Sizhui began to regain memories of a time before that, things have been…less predictable. At first, it was a gift to them both—they’d turn each memory over in both their hands, together. Shiny, precious things they could share, and dive into, and discuss deep into the night. But eventually there were memories Sizhui didn’t like to discuss. Eventually, the nights when Sizhui would wake half the disciples’ dormitory with his nightmares grew frequent enough that he was given a sleeping draft by one of the doctors.
“I”m not sure,” he says at length. “There’s not much to tell.”
Jingyi nods, deep in unpleasant thoughts of what that could mean. They all heard people calling for help last night, and it wasn’t nice. It was a bit terrifying, actually, and to think what that might have awoken in Sizhui’s mind…
He’s distracted briefly by a conversation with a kite vendor which bears no fruit, just some odd rumors about a lovers’ curse.
“But watch out,” the man finishes, “my cousin said he saw Yiling Laozu himself over in the next town. No telling what trouble he might be stirring up—wouldn’t be surprised if he was responsible for the whole mess with the river.”
“That’s not—”
“Yiling Laozu is responsible for nothing of the sort,” Sizhui cuts Jingyi off, uncharacteristically sharp. “He liberated three resentful spirits in that town, and we should all be so lucky to have his help.”
The man blinks at them. Jingyi raises his eyebrows in challenge, but the man says nothing.
“Hmph,” says Jingyi.
The two of them turn back on their way. After they’ve put a few buildings between themselves and the kite vendor, he glances at Sizhui.
“Alright?”
Sizhui’s mouth tightens.
“We can go back and meditate. We can send a message to Zizhen and A-Ling, they can take our leads for now.”
With a shake of his head, Sizhui sighs. “I’m fine.”
Jingyi reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. “Hanguang-jun would say that to ignore one’s limits is not a virtue.”
“I’m not at my limit,” Sizhui says. “Yet.”
The inkmaker’s shop is full of customers, but empty of what they need.
“I’m very sorry, but my daughter’s the one who heard the voices—scary it was, my sons had to tie her up between the two of them—and she lives with her new husband,” the inkmaker tells them. “I can’t tell you much else about it, other than that it was strange indeed.”
“That’s alright,” Sizhui says, “might you direct us to their home?”
“They have the house behind the papermaker’s workshop.”
Jingyi catches Sizhui’s eye. “The inkmaker’s daughter married the papermaker.”
The inkmaker shakes his head, and waves a hand. “The papermaker’s apprentice.”
“Right,” says Jingyi, suppressing a grin. “Thank you, sir. We’ll be on our way.”
The day outside is beginning to darken with ominous clouds, and the breeze from last night winds its way back through the market stalls as if in search of spines to set tingling. Jingyi shoves his hands into his sleeves.
“Wei-qianbei is alright, isn’t he?” Sizhui asks suddenly.
Jingyi blinks at him. “Of course he is. He’s Wei-qianbei. He’s like a cat, he always lands on his feet.” He glances over, and sees Sizhui’s stormy expression. “Plus, he’s with Hanguang-jun.”
“Mn,” Sizhui agrees.
“Don’t worry about him, he’s already died once. It didn’t take.”
“Jingyi.”
“What? It’s true. Like a cat.”
At Sizhui’s sigh, Jingyi gives in. “What are you so worked up about?”
“Everyone still hates him so much.”
Jingyi looks at him, surprised at the distress in his voice.
“All he’s ever done is try to help. But people won’t listen. They won’t leave him be. He travels around, making people’s lives easier, better, all by himself. He doesn’t have to, but he doesn’t even think of doing anything else. But if he were out there, nighthunting. On his own. And he called for help. No one would hear him.” He turns to look Jingyi in the eye. “And even if they did, would they want to help?”
“Sizhui…”
Sizhui faces forward again, silent.
“He can take care of himself,” Jingyi says, and pats his shoulder.
He can hear the uncertainty in his own voice, though. And he can’t think of anything else reassuring to say. But they’ve arrived at the papermaker’s shop, and there’s no more time to think about it.
“He shouldn’t have to,” Sizhui murmurs, as they walk in. “Not anymore.”
Jingyi squeezes his shoulder one last time, and then lets himself be glad of the distraction of the shop. It’s lit warmly against the oncoming storm, and bustling with people of all sorts looking at samples of varying quality. It has an interesting, dusty smell. He wonders how old the shop is, and how long it’s been in the same family.
“Jingyi! Sizhui!”
He looks up in surprise to see Zizhen hurrying over as they cross the threshold.
“This had better be a good lead,” A-Ling says, moving toward them much more slowly.
“It has to be, if it led us all here!” says Zizhen.
“Who told you two?” asks Jingyi. “We were just at the inmaker’s.”
“The apprentice’s father!” says Zizhen, even more excited. “We’re just waiting for—”
“Distinguished cultivators,” a young man says from the back of the room. An older man passes him, eyeing the four of them, and goes to speak to a small group of customers. “I will speak to you through here while my master minds the shop.”
They bow to the older man, and then the apprentice, before following him out into the yard behind. The bleak remaining sunlight does little to dry large sheets of paper where they lay over half the yard, and half of them have been moved beneath the shelter of two large trees where they grow beside a small house. The apprentice leads them into their shadow.
“How may I assist you?” he asks.
“We’re investigating the disturbance in the forest nearby,” Jingyi says. “We were told your honorable wife might be able to give us information on the problem.”
The young man’s brow furrows, and he glances toward the house. “It is not a pleasant story,” he hedges. “Let me tell you what I know.”
Jingyi grimaces, and Zizhen opens his mouth to speak, but Sizhui bows first.
“Forgive us for the intrusion, but it is always best to gather information from the source. We would not want to bother you with questions for which you may not have the answers. It would be a great service to the surrounding community, and we would not ask her to dwell on upsetting memories any longer than necessary.”
The apprentice chews his lip. “I…”
“Bring them inside, A-Yun,” a voice calls from inside.
He frowns, but opens the doors and ushers them inside. Their home is small and spare, but very clean and comfortable. Several small lanterns and candles are lit to compensate for the sun’s poor performance.
“Welcome,” says the small woman inside.
She’s smiling a little nervously, so Jingyi makes sure to put on his Top Student expression as he bows his greeting. She gestures to their small table.
“We do not wish to take up any more of your time than necessary, furen,” Sizhui says. “If you would like to recount the events of that night, we will be on our way with no need to waste your tea.”
She nods, wringing her hands a little bit. “It was well over a month ago, now.”
“That’s alright,” assures Zizhen. “Anything you can remember will be helpful.”
She nods again, to herself this time. “Well. I was traveling back into town with my family. We had been visiting my great aunt, and selling in the city. But once the road turned, and there were only the trees around…I remember looking up at the moon. It was just a sliver, so it was dark. And I thought how strange it was that it was so quiet. But that was when I heard it.”
A shiver scrapes its way up Jingyi’s spine. He remembers the sudden quiet, too.
“It?” A-Ling says.
“His voice.”
Jingyi blinks. “His?”
“Mn. A-Yun’s voice.”
All four of them turn to look at the apprentice, standing sheepishly in the corner. He’s still frowning, but his full attention is on his wife.
“It was his voice you heard? Did you think he was in the forest too?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t know it was his. We hadn’t met yet.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“What?” says A-Ling.
“He moved into town while we were gone. We weren’t even betrothed yet.”
“How are you certain it was his voice, then?” Sizhui prompts gently.
She looks straight at him. “I’m never going to forget what I heard that night. And when we met, I recognized his voice as soon as he opened his mouth. I could hear him again, pleading with me to help him. It was horrible. They all thought I was insane when I asked him what had happened to him that night—of course he was here, with his master, learning his trade. Nowhere near that forest.”
Jingyi’s mind whirls. Hearing the voice of someone you haven’t yet met? Is it even possible? How can they be sure, though, that that’s what really happened?
“We understand,” Sizhui says, though they absolutely do not. Jingyi side-eyes him for the lie. “Can you tell us what happened after you began hearing the voice?”
“I…do not remember very well. I remember feeling afraid, and desperate. I remember his voice, his words, his pain. But the next thing I remember, I was tied up in the twine we use to secure boxes of ink. My brother had a black eye. I’m told it was my fault.”
Zizhen makes a sympathetic clucking noise. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says. “You weren’t yourself. You couldn’t help it.”
“I know,” she says. Only she seems more distressed. Her husband pushes between Jingyi and Zizhen to get to her. They embrace, and she leans against him. “It was terrible.”
Jingyi frowns. “We understand,” he says in his turn. This, the feeling of no control, he remembers very well.
There’s a jostling sound beside him, and he catches the end of a brief scuffle between Zizhen and A-Ling.
“Gongzi,” A-Ling says, visibly grudging. “I must…ah…question you. About your whereabouts that night. Separately. To confirm the story.”
Jingyi squints at him. It makes no sense, the whole rest of the town knew where the apprentice was that night.
“My wife is telling the truth,” the apprentice protests.
“Of course!” Zizhen says, placating. “We believe you both. But it’s very important that we hear it from both sides, in your own words. For our reports, you see.”
The apprentice sighs, and hesitantly lets go of his wife. She squeezes his hands, and nods at him as he follows A-Ling out of the house.
“Furen,” Zizhen says as soon as they’re gone, leaning forward, overeager even though he’s obviously trying to restrain his excitement. “This is going to sound like an impudent question, but I promise it’s very important and I mean no offense. There’s no wrong answer, and we won’t tell anybody. Especially not your husband. It will help us eradicate the evil preying on your town, to know the answer. Do you mind?”
She blinks at him. “Well. If it will help…ask.”
Zizhen shifts excitedly. “Now remember, don’t be offended. Okay? Okay: would you say, more or less, that your husband is your most beloved person in this life?”
She doesn’t hesitate to nod.
“And the next,” she says.
Zizhen’s grin nearly splits his face into pieces. “Thank you!”
He bows deeply, and then tugs on Jingyi’s sleeve. Jingyi exchanges glances with Sizhui, and they bow their goodbyes.
“Thank you for your help,” Sizhui says.
They collect A-Ling as they leave, and once they’re in the street and out of view of the shop, Jingyi pulls Zizhen around to face him.
“You can’t possibly think it’s that lover’s curse thing,” he says.
“It is!” Zizhen exclaims, bouncing. “It is, you heard her! A-Ling, she said yes! It’s totally that!”
“It’s not a curse, though,” says Sizhui. “We weren’t cursed. If we were, Wei-qianbei and Hanguang-jun would have known, and worked on that first.”
Zizhen waves a hand. “Whatever, whatever, that’s not the point. The…thing. Whatever it is. It preys on lovers, and uses their love to lure them.”
“Why are you so excited?” A-Ling barks. “How does this help eradicate the thing?”
“I don’t know! At least it’s information!” Zizhen insists, looking hurt. Then his smile returns, smaller and more fierce. “But it means…we all have…you know. Most beloved people. Or we will. Don’t you get it? It means for sure we’ll—hey!”
A-Ling is storming off, his eyes stuck skyward in a dramatic roll. Sizhui sighs quietly.
“Zizhen,” he says, “how did you know to ask that? What else have you heard?”
They walk on, following A-Ling through the streets back to the market, as Zizhen explains the several firsthand accounts they managed to collect, including one other survivor, along with various grieving family members. They were all able to confirm the identities of the voices calling out, as well as confirm their relationship to the victims.
It’s good evidence, Jingyi grudgingly admits to himself. He tries not to be annoyed that he and Sizhui had such worse luck.
“So did you…did you two…” Zizhen glances around, as if someone who knows them will hear. “Did you recognize the voices you heard? Do you…know them yet?”
“You just ask? Just like that?” Jingyi says, crossing his arms. He scoffs, to keep his mind firmly away from the voice he heard. He suddenly doesn’t want to think about it. “Some of us like to keep private matters to ourselves.”
“So you don’t,” says Zizhen, arching a condescending brow.
“Shut—”
“We should send a butterfly,” Sizhui interrupts, breaking another rule. Still very unlike him. Jingyi takes in the worry still on his face. “This could help liberate the spirit, if it hasn’t yet been taken care of. And then we should try to find out who might—”
“Wei-qianbei!” Zizhen cries, breaking into a run.
Jingyi traces his line of sight and sees them, Hanguang-jun’s bright robes shining even on such a dreary day.
“Hanguang-jun!” he shouts, and follows at a more respectable pace.
“Wei-qianbei, are you well?” Sizhui asks, as soon as the four of them have finished bowing.
Jingyi looks closer at him. He does look tired, and a little…damp at the ends of his hair. Though Hanguang-jun looks no different than the night before. Except—Jingyi feels himself blush. They’re both wearing different clothes. But that’s to be expected—it’s a new day after all. People change clothes when they’re out camping on a nighthunt. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do. Hygienic, even.
Wei-qianbei waves a hand. “Fine, we’re fine. Are you alright? Where’s Wen Ning?”
“We’re okay!” says Zizhen. “He stayed back with Little Apple. He said we’d better split up, and he’d look after her.”
“Ah. So you have been asking around for information,” Wei-qianbei says. He’s frowning a little, but goes on, “Well, good. So what have you found?”
Zizhen is practically vibrating, bouncing on his toes. Jingyi cuts him off.
“We spoke to a lot of witnesses, but we only found a few survivors. There’s not a lot of concrete information, except that the experience of those lured seems similar.”
“Only similar?” Wei-qianbei asks.
Jingyi grimaces, and A-Ling answers grudgingly. “Almost exactly the same.”
Wei-qianbei’s eyebrow climbs high. “Almost?”
“It’s hard to tell for sure when most of the people who heard it are dead.”
With a shrug, Wei-qianbei twirls his flute. “If you say so.”
“It’s possible we did find information that could help liberate the entity,” Sizhui says, reluctant.
“Oh? What’s this?” Wei-qianbei glances at Hanguang-jun, who only stares straight ahead. “Did you make a plan of how to use the information and perform the liberation?”
Sizhui shakes his head. “We only just compared notes and verified it. We were about to send you a butterfly.”
“Hmm, interesting, very interesting. Let’s go back to the inn and talk through it, shall we?” He shoos them forward. The dark clouds above are rumbling ominously. “What’s this vital piece of news?”
“Well,” Sizhui starts. And then stops.
Jingyi sighs. “The voices people hear. They might have something in common.”
Wei-qianbei squints at him, suspicious. “Go on…”
Zizhen finally snaps. “It lures you with the voice of your most beloved person!” he shouts.
The soft pattering of rain sweeps over the marketplace in little fits and starts.
“Ugh,” A-Ling groans. “Why do you have to keep putting it that way?” He looks at Wei-qianbei, who’s stopped walking. “He thinks it’s a lovers’ curse or something. The people we talked to—all the times the voice was identified, it was, you know. Couples stuff.”
“Not a curse!” Zizhen says. “We know it isn’t that. It’s just…that’s the form it takes. So, logically, to liberate it—”
“Hold on. Can you…repeat.” Wei-qianbei breaks in. “What? You’re sure it wasn’t ever just…a strong emotional tie? Like guilt, or, or anything. Jealousy, hatred, whatever?”
“No. Almost all the witnesses we spoke to…knew who it was that the victim heard,” Sizhui explains again, weirdly slowly, with a weirdly intense look on his face. “And every single time—even when the couple hadn’t met yet—it was the voice of the person they loved. Romantically.”
Wei-qianbei clears his throat. “I see,” he says. “Right, well then we can extrapolate—ah…”
He trails off. Jingyi looks to Hanguang-jun, who is just…standing very still, like always. But also not like always. The rain evens out to the point where Jingyi starts to feel it.
“That it’s a clue to liberation,” Zizhen finishes brightly.
“Maybe,” presses Jingyi, trying to start them moving again. He wants to be inside for this conversation. “If it’s even true. Which would be hard to prove. But…yeah, maybe. That was the idea. So we can go out there and—”
“It’s taken care of,” Wei-qianbei says absently, following Jingyi. “No need…. Which way is the inn?”
“Taken care of?” says A-Ling. “Hold on, it’s finished, and you didn’t even—ow!”
He breaks off, and stares at Sizhui beside him, whose face is strangely blank.
“This way, Wei-qianbei, Hanguang-jun,” Sizhui says, and takes the lead, his pace doubled.
Jingyi hurries to keep up, looking between Sizhui’s weird face, and Wei-qianbei’s weird face, and…Hanguang-jun’s face is weird, too. Everyone’s face is weird now.
“What happened?” Zizhen is asking, still excited. “Did you already know what we found out? Were we right?”
Wei-qianbei blinks several times. “Ah…”
Sizhui catches Jingyi’s eye, slightly panicked-looking all of a sudden.
“He can’t just tell you the answers,” Jingyi blurts, getting Zizhen’s attention off their seniors. “We’re supposed to figure it out ourselves.” He makes question eyebrows at Sizhui, who gives a tiny nod. “With the information we had, what would we have done? If we had to.”
“We-ell…” Zizhen starts, and launches into a scheme that somehow involves both Wei-qianbei’s Empathy and Hanguang-jun’s Inquiry, as well as a talisman that doesn’t sound like it’s been invented yet.
Then Jingyi baits A-Ling into critique of this plan while Sizhui hurries them all back to the inn. He keeps glancing at Wei-qianbei and Hanguang-jun, but whenever Jingyi looks, he doesn’t know how to interpret what he sees. They look…shifty. And stiff. And weirdly far apart. When the wind gusts through their group, leaves have room to pass between them.
Something is definitely off. And Sizhui seems to think the two of them shouldn’t be bothered about it until they get to the inn.
Which is fair. Maybe they, like Jingyi, just need a hot bath and a nap. He doesn’t think it likely, but he can hope.
When they get there, the rain is gathering strength, just moments away from coming down in sheets. A black shape breaks off from the shadows in the alley, and then Wen-qianbei is scurrying up to them.
“Gongzi,” he says, agitated. Rain is pouring off his hat, catching lantern light like glazed porcelain.
“It’s alright, Wen Ning,” Wei-qianbei says, pulling him along. “It’s finished. Is Little Apple going to be alright in this?”
Wen-qianbei nods vigorously. “I built another wall for the stable when I felt the wind come from the east.”
Wei-qianbei smiles weakly, and pats his shoulder. “Good,” he says. “Let’s all go in and get warm.”
“This storm is awful,” A-Ling mutters as they all follow.
“Just like the one Ouyang Zixian had to brave,” says Zizhen.
A-Ling groans.
“Let’s hope there are no nasty surprises waiting for us,” Jingyi says, watching Wei-qianbei and Hanguang-jun’s stiff backs.
“There won’t be,” murmurs Sizhui.
Jingyi looks at him, and he smiles. He looks more relaxed than he has since yesterday. Jingyi resists the urge to plead for answers—he knows Sizhui will tell him when he can. So instead, just as they push through the doors into the warm, dry inn, Jingyi rolls his eyes and smiles back.