The morning after the Mist Path Trial, Joseph woke to find his blisters had healed overnight.
He stared at his hands in the gray dawn light, turning them over. The angry red marks from yesterday's sword training were gone, his skin smooth except for the old calluses Wei Shen's body had earned over years. The cut on his forearm from the serpent's glancing strike had vanished without a scar.
Across the dormitory, Ping An's bedroll was already empty.
Joseph dressed slowly, his body aching in new places. His ribs throbbed where the serpent's tail had clipped him, though no bruise colored his skin. The jade amulet—now hidden beneath his robes—felt strangely warm against his chest.
The mess hall buzzed with chatter when he arrived. Disciples clustered around the trial survivors, peppering them with questions. Han Bo held court at the central table, dramatically reenacting his exploits with a chopstick as a makeshift sword.
"—and then the ground opened up!" Han Bo jabbed his chopstick toward a first-year disciple's face, making the boy flinch. "Demonic vines thick as my arm! But did I panic? No! I just—"
His performance cut off as Joseph approached. A hush fell over the table.
Han Bo's grin returned instantly. "Look who's alive! And in one piece!" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "So? Did Yue make you carry her bag the whole way? Or just most of it?"
Joseph accepted a bowl of congee from a serving boy. "She carried mine, actually."
The table erupted in laughter. Even the kitchen staff smirked.
"Good one," Han Bo wheezed, wiping his eyes. "Next you'll say she braided your hair and sang you lullabies."
A shadow fell across the table. Lin Yue stood there, her breakfast tray pristine, her expression unreadable. The laughter died instantly.
Without a word, she set her tray beside Joseph's and sat down.
Han Bo's chopstick slipped from his fingers.
Joseph stared at his congee, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. Lin Yue ate methodically, her movements precise, ignoring the stunned silence around them. When she finished, she rose just as quietly and left.
The table remained frozen until her footsteps faded.
Han Bo rounded on Joseph. "What in the ten hells was that?"
Joseph prodded his congee. "Maybe she's tired."
"Lin Yue doesn't get tired. She's like a blade—she doesn't rest, she just waits." Han Bo narrowed his eyes. "What really happened out there?"
Before Joseph could answer, a gong sounded through the compound.
"Elder Mu summons Wei Shen," a senior disciple announced from the doorway.
All eyes turned to Joseph.
Han Bo whistled low. "Better you than me."
****
The Elder's Chamber
Elder Mu's quarters smelled of aged parchment and bitter herbs. Sunlight filtered through rice paper screens, painting the room in muted gold. The old man sat behind a low table, his gnarled hands resting atop a worn scroll.
Joseph knelt on the offered cushion, his knees protesting. The amulet burned against his skin like a brand.
"You've begun to change," Elder Mu said at last. His voice was softer than usual, almost gentle.
Joseph bowed his head. "I'm trying, Elder."
"Not trying." Mu unrolled the scroll with deliberate care. "Remembering."
The parchment showed a detailed map of the sect grounds—but wrong. The buildings stood in different configurations, the mountain paths winding in unfamiliar ways. At the center, where the meditation courtyard should have been, someone had inked a swirling vortex.
Joseph's breath caught. The design matched the birthmark on his hip—the one he'd discovered three nights ago while washing.
"This was our home three hundred years past," Mu said, tracing the faded lines. "Before the Great Sundering. Before the forest woke." His milky eye seemed to stare straight through Joseph. "You walked these paths once, Wei Shen. Or should I say… Zhao Ming?"
The name hit Joseph like a physical blow. His vision swam. For an instant, he saw—
—a moonlit duel on a crumbling bridge—
—a sword piercing his chest—
—the taste of blood and betrayal—
Then it was gone.
Joseph gasped, gripping the edge of the table. The amulet's heat had spread through his chest, his ribs aching as though the remembered wound still bled.
Elder Mu watched him, unblinking. "The forest recognized you yesterday. That's why the serpent came." He rolled the scroll shut with a definitive snap. "You died screaming in its jaws three lifetimes ago."
The words hung between them. Somewhere in the compound, a bell tolled.
Joseph's mouth worked soundlessly before he managed, "I don't understand."
"You will." Mu rose stiffly, his joints popping. "The heavens are watching, Zhao Ming. And so are others." He gestured toward the door. "Go. Breathe. Remember."
Dismissed, Joseph stumbled into the sunlit courtyard. His hands shook. His skin felt too tight, like he'd outgrown it somehow.
Near the training yard, Lin Yue stood waiting.
****
The Warning
She fell into step beside him without a word. They walked the perimeter path in silence, past the meditation stones and the empty sparring rings. The midday sun beat down, but Joseph still felt cold.
"He knows," Lin Yue said at last.
Joseph glanced at her. "About me?"
"About everything." She stopped beneath a gnarled pine, its branches casting spiderweb shadows across her face. "Elder Mu was there when the first Wei Shen died."
A bird cried overhead. Joseph's pulse roared in his ears. "The first?"
Lin Yue studied him for a long moment, then reached into her sleeve. She withdrew a small silk pouch and pressed it into his hand. Inside lay a single silver hairpin, its tip shaped like a crescent moon.
"You gave me this," she said quietly, "when we were children. Before the fever took your memories."
Joseph turned the pin over in his fingers. The metal was warm, almost alive. When he touched the crescent moon, his vision blurred—
—a girl with bloody knees laughing in the rain—
—the same girl weeping over a still body—
—a promise carved into stone—
The memories evaporated like morning mist.
Lin Yue's hand closed over his, forcing the pin away. "Don't. Not yet." Her grip tightened. "Han Bo's father sits on the sect council. If he learns what you are—"
"What am I?" Joseph whispered.
The answer came from behind them: "Trouble."
Ping An leaned against the pine tree, his ever-present smile absent. Dark circles bruised his eyes, his robes rumpled as though he hadn't slept. In his hand glinted another jade amulet—twin to Joseph's, but cracked down the middle.
"They're watching you now," Ping An said. "Both sides."
A gust of wind rattled the pine needles overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a gong sounded the hour.
Joseph closed his fingers around the hairpin. The metal bit into his palm, sharp and real.
For the first time since waking in this world, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
This body remembered.
And so did someone else.