Xingxi flew until she could not fly any longer. When her wings gave out, she let herself fall: tumbling through the canopy branches and landing on the ground with a thud. She forced herself up to her feet, and though her legs were shaking she began to run, clutching the sword and sheath close to her chest.

The mild autumn night threatened to steal the air from her lungs. Grief and anger swirled in her head. All she was aware of was her body running through the forest, holding onto the last thing she saw of Uncle Luming and Auntie Tangyou as they escaped the heavenly pagoda.

Footsteps rustled in the underbrush, and Xingxi stopped in her tracks, surveying her surroundings. The animal part of her switched onto high alert; she could sense enemies hiding in the shadows.

Her suspicions were soon confirmed to be true as a voice sounded from the trees:

“We have you surrounded, girl. Give up the sword.”

Xingxi grit her teeth and clutched the hilt tightly. She tried to pry the blade from its scabbard but it would not budge.

“What are you going to do, bludgeon us to death?”

Her eagle eyes caught movement to her left and, blindly, she swung the sword in that direction. There was a grunt, and the body of a minor god fell at her feet. His face was paralyzed in an expression of shock, his body rigid as if still in the moment of impact. He did not breathe.

She prodded the body with her foot, and the body began to dissolve into a mass of ferns. Shocked, she looked at the sword in her hand.

The hilt emanated an uncommon warmth, and in her head she could hear two voices speak at the same time:

“My anger will obliterate a soul entirely, break its bonds and rend it to nothing.” It sounded like Tangyou speaking from far away.

“I cannot contain all of her rage. A blunt blow from the blade in its scabbard will send a soul to its next reincarnation.” Ao Luming’s voice bubbled as if it were underwater.

Xingxi blinked and realized that she had been the one speaking. Above her, the pursuers muttered around themselves, their fear apparent.

“Anyone looking to be reborn?” She called out, raising the sword. The branches above her rustled. She was gone before she could get an answer.

She continued running, unsure of whether it was safe to call for help. Her ears were still ringing from the sound of Heaven’s drums and the blasts of cannonfire. Her mouth was open, but she could not be sure if she was making any sound. Her lips formed the names of uncles and aunties whom she didn’t know were alive or dead. Could they hear their names in the night air, or was it just screaming?

A large paw swiped at her back and suddenly she was engulfed in a warm darkness. Xingxi’s heart raced even faster and she braced herself to death, until she realized who it was that was holding her.

“Auntie Xiongmu,” she sobbed, burying her face into the bear demon’s fur. Slowly, the paws around her transformed into arms, and Xingxi found herself surrounded by Xiongmu’s large fur shawl. She let herself be held and rocked slowly, as if she were a small child again searching for comfort after a terrible dream.

Leaves rustled behind her, and she heard another familiar voice speak: “I can’t believe it. Xingxi’s alive.”

Xingxi turned her head and saw Jin Silang and Yuanpo emerge from the shadows. Yuanpo walked with a limp, and Jinsilang had a large gash across his face.

She was guided to a makeshift camp where a fire had been made and extinguished. A bowl of lukewarm porridge was placed in her hand, and for the first time since stealing it from Heaven’s forces, Xingxi let go of the Phoenix-Feather Sword.

“Auntie Bixian betrayed us,” she said bitterly between hungry mouthfuls. “She had a knife that she used to strip us of our demonic forms. I tried to fight her but…” A vision of her father flashed before her eyes and she choked back a sob.

“You did all that you could, little Xingxi,” Yuanpo said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “None of us are a match against Heaven.”

“Our children are alive,” Xiongmu said slowly. “We thought they burned to death along with the archives.”

“They might as well be,” Jin Silang interjected without his usual humor. “I can’t imagine Heaven smiling upon us finding them again.”

“Bixian let them go with their human parents,” Xingxi said. “I saw most of them fleeing north.”

“It would be suicide to follow them,” Yuanpo said sadly. Suddenly, the fox demon’s grip tightened around her shoulder, and her reflective eyes darted to and fro. “Someone’s here,” she whispered.

Xiongmu stood to her full height and transformed her arms into fierce bear claws. Jin Silang disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared holding a small figure by the scruff of its neck. It was the Tudigong who had warned her and her father earlier this evening, what felt like eons ago.

“One of Heaven’s lackeys,” he sneered, and with his other hand brought the tip of a paring knife to the minor deity’s throat.

“No, no, no,” Xingxi shouted. “He warned father and me about Heaven approaching. He’s not here to harm us.”

“He has the smell of the crane on him,” Xiongmu growled. “He was recently in Heaven’s presence.”

“All that was said is correct,” the Tudigong said sadly. “You may kill me if you like, noble demon, but I bring a message from Heaven.”

He was dropped to the ground with a scoff, but before either Jin Silang or Xiongmu could enact their vengeance, Yuanpo shouted, “Let him speak first.”

Tudigong stood up and meekly brushed dust off his robes. “By Heaven’s decree, let this be a warning to all, not to overstep their bounds. The Qiao is no more. Mortals will go on to live mortal lives; may demons follow in obscurity.” The earth spirit fidgeted with his long beard before adding, “I also have a message from Bixian.”

Betrayed, Xingxi smashed her bowl of porridge to the ground. She stood, and the Phoenix-Feather Sword found its way back into her hand. Still, the dragonscale Scabbard would not budge. She wanted to retaliate on Tudigong even though he was simply the messenger. Her earlier gratitude for him evaporated, leaving behind a bitter taste. He had warned her and her father of the incoming interdiction. Her father was still dead.

“I will not hear a word that monster says,” Xingxi cried. Yuanpo rushed to her on unsteady legs and held her back from striking Tudigong.

“She has an offer for the demon parents,” Tudigong continued. “If you meet her at the lakeside pagoda before dawn and offer up your pelts, you may return to your families as mortals.”

“She can’t be trusted,” Xingxi spat. “She would sell each and every one of us for a better position in heaven. We’ll refuse. Or use it as a trap to take her down. Make her pay.” Her words halted as she looked at the faces of the adults around her: downcast and tired, the same expressions she saw on mortal farmers as they toiled in the fields. Her heart broke and her will faltered. “You wouldn’t…” she faltered.

Xiongmu was the first to respond. “We have already lost, Xingxi.”

“No, the Qiao are right here! We are still the Qiao.”

“The Qiao have been defeated,” Yuanpo said. “None of us can challenge Heaven’s forces and win.”

Xingxi clutched the sword tighter to her chest. It was the last remnant of Uncle Luming and Auntie Tangyou’s love, their dream for a simpler, more peaceful life. All they wanted was to have a place where they could love in peace, free of Heaven’s interventions. All the Qiao wanted was a place to love without judgment and discrimination, where their children could grow up and define themselves as something more than simply the meeting of the mortal and demon worlds. Was it blasphemy to create a village? Did they deserve Heaven’s intercedence?

“This sword can sever a soul from the cycle of reincarnation,” she said. “Auntie Tangyou’s hatred was so strong that this sword can kill even a god. I killed a god with this sword. With it, we can avenge the Qiao.”

“Pull it out from its scabbard then,” Jin Silang goaded without malice, just exhaustion. “That sword is useless as long as it’s sheathed.”

With a flourish, Xingxi raised the sword above her head and gripped the Dragonscale Scabbard. It was an empty gesture; the sword remained stuck inside as it was when the scabbard first coalesced around the sword to contain its devastating power.

“I’ll use it as a club,” Xingxi wailed. “I’ll hit them so hard their spirits fly into the next life. And then I’ll hit them again.” She pointed the sword towards Tudigong, who yelped and disappeared into the earth.

“Child…”

“We have to do something. They took everything away from us—Bixian murdered my father! Heaven must pay for this injustice.”

Xiongmu stepped forward and placed her hands on Xingxi’s own. One of the bear demon’s hands was enough to hold both of Xingxi’s. They were rough and calloused but warm; those hands held Xingxi and her brother up as they climbed trees as children, gave them apples in the summer and candied haws in the winter. Xingxi was raised by those hands as much as she was raised by her own mother and father’s. Truly—she was raised by each and every person who stood before her now, battered and defeated.

Xingxi looked down. While Xiongmu’s hands were still much bigger than her own, they no longer engulfed hers the way they did when she was a child. How horrible, to be the last person standing tall amidst the people who raised her.

“With this sword,” Xiongmu soothed, “you may avenge the Qiao.”

Power surged through Xiongmu’s palms into Xingxi and she yelped in surprise. A dull golden aura glowed around their hands, a brief moment of warmth in the night’s cold air. It took a minute for Xingxi to realize what was happening: Xiongmu was giving her the magic the bear demon had cultivated for centuries. Soon it was over, and as Xiongmu let go of Xingxi’s hand she looked older and more weary. The largesse that she had carried with such grace suddenly became awkward, and she stumbled as she stepped back.

“I just want to be with my family.”

One by one, the surviving demon lovers of the Qiao placed their hands on Xingxi and bestowed upon her centuries of magic carefully cultivated. At the end she stood before them, brimming with more than a millennium of cultivated magic, and she had never felt so weak in her life.

Placing the sword on the grass in front of her, Xingxi bowed to the people who helped raise her. She pressed her forehead into the ground until it was wet with dew, and when she looked up, she saw that everyone else was bowing too. Bowing to her.

“Be strong, Xingxi,” Xiongmu said. “You are now the last of the Qiao.”

Xingxi’s eyes stung, filled with either tears or dew. “I will avenge you,” she promised. “For every pelt taken and every life lost, I will make Heaven pay ten times as much. I will…I will topple it all and render it nothing with this blade.”

She bowed once more, and when she looked up the surviving members of the Qiao had disappeared as they were wont to do, creatures of the mountain and forest. Gripping the sword, Xingxi too took off running in the woods, going faster and faster until her legs no longer touched the ground. Then her body contorted, her arms turning into talons and her legs into wings, and she was flying through the canopy, up out of the mountain that was her home since birth.

Something was whispered when the demons left. She couldn’t tell who it was—Xiongmu’s deep growl, Yuanpo’s lilting voice, or Jin Silang’s nasal whine. Someone had said words that utterly destroyed her soul, and as she flew higher and higher she could hear it in the howls of the wind and in the rustle of the leaves.

The mountain itself seemed to say, “Forgive us.”