Corpses carpeted the battlefield, far as Ling could see. She tightened the spotty scarf around her face and fought to keep her breakfast down. The other gatherers standing with her in a row looked nauseous too. Adolescents all, each carried a small bucket of water on either hip and a basket on their back, secured by rope straps that chafed through their threadbare clothing. Any who looked at the grim-faced, armed men behind them would receive a jab with the butt of a spear. To anyone who asked, they claimed to be imperial purifiers, but Ling knew they were merely deserters-turned-looters.
       "Are you waiting for pearls to rain down?" barked Taowu.
       The gatherers set out, followed loosely by their overseers. Ling's shoes squished on grass slick with gore as she stepped gingerly over bodies. She tried to conjure happy thoughts--the last hot meal she'd had or playtime with the gatherers back at the village--to distract her from having to look at slack, bloody faces. So many young men in shoddy leather armor--peasants who'd died for their lords. Which kingdom had they pledged their allegiance to Shu, Wu, or Wei? What had they been promised in return?
       Their lifeless eyes tracked her every step, filled with secrets they could never spill.
       She paused before a man's torso, staked to the ground by a spear and missing his bottom half. Though this wasn't her first encounter, Ling's skin crawled at the sight. Arming herself with a pair of silver chopsticks almost as long as her arm, she reached out and tapped its head.
       The jiangshi slashed with claw-tipped fingers, causing her to scramble back. Resembling a middle-aged man, it had yellow-green skin and eyes that bled a viscous, purple fluid. The spear held fast, so it could do no more than snarl and bare black teeth. Overcoming her initial fright, Ling took aim with her chopsticks and plucked the paper talisman off its forehead. Right away, the jiangshi slumped, the magic that had animated it returning to the talisman. The yellow paper's bright red script pulsed hypnotically at Ling until she blinked and dipped it into a bucket of lustral water to temporarily neutralize its magic. That done, she threw it into her basket.
       Their party roved further as the day wore on, the gatherers watching for mystical items to recover, the guards helping themselves to mundane baubles like jewelry. Ling's lips curled at two spearmen stripping a richly dressed general. They were supposed to watch for actual soldiers, who sometimes returned to the battlefield to recover their dead or repel looters--usually with extreme prejudice. Ling's employer had lost more than one party to these, yet these men didn't seem to care. An ordinary day was laced with enough danger for a distracted gatherer without them having to worry about living enemies too. Clay soldiers, jiangshi, tusked demons ... though most were destroyed by the time the gatherers arrived, there was no guarantee.
       Ling took the long way around the pieces of a terracotta soldier that had slain eight flesh-and-blood opponents until she could grab the talisman lying by its shattered head. Seconds later, a gangly boy named Zhou who had an old scar on his left cheek leaped over it without a trace of wariness and said, "Look, a taotie!"
       He jabbed an excited finger at a boulder in the likeness of a horned, human head. Fissures covered its surface, the work of warhammers lying around it. Most of its talismans had fallen off, save for a handful on its crown.
       Ling pursed her lips. "Looks like a tricky climb. Just go for easier ones."
       "I'll show you." Using its lips and then its eyelids as handholds, he spidered up its face until he could stand on the nose. He grinned at her, even did a little wiggle of his hips that won him a scowl before turning to collect the talismans. His balance was impressive, she had to admit.
       The moment the last talisman came off, the boulder began to shake. Ling started, thinking to catch him, but Zhou tumbled off and landed on the field before she could. The taotie crumbled into dust with an unearthly sigh, spilling the mangled humans it'd devoured. Both gatherers shrieked.
       "Keep it down!" Taowu said, striding over and cuffing a rising Zhou. Then he glared at Ling. "What's your haul?" She turned to show him the meager bounty in her basket, fully expecting to be shouted at. Surprisingly, he merely grunted. "Spotted some Shu infantry and crossbowmen coming this way. Time to go."
       Just then, motion beneath a dismembered hand caught her attention. Pretending to adjust her hemp shoes, she waited for Taowu and Zhou to leave before creeping closer for a look. Having expected some sort of horror to leap out, she was puzzled to see only a sparrow-sized paper bird held down by bruised fingers. Seemingly folded from talisman paper, its flapping grew more frantic despite the absence of wind.
       "What are you?" she murmured. Talismans typically didn't move on their own. This one, though unusual, seemed harmless enough and in distress. Using her chopsticks, Ling nudged the hand aside. The paper bird flopped over, lying motionless for several moments as if exhausted.
       When she poked its wing with a chopstick, it hopped upright on triangular feet. In terms of shape, it was similar to a pheasant, though without any defining features like eyes or plumage. The gatherers had been warned often to not touch talismans, but Ling's curiosity overcame caution. She extended her palm to see what it would do. Without hesitation, the bird climbed onto her hand, its feet gently prickling her skin.
       "Form up!" She whirled around at Taowu's call. The others! She'd forgotten.
       "Do you want to come along?" she whispered. The bird dipped its head, making her blink. Had it understood her? "All right, but you must stay in my basket."
       The bird fluttered over her shoulder in compliance. Feeling oddly pleased with herself, she ran after the others.

       The party trudged single file through the tiny village they'd taken as their hideout. Most of the houses had cracked brick walls, rotting wooden columns, and tiles missing from their slanted roofs. Livestock pens were empty of hogs and hens, and the fields lay bare. Whatever the real soldiers could strip for supplies, they already had. By the time the looters had arrived, they'd simply robbed every villager blind before driving them out at spear-point. Ling hadn't bothered to learn the village's name. Before long, they would be moving to a new settlement. Wherever armies went, the band followed.
       Not everyone in the village was a gatherer or a guard. Anyone could join up as long as they worked, whether to clean, forage, repair, or whore. Ling also spotted traders from other villages, drawn by the opportunity for commerce. New recruits, mostly young, ragged men, stood in a bunch, waiting to be measured for armor.
       As Ling's party drew near the village center, they were forced to make way for a man in resplendent purple robes and a tall black cap, riding on a black horse. He was flanked by four horsemen in green armor and trailed by a column of soldiers with two carts bearing hemp sacks. Ling recognized him by his station--a sorcerer from one of the warring kingdoms, here to purchase talismans to repopulate his faction's forces. Officially, they considered people like Ling to be criminals. Unofficially, they preferred not to dispatch their own soldiers to harvest talismans themselves.
       Taowu accompanied the gatherers into a former temple courtyard with four ginkgo trees on the verge of turning gold. There was a one-story, rectangular wooden structure inside, its walls painted red and green, each corner of its yellow roof decorated with dragon sculptures. Despite the temple's disuse, Ling still smelled incense every step of the way. Across the candle-lit interior, on a dais where a statue of Laozi had once reclined, was a throne-like chair. On this chair sat an overweight man in golden robes, who was sipping from a small cup and mopping his protuberant forehead with a silk handkerchief. Ling had heard that of the hundreds of sorcerers across the land, only a handful could actually perform the sorcery of animation, while the rest were pretenders playing with hand-me-downs and stolen secrets. Sima Zhan was most assuredly of the latter sort.
       "Back early," he stated.
       "Soldiers were approaching," Taowu said, bowing.
       "So? Fight them while we collect as much as we can. That's what I pay you for."
       Taowu's jaw tightened. "Probably not the best course to take, my lord."
       Sima Zhan's pudgy face reddened, and he launched into a tirade at his second-in-command. The transaction with the military sorcerer must have gone poorly, Ling thought. Perhaps he'd threatened Sima Zhan with destruction to wring a better bargain. It was always a delicate balance for Sima Zhan to maintain, running a looting enterprise in broad daylight while being useful to sorcerers too arrogant or busy to create or replenish their own sorcerous supplies. Or maybe they'd had some history--Sima Zhan had once been a sorcerer in the imperial court until the fracturing of the empire by various warlords had caused him to strike out on his own.
       "Get out!" Sima Zhan shouted. Taowu nodded stiffly and departed without a word. When the sorcerer turned his glare upon the gatherers, they practically leaped to perform their duty. There was an open, gilded chest before his chair, and into this, they emptied their baskets. Those careless enough to let a talisman fall free earned themselves a kick.
       While waiting for her turn, Ling felt a sudden draft upon her neck. Her questing fingers brushed against the paper bird trying to burrow into her hair. "Go back," she hissed.
       The bird did the opposite by flying in front of her. She snatched at it and missed. It darted left, then right, goading her. By now, some of her fellows had noticed and were muttering to each other. The bird flew higher, around her head, seemingly enjoying itself.
       Sima Zhan leaped to his feet, eyes round as tangerines. "What's that?"
       She quailed, feeling every gaze on her. "I don't know. I found it."
       "Obviously, stupid girl. What are you waiting for? Catch it!" Sima Zhan shoved the gatherers out of his way as he descended from the dais, drawing a silver needle from his robes. Seeing that, Ling yelled a warning. The bird executed a helical roll, causing Sima Zhan's flicked needle to miss and strike one of the hall's columns instead. Before he could prepare another, it flew out of an open window.
       He whirled on Ling. "Idiot," he breathed. "What did you do that for?"
       "You were going to--" She squawked when he grabbed her shoulders. "Let go; you're hurting me!"
       "That's the idea. You were planning to steal it," he said. "You, boy! Fetch my stick."
       Ling ceased struggling and turned to whimpering as one of the gatherers went for the bamboo rod leaning against his chair. Her pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears; there was no changing Sima Zhan's mind once he'd decided on the stick.

       That night, the other gatherers left Ling alone after her beating. For that, she was secretly grateful. She sat in the darkest corner of their sleeping quarters with pain wracking her bony frame, her dinner of two steamed buns saved by Zhou lying untouched by her curled-up toes. The snores of her thirty twitching comrades blanketed the occasional sob that slipped from her split lips.
       Like many times before, she thought about sneaking out of the village and just running away. That notion lasted only as long as any escape attempt realistically would. Even if she could evade the guards, where would she go? Her parents had sold her to Sima Zhan to settle Father's gambling debts. Her fingers tightened on her skirt at the memory. No, they were not her kin, and she would never look for them. That meant going to strangers, but in wartime, even the kindest people would be hard-pressed to welcome her.
       Hearing the sound of murmuring paper, she wiped tears from her face and raised her head. Moonlight dripped silver from holes in the ceiling, and through one of these swooped the talisman bird. She tensed, anticipating mischief, but it merely circled overhead until she offered it a palm.
       "Why did you come back?" she whispered. The bird that wasn't a bird didn't answer, except to preen its wings. She picked up one of the buns. Perhaps it was hungry?
       "Will you stay with me?" she said. The bird ignored the bun but looked at her expectantly, which she took to mean yes. She smiled, petting his head with a finger. "You need a name. How about Zhi?"

       Some days, the battlefield reminded Ling--against her volition--of home.
       The bodies made her think of Mother on the floor, rubbing a cheek reddened by Father's palm. The silence--grave as that at mealtimes. The dead paid her no more attention than her parents had. They'd scrimped every hope and dream they could for her younger brother, who they believed was destined to excel in imperial examinations for a role in government, never mind whose government, and uplift the family name. In less-bad times, they tolerated Ling for her labor on their farm. Other times, she was an obstacle, a drain on the precious little they could give him.
       Ling didn't remember their names. She supposed they didn't remember her existence at all.
       She pushed them out of her mind and returned to the task at hand of taking a stubborn talisman off a jiangshi. Growling, she planted a foot on its chest and tugged for what felt like the umpteenth time, only for her chopsticks to rip the paper apart. She hissed and scooted away from the fragment that fell between her ankles.
       Zhi, who'd been flitting around her, landed next to it. At first, she'd been worried that he'd be spotted while flying, but what was one paper bird when wind constantly scattered detritus over the battlefield--flag fragments, loose talismans, and scarves? Her eyes widened when Zhi stepped on the talisman and started savaging it, then swallowing the pieces. So that's what he ate! She took a whole talisman from her basket and placed it beside Zhi. Right away, he abandoned the other piece and attacked the new one with gusto.
       "Finish your meals," she scolded. Zhi looked up, opening and closing his beak mockingly.
       "Girl!" Taowu's shout made her jump. "What are you doing? We're leaving!"
       "Let's go," she said. She didn't miss his wistful look at the partially devoured talisman when she picked him up and tucked him inside her dress.

       "Here, I saved you this." Ling was squatting in a corner again that night, after everyone else had gone to bed. She'd whistled, and Zhi had shown up. Now he eyed the talisman on the floor with something like uncertainty. "Not hungry?"
       He nipped the corner of the talisman and offered it back to her. Ling laughed softly. "It's for you."
       You sure? Zhi's tilted head seemed to say.
       "Positive. Don't worry, Sima Zhan doesn't know."
       "Doesn't know what?"
       At the sound of Zhou's sleepy voice, Ling froze. He was crawling toward her from his cot, rubbing his eyes. Fly away, Zhi! she thought, glancing back and forth between bird and boy. Zhou's eyes bulged, and she knew hiding Zhi was no longer an option.
       "Wha--oof!"
       She tackled him to the floor and clamped her hands over his mouth. He began to struggle and, being bigger than her, tossed her off quite easily. She landed on Tang's rump, causing the lanky girl to spring from her cot.
       "Zhou, be quiet!" Ling whispered, swiping blindly behind her in an attempt to gag Tang as well. Tang snarled and elbowed her.
       "What are you doing?" she said. "Get back to sleep or I'll--"
       "What is that?" Zhou said, a look of wonder on his face.
       Zhi had rolled the talisman into a cylinder and was trying to swallow it whole. At Zhou's words, he slowly turned to look at the trio, two-thirds of his meal still jutting from his mouth. Ling had to suppress a sudden burst of giggles.
        Tang shoved Ling aside to get a better look, saying, "Is that a bird eating a talisman?"
       "He's my friend, Zhi," Ling said.
       Zhou's fear seemed to have evaporated. He crept closer for a look. "Whoa, he's made of a talisman. That's dangerous!"
       "He's not! I've had him for days, and I'm fine."
       "You don't know for sure!" Tang wore a horrified expression. "Sima Zhan said a man once exploded six days after touching a talisman!"
       "Bah, what does he know? He's just a charlatan," Ling said.
       Zhou tapped the floor and made a hoarse chirping sound. Zhi flapped his wings, causing Zhou to lean back. Tang still had a hysterical note when she said, "Then he's like a snake that eats other snakes to gain venom!"
       Ling sputtered. "Why are you like this? Go back to sleep before you wake any of the others."
       Zhou shrugged as he shuffled back to his cot. "Still think you should get rid of him. If Sima Zhan finds out, you'll be in trouble."
       "Don't tell him." Ling clasped her hands together. "Please?"
       Tang and Zhou traded a look. "Sure," Tang said. "So long as it doesn't land us in the broth pot with you."
       "Don't worry; I'll take care of him. Nobody else needs to know," Ling said. Turning to Zhi, she said, "You have to keep a low profile from now on, all right?" He nuzzled against her finger. "It's the only way I can keep you safe."

       "Can we see him?"
       Ling looked up from the half-owl, half-man corpse she'd been surveying, at the eager faces of a dozen gatherers surrounding her. Her belly sank, but she schooled her expression into one of neutrality. "See what?"
       "The bird," a scar-faced boy named Huang said.
       Curses! "Who told you?"
       "Zhou," Luo, Huang's sweetheart, said.
       Ling snarled. "I'm going to stick these chopsticks up his--"
       "We won't say anything to the guards," Huang said hastily.
       She gave the request another thought. A quick peek wouldn't hurt. Besides, there was something satisfying about showing Zhi off. None of the others had been befriended by a talisman bird, had they? All her life, she'd been the invisible one, the friendless one, the loveless one. Now she had something special no one else, not even Sima Zhan, possessed.
       "Keep watch," she told them. Then she whistled, sharp and short.
       Like a comet, Zhi dipped out of the sky and landed on her head. The gatherers jumped back, faces filled with awe. Zhi knew how to milk the moment for all it was worth, too; he started strutting around on her scalp, wings fully extended and beating languidly.
       "Can we touch him?" Huang said.
       She shot him a lofty look. "Zhi touches you, not the other way around."
       "Wow," one of the girls said. "Ling, you're so lucky."
       "How do we befriend him?" Huang said. "Is there anything we can do?"
       "Actually, yes," Ling said, smiling to herself. "Zhi eats talismans. If each of you could steal just one piece a day..."

       By the end of summer, all the gatherers were in on it. And though their band had relocated three times in search of new pastures to pillage, neither the looters nor Sima Zhan were the wiser about Zhi's existence, though the sorcerer raged frequently at the ever-dwindling loot brought back--missing talismans squirreled away by the gatherers. They were spared punishment only because he blamed Taowu's men for their cowardice in avoiding major battles for skirmishes' aftermaths. On several occasions, Ling caught guards muttering about deserting Sima Zhan for other ventures like pure banditry, but she knew they'd never leave this relatively comfortable life behind.
       Fed with talismans aplenty, Zhi had grown. Now larger than a common dove, he could no longer be carried on her person without the risk of detection. Worse, he'd developed a habit of dive-bombing guards who mistreated any of the gatherers. Luckily, the guards assumed he was either an irate crow or a battlefield spirit, and had taken to wearing circular amulets woven from red string. The gatherers found this highly amusing, though, and even Ling's scoldings to Zhi were half-hearted.
       All good times, however, had to end.
       On a blustery autumn day, Ling was resting on a boulder surrounded by imp corpses when a man screamed. She immediately looked for Zhi and found the bird pecking at the decapitated head of a terracotta shield-bearer. Something else then. "Hide," she said worriedly.
       After the bird had taken flight, she joined the guards and gatherers, including Zhou, in rushing to the source of the commotion. The men had formed a ring up ahead, and they were yelling obscenities and waving spears at something that was roaring back at them. That sound turned Ling's blood to ice. "What's going on?" she said. Getting no replies, she bent to look through the guards' legs.
       One guard was lying inside the ring, bleeding from numerous gashes all over his body. Straddling him was a huge bear with two heads, a talisman affixed to each. One head and one half of its body were white while the other was black, though red soaked its fur, claws, and maw. It roared again, shattering spears with a single swipe.
       "Steady!" Taowu commanded.
       "What do we do?" one of the guards yelled. "I's got Wenxi and we aren't even scratching its hide!"
       "Shut up! You two, get ready to save him!" Taowu turned around. His gaze landed on Zhou. "Boy, here!"
       Zhou hurried over dutifully, gazing slack-jawed at the beast. Ling's instincts fired off a warning, prompting her to cry, "Don't!"
       Before Zhou could react, Taowu seized and hurled him at the bear. It reacted instantly by smacking Zhou to the ground with a paw and clamping one set of jaws around his head. Zhou's scream was joined by Ling's and the gatherers'. While the creature was occupied, two guards grabbed Wenxi and lugged him after their fleeing companions, who were chivvying the gatherers from the scene.
       "You killed him!" Ling charged forward--to do what, she didn't know--only to meet Taowu's outstretched arm.
       "Are you stupid? Let the bear have him," he snarled, pushing her back. The bear was shaking Zhou; his bones were cracking audibly from the sheer force.
       She threw a punch, which he blocked with his forearm. His retaliatory slap spun her around and left ringing in her ears. He spat and walked away. "Leave with us or stay and die. Up to you." As if it'd heard, the bear turned its golden eyes upon her; saliva dangled from its unoccupied jaw in ropy tendrils.
        Right as it was about to pounce, Zhi barreled into the side of its face. The bear gave a great snort and slapped at Zhi, who, despite the threat of being flattened, kept a relentless assault on the beast's eyes until the bear retreated with Zhou still in its jaws.
        Ling screamed his name as the bear carried him over a hill and out of sight.

       The gatherers assembled in the sleeping quarters early that night. Already, the quartermaster had taken Zhou's cot, clothes, and scant possessions: a bamboo flute and the broken jade amulet he remembered his family by. Tang had pilfered a half-melted red candle from the village's temple, which she placed together with two small plums in the space he'd once occupied. Those who knew the words chanted death scriptures; the rest stared silently at the fitful little flame.
       Raucous laughter from outside sliced through the solemn atmosphere. Ling glared out the window at the moonlit village square, where the guards were singing bawdy songs and drinking cheap wine. They weren't celebrating; Wenxi was cold and dead by the time they'd returned. This was their custom, their way of remembering the dead.
       What about her own memories of Zhou? Ling remembered knuckling him on the head for revealing Zhi's existence--"I didn't swear secrecy," he'd protested. The nights he'd played his flute while Zhi put on an aerial acrobatic display. That time she'd saved him from a pitfall trap.
       Above all, she remembered what Taowu had done. She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails drew blood, and whispered, "No more."
       The room fell quiet. She met the gatherers' eyes. "We must run."
       "Run?" Huang said, amidst an outbreak of muttering. "Now?"
       Ling shook her head. "Next time we go out, we're going to run. Hard as we can. Don't care where. Anywhere's better than here."
       "I've heard that Shu treats refugees kindly," Tang said.
       "Then we try Shu. But enough is enough. We're not going to let them kill any more of us."
       "They'll catch us," Luo said. "They're stronger, faster."
       "I disagree. They're lazy. Many are overweight," Tang said, to murmurs of assent.
       "Zhi will distract them." Ling glanced at Zhi, perched on her shoulder. He seemed to be listening attentively. "When I give the signal, you run."
       Another peal of laughter came from the guards. They were chanting Wenxi's name. That had a visible effect on the gatherers--melting and reforging the chalky doubt on their faces into iron.
       Despite her determination to see it through, Ling's own fears tripled. She'd lived life looking after herself. That hadn't always worked out well, but she'd survived, which was the most important thing. Now, she'd given the gatherers a taste of hope, and it was too late to turn back. Was she ready for this? Or was she letting her emotions control her?
       Ling didn't sleep that night, but nightmares came all the same.

       Rain curtained the countryside the next day, carried by winds from the mountains. Teeth chattering, the gatherers and guards waited outside the village for Taowu to join their excursion. Ling peered at the sky, trying to spot Zhi against a grey expanse. She wasn't concerned about his state; despite being made of paper, water could find no purchase on his body. Rather, her nerves were about his part in the plan and his understanding of his role.
       Loud voices splintered her thoughts. Waddling over muddy puddles to join them was Sima Zhan, wearing a thick coat and sturdy boots and arguing with a scowling Taowu. A servant scuttled along on his left, holding a huge umbrella over his head.
       "Get moving!" Sima Zhan said.
       He was coming along today, of all days? Ling thought, feeling as if she'd just ingested lead. The other gatherers were shooting her questioning looks: are we still going with the plan?
       The guards seemed just as puzzled by his presence. After they'd set off, one tapped Taowu's shoulder and whispered, "Why is he here?"
       "Thinks we've been slacking, the old toad," Taowu said. "Been on my ass for weeks about it. What am I supposed to do? If he wants more, he should be whipping the gatherers." He turned just enough to smirk at Ling. "Maybe make an example of one."
       She broke eye contact before she could launch herself at his stupid, smug face. Whatever happened today, she would take the others far from his reach. Thunder rumbled in the sky as if to affirm her decision. Still no sign of Zhi, she thought. Fear crept into her heart. What if Zhi had been blown away, lost to her forever? Ling wanted to whistle for him, but that would invite suspicion, with punishment not far behind. She reminded herself to be patient, to trust.
        By the time they arrived at the battlefield, the downpour had grown to a full storm, replete with howling gales and forking lightning. The gatherers lingered at the edge, staring at the silhouettes of corpses piled high and thickets of spear shafts like the spines of some grotesque creature. Nearby, a pack of stray dogs snarled and snapped as they tore into the carcass of a horse. Some of the guards were eyeing them with interest; they hadn't had dog meat in a while.
       "Start collecting!" Sima Zhan snapped. "Nobody goes home without a full basket!"
       The gatherers trudged out to meet the dead. Cold, fat raindrops lashed Ling's eyes, forcing her to squint. Storms had a way of populating a battlefield with ghosts, creating wisps of fog that looked a little solid, too purposeful, from up close. Her friends and the guards drifted in and out of view while the wind gobbled mouthfuls of their voices and filled the gaps with its own mournful song. Ling put them out of her mind and got to work. Spying a bearded tiger-creature, she went to search for its talisman.
       From the corner of her eye, she caught the humanoid form creeping up on her. She spun, flailing with her chopsticks, barely dodging its outstretched arms. The jiangshi emitted a blood-curdling howl, which swelled into a chorus from its brethren. The panicked shouts of her band reached her ears, particularly Sima Zhan's high-pitched, "Protect me, fools!"
       Ling tried to run, but the jiangshi clamped a hand around her left arm. She stabbed her chopsticks into its fingers, which did nothing except to enrage it further. With frightening strength, it threw her onto a dead soldier. Her ribs met steel plating, and blackness claimed her for a split second, followed by pain. Gasping, rainwater pooling on her tongue, she could only watch as the jiangshi loomed over her. She wanted to scream her way into death, but terror robbed her of breath.
       Something white flew into the jiangshi's head. The creature grabbed at Zhi, but he was faster, detaching the talisman whole from the jiangshi's head and surging skyward. The jiangshi teetered for a heartbeat before toppling, an inert corpse again.
       "Zhi!" she called, her breathing labored. Pain radiated through her body, but she forced herself to stand. The jiangshi wasn't alone. She had to help her friends.
       The guards, clustered around Sima Zhan, were using spears to keep the creatures at bay. The gatherers were left to fend for themselves, relying on agility to keep out of the monsters' hands, though they were tiring. Even as Ling watched, a jiangshi caught a fistful of Tang's hair and yanked the thrashing and screaming girl close. Then it pressed a hand on her belly and began to push its claws in.
       Ling drove the broken sword she'd picked up point-first into the jiangshi's mouth. The attack was too feeble to do any real damage but made it release Tang all the same. Ling pulled her friend away and gave her a shove. "Now's the time !" she cried, her voice booming. "Everyone, run !"
       While the jiangshi was trying to tug the sword free, she fled. The sight of the gatherers running as a group, many pointing at the sky, filled her with relief. Zhi must be leading them. One thing was going right, at least--
        "They're deserting!" Sima Zhan shouted. "Round them up!"
       The pole of a spear swept her feet out from under her. Ling fell but rolled over kicking, landing at least one blow on Taowu's shin. He growled and stomped on her chest. Behind him, three guards were dispatching the jiangshi that had been chasing her.
        "Going somewhere?" Taowu bent and wrapped his fingers around her throat. Ling punched and scratched, but his grip was as unyielding as a mountain. He leveled his spear at her face. "Don't make me use this."
       Zhi appeared between them, splattering Ling's face with raindrops from his furiously beating wings. Taowu gave a strangled cry, releasing Ling and trying in vain to tear off the jiangshi's talisman that Zhi had stuck to his forehead. She backpedaled in horror as purple-black veins radiated across his cheeks and down his neck while rain washed clumps of hair right off his scalp. He made a gurgling sound, staggering toward her, eyes bulging and turning blood-red. His blackened fingers were inches from her face when they simply melted like wet clay. A smell like that of rotten fish filled her nostrils as the rest of him turned into brown slurry.
       Ling's stomach turned upside down, while an unperturbed Zhi did a victorious pirouette. "Thank you," she wanted to say, but something struck the bird and brought him low. She turned to see a livid Sima Zhan behind her.
       "So. You've been hiding that from me all along," he said.
       Zhi was lying on his back, flapping feebly with mud-coated wings. Pinned to his chest by a tiny needle was a tiny, purple talisman. White, odorless smoke rose from it, infant embers peeling his paper flesh off. Ling crawled over on her knees, too stunned to speak. She lifted a finger to touch him, but the smoke singed her skin.
       "Look at you." Sima Zhan crouched beside her. He was straightening another talisman between his fingers--yellow, with black script, meant for humans. "Weren't you like this when your parents left you in my care? Kneeling in the snow, crying for them. They never even looked back."
       Until she'd met Zhi, Ling hadn't realized just how animated paper could be; that paper could dance and whisper and protect and love. Paper could do all the things that the most important people in her life should have but hadn't done. Fire was licking at Zhi's wingtips. His tasseled tail was little more than ash now. He fell still, now smaller than when she'd first met him.
       "You stole from me, then killed my commander and scattered my gatherers," Sima Zhan said softly. "You're too much trouble to keep around. Here."
       He pressed the talisman on her palm. Agony, worse than being stabbed by a thousand knives, shot up her arm, bending her double and robbing her throat of a scream. She tried to remove it, but it held fast, even as her veins turned to coal beneath her skin.
       This was it. She was going to die. To her surprise, that realization filled her with peace. This world hadn't been kind to her anyway. Perhaps she would see Zhi again in the next.
       She thought she was hallucinating when Zhi rose into the air, blazing like a bonfire, flame-feathers adorning his wings, a golden-red halo around his head. He plucked the talisman from her flesh, and clarity burst back into Ling's world. She drank in a deep breath, her body tingling as if life itself was cleansing the talisman's poison and washing the pain away.
       Sima Zhan retreated, waving his hands and gibbering in terror. Like an incandescent arrow, Zhi zipped into his gaping mouth. He clutched his throat, making a gagging sound and stumbling about. Smoke began pouring out of every orifice on his head.
       Ling pushed hair out of her eyes. "Zhi?"
       The sorcerer's head burst into flame. White fires arced across his robes like lightning, igniting them. Shrieking, he twisted and leaped and, in futility, slapped flames that not even the storm could quell. The remaining guards took one look at him and fled, shouting about devils.
       Transfixed as she was by the spectacle, Ling understood that this was Zhi's last act for her. He'd turned Sima Zhan's own arts upon him, all for the sake of protecting her. "Farewell," she said, bowing her head. Gathering her aches and pains and broken heart, she went after her friends, leaving in her wake the pyre for paper wings.