The Qilin Sage stared at the white feather he held in his hand, rolling it between his fingers. Next to him, the lacquered wooden box lay open, its contents empty.

“Oh, Bixian,” he sighed. “What have you done?”

It pained him to walk into the archives on a mild spring day and discover treachery. It had been a whim, seeing the trees and flowers bloom in colors of delicate pink and white, which stirred in him the memory of a poem composed by a former disciple. He had entered the archives in a light mood, wishing to fill the day with poetry and reminisce. Instead, his heart dropped the moment he opened the door and sensed the Knife of Sublimation missing.

There was no doubt about it, he had to report this to Heaven. Though without Bixian, he would have to use his own magic to fly up there. Why, he cursed, did the traitor have to be his means of transport? Of course he noticed the slight changes in her over the years, the long looks to the horizon and the time spent elsewhere, but he had trusted Bixian to resolve it herself. She had served him well for over four hundred years—had been the one to rescue him from his monotonous, mortal life.

Four centuries of camaraderie ruined by a magic knife. He knew about the girl, the last disciple of Tianping Temple, but had trusted Bixian’s judgment in taking her away. Not everyone was suited to cultivating divinity.

The Qilin Sage did not let himself doubt. The Knife of Sublimation was a powerful artifact, and it was currently in the possession of a rogue party. In the wrong hands, it could unleash horrors; he shuddered at the thought of humans being stripped of their skin, made into disguises for unscrupulous demons. A relic entrusted to him by Heaven itself, given to him by the Evening Star, should not be lost.

He had to be responsible for the foolishness of his crane.

Simply knowing that the Knife of Sublimation was at her side made Bixian fly faster. She coasted low near the canopy, her flight hindered by the missing feather on her left wing. Though days had passed since Little Ruoruo’s operation, she still could not rid herself of the memories made behind Liuying’s closed doors. The screaming and crying; the tangle of limbs and flowing golden ichor, all weighed on her like the heaviest stone.

The landscape unfurled beneath her, forest giving way to patches of farmland, the blooming crops giving the land color like a patchwork quilt. Pollen filled the air as she flew by, taking note of how some farmhands looked up to note her passing. A good omen, she hoped, though cranes were not often considered creatures of spring.

The tilled earth eventually gave way to rice paddies, not yet seeded. Wild weeds grew at the edges of the fields, attempting to reclaim the marsh. Bixian followed the flow of irrigation until they emptied into natural streams. Soon traces of humanity faded once again into untamed wilderness.

The noonday sun was hot on her back, the sky blue and the wind warm. The calm beauty of spring, the way she sailed along the horizon between heaven and earth, helped ease the memories of blood and crying from her mind.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and Bixian glanced up at the sky. Strange, there were no signs of a storm gathering. Another roar of thunder, this time closer, and she felt a sense of impending doom. Electricity crackled along her feathers, and the smell of ozone permeated the air.

She looked up as the first ribbon cut through the sky like a lightning bolt and wrapped itself around her left wing. More strands descended, and soon she was caught within the folds of red fabric, forced to fall with her wings trapped at her side. She could feel the divine energy from her bindings, could see the gold embroidery shimmering in and out of view.

This was the Armillary Sash of the Third Lotus Prince, Nezha, who as a child caused an uproar in the Eastern Sea and slayed the Dragon King’s beloved third son.

As she struggled on the ground, the child-god flew into view atop his flaming wheels. Single-headed and two-armed at this moment, he looked down on her with boredom, like he was completing a chore. He didn’t even bother to threaten her with his spear.

Another figure landed behind him, and the Qilin Sage stepped into view.

“Is this the one you’re looking for?” Nezha asked, idly fiddling with the ring around his neck.

The Qilin Sage gave her a glance of disappointment and betrayal—the most emotion he had shown her in over one hundred years—and nodded. “My treacherous crane,” he sighed. “What have you done?”

Bixian struggled to right herself, her bindings too tight for her to take her human form. “I have done nothing wrong,” she said defiantly. “You have always allowed me freedom when I am not needed.”

“And you usually do not fly far, not until recently. Tell me,” the Qilin Sage demanded, “where is the Knife of Sublimation?”

“Stored with your other treasures, I believe. Unless, master, you have lent it to one of your disciples?”

The Qilin Sage strode forward and knelt down at Bixian’s level. He took her neck in his hand and forced her to look up at him. His face was so close to hers that she could strike at his eye if she weren’t bound.

Reaching forward, he plunged his hand inside her chest, parting through cloth, hair, and viscera. Patiently he searched the human body hidden within the crane, while Bixian shifted against her bonds, trying to hide the knife deeper and deeper inside her chest. It was no use. Eventually the Qilin Sage’s hand brushed against the handle of the knife, and with a firm grip he pulled it from her chest.

He contemplated the golden knife in his hand. “Lying will not help your case, Bixian.”

Bixian stared at him for a moment, then closed her beak. If he could see through her lies, then she simply would not speak.

The Qilin Sage sighed and placed the hand not holding the knife on her forehead, his thumb right above her red crest. His touch was cold, a chill that pierced her skull and entered the deep recesses of her mind. Bixian fought against the urge to speak, trying to close her mind to the Qilin Sage’s prying eye. She focused her mind on music, hoped to overwhelm the sage with endless repetitive melodies that told him nothing of Clear Water Mountain, nothing of the Qiao.

“What is Clear Water Mountain?” The Qilin Sage murmured.

The world around Bixian began to shatter. Her body acted on reflex, her beak lunging forth to catch her master on the cheek. Nezha yanked on the ribbon, and her neck snapped back. Blood dripped from her beak into her mouth, tasting of warm iron.

The Qilin Sage raised a hand to his cheek in shock, staring at the red that stained his fingers as if he was surprised that he still had blood running through his veins. Surprised that someone like him could be struck.

“Who are you protecting?” hissed the Qilin Sage. “What other master do you serve?”

She raised her head defiantly. “None.”

The ribbon around her throat tightened, and Bixian glanced to her side at the god who held her captive. Nezha’s presence loomed over them both, older and more powerful than the two of them combined. A mere child who dared to challenge Ao Guang, the Eastern Dragon King, and come out victorious. Yet still a child, even after a thousand years. And now, standing before them as a jailer and arbiter, he was a child once more: bored, nervous, and glassy-eyed as two adults argued before him.

Qiping was already older than him, Bixian realized with a start. No longer a child but an adolescent. Still prone to moods and fits of anger, but maturing day by day into a kind, sensible young woman.

She may not be able to see Qiping grow up anymore, Bixian realized with a jolt. Desperately, she tried to remember what her last words were to her daughter; what they were to Liuying before she left, and all the other wild and beautiful people of the Qiao.

What a shame and a pity, to have her worst fears realized, and not care one bit about her own fate. Instead she hung her head in silence as they traveled up towards heaven, mourning the end of her strange parenthood, and moments she would miss with her daughter.

The Jade Emperor stroked his beard and considered the case before him:

A sage of barely any note, marginally higher in rank than a minor god, was complaining of the infidelity of his crane. A wholly trivial matter he normally would not deign to oversee, if the crane were not bound by Nezha himself. And even then, the whims of a child god were often tempestuous, and it would not shock the emperor if the child decided to concern himself with a trifling case from the lesser realms.

He raised his cerulean cup up merely an inch, and two phoenixes swooped down from the rafters to fill it with sweet nectar. Taking a slow sip, careful to obscure his mouth with his sleeve, he waited for the honeyed aftertaste to disappear from his tongue before he spoke.

“I don’t see where there remains a problem,” he said. “You have captured your renegade bird; do you need assistance punishing her as well?”

The Qilin Sage deepend his bow. “My lord, there must be some grave reason why my crane will not talk. I peered into her mind and found a place she was trying to hide from me. A place called Clear Water Mountain, where a village of some sort rests.”

“And is that all?”

“There is also the case of the Knife of Sublimation,” the Qilin Sage continued, holding up said artifact in his hands. “I detected traces of demonic blood on the blade.”

“It is of little consequence that your crane has been cavorting with demons.” The Jade Emperor gave a tilt of his head, a gesture as damning as rolling his eyes. “As long as they stay in their mountains and lakes, there is no reason for us to intercede.”

“Your Majesty,” implored the Qilin Sage, almost snapping in half from his obeisance. “If it were simply a matter of discipline, I would not have brought her here. If she had stolen the knife for the sake of immortality, for any discernible selfish reason, then I would simply punish her as I saw fit and not disturb these halls with such maudlin disputes.”

“And why do you suspect her of some ulterior motive?”

The Qilin Sage glanced at Bixian, transformed back into her human form and bound with steel shackles. She caught his gaze and held it; the defiance that once burned in her eyes now clouded over to resignation.

“Years ago, I received a new disciple: the last survivor of a great calamity. She was not fit for cultivation, and after a year she disappeared. I suspected Bixian—my crane—had taken her away to someplace. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed the child was merely taken away to some mortal village. I worry now that she may have been placed in the care of demons.”

“Crane,” the Jade Emperor commanded. Bixian flinched as her name was called. “Tell me, where have you taken the child?”

Bixian squared her shoulders and looked up at the pinnacle of divinity. “The child is safe, Your Majesty. She was unwanted under my master’s care. I took her somewhere where she could thrive.”

The Jade Emperor sighed and rubbed his temple. “But where is the girl?” he repeated.

“You see how she talks in circles,” the Qilin Sage insisted. “There is something she is hiding.”

“If I may,” interjected an old man to the Jade Emperor’s right. He was small and withered, clad in shimmering robes of silver and scarlet. The Evening Star looked up towards the Jade Emperor for permission to speak. With a wave of his hand, it was granted.

“Perhaps a few days’ imprisonment will loosen the prisoner’s tongue. Anger and pride are powerful motivators, but they are hardly self-sustaining. Given time, she may talk.”

The lord of the heavenly skies considered this suggestion. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult to lock her up somewhere.” He looked over to the left, where Nezha’s father, the Heavenly General Li Jing, stood with his pagoda in his hand. “See to it that she is secured.”

The general bowed, and the gods and immortals in attendance parted to exact the Jade Emperor’s will.

where the crane flies