Pact and Flame

When we stepped out of the illusion, evening had already fallen. Ten or more years had unfolded within that幻境, while the world outside had endured but a single day.
Qinyan awoke and plunged straight into the chores of the farmhouse—washing, cooking, tending her two children—so busy she barely had time to breathe. Only at dinner did she finally pause and claim a moment’s respite.

I turned the tangled causes and consequences over in my mind, sorting through the relationships. Although the Sword-Casting Villa was no longer the power it once had been, it was by no means easy to strike into and slay at will. As I gnawed my thoughts for a workable plan, footsteps sounded outside: Qinyan, carrying a lantern, knocked on the door.

“Liu-sao…”
“Call me Qinyan,” she sat, and when she spoke her voice was steady. “You know my story. Will you still help me avenge it?”

I hesitated. “Has not your vengeance already been done?” I asked. That fire had burned almost the Villa’s entire foundation; by ordinary reckoning the feud should have ended. Why press on with further retribution?

“Because he wants to take my children,” Qinyan said.

For years Zhao Jin had no offspring; the Zhao line hung on the brink of extinction. Now that he had finally found his blood heirs, he would not let them go. Still, I cast a glance at the shabby cottage. Was forcing the children to stay truly the best choice? The two were already thirteen—nearing adulthood. Left here, their futures would be a mere repeat of the past: Zier wedded to a blunt, hardworking peasant, a life of toil and poverty; You’er inheriting a couple of fields, becoming a steady, honest farmer.

Qinyan seemed to read my unspoken worry and smiled. “Mr. Su, I understand your concern, but I have my reasons.”
I looked at her for a long while, then said, “Very well.”

Her whole face brightened. “How will I pay you?” she asked eagerly.
My fee was not silver nor sword, but the remainder of Qinyan’s span—an invisible thing, hard to bargain for.

“You must sign a contract,” I said.
I lit the Fanghua incense again; ribbons of smoke drifted and settled upon a sheet of sheepskin, which solidified into a pact.

“Sign,” I told her. “Do not fear: signing will not take your life at once. When all your wishes are fulfilled, you shall depart this world without regret or pain.”
Qinyan put her name down with swift strokes.

I took back the contract and nodded. “I will set out tomorrow.”
She produced a cloth bundle. “Payment.”
“Take it,” she said lightly. “These things are priceless to others, but worthless to me. I neither need them nor wish my children to touch them. Yet they are relics and should not gather dust in my trunk. Please carry them out; it will benefit others.”

I was about to refuse when Gongsun Bai clasped my hand, urging me to accept. I yielded and took the bundle. Qinyan’s condition was clear: Zhao Jin and Yu Hanjun must die.

Gongsun Bai and I rode toward the Sword-Casting Villa.
“How do you plan to act?” Gongsun Bai asked on the way. “Though fallen, the Villa is no place where any tom, dick, or harry may stroll in and slay at will.”
He seemed to sneer at me; perhaps he thought me foolish. “Of course. Ordinary cats and dogs can’t enter—but that does not mean we cannot,” I said. “Nor do I intend to strike the blade myself. Aren’t you my bodyguard and swordsman? This work falls to you.”
Gongsun Bai’s lip twitched. “Dream on,” he said at last.

I had not told him then the truth: the art I practiced—Posa, the technique of causes—prohibits one from killing directly. Yet there are loopholes. I could contrive avalanches, hire cutthroats, devise countless indirect deaths. Moreover, Posa grants entry into another’s memories. It is the world’s finest clandestine weapon—plant a terror, invoke a spectral horror, and a man might ruin his own mind. Such power man ought not to hoard.

Of course I would not stagger into the Villa with a sword. That would be stupidity. I had a subtler design. After the blaze, Zhao Jin’s constitution had failed: nightmares, loss of appetite. The Villa had sought physicians far and wide to no avail. That was my opening. I could pose as a famed healer, enter his mind, and unmake him—drive him insane until he took his own life.

Gongsun Bai raised no objection, only asked: “You may handle Zhao Jin this way, but what of Yu Hanjun? Yu’s Yu Luo Sect grows stronger daily, and he himself is a peerless assassin. The household is full of discreet watchers; not only would entering his mind be perilous, even a cough from us might be detected.”
I fell silent.

He continued, “I do have a method—one arrow, two birds, without blood.”
“What method?”
“Do you recall ‘Slaughtering Sun’—Turi?”

We pressed the horses, and by dusk reached the Villa. The gatekeeper received us with dull temper; the place had been plagued by quacks of late. Gongsun Bai slipped a few coins to the man and sent him on his way. Soon an elderly steward with white hair came forth. I had seen him in the illusion: his surname was Gao, a manservant of decades and now the Villa’s steward.

Inside, the steward bade us wait in the parlor. Footsteps hurried outside; then he whispered, “Madam is come; she wishes to see you.”
I straightened, thinking of Zhao Jin’s concubine. A young woman entered—plainly dressed, her makeup modest. The fine lines of her brows stirred memories: it was Xiaohui!

Indeed, the girl who had once been Qinyan’s maid was now the Villa’s lady. I had almost spoken aloud; Gongsun Bai’s astonishment matched mine but passed quickly, replaced by calm.
“This is Madam Hui,” Steward Gao introduced.
We bowed; Madam Hui returned the courtesy, anxious. “I heard you possess uncanny arts. Can you heal my husband?”
I inclined my head. “Illusion-work.”

“Illusion?” Her brow creased. “Can such baubles truly cure him? We have hosted many famed physicians, yet none have helped.”
“That is because his ailment is of the heart, not the body,” I said. “He has long suffered sleepless nights; daytime worries turn into a sickness of the heart. I am no apothecary, but I can weave visions ordinary doctors cannot.”
Hui’s face changed. She turned to the steward, “Give these two priority. Take them to see the master now. Let those other charlatans wait.”