No sign of Sain.

Finally, after the clock tower has chimed once more, Xiaodan can’t deny it any longer. She’s not coming back.

Has he offended her? Let her down? What happened?

He stands, wobbling unsteadily and, clutching the practice sword, trudges wearily homeward.

Sain’s house is empty, too. The quiet scraping sound as Xiaodan shuts the front door behind him echoes through the living space. His breathing – tired and slow – seems deafeningly loud. Yes, she’s often out all day, but this feels different. It’s much later than usual. Something to do with her silent disappointment, maybe?

But she won their duel.

What could he have done to her by losing?

He’s so exhausted that the effort it would take to reach the little box room, picking his way across the floor without bumping into anything, is too much of a challenge to even consider. Xiaodan sinks onto Sain’s couch, sprawls across it and, letting the sword clatter to the floor, allows himself to relax. Just for

a few moments –

Footfalls outside rouse him from sleep.

His head is swimming, his mouth dry. Someone’s climbing the stairs. It’s a quick, confident tread, but the steps are creaking under their weight. Xiaodan struggles to sit up on the couch just as the door is pushed open.

Two people. Sain and… a stranger. Whoever this is, they’re huge, and not just physically. This person is so imposing Xiaodan struggles to shake off the impression Sain’s front room is physically getting smaller, as if the new arrival’s presence alone is about to tip him onto the floor.

“You must be Xiaodan.” It’s a soft voice, even by the Jīngguò sect’s standards, but it commands your attention, deep and sonorous. This is somebody who’s used to telling other people how to get things done.

“That’s me,” Xiaodan says, resisting the urge to prostrate himself on the floor. “And you would be? Sir?”

“My name is Sirke,” the stranger says calmly. “I’m captain of the guard around here, among other things. And my daughter tells me it might be worth asking you for a favour.”

“Why me?” Xiaodan says at last. He takes a sip of water. Sirke has been talking, in that sonorous voice, for a while now and Xiaodan is still worn out from the duel. “You must have someone else who’s better with a sword than I am. I’ve only had six years’ training. She – your daughter beat me fair and square, sir –”

“True.” Sirke shifts in the chair, and Xiaodan wishes, for a moment, he could see the other man. He imagines a bear perched helplessly on top of a tiny ball. “But if she says somebody’s good – with a blade, unarmed, whatever – I trust her judgement enough to want to investigate further.”

“News to me.” There’s a rude noise from somewhere behind him.

“Sain,” Sirke murmurs.

“So what is this particular discipline you’re talking about?” Xiaodan says hurriedly. “Sain was using, uh, chāquán –”

“The Endless Stage borrows some chāquán techniques,” Sirke says. “Mostly to do with reach, and movement in the air. There’s no set weapon, but it works best with swords. You mostly fight with sword and scabbard, correct? What is your sword? Sain didn’t say. Just that she was holding onto it.”

“Goose-quill saber,” Xiaodan says.

“A traditionalist.” He can hear Sirke smiling. “Sorry. That was… seen as an anachronism long before I was young.”

“My teacher always was, ah... stuck in the past,” Xiaodan says, and winces on reflex, as if Tsang Wai Yi might suddenly leap out of the darkness to clout him with her staff. “Liǎng Zhī Niǎo uses either one or two, though.”

“This discipline uses a single sword,” Sirke says, “since it requires the other hand – or arm – to remain free at all times. When I said constant communication, I mean you have to be ready to move or to lend momentum to your partner without even thinking about it.”

“So you mean,” Xiaodan begins.

“Holding hands,” Sain says drily. “He means holding hands.”

Do I hold your hand again, or…? he’d asked her, when she first led him around.

Do you want me to baby you or something? He can still hear her exasperated response.

“Essentially,” Sirke says calmly.

He rises smoothly to his feet and the chair groans in relief.

“Come on, then,” Sain says. “Let’s see if my judgement pays off.”

Xiaodan was aware, doing odd jobs, there were armed men patrolling the city, but he’s not yet talked to any. It turns out the ‘guard’ Sirke mentioned is a standing militia, with several blockhouses across the lower level where enlistees can spend their free time.

The largest of these is a short walk from the records office where Xiaodan had his orientation, and there’s a training hall to the rear.

“If this arrangement works out, then you’re free to practice here whenever you feel the need.” Sirke’s voice echoes from the rafters; this is a big place, but fairly spartan, by the sound of it and the rough woven matting underfoot. “If Sain vouches for you, I’m willing to grant you the privilege.”

So is this where Sain goes when she’s out of the house? No wonder I couldn’t beat her, Xiaodan thinks.

“But first –” Sirke claps his hands. “Let me see if you can cope with the fundamentals.”

In theory, the basic principles of the Endless Stage as Sirke describes them are easy enough to grasp. When one partner uses their internal energy to increase their speed or to briefly defy gravity, the other partner acts as their fulcrum, or perhaps their stepping stone.

So when Sain slid around the statue in the square during their duel and launched herself into the air, she could have done that using Xiaodan instead. No need to lure an opponent towards the right bit of scenery when your partner can take its place.

In practice, learning the fundamentals turns out to be a good deal more awkward.

“Again,” Sirke says.

“If you throw me off course one more time –” Sain spits, audibly exploring the inside of her mouth. “Ow. Ow. I swear that tooth is coming out.”

“I said I was sorry.” Nobody’s forcing you, Xiaodan mutters inwardly, but he thinks of Tsang Wai Yi, and swallows the words.

“Okay,” Sain says. He feels her hand tighten around his. “Okay. One, two –”

Xiaodan feels the tug on his left arm as she moves, running in a circle, counter-clockwise; as she pours internal energy into her momentum he spins with her, swinging her round; when she’s almost reached the direction Sirke is standing in, he opens his hand and Sain jumps; as she rises through the air, he charges towards the same point –

Too late. That was too late. Sain shrieks in alarm, sailing past overhead, and Xiaodan winces; not again –

But Sain has wrestled back control; he can hear her coat fluttering as she descends. Now the hard part –

He launches into a handspring, then another; Xiaodan can almost hear Tsang Wai Yi laughing at his terrible form, but –

Success. As he comes up off the floor the second time, his boots meet Sain’s; she jumps off him, launches into a forward roll, spinning in mid-air, then comes down, trying to land a blow on her father –

Who sidesteps with such ease he almost seems bored. Xiaodan can hear Sirke calmly shift position on the matting to smack Sain’s practice sword out of the way bare-handed. She crashes to the floor with a groan. Xiaodan leaps to his feet and tries to turn the movement into Crane Dances in the Shallows, but Sirke’s hands come up –

The big man slips effortlessly past Xiaodan’s guard, using some kind of animal fist style, hitting him in the chest, in his left shoulder, and –

A blow to the head, the impact blunted but still powerful, sends him reeling so helplessly the floor feels as if it’s turned to water.

“Well, that was pathetic.” Sain struggles upright, breaks into a spasm of coughing, then clears her throat. “This isn’t working. Still. I told you I –”

“No,” Sirke says gently. “That was better. You’re getting there. Both of you.” He claps his hands. “Again.”

Xiaodan hears the clock chime twice more before Sirke finally leaves them to their own devices. They’ve only just moved on from the basic movements to hand signals. The Endless Stage has its own secret code so that, in theory, two partners never need to speak a word in combat.

“What are you doing?” Sain demands.

“I’m tired,” Xiaodan protests as he drops to the floor. He sprawls back across the matting, weakly adjusting the sash over his eyes. How does she keep hers from falling off? “First you put me through the wringer earlier today, and now your father wants to finish the job. My head hurts, and –”

“Fine.” But she doesn’t sit down. He can hear her breathing as she moves the sword, repeating simple practice strikes over and over in the darkness.

“You’re very good at this,” Xiaodan mumbles, almost to himself.

“Not really.” Apparently she heard him. “I mean, six years? I’m definitely not even close to being a master. And I started when I was a child, so.” Sain sighs. “A lot of the people who taught me were just… humouring an angry little girl. Hoping she’d go away. Not handing out secret techniques or anything.”

“But you kept going,” Xiaodan says.

“I didn’t have many other options.” She snorts. “Can you see me as a porter? Seriously?”

“You told me I should be happy with that,” Xiaodan points out. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Your words –”

“Yes, well.” Sain stops, and lets the practice sword fall to the matting. “I say a lot of things.”

Xiaodan sits up. The muscles in his back and sides feel like a fistful of yarn, tangled together so badly that all he can do is stretch awkwardly in the hope they come loose.

“Why is this so important to you?” He reaches up over his head, and winces as his shoulders crack. “First you can’t stand me. Not that I…” He trails off, his face growing hot. “I mean, I can see why. But then you’re looking after me like it’s charity for a temple, or something, and now suddenly you’re… handing out secret techniques –”

“I never thought I couldn’t stand you,” Sain says in a low voice. She bends down, picking up her sword again.

“Forget that part.” Xiaodan waves a hand in frustration. “Why the change of heart? Why are you so concerned about what I might be planning to do? Why show me off to your – to your father? Why is it so important to you what he thinks of me? Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

He swallows, remembering what happened the last time he put that question to her. “Please?”