The Shainuan planes in the summer were not necessarily a pleasant place – the heat at the height of the day was barely bearable for a northerner like Qiao Xiu. Despite the impatience of his guide, he’d been insistent on travelling in the early morning and at dusk, spending the midday in the shadow of a tent, working on calculations and divinations.

“We could have covered a lot more distance if we kept going,” Yueguang (at least, that was what he insisted Qiao Xiu call him after Qiao Xiu’s multiple failed attempts at wrapping his throat around the unfamiliar sounds of the man’s real name) grumbled. “Is that hat of yours just for show?”

Qiao Xiu pulled the string of the hat tighter around his chin and huffed, “If it wasn’t for it, we’d have to go at night all the time. Besides, isn’t it good for the horses to get more rest?”

Yueguang sighed and hopped effortlessly onto his chestnut mare, as beautiful as she was fast. Occasionally, when Qiao Xiu paused to observe the magical flow in the area or noticed something unusual, Yueguang rode circles around him instead of waiting. In moments like that, it was hard for Qiao Xiu to do his job instead of admiring the rider.

Qiao Xiu significantly less impressively mounted his own, significantly less impressive, horse, and tried to keep up.

“We should be close, right?”

Yueguang nodded, “If you don’t lag behind, we will be there before sunset.”

Qiao Xiu did his best not to dawdle. Yueguang wasn’t the only one tired from the tedious journey, and Qiao Xiu was anxious to confirm his suspicions.

The sky was getting red when Yueguang slowed down and then stopped. Qiao Xiu caught up to him and also stopped, noting Yueguang’s apprehension.

Yueguang lifted one hand and pointed east.

Qiao Xiu jumped off and slowly walked forward, leaving Yueguang with the horses. “Be careful,” echoed behind him, but Qiao Xiu barely paid attention.

It must have been a beautiful tree once, he thought, a highlight of the desert. Its husk still loomed above him as he approached, bare, crooked branches casting long shadows in the setting sun.

From the top, the tree was split almost to the middle of the trunk, as if struck by lightning or an enormous axe. With every step, Qiao Xiu felt a cold settle in that had nothing to do with the chill of the evening, and reluctantly, he murmured a prayer, splashing the water from his flask onto his eyes.

The world around dimmed into a monochrome, ripples of color from his own enchanted clothing the only thing breaking it. The tree still emitted a barely-there greenish-brown hue, but it was faint.

Qiao Xiu took a step forward.

Then another one.

He couldn’t quite figure out the shape at the base of the tree, and he kept coming closer until suddenly goosebumps ran across the skin of his arms. He stopped for a moment, and then the tree erupted in a cacophony of a phantasmagoric voice, all colours at once and none at all at the same time swirling into the bark and out of it.

Qiao Xiu wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He stood, frozen in place, enchanted by the ominous display, until it was over – or perhaps, the spell on his eyes had worn out. His head was throbbing, and images came to mind – of terrified, catatonic disciples, of his master’s eyes bleeding, of things that were never meant for human eyes.

“So what do you say, priest?” Qiao Xiu turned, yanked out of his thoughts, and found Yueguang holding the reins of both horses, still some distance away.

“It’s… not dead,” Qiao Xiu sighed. “But it will be soon. It’s the same thing as at our temple.”

“Well, can you do anything about it?” Leather squeaked as Yueguang squeezed the reins in his fist tighter.

Qiao Xiu chewed on his lip, looking at the sacred tree with regret. “I’m afraid not.”

“Why not?!” Yueguang’s eyes were dark, almost black even under the bright Shainuan sun. In the redness of the sunset though, they gained a slight scarlet undertone. Quite fitting his despair, Qiao Xiu thought.

“It’s…” Yueguang watched on, impatient, and Qiao Xiu swallowed, unsure how to explain the strange phenomenon he barely understood anything about. “It’s not the tree, or the soil.”

“We knew that already!” Yueguang interrupted angrily. “I thought maybe you fancy folk would have better ideas.”

“Right, yes, it’s just…” Qiao Xiu didn’t really have better ideas. “It’s the magic flowing through it. You saw how it was interrupted, right?”

“Well, the elders did,” Yueguang nodded. “What are you saying?”

“I think,” Qiao Xiu said carefully, “and I’m not sure yet, but I think it’s not the effect, but the cause. The tree is dying because the magic is broken. Same with the Baishanfeng temple – it’s falling apart because the magic it was built around is acting up.”

Yueguang blinked several times, watching the tree with a furrowed brow. “So where does that leave us?” he asked helplessly, and Qiao Xiu clenched his teeth.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, feeling the same helplessness creep into his heart.

Something ran down his cheek. It might have been a tear, or it might have been blood.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know.”