Andrew Bennett didn’t say much and rode off on his horse.

* * *

Later, a menial from Zhaozui Temple brought food. William Sullivan lit an oil lamp but didn’t touch the meal. He carried the lamp and walked a lap along the small corridor beside the main hall.

Dust had accumulated here for a long time; some side rooms were dilapidated, with rotten doors and windows. William Sullivan saw a few skeletons, which toppled over with a gust of wind. Finding no living creatures, he returned to the main hall.

The Buddha statue had collapsed, the incense table was old but sturdy. The space underneath was just right; William Sullivan hung a tattered curtain and lay down fully clothed beneath it. His leg ached with the cold, but he endured the pain, closed his eyes, and counted the hours.

In the latter half of the night, fresh snow fell. William Sullivan heard two calls from a night owl. He sat up, lifted the cloth, and saw Samuel Carter stepping in at the door.

“Eat your meal,” Samuel Carter opened his bundle, “then practice boxing. The wind can’t be kept out at night, it’s too cold. If you fall asleep, Master’s afraid you’ll get sick.”

William Sullivan looked at the roast chicken wrapped in oiled paper and said, “Meat is forbidden when ill, Master, you eat it.”

Samuel Carter tore the roast chicken for him and said, “Nonsense! This is exactly when you should fill your belly. Master likes to eat the chicken’s tail, always has at home, so leave that for me.”

William Sullivan said, “I’ll follow you; whatever you eat, I’ll eat.”

Samuel Carter glanced at him, chuckled, and said, “You rascal.”

The master and disciple shared the roast chicken. Samuel Carter seemed to have iron teeth, even crunching the chicken bones. He handed the gourd to William Sullivan and said, “If you really can’t stand the cold, drink some wine. But don’t drink too much—like your brother, just sip the right amount.”

These days, they hadn’t mentioned Zhongbo, hadn’t mentioned Duanzhou, and certainly hadn’t mentioned the Chashi sinkhole. The mistress and Ethan Carter were like unspoken wounds between master and disciple; both thought they hid them well, not realizing the blood had already seeped out, and the pain was shared.

William Sullivan took a sip and handed it to Samuel Carter.

Samuel Carter didn’t take it. He said, “I’ve quit drinking. Master doesn’t drink anymore.”

The hall fell silent. With no door to block it, fine snow drifted in, becoming the only scenery in the long night.

Samuel Carter said, “What are you staring at?”

William Sullivan said, “Master.”

“If you have something to say, say it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Samuel Carter was silent for a while, then said, “It’s not your fault.”

William Sullivan clenched his fingers tightly. He stared at the snow, as if blinking would bring tears. His voice was hoarse as he said, “Did you go to Chashi to look for us?”

Samuel Carter leaned back against the incense table, his figure swallowed by shadow. He seemed to be searching for his voice, and after a long time finally said, “I did. I found you.”

He found them.

Samuel Carter found his son, riddled with arrows, in the deep snowy pit. He jumped down, stepped over the thick corpses, and pulled out Ethan Carter’s body.

Ethan Carter was only twenty-three, just promoted to a junior officer in the Duanzhou garrison. His armor was new; the day he put it on, Emily Cooper had hung a safety charm on him at home. When Samuel Carter found him, he was frozen blue and purple, frozen together with his comrades.

William Sullivan tilted his head back slightly and said, “Master, I’m sorry.”

Samuel Carter was already old. He rubbed his white hair and said, “He was your elder brother, it was his duty. None of that was your fault.”

The snow fell for a while longer.

Samuel Carter curled up his hands and feet and said, “Who could have known the steppe bandits would come? He became a soldier and rushed to the front lines—there was no other way. I taught him boxing, and he had that temperament. Telling him to run would be like killing him. He could never bear to see others suffer—how could he, how could he run?”

“It wasn’t your fault, it was Master’s failing. I drank too much, your mistress scolded me for so long, and I never quit. When the cavalry came, I couldn’t even fight properly. At my age, I’m old and useless, long past my prime.”

The gourd was dampened. William Sullivan held it, saying nothing.

“Old and useless.” Suddenly, a head poked out from behind the Buddha statue, grinning, “Old and useless!”

Samuel Carter leapt up like a leopard and shouted, “Who’s there!”

The man, hair disheveled and filthy, gradually revealed himself, mimicking Samuel Carter, “Who, who!”

Samuel Carter recognized the voice, pressed down William Sullivan, and exclaimed in shock, “…Chancellor King!”

The man instantly ducked his head back, kicked the Buddha statue, and shouted loudly, “No! Not the Grand Tutor!”

Samuel Carter chased behind the Buddha statue in a few steps. Seeing the man trying to crawl away, he grabbed his ankle. The man immediately let out a pig-like squeal, shouting, “Your Highness! Your Highness, run!”

William Sullivan covered his mouth, and together with Samuel Carter, dragged the man back.

“Who is this?” William Sullivan asked.

“You’re too young, you wouldn’t know.” Samuel Carter’s voice was unsteady as he held the man down. “Chancellor King, well! You’re still alive! Where’s Mr. Wright? Is Mr. Wright here too?”

Chancellor King, small and thin, couldn’t kick them off, so he glared with wide eyes and whispered, “Dead, dead! I’m dead, His Highness is dead, everyone’s dead!”

Samuel Carter said in a deep voice, “Grand Tutor, I am Samuel Carter! Jinyiwei Tongzhi Samuel Carter!”

Chancellor King, still in shock, hesitantly craned his neck to look at Samuel Carter’s face and said, “You’re not Samuel Carter, you’re a demon!”

Samuel Carter said sorrowfully, “Grand Tutor! In the twenty-third year of Yongyi, I escorted you into the capital. The Crown Prince greeted you right here. Have you forgotten?”