Catching Nian
We All Die Eventually

Breaking into a house should feel more momentous, Geriel thought. She should be nervous. Her palms should be sweating, her pulse stuttering. Instead, the huntress only felt a deep sense of focus, like the second before she loosed an arrow. In a way, breaking into a house was like hunting. You had to know where the target was looking, then make sure to never be in their line of sight.

Getting in wasn’t the hard part. It was snowing in earnest now, and many of the workers at the Li household were indoors, tending to meals or fires. The hardest part, Geriel knew, would be replaceing Xiaodan in a house full of people.

She made for the servants’ entrance by the stables. It was quiet here, save for the horses’ snorting; the stablemaster was nowhere to be seen. Geriel lingered for a moment, comforted by the animals’ presence. This was how you could tell she was born of the Steppes: Geriel liked horses more than people.

But as soon as she slipped into the shelter of the stables, she realised she was not alone.

“Who’s there?”

The other person did not speak, but Geriel heard the minute crunch, the sound of one pressing deeper into a corner, afraid to be seen. She followed the noise.

In one of the horse stalls crouched a boy. He sat on the hay, wrapped in a dusty hanfu. His face was buried into the crook of his elbow, as if what he couldn’t see could not see him either. He kept his face hidden even when Geriel came and stood beside him.

“Xiaodan,” she said, taking a guess.

“Don’t hurt me, please!” said the boy. “I didn’t do it, I swear! I swear! I didn’t!”

“Didn’t do what?”

“It was the Nian. I saw it! The Nian took Ming—”

“Xiaodan.” Geriel knelt beside him and peeled his arm away, so that she could look into his eyes. He winced.

“Why are you so sure it was the Nian?”

“Because… because it didn’t look like them.” He pointed at the horses. “Baba said it was just a horse, and that a rider had probably snatched Ming. But I know what I saw. It had a horn. Big, sharp teeth, and fur around its head. Like a lion.”

“Can I check your wounds?”

Shaking, Xiaodan nodded and let her inspect his head. There was a bump on his scalp—a bruise. No tear wounds. So Geriel was right: it was a blunt weapon that knocked Xiaodan on the head. Man-made, not an animal’s paw. The attacker had chosen their weapon carefully. Too sharp or heavy, and it would’ve killed the boy. Which means…

“Xiaodan,” said Geriel, “I came only to talk to you. But when you first saw me, why did you think I wanted to hurt you?”

The boy’s mouth fell open. “I… I didn’t…”

“If there’s something you’re hiding, Xiaodan, tell me now. I need to know so I can replace Ming.”

Slowly, he pulled a small, metallic object from his pocket. A fazan, Geriel realised—hairpins that were fashionable among women in the Empire. This one had purple flowers on it.

“This belonged to… to Ming’s sister.”

“And?”

“I found it next to me. When I woke up. That’s why I was scared. Because I saw you working with her.”

Geriel let his words sink in, the way his voice dropped when he said her. “Does anyone else know about this fazan?”

Xiaodan shook his head jerkily. “No. I hid it before Tang shi fu found me. The toymaker,” he added, for Geriel’s benefit.

“And how are you so sure this is Rui Ning’s hairpin?”

“I’ve seen her wear it before. I—” He blushed. “I like to look at her.”

Geriel felt her insides turn cold. Was Rui Ning there when her brother was caught? Did she stand by and let this happen?

Or worse, was she the reason why he was missing?

“Jie jie, you cannot trust her,” Xiaodan said.

“But Ming is her brother,” said Geriel. The words almost sounded like a plea. Not Rui Ning. It cannot be Rui Ning.

“You don’t know him, jie jie, but I do. His sister never liked him. Their mother died giving birth to Ming, you see, and Rui Ning jie blames him for it. When he was five, she scalded his hand with hot water. One time, she even caught a scorpion and put it in his bed.”

Geriel didn’t want to make sense of Xiaodan’s words. Rui Ning is Ming’s sister, she told herself. She loves him. She is desperate to replace him. Then Geriel thought of Rui Ning’s indifference, how she’d reacted to the idea of her brother being dead. “We all die eventually,” she’d said.

Could people betray their loved ones like that and not feel a hint of guilt? Could humans be so cruel? But Geriel already knew the answer. She’d seen it in her father’s scowl, his lips curled in distaste. Her mother’s sobs, shaking her body. You are not our daughter, they had said. Don’t ever come home again.

Geriel stood. “Can I have this?”

Xiaodan gave her the hairpin. The metal felt cool against her skin. Geriel would examine the pin later, when she was alone. Rui Ning was an inventor’s daughter; Geriel didn’t put it past her to plant secret contraptions in a hairpin.

A door swung open on its hinges. Someone was coming.

“That way,” Xiaodan whispered urgently, gesturing at a small exit on the other side of the stables. Geriel didn’t even thank him before she left, her footsteps silent, the purple hairpin a weight in her pocket.