Chapter 8: The Tight Circle

Zhen's stick left bruises. Hao Min's muscles remembered things his cultivation had let him forget. How to roll with a fall. How to hit someone with the point of his elbow. How to stand in a doorway so only one person could come at him at a time. How to read an opponent's breathing.

After three days of sparring, Hao Min could hold his own against Zhen for ten exchanges. After five days, twenty. After seven days, Zhen stopped holding back.

"You were a good soldier," Zhen said one evening. "The Iron Bone Sect was stupid to throw you away."

"The Iron Bone Sect throws away anyone who reminds it of failure."

"Then the Iron Bone Sect is running out of people."

On the eighth day, Hao Min went into Gao Ling to buy supplies. Flour, salt, a new needle for Sao's sewing, and a small iron pot. He kept to the side streets. He did not want attention.

He got it anyway.

The brawler was waiting near the grain market. He was a big man with a leather apron and a knife on his belt. He stepped out as Hao Min passed.

"You are the rust man," the brawler said.

"No."

"My employer says you are. He wants to know what you can do."

"Tell your employer I can break his employee's arm."

The brawler laughed and drew his knife. It was a heavy blade with a notch near the tip. It had drawn blood many times.

Hao Min did not reach for a weapon. He had none. Instead he dipped his fingers into the rust paste in his belt pouch and drew a tight circle on his left palm. He had practiced the shape until he could make it in one breath. The bulge was right. The loop was open. The three lines crossed near the center.

The brawler lunged.

Hao Min caught the knife with his open palm. The blade bit into the skin. Blood welled up. For a moment the brawler grinned.

Then the grin faded.

The knife turned red at the point where it touched Hao Min's blood. The rust spread up the blade like a fast-growing mold. The metal softened, flaked, and fell apart. In three breaths the brawler held a handle and a thumb's length of ruined steel.

Hao Min punched him in the nose. The brawler sat down heavily.

"Tell your employer," Hao Min said, "that my price is higher than he wants to pay."

He walked on. His palm was bleeding where the knife had cut him. The rust paste had mostly washed away. But the circle had worked at the speed of touch.

That was new.

When he returned to Zhen's house, he showed the old man his hand.

"You drew it on yourself," Zhen said.

"On my palm. The blood fed it. The blade rusted when it touched my blood inside the circle."

"And if he had cut your throat instead of your hand?"

"Then I would be dead. The circle is not armor. It is a trap."

"A trap requires the enemy to step into it. You stepped into it for him."

Hao Min looked at the wound. "I needed to know if it would work."

"It worked. Do not make a habit of bleeding for information."

That night Hao Min sat outside and watched the stars. Sao came and sat beside him.

"You fought someone today," she said.

"A brawler."

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Hao Min thought about it. "Because killing him would have told his employer that I was afraid."

"And breaking his nose told them you are not?"

"It told them I am careful. That is worse."

Sao was quiet for a while. Then she said, "I collected more rust while you were gone. From the old well. Good flakes. Mixed with your blood, it should last longer."

Hao Min looked at her. "You are useful."

"I know. That is why you have not broken my fingers."

"Not yet."

She laughed. It was almost warm.

Inside the house, Zhen was grinding something in a mortar. The sound was steady and patient, like rain on a roof. Hao Min thought he could learn to find that sound comforting.

"Who do you think sent him?" Sao asked.

"Bao. The Iron Bone Sect wants to know if my circle is a real threat or a trick."

"And what will they decide?"

"That it is both. That is the worst answer for them." Hao Min held up his wounded hand. The cut was shallow. It would heal in a few days. "If they thought it was only a trick, they would ignore me. If they thought it was only a threat, they would send assassins. But both means they do not know what to send."

"Uncertainty."

"Yes." Hao Min looked at her. "You understand quickly."

"I have spent my life being underestimated. I know what uncertainty looks like in other people." Sao began sorting the rust flakes by size. "We need better containers. Clay jars seal better than leather pouches. The paste stays wet longer."

"You have done this before."

"I have hidden things before. Poison, mostly. Rust is not so different." She looked up. "Do not worry. I will not poison you. You are too interesting to kill."

"That is the nicest thing you have said to me."

"I am not a nice person."

"No. But you are useful."

They worked in silence, preparing for the next day. Hao Min drew circles on scraps of cloth, practicing the shape until he could make it with his eyes closed. Sao sealed jars and sharpened sticks.

Outside, the stars came out. Gao Ling settled into its night noises. Somewhere, a dog barked at a cat. A baby cried and was soothed. The world went on being ordinary, and Hao Min found that he did not mind.