Only twice in known history have the pacifist southern monks interfered in military conflicts of any nature. The first recorded instance occurred during the Great Floods of the Quan Dynasty, when the harmony of the natural world was threatened. The second occurred nearly five centuries later, when a prophecy was made regarding a half-Ruan prince. Because of the prophecy, the monks swore an oath. When the prince called for their aid, they would come.
—Chronicles of the Three Kingdoms, 954
“I have an idea,” I began,as we gathered near the torchlight. A wave of déjà vu crested through me as I regarded their familiar faces, lit by flame. “I stole another spirit’s seal today. It drove the dragon mad.”
“Jealousy,” commented Kuro. “All the spirits are prone to it.”
“It gave me power too,” I said. “I wonder if we could somehow use that to seal the veil.”
“Where is that jade now?” asked Lei.
I reached into my pocket and showed them the ash remains. “I think Qinglong got rid of her.”
Lei raised a brow at this. “What power did her seal lend you? Lixia?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then that won’t work,” said Lei. “Excess lixia was what created the spirit gates in the first place. It won’t be lixia that closes the rift. It will be qi.”
Our life force. What spirits craved, just as we humans sought lixia. That push and pull was fragile, but it had never splintered, not until now.
Winter nodded. “He’s right. The counterpart of lixia is qi, which no spirit possesses. To restore the balance between realms, one would need to return qi to the veil.”
“So,” said Kuro, “which gate do we target? You know there are gates all over the Three Kingdoms by now.”
“Is it feasible to close all of them?” I asked.
“You don’t have time,” said Sky brusquely. I met his eyes—and felt that familiar snarl of rage and remorse. His gaze held mine before I turned away; I could not surrender to my emotions, not at a time like this.
“Then what?” said Kuro unhelpfully.
Lei gestured toward Kuro’s bow. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”
Kuro removed the weapon and handed it to him without objection. The two seemed to have made their peace in the aftermath of the quake.
Lei gathered a few rocks from the ground, then crouched and set the bow on the dirt. Pinning the bow against the ground, he pulled the bowstring taut, then positioned it there against the dirt.
“Hold this for me, will you?” he asked Kuro, who shrugged and complied, gripping the bow in place with one hand, and the taut string with the other.
We all watched silently as Lei placed a few pebbles and rocks along the string, weighting it down, then added a massive stone on top of the nocking point.
“You can let go now,” said Lei. Kuro released the string; it stayed in place.
“The deepest tear in the veil,” said Lei. “Where is that?”
“The chasm at the center of First Crossing,” said Kuro with grim confidence. “As far as I know, that’s the only gate through which spirits have crossed.”
Lei nodded, expecting this answer. “Say this is the gate at First Crossing,” he said, pointing at the massive rock at the center. “We seal this one and—” He removed it from the bowstring.
Not seconds later, the bowstring bounced back into place, scattering the smaller rocks everywhere. Winter winced as dust billowed up, smearing his robes.
“Is it that simple?” asked Kuro skeptically.
Winter tilted his head. “Balance seeks itself. That which was once in balance will seek to return to balance,” he said thoughtfully. “Prince Cao has a point. Once you close the deepest tear and restore the veil to equilibrium, the other spirit gates will naturally decline as lixia fades from the human realm.”
Kuro shrugged. “All right,” he said. “Then how do we feed our life force into the veil?”
I was beginning to understand just how much of the leadership Jinya had contributed to the Black Scarves.
