Xia Dong noted absently that the sparring ground in the Xuanjing Bureau had gathered more spectators as her bout with Xiao Jingrui and Yan Yujin went on. She fought with a smirk on her face; she always had fun teaching the boys whenever she had time. They had improved a lot since the last time Xia Dong tested them, but they didn't really know how to fight as a team—when one faltered, the other stepped up to take his place, but they didn't coordinate their attacks enough. That was something they'd have to learn, if they ever wanted to best her. Still, they challenged Xia Dong enough that she had no attention to spare for anything outside the pattern of attack and counter-attack.

After another vicious exchange that ended with Xiao Jingrui on his back, Yan Yujin’s eyes widened at something behind Xia Dong. “Nihuang jiejie!” he exclaimed, and Xia Dong turned to see Mu Nihuang making her way across the yard, a slight smile on her face.

"Princess!" Xiao Jingrui scrambled to his feet to bow, Yan Yujin a half step behind him.

“Dong jie fights well as always,” Mu Nihuang said as she approached. “It’s been a while since we’ve sparred; perhaps you can give me a match, as well?”

It had been a while. Xia Dong had not seen Mu Nihuang for nigh on a year. She almost didn't recognize her—as though the difference between twenty and twenty-one were so great. After the Chiyan rebellion was stamped out, Mu Nihuang had stayed in the capital for a while, long enough to affirm her loyalty to the crown. Then, she had taken herself away to Yunnan in the south, citing family responsibilities and a need to oversee the army at the border. Xia Dong knew, though, she knew that Mu Nihuang had taken that year to covertly mourn for that man—her intended, the son of Nie Feng’s murderer. It was grief that had so changed the set of her face. Now, she was back in the capital, apparently, but for how long?

Xia Dong had had her own year of mourning. She had tried to comfort herself, as the Emperor told her, with the knowledge that Nie Feng had died a hero, had given his life to prevent a rebellion, and had succeeded. All things being equal, though, she’d rather her husband were alive.

Xia Dong realized the silence had dragged on too long. The smile on Mu Nihuang’s face was slipping. Xia Dong found her own smile somewhere and gave Mu Nihuang a challenging bow. “I would be honored to spar with the princess,” she said. “Let us see if you have kept up your training, stuck in the south as you were.”

The boys quit the field to join the spectators and Xia Dong and Mu Nihuang squared off to face each other. Xia Dong gave Mu Nihuang a few moments to prepare; she herself was already warmed up from sparring with Xiao Jingrui and Yan Yujin, so as soon as Mu Nihuang nodded, she leapt into action, charging across the sparring field to meet Mu Nihuang in a clash of blades that echoed across the courtyard.

Mu Nihuang wrenched her sword out of its lock with Xia Dong’s and whirled away. Xia Dong followed, pressing her advantage before Mu Nihuang could reset. They met in mid-air, exchanging several blows before leaping apart again.

It became clear very quickly that Mu Nihuang had not been idle in her time in Yunnan. So, not only mourning her fiancé and raising her little brother, whom Xia Dong remembered from her one visit to Mu Manor mainly as a big-eyed shadow, trailing after his jiejie and peppering her with questions. Even back then, Mu Nihuang had been a diligent swordswoman, and from the firmness of her stance and the swiftness of her reactions, it was clear that she had kept up her training.

Xia Dong’s next cut missed entirely, but she followed up with a kick to the chest, which Mu Nihuang blocked with her mailed forearms. The momentum of the kick carried them for several chi, throwing up clouds of dust. For Mu Nihuang, Xia Dong had no indulgent smirk, fighting instead with a steady face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration to catch every flicker of intent in her friend’s eyes and muscles.

Mu Nihuang’s eyes narrowed and Xia Dong recognized the expression of a Yunnan soldier about to feint; she held firm and then sidestepped the true strike, bringing her sword up for a counter-attack. Xia Dong could tell that Mu Nihuang was reading her tells as well, bending nearly flat with the earth to escape the cut that would have sliced her open at the waist (or given her a bruise, really, through her armor) before spinning into a new attack.

They were very nearly evenly matched, with the important difference that Mu Nihuang had fought for her life more recently than Xia Dong. Even sparring, she fought with a mingled confidence and desperation that Xia Dong could not match just yet. Xia Dong thought she might, one day, if the Emperor began sending her on the kinds of missions that made enemies. With the Chiyan Rebellion stopped, Great Liang was quiet for the moment, reeling with the extent of both the betrayal and the retributions—whole family lines no longer able to be named. But corruption would rear its head again eventually, and the Xuanjing Bureau would be ready for that. Xia Dong and her martial siblings would be ready.

Xia Dong leapt over Mu Nihuang’s low kick, flipping into a kick of her own—this one landed, but although Mu Nihuang staggered a bit, she did not lose her balance. When Xia Dong landed again, Mu Nihuang met her blade in a flurried exchange that ended in a disarm that jarred the bones all the way up Xia Dong’s arm. Mu Nihuang set the point of her sword at Xia Dong’s throat. They stood still for a long moment, breathing heavily, Xia Dong looking down the length of the blade at her friend’s face. Then, Mu Nihuang sheathed her sword. Xia Dong followed suit a moment later, retrieving her sword from where it had fallen.

“I guess you haven’t been idling about, after all,” Xia Dong said, trying for levity. She didn’t think she landed there, but Mu Nihuang smiled, nodding in what was very nearly a bow. Her smile didn’t quite make it, either—there was a wariness in her face that matched Xia Dong’s.

“Thank you, Dong jie, for the match. I always learn a lot from fighting with you.”

“Not as much as I learn from you,” Xia Dong said. “You’ll have to teach me that trick with the flying kick.”

“You almost had me five moves back,” Mu Nihuang rejoined. “I’ll teach you the flying kick if you show me how you slipped out of the bind earlier.”

“Okay.” Xia Dong felt the smile growing on her face, tentative but real, as they talked shop. Maybe it could be this easy. Maybe the ghost of the Lin family didn’t have to come between them. “How long are you in Jinling for?”

“Not long. His Majesty wants Mu Army guarding the southern border again soon. I’m mainly here to arrange tutors for xiao Qing. Minister Fan has promised to recommend a few scholars to me who might be willing to travel south for a season or two.”

Xia Dong nodded her understanding. Mu Nihuang opened her mouth again but her next words were lost in Xiao Jingrui and Yan Yujin rushing over, both teens overflowing with excited words of praise about their fight.

“Nihuang jie, Dong jie! That was amazing!” Yan Yujin exclaimed. “Do you think we’ll be able to fight like that one day?”

“If you listen to your teachers and don’t slack off,” Mu Nihuang said, smiling, as she tapped Yan Yujin gently on the top of his head. “And don’t give Dong jie so much trouble!”

“Nihuang jiejie,” Yan Yujin whined, “you’ve been back for less than a day and you’re already accusing me! Can’t you be a little bit nicer?”

Xia Dong couldn’t help laughing at the antics as she shepherded Mu Nihuang and the boys off the sparring field.

As they stepped onto the pathway around the courtyard, Mu Nihuang turned to face Xia Dong. Her face was somber and again Xia Dong was struck by the difference the year apart had made.

“Come by Mu Mansion for dinner tomorrow evening,” Mu Nihuang said. Her gaze slid away from Xia Dong’s for a moment, looking off into some distance. When she met Xia Dong’s eyes again, her eyes were curved into a melancholy sort of smile. For a moment it almost seemed as though she would say something else, but then she let the invitation stand by itself.

So it will be like this, Xia Dong thought. “Thank you,” she said, swallowing the bitterness that threatened to rise in her throat. “I’d be happy to dine with you.” Lin Xie had taken so much from her already; she wouldn’t let him posthumously take away her friend, too.