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Jingyi coughed politely.

Then he coughed again, far less politely. But it was still a cough, and therefore vaguely in the realm of politeness, rather than the great choking and spluttering he was holding back with all the control he could muster.

“Sizhui, I… I don’t know about this book. Don’t they kind of remind you of… your parents?”

They had gotten less than two pages in to the latest dime-a-penny book that Charlotte down the street had been giggling over so much that she told her friends, who told Sarah Talltree who told Sarah Freeman, who told Edgar, who told his little sister Marlene, who told her best friend Xiao Gui, who had mentioned it to Kingsley who was in their gang, who then got zir hands on a copy, read it, and passed it to Jin Ling with stars in zir eyes. Naturally, Jin Ling seized the opportunity to share it with Zizhen, Sizhui, and Jingyi.

That was how the four of them, best friends and co-conspirators in crime, had come to be currently laid out in the cool of a tree’s shade, leaning on their packs or heads pillowed on each other’s thighs. The horses were grazing, a nearby brook was trilling, and it was all in all a peaceful summer’s day. Out in the stretches of nature where man wasn’t king, the eagles soared, and you were as like to die from anything, the four of them were comfortable. Happy, even. Despite having families that called the nearby city home, none of them were from lineages that hadn’t dabbled in at least a little free-range crime over the years. They followed that tradition. Whatever it was they’d grow up to be, they’d never be without knowledge of how to survive.

But that day, they didn’t have to use any of it. Hats were placed aside, leather vests removed, boots toed off to better relish in the grass. Jingyi was going to read the book out loud, Zizhen was going to do Jin Ling’s hair, and Sizhui was going to listen really hard because he liked stories and couldn’t concentrate on doing anything else while focusing.

Jingyi had cracked open the cover of The Whirlwind’s Lover and began to read:

“Chapter One. Lao Zu was a dark and stormy man. More crow than human. More dangerous than lightning. Shadowed in the blanket of more sins than there were fires lit across the great plains, filled with people telling stories about him, whispering his deeds without speaking his name so that he wouldn’t find them – so that he couldn’t find them. He was a born killer – his first victim was his mother, and his second was his father from the terror of looking into his blood-red eyes. For seven days he laid alone in the hut with the two corpses until the crows found him. The crows kept him.”

He hadn’t gotten further than that before the first interruption came, from the reasonable mouth of Ouyang Zizhen.

“Is this implying he was a fresh baby and then, what, didn’t starve to death? What did he do, eat his parents?”

“Babies don’t have teeth, he couldn’t have bitten their flesh,” Jin Ling grumbled, exhaling sharply so that the loose hairs falling into his face flew upward.

“I dunno, if anyone could miraculously have teeth as a baby, I’d reckon it’s Mr. Wei. He can do all sorts of stuff.”

“Why would you go immediately towards cannibalism, though? What if they just had baby food and he got that?”

Jingyi snorted. “Fresh babies can’t roll around! They can’t do anything. It’s not like he could have crawled to the stove or nothing. Babies can’t do anything until they’re six months old or something like that.” In return for his very profound and knowledgeable wisdom, he got two skeptical looks from Jin Ling and Zizhen, who were an only child and the baby of their family respectively. What the hell did they know? Jingyi had aunties, he picked up a few things from their cooing or whatever. Probably.

“It’s just a story.” Sizhui grinned, shaking his head and saying nothing on the cannibalism/baby/Mr. Wei matter. “Didn’t Charlotte say this was a romance, anyway? Why is it about a murderer?”

“Well, because the back here says quite clearly. A ROMANCE FOR FOREVER. A CHOICE TO MAKE. TANGLED THROES OF TRUTH. The story of a wanton murderer and the power of pretty poison. Identity and love, law and secrets collide in the rip-roarin’, rollicking tale based on a true story. How do you love when you can’t trust?” Jingyi tapped the paperback’s cover, emblazoned with the title in dignified script, with a long-haired man up close playing a dizi, watching another long-haired man ride a white horse towards him across wide plains in the middle of a ferocious storm. “By Yiwen San. Nothing more romantic than storms.”

“Disagree, but alright,” Jin Ling said. “So I’d wager this Lao Zu guy is the murderer. And there’s… a lawman?”

Waiting for no further prompting, Jingyi began to read again.

“Lao Zu was heartless from birth, all the women whispered. Stayed that way as he grew into a child and into a man. But that wasn’t true. You see, Lao Zu had a soft spot for orphans – well, orphans he didn’t create himself. He made orphans every day in the path of destruction across ranges and forests, but when kids had been orphaned for being ugly, for being too different, for being seen as okay to reject, he got mad. Even the most inhuman of people have their weaknesses. He didn’t take them with him, but he gave every single one he found a sharp knife and taught them to steal, to rob, or to cook. Sometimes, he simply trained them to beg better. Whatever they needed, he could teach them how to fish, rather than give them a fish.

“Lest you think this author soft, I tell you now. Lao Zu’s gang was called the Crows, and it was made of humans and birds alike. Lao Zu used a dizi to command them without words – if you’ve whistled across a chasm, you know how much farther and better the sound goes. One note, and ravens would pluck out eyes and tear off ears. And the humans he kept were just as mad and depraved as him. One of them made a new saddle each day out of the body parts the birds gave him. Another used a huge warhammer on the battlefields, never any guns, the better to pick out and eat the brains!”

“So there is cannibalism in here, after all,” Jin Ling sighed in what might have been relief that the book wasn’t lacking, in his opinion, the most important element of any story. Jingyi elected to ignore him, judging the conversational value to be nil.

"But back to the orphans. To every rule there is an exception, dear reader. Lao Zu kept one orphan by his side - too young to kill effectively, too old to give to an orphanage without the kid being able to say that he had been traveling with Lao Zu. His name was Child. He had no other name."

"Perhaps someday he would grow up to be a murderer too. The world's greatest thief, perhaps, or the right hand of Lao Zu himself, shaped and formed to be the perfect aide. Child was six years old, short, and cute as children can be. Well-behaved, really, and none were sure even in the Crows if that was just who he was, or if he had been terrified into good manners and good behavior by the man he called his older brother, but who might as well have been his father."

Three pairs of eyes had slid to Sizhui, who had closed his own, and Jingyi continued.

"The world would never know. Child died at the age of six at the hands of a man they called the Leader. He too had a name, like Lao Zu. He too had a past, like Lao Zu. He too had a child, even. It was no wonder they were similar, Lao Zu and Leader. They had grown up as brothers. The Leader killed Child, snapped his neck on a calm summer's day with his own bare hands, and spat on the face of Lao Zu. Chapter Two."

"Did they replace the cover? What the hell is happening. This is awful grim,” Jin Ling snapped. "The story starts: there was a killer. He had a kid. He had an ex-brother. His brother killed his kid."

Jingyi flipped back to the beginning of the book, then turned it around to show Jin Ling. "It doesn't seem so? There's the front page on the inside, still says The Whirlwind's Lover."

"Every good romance has a set-up, they can't dive straight into the kissing," Zizhen said, rolling his eyes. "Have you all never read a book before? Did your hides get sunburned too much riding out here?" He got sunburns himself sometimes when he was being just as foolish, but Zizhen never missed an opportunity to make fun of pale folk who didn’t have mothers from Mumbai.

It was funny, how much Jin Ling's snort sounded just like his horse's, Jingyi thought. "Of course I've read books, who do you take me for? You know my family, they would never let me get away with being illiterate. Wish I sure was, though."

"Sure, but what about books for fun?" Zizhen said, careful fingers displaying a lot of Zizhen-style temperance and not tugging Jin Ling's hair like the kid deserved, not even a little bit. Jingyi's eyes wandered over to Sizhui as those two chattered (yes, of course Jin Ling had read books for fun, but not nearly as much, and not nearly as many romance novels as Zizhen). Sizhui definitely looked like he was asleep.

"Are you asleep?"

"No."
Alright then.

Jingyi cleared his throat loudly and began to read again, regardless of whether or not anyone would listen to him. He was kind of into the story.

"Sixteen years later. Mister Han Guang Jun was a law-abiding fellow. He was the cleanest sheriff you could find, whether you were north, west, south or east of the big river. Sheriff Jun, the people called him. Sheriff Jun had been destined to be a sheriff since the day he was born - the son of a sheriff who was the son of a sheriff who was the son of a sheriff, and so on, up and up to an ancestor who had been a monk, who may or may not have been one of the first sheriffs in all the land. That's what family legend had it. To serve the people and bring justice to the common folk, that's what he did, that's what he loved to do.”

"And he was the most beautiful man you ever did see. His face was as bright as the noontime sun, his eyes dark and honest as the silence in the deep of the forest. He wore his hair in a braid with a white ribbon woven within - some said it was a token of a lover past, others whispered that it was a family heirloom to remind him of his commitment to justice. He never said, since he was a stoic man. He'd choose one word over ten, an action over the one word, and a look over an action to get the job done. Crime in his parts of the land was low because of him, and he'd often go riding out for days on end to help towns and settlements in further reaches, unconcerned that shenanigans would happen in his neck of the woods."

And that was as far as they'd gotten before the four boys were staring at Sizhui, definitely seeing the connections, clear as day and clean as a knife.

"First off, you're not dead," Jingyi said, answering his own question.

"And Mr. Lan has his white hat, not a ribbon," Zizhen added.

"And there's the whole thing of your dad not being a sheriff ever since, you know, a long while ago." Jin Ling said slowly, like he was trying to do some figuring in his head before speaking for once.

"I mean... maybe the author didn't mean for them to be... them? Maybe the stories have just gone out far and strong? Rumors do that," Sizhui said with a shrug.

“And how come he’s called Sheriff Jun if he’s Chinese. Shouldn’t it be Sheriff Han?” Jin Ling wondered.

“Maybe the author isn’t Chinese and didn’t know that. Yiwen San could be Japanese, I reckon. Or it’s on purpose, that maybe his town hasn’t got a bunch of Chinese people, so the non-Chinese people got it wrong and they kind of stick with that,” was Jingyi’s logic.

Sizhui shrugged. "Or maybe they just liked the way it sounded. It doesn’t really matter. Let's keep going?"

"Sheriff Jun had a partner at his station - and his name was Zhang Chung."

"Jiang Cheng?"

"No, and fuck you. My Chinese is fine, it clearly says here, Zhang Chung." Jingyi passed the book over to Jin Ling, who held it up so Zizhen could see, and Sizhui sat up too to look before wordlessly handing it back over to Jingyi and settling back down.

“Fine, fine,” Sizhui conceded, and the others grumbled their assent too. The little shits, distrusting him. He shook his head.

"Zhang Chung didn't let people call him Sheriff, even though he wore the shiny badge. He was Zhang Chung or nothing, and you didn't get away with calling him "hey" or "you," I'll tell you that, dear reader. Zhang Chung had a secret - well, it ain't so much as a secret, more like something that even if you knew, you were probably better off not mentioning. Zhang Chung, sixteen years before, had been the notorious criminal known as The Leader."

"Well, now we're going into really fiction," Sizhui said dryly. "Your uncle's never been a sheriff, Lingling."

Jin Ling huffed. "He's not a common criminal though, so at least that part's right."

"Lao Zu hated The Leader with all the fiery flames he could summon, with all the piercing hate of an angry buffalo, with all the expanse of the blue sky. The Leader had killed Child, gotten pretty damned close to killing Lao Zu, and driven him into faking his own death and hiding in a cave for sixteen whole years. Lao Zu had been waiting. Lao Zu had been watching. And that year, Lao Zu would be damned if he didn't crawl out of his cave and start his revenge. The first step: learning from his mistakes, and doing it like Zhang Chung."

“Wait, speaking of your uncle-“

“Only sort of-“

“Yeah but speaking of him, do you know when he’s coming back to town? Lucille said her grandma – on her dad’s side, not her abuela, should be heading this way soon down the river and she mentioned that she had something she had wanted to trade him that she was going to get from a cousin’s cousin from the Coast, that they had talked about it beforehand.”

“Uh, I’m not sure. I think my mom mentioned he’d be around soon, but since it’s the height of summer, we never know. My dad said-“ and here Jin Ling pulled a perfect impression of his father’s eager but schooled expression, and the tightness around the eyes he got whenever speaking about his in-laws “- ‘isn’t it better, dear, to let his visits be surprises?’ But I think he just doesn’t like thinking about him before he shows up.”

“Can we get back to the story?” Jingyi said, raising his voice. His friends quieted again.

"He got a new identity. Calling himself Widower Mo, he got land and moved right into a farm nearby town. He made it clean and tidy, and set up to become the best househusband he could be. With the help of the crows who never abandoned him, he would work night and day, singing to himself and to the crows, until it seemed he had been doing this for a while, had long been a widower. The birds picked at him and pecked at him day by day until his face was different - not worse, just different than before. Cheekbones a little lower, chin a little sharper, eyes a little wider, and with some careful makeup he looked like a different person."

"This sounds fake," complained Jin Ling.

"It's just a story," reminded Zizhen.

"Widower Mo, besides being a good househusband, had only one goal in mind: to seduce Sheriff Jun. Sheriff Jun was pure and upright, moral and good, and Widower Mo wanted to poison him until Zhang Chung couldn't recognize his friend, until the nice and pleasant things in his life were taken away. He wanted to get Sheriff Jun, who never lied, to tell the truth about Zhang Chung to the people of the town, to the judge and the country, until Zhang Chung was shunned from everywhere, was recognized as the criminal he was. That was his plan. He didn’t mean to fall in love. Chapter Four."

Jingyi let out a hoarse little cough and whined. "My throat hurts.”

"The story is just getting good, stop complaining," Jin Ling said, shaking his head, newly braided hair whipping around his shoulders. He had to give it a few good tries for quality control. Luxury kids will keep luxury. It held to his satisfaction, so he switched places to work on Zizhen’s hair.

Zizhen reached into his pack to toss Jingyi a canteen, which he took with a nod of thanks and began to gulp down. It wouldn't be a problem - there was the nearby brook, after all, and they weren't more than a three hour's ride away from town. No trouble-causing today, no starting long journeys or plotting another raid. It was too hot for all of that nonsense. No urgency, that was the way of the summer. Before fall came they'd probably do a few heists, a carriage robbery or two to get enough supplies for their gang members who didn't have as much as the four of them did, but for now things were peaceful. No urgency.

"Okay, Chapter Four," came Sizhui's voice. He had apparently swiped it, like any good thief worth his weight in gold, when the attention had drifted. Jingyi was not about to complain about the rescue there, and mimed sealing his lips. Wouldn’t catch him interrupting like the three of them did to him.

----

“Sheriff Jun, in addition to being beautiful and upright, was also not dumb as nails. Widower Mo was a pretty suspicious homesteader, all things considering. It weren't often you find a homesteader of any gender who seemed so fresh and knowledgeable about the things you need to do to be a successful homesteader, not one that moved. If you really knew what you were doing, you didn't pick up and leave. Widower Mo had been a widower for a long time, he said, so it wasn't because of anything tragic. And he sure came to town a lot, even though he really didn't have that much time while caring for the piece of land he bought. Widower Mo's land had it all - forest and field, rivers and road, with a gulley too thrown in for fun. That needed a lot of upkeep. But Widower Mo came to town almost every day.

Widower Mo came to town often, and never failed to say hi to the sheriff, the postmaster, the bartender, and the butcher when he did. It made all four of them feel special, in their own way, but the sheriff was the only one who was suspicious about it. He knew that, because he had asked. One fine sunny Thursday, Widower Mo had waved to Sheriff Jun, and then bounced, with his high ponytail, over into the post office. He didn’t get any mail – never had – but he was friendly and optimistic about it all the same. Then he bounced over into the saloon, where he would perch at the bar for a bit, so Sheriff Jun knew he had time. He went into the post office himself.

‘Widower Mo?’ he said to the postmaster, the only person in the place, and that was all he was going to say. His voice was strong, but not rough – like a forest of pines all blurring together at a distance.

‘Aye, Xuanyu? He’s a nice fellow, so social. A sunny personality, to be sure. Did you want to send him a letter? You know he doesn’t get any. Shame about his spouse and child, really, it’s no wonder he comes to town so often – needs someone around the house, I bet, and he said he didn’t want to hire servants when he could come on down himself. He’s a bleeding heart, you know. Always asks me if them prisoners of yours gets mail too, someone looking after them. I told him, no they don’t, and he said he’d ask sometime if paying them a visit was the right thing to do.’

Sheriff Jun left the post office with a tip of his hat in thanks, just in time to see Widower Mo burst out of the saloon like a whirlwind, hems swirling around him as he dashed across the main street and south to chat with the butcher, who was a little further out from town on account of his craft. That gave him time to go into the saloon without thinking he’d lose the trail.

It was like a chase, only slow, casual. Unobtrusive, hopefully. Sheriff Jun, for all he served the people and the town, was more suited to the social life of an outdoorsman who rode ten days into a range more than a bustling little town tucked into the hills. Though the place was pretty dim without the evening lights on, the sunlight filled it well enough, and the doors were always open during working hours. The bartender grinned up at him when he approached.

‘Oh? Sheriff Jun, what can I help you with? I wager it ain’t for a drink, since you don’t do that, and it’s not to relax, since it’s early morning. We’ve barely opened except for breakfast.’

“Does Widower Mo take breakfast with you?” He said, as a point of curiosity, of conversation.

‘No,’ replied the bartender, with something of a smirk. ‘Only pops in to say howdy, ask about the family. You know what he's like, I'm sure, Sheriff. He sure mentions you enough for it.’

Sheriff Jun didn't react, but nodded slowly. And then, processing, nodded again.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘Pretty sure Xuanyu doesn't eat breakfast, what with how skinny the lad is. All legs and arms, he is. Although he does live way out there, so he needs food for the journey every day. Good man though, good man.’ Larson was, like his husband, of the opinion that every person in town was too skinny. Such was the nature of those who fed a community, and they were generally right, although they tragically lacked the means to ensure everyone had a full meal all the time. ‘Told me to let him know if anyone was willing to teach a fellow like him how to shoot better, since he said he’s got a handle on the gun for varmints but not much else, in case some trouble comes calling.’

‘Thanks,’ Sheriff Jun said, and left the saloon, mind racing. Nobody seemed to think much of Widower Mo, and certainly they didn't find him suspicious like the Sheriff did. Maybe he would have to ride out there sometime, bring Widower Mo food as a chance to casually interrogate him. Maybe Widower Mo might need his help that day, after all, since he lived alone. What if he had fallen down a ditch and rolled his heel and needed help? Then it would have been a good thing that the Sheriff came by. What if he needed to fix a hole in his roof, and his ladder fell from underneath him? He'd need someone to rescue him, or catch him. Or if there were bandits, Sheriff Jun certainly could be useful then. He could be the one to teach Widower Mo more about handling guns. Probably better with a pair of pistols for ease, but a rifle would be more multi-purpose, since he could get critters and unwelcome visitors of the beast-like sort from farther off. But maybe he’d want pistols, since he had a good heart and would probably want to get up close enough to chat with whoever it was, or ascertain if it was a wild beast or whatnot. And then he could see if Mo Xuanyu was good in a fight, which would add to his suspicion, which would give credence to his theory, which would allow for him to investigate more and spend more time with him, which would-

He was bodily interrupted by a smaller form crashing into him in the middle of the street. He caught whoever it was reflexively, expecting already to have to lecture a small child on the dangers of running about on a busy street.

‘Oh, Han Guang Jun!’ came the titter from - well, who'd've guessed it.

‘Widower Mo," he said stiffly to the man in his arms, the person he had caught and stopped from tripping all over. His face was bright and shining, eyes wide in the shadow where Sheriff Jun's head blocked the morning sun from falling on him. Mo Xuanyu was tipped back on his heels, parallel to the ground below, like they had been doing the tango and it was a finishing move.

Like a sultry romantic character Han Guang Jun had never personally experienced for himself, Widower Mo fluttered his lashes up at him, body warm and light in his big, buff arms. Han Guang Jun was like the only pillar holding up the sky, or the lone tree on the prairie, promising shelter from the storm. And Mo Xuanyu?

The prettiest menace in the whole world. Little did the good Sheriff know just how true that was.

Chapter Five.

‘My hero,’ Widower Mo purred, making no effort to rise up. It was thanks to the Sheriff's incredible - but weakening - self control that he straightened, putting them both back on solid ground. One physically, one mentally.

‘Are you all right?’ He asked, although he didn't need to. Mo Xuanyu was fine, back in action, although he hadn't let go of the Sheriff's arms just yet. Han Guang Jun preferred to speak only when necessary and convey as much as he could in that short window, but there was something about Widower Mo that made him want to talk more, or at least have Widower Mo hear his voice. It was probably because a few weeks back, Widower Mo had outright said he liked to hear the Sheriff's voice, but he wasn't about to think deeper about that.

‘Oh yes, thank you so much,’ Widower Mo said, blinking a little. ‘You really saved me from a big fall! I should look where I'm going more, it's just that I was waving to George Whitec- well, anyway, the point is, you saved me.’

‘It's nothing.’

‘Nonsense, nonsense! I could have gotten so injured without you. And how would I ever have gotten home?’
Han Guang Jun leveled an unamused look at him, since they were standing right next to the inn, and Mo Xuanyu was not, generally speaking, stupid like that. Widower Mo seemed to realize that at the same time, and brought up a long hand to cover his mouth. The simple gold ring on his finger glimmered.

‘Ah, forget it, forget it. I was just too flustered by you so close to me, Sheriff! It's a natural reaction, after all.’ At last, he let go and took a step back, and for a brief moment the Sheriff imagined himself stepping forward, holding him again. But he didn't. Just nodded.

‘Careful about your business, Widower Mo,’ he said, and Widower Mo nodded.

‘Yessir, you got it.’ He took a few more steps backwards, and then, making to turn, swung back to face Han Guang Jun. ‘Can I invite you out to my land sometime, Sheriff? If you've ever got a free day in your schedule. It's been so long since I've been able to host company, and I'd love to have you. What's your schedule like?’

Sheriff Jun could feel himself freezing. Invited over? Just like this? For what? A meal? The place was too far out for heading back to town after dinner, but a lunch visit would mean a lot of work for Widower Mo on his own, and an early rise, which he had mentioned he hated to do.

Evidently the pause had been too long. ‘If it's too presumptuous of me, Sheriff, I can take it back. I don't know if it's a usual thing to invite the keepers of the peace over for dinner to show thanks, hereabouts, only in my last town, that's what I did, that's what we did, so I thought-’

It wasn't exactly a social faux pas here, and it seemed reasonable enough, although it rarely happened, since the sheriffs in these parts were the more ranging sort, not as sociable as could be.

‘I'm heading out on a mission on Saturday,’ he said, barely thinking through what would later turn out to be the best decision of his life. ‘Going northwest.’
Widower Mo did a few seconds of calculation and lit up in the brightest grin Sheriff Jun had seen yet.

‘You’ll arrive just in time for lunch, then. And maybe you swing back by when you’re done too, and I can hear all about it.’ Widower Mo looked Sheriff Jun up and down. ‘Well, as much as you’re willing to share, Sheriff.’

He couldn’t respond, something in his throat definitely telling him he’d cough if he opened his mouth, so Sheriff Jun nodded, tipped his hat, turned on his heel, and strode back into the sheriff’s office. The door slammed shut behind him, and he measured his breathing through his nose before he could look up to see if anyone in the office was looking at him. They were, but he dutifully ignored them and sat behind his desk like nothing happened. He had to prepare for Saturday, after all.

Chapter Six.”

---

Sizhui looked down at the book, thumbing through the pages, then up at his friends.

“This whole next chapter seems to just be Widower Mo doing things on a farm. Here’s a bit about shooting pheasants and planting crops? Looking off into the sunset, thinking about the meaning of family, cleaning the house? He saw bear prints and followed them to a cave, heard it breathing but didn’t have a gun so he turned around to get it. But, and here’s a but, night fell so he thought he’d wait until morning, and it was out of his cave by then. A whole bunch of nothing about a bear. Can I just skip ahead?”

“Yes please,” Jin Ling yawned, making a gesture up in the air. “Farming is boring. Skip to Saturday, or even further when things like, actually happen.”

“Things are happening, Jin Ling, they just established a bunch of stuff.”

“But it was boring. When does the shooting start?”

“Is there shooting in the book?” Jingyi chirped.

“There better be, since it’s been called a good book. Can’t be good without some shooting.”

Sizhui crossed his ankles, tossing the book back to Jingyi. “You look for the shooting, we can jump to that and figure out what happened later. I saw that Sheriff Jun tried to kiss Widower Mo but the pot overboiled so they didn’t, and then it was ‘Sheriff Jun was gone for ten days, and for those ten days Widower Mo didn’t go into town’ or something dramatic like that. And he came back to Mo’s house, I guess?”

Jingyi nodded, diving into the pages.

“I reckon that things might have gone south at Sheriff Jun’s meetup? Widower Mo makes a comment like his horse is covered in sweat and dirt and stuff, why isn’t Sheriff Jun, something something. Uh, something shady might have gone on with Widower Mo that I missed, because he’s awful insistent that Sheriff Jun stay a while longer.”

“Shady?” Sizhui said incredulously. “Isn’t it supposed to be romantic?”

“Sure, maybe,” Jingyi shrugged. “But he’s all being kind of shifty about it, from Sheriff Jun’s perspective – ‘Widower Mo’s eyes slid to the cupboard, and then to the rope kept near the door’ and he’s ‘shifting nervously, covering it up with a cough,’ this seems shifty to me. Heck, they used the word.”

“Or it’s shifty to Sheriff Jun and we’re supposed to read it differently, because Sheriff Jun finds Widower Mo suspicious.”

“Oh, here we go. There’s a little bit of shooting.”

---

“Sheriff Jun entered the house, taking off his hat on instinct, but Widower Mo bustled around him, grabbing him by the arms and turning him around, booting him right back out.

‘Now I heard, Sheriff, from Mister Larson these days while you were gone, that you’d be amenable to teaching me how to shoot? I can’t get birds very good, or follow tracks, but I’m a right hand with getting rabbits. Still, sometimes a man’s gotta enjoy the feast that nature provides, rather than just having coneys all the time, right? I heard a tin can setup is the thing to do,’ he chattered as he ushered him behind the house, where indeed twelve tin cans and three bottles were arranged on various platforms. ‘So I thought, well, I’ve got all this time waiting for the Sheriff to come back, I can set it up, no problem. ‘Course, Larson didn’t say you said outright that you’d be okay, so it’s alright if you refuse, as ever.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Sheriff Jun said, glad that his hat would hide the tips of his ears – his one weakness that showed where and when he blushed. This was prime opportunity for blushing. Widower Mo pulled out his one pistol – a small six-shooter that looked like an amateur had cleaned it five years ago and hadn’t used it since. It had to have been, since Widower Mo’s apologetic look conveyed that it was all he had, and he had gotten meat somehow.

‘It shoots straight enough,’ Widower Mo said. ‘I just have to be careful about getting close enough to not startle the animal before I shoot. Makes birds difficult, though.’

Sheriff Jun didn’t say anything. He turned on his heel, went back to his horse Guqin, pulling out a serviceable, if not favorite, Winchester, as well as his least-used rifle from his traveling collection. Returning to a nervous-looking Widower Mo, he offered them up, still wordless.

Widower Mo’s eyes were huge again, looking at Sheriff Jun like he hung the stars in the sky and played the harmonica while he did it. ‘I can’t possibly borrow your guns, Sheriff, I heard a lot from the papers about lawmen and their guns. Possessive, they say.’

‘Keep them.’ He replied. He had more in the Sheriff’s Office, it wasn’t anything to him. ‘For safety.’

Mo Xuanyu touched his hand to his forehead in a weak salute. ‘You’re a good man, Sheriff, always looking out for the people. I can’t refuse when you put it like that.’ He flicked open the chamber and looked down the sightlines like a professional, but when it was time to aim, Widower Mo’s feet were all off, his shoulders hunched and body curved in all the wrong ways.

‘Stand straight,’ Sheriff Jun reminded him, but he just overcorrected. The Sheriff took a breath for control and patience, then stood behind Widower Mo, wrapping his arms around him to guide him into a shooting position both comfortable and effective. Upon looking down – briefly, briefly glancing down – he saw Mo Xuanyu’s feet had shifted to the correct stance naturally. Instinct, or something suspicious again?

Widower Mo’s breathing evened out to sync with the shallow breaths Sheriff Jun automatically took when in shooting position, and he tilted his head, priming the gun.

‘Like this?’ He said. ‘Am I good to shoot?’

‘Mn,’ Sheriff Jun responded, although he hadn’t let go of Widower Mo. His eyes flicked down to where their hands met over the gun.

‘Your ring,’ he noted. It was gone. There wasn’t even a tan line over the Widower’s finger.

‘Huh? Oh. It gets in the way of housework.’

BANG. CLATTER.

The gun went off and a tin can went flying, without even so much as a spin – just slammed backwards until gravity tugged it down again. Something flashed across Widower Mo’s face that looked a little like regret, until it solidified into excitement.

‘Beginners luck combined with having a good teacher!’ Dropping the gun to the ground, Widower Mo twisted in Sheriff Jun’s arms and hugged him tightly. The Sheriff couldn’t help himself and hugged him back, and they embraced like that in the noontime sun. ‘Thanks to you, I can do anything I need to do.’

Sheriff Jun tilted his head slightly to look at him questioningly, but he was startled into quickly forgetting whether or not that was an odd turn of phrase. Mo Xuanyu was kissing him, eyes closed, hands clenching in the Sheriff’s shirt...”

---

Jingyi’s face turned bright red and his mouth snapped shut. Zizhen, eyes of a hawk, absolutely did not miss it and threw a handful of grass at the boy. “What are you reading that you’re not gonna share?”

With great haste and wide eyes, Jingyi flipped the pages further into the book and shook his head. “You can read that on your own time, Zizhen, I’m not about to say those words out loud.”

“Jingyi,” Zizhen whined, but he was prevented from getting up and going over to him with a few firm tugs from Jin Ling’s hands, buried in Zizhen’s hair mid-braid. “What kinds of words? Throbbing member? Large manhood? Bulge?” His tone was all professional curiosity, the sort he used when wheedling money out of the sort of people who didn’t think they’d fall for a scam. Had to use the “Oh yes, sir ma’am, yes, you are smarter than me” approach like an honest businessman, and Zizhen was just the best at it. It wasn’t until Jingyi glowered at him that he burst into laughter. “Oh, alright, alright, okay, I’ll read it later. They slept together, I get it.”

“Some things are kind of weird in this story,” Jingyi complained. “Why do I gotta use my brain for guessing what’s up, why hasn’t it told me what’s going on with Lao Zu?”

“Maybe they do tell you, just in the scandalous bits,” Zizhen said with a wink, and Jingyi hissed at him. They both looked at Sizhui for help, who only shrugged. He wouldn’t be partial in this sort of stuff. He was pretty sure he had it figured out, too, but Jingyi’s lax reading-aloud style and the way the author just kept implying meant it was better to keep his mouth shut for now. There were some parts he could definitely tell his cousin was just skipping over whole paragraphs, but he was the reader, he got to call the shots.

Jin Ling, of course, couldn’t not join the conversation. “If even Marlene got it when Edgar read it to her - censored, no doubt - and she’s five and just learning English, then maybe it’s a you problem.”

“First off, Marlene is the best decoy we have because she speaks three other languages, just because she’s five doesn’t give you anything in that comparison, and second, shut up, you think I don’t know what I’m talking about one more time and it’s pistols at dawn, huh?” The four boys erupted into jeers and laughter at Jingyi’s outburst, none of them taking it seriously – all of them amused, in the way that young boys are, at the very thought of serious violence taking place between them.

“You couldn’t find your pistols if you were polishing them!” Jin Ling screeched.

“You couldn’t hit me if I was stealing your hat!” Jingyi replied, at the same volume.

“You’re all hat and no horse!”

“You wouldn’t know when dawn was if you were staring at her!” came the response.

“Well, you – you – you wouldn’t-“

Jin Ling’s scrabble for words was luckily interrupted by a crowing voice.

“What in the world are you youngsters cackling about, huh? What’s so funny?”

They all instinctively shot to their feet, guns leaping into their hands to confront the intruder, but their lack of awareness made the whole thing less of a graceful readiness and more of a comical bumbling. Jin Ling’s hands left Zizhen’s hair, tangling as he went. Zizhen winced and missed his first grab towards his pistol, and Jingyi dropped the book but it went flying in the air instead as he tried to combine the motion with reaching for his rifle. Sizhui, ever the golden child, slid behind the tree for cover before stepping out again, beaming before any of the other boys could get their bearings. “Wei-gege!”

“Mister Wei-” “Howdy! Mister Wei-” “Couldn’t have said something sooner, scaring the bejeezus out of us-” came the chorus of petulant voices, three relieved, one mildly annoyed (although that was his default).

Wei Wuxian wasn’t a short man, nor a tall man, neither skinny nor broad, but what he lacked in startling physical attributes for the WANTED posters, he made up in long hair he kept half tied back, so iconic that that had been used to hunt him down dozens of times. Well, that and his hat - brim lined with a flash of scarlet, he claimed he had never lost it, not even once. His eyes sparkled and his whole face lit up when he laughed, the same near-braying his horse Chenqing made when she too was amused. And wherever went Wei Wuxian these days also went the taller, broader, and more silent Lan Wangji. You knew they were married by their matching rings, their matching hairstyles, and the way they were so disgustingly in love. One heard Wei Wuxian first but saw Lan Wangji coming, with his ever-pristine white hat and blue hatband.

Sure enough, Lan Wangji was right on his heels, having put their horses next to the boys’ horses like someone responsible and with any modicum of foresight. Not like the horses would wander off, being well-trained and happy to graze idly, but it was the polite thing to do. Sizhui’s Shifu, the tricky little rat, had long undone the useless gesture of hitching him to a nearby log.

“We’re reading a book out loud,” Sizhui explained, waving to his father, who nodded back.

“Oh?” Wei Wuxian grinned, plopping himself down right in the middle of the circle the boys made, gesturing for them to sit like he was an emperor. Lan Wangji leaned against the tree, so Sizhui sat down again, and the other three followed suit. “Is it good?”

“How did you find us?” Jin Ling retorted, looking up at the sun’s position, then out across the long stretch of nature they had ridden from town.

“It’s the father instinct, you’ll know when you’re older,” Wei Wuxian said, brushing him off. “Or maybe we scented you down like bloodhounds, huh? Wouldn’t that be fun, Lan Zhan?” The truth was that it had entirely been a mistake. The two of them had been roaming for a little privacy away from the town, but had gotten curious and derailed by the sound of four troublemaking kids they knew very well. It wasn’t too hard to spot when people set up to relax in that particular spot, given the relative barrenness of the surrounding area, but while four horses might usually make them avoid it, the cackling laughter was quite familiar. That, and the coloring of the horses, each of which was quite distinct, and more so when all together.

“A little weird, but alright,” Zizhen drawled, to which Wei Wuxian laughed again.

“The book, the book, what’s the book that’s so good it’s got you all hidden out here like a bunch of grave robbers all reading it together?”

“The Whirlwind’s Lover,” Jingyi answered, but hid the cover from view as he glanced back and forth between the two adults. “I’m not sure if you will like it, Mister Wei.”

“It’s romantic? I’m very romantic, what makes you think I wouldn’t like it? Aren’t I romantic, Lan Zhan? Kids these days, huh.”

Lan Wangji nodded with a low sound in the back of his throat, probably one of agreement.

“Well,” Jingyi tried again. “We haven’t finished it. But it’s a little weird.” He winced. Wrong move.

Wei Wuxian pounced on the opportunity. “A little weird, just like me! Come on, little Lan, it’s storytime.”

Jingyi laughed weakly and opened the book back up, searching for the page he had been on. Meanwhile, Sizhui took the time to explain.

“So far there’s a man, Widower Mo, who is kind of suspicious but very friendly, and he’s been getting lessons on how to shoot better and asking about the prison in town from Sheriff Jun, because he’s an old legendary outlaw in disguise, looking to get revenge on another Sheriff.”

Wei Wuxian cast his eyes over to Lan Wangji before responding, something shared in their brief glance only knowledgeable to those who not only found incredible parallels to a certain other story within that synopsis, but had been the stars of it. “A tall tale, seems like.”

“Ah, here we go! This is the place we left off, yup,” Jingyi said, like an absolute liar. “Han Guang Jun is just seeing Mo Xuanyu get off his horse and limp into town because Mo Xuanyu-“ he flicked a few pages back, and then forward again, “-fought a bear and won but he can’t let the Sheriff know.”

---

“‘Howdy,’ he said, but caught on to the Sheriff’s worried look immediately. ‘Snakebite,’ Widower Mo offered with a grimace, pulling at the fabric of his pants to lift up and reveal bandages around his ankle. Sheriff Jun immediately crouched down to examine it, but it seemed Widower Mo did a good job on wrapping, since his next move was to slide next to the man and sling his arm over his shoulder instead. ‘Not the first time it happened,’ he explained weakly, ‘though that damned snake is still out there. Sorry if you missed me, Sheriff. Weren’t intentional.’

The Sheriff tilted his chin, dismissing any concern towards himself to reroute it back to Widower Mo. ‘Can I take you to the doctor’s?’

Mo Xuanyu brushed him off with a shake of his head. ‘I’ll be alright, but thank you. Maybe a little rest wouldn’t hurt me, though. It was a long ride.’

Both of them looked up at the Sheriff’s Office, which they were standing outside of. Sheriff Jun swept up Mo Xuanyu in his arms like he weighed nothing, ignoring the startled gasps of both the man in his arms and the town passersby. The door opened so fast it was as if the wood jumped out of the way rather than he having to push on it. He didn’t even hesitate to put Mo Xuanyu on the top of his desk, confident in its cleanliness. This way he could sit in his own chair, looking up at Mo Xuanyu.

The widower took a deep breath, glancing around the office space, at the empty cells and the wanted posters looming large on the walls. He hadn’t been in there before, the Sheriff realized. Law-abiding citizens rarely entered. The grizzled faces and instruments of justice decorating the walls of the place could seem intimidating.

But rather than comment, Mo Xuanyu smiled at him, and Sheriff Jun promptly forgot all his concern.

‘Actually, Sheriff, I realized something, when I... got bit. There’s something I wanted to tell you, something I couldn’t before.’

‘I… I really, really like you, Han Guang Jun.. You’re really great. I love you.’

‘Me too,’ was all the Sheriff could reply, dumbstruck and filled with so many emotions – the largest of which was the sort of sheer relief you get when someone you love confesses they love you, combined with the flood of joy at being able to tell them you love them, too. Neither of them did anything more for long moments except stare at each other. Their eyes were wide and shining as the truth, now hanging in the air, was forged, would exist forever.

‘Ah,’ Widower Mo said at last, dabbing at the corner of his eyes, “I want to kiss you.’”

---

Jingyi could feel himself make a repulsed face. He didn’t want to read kissing out loud, not with adults nearby.

“’But I can’t,’ he continued.” Oh, thank goodness.

---

“’Sheriff – Han Guang Jun – I’ve been wronged. Not by you! But I never told you how my child died. I- I couldn’t. It’s been sixteen years, and the grief has just been so much.’

Patient, and good at being patient, the Sheriff just nodded. His heart was open, and he was there to listen.

‘I can’t be with you until I get justice. I want to, I really want to, but you know, I can’t start this new happiness, loving and being loved by you, with such old sadness weighing on me.’

Mo Xuanyu didn’t even have to ask. Han Guang Jun bowed his head, taking off his hat and holding it to his heart. ‘Whatever it takes, Mo Xuanyu, I will help you get your revenge.’

The widower stopped dabbing his wet eyes to let the big tears fall, and through the tears he smiled again – the sun breaking through the clouds on the greyest and most dreary of days. ‘Really? You’d – for me?’

‘Whatever it takes,’ he vowed. He was good at enacting justice, after all.

‘Thank you,’ he said, taking in shaky breaths. ‘My Child…’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘He was murdered in cold blood, right in front of my very eyes. There was nothing I could do, and the murderer laughed. Left me for dead, too, after taking what was most precious from me. I was so weak, I couldn’t even bury him…’

Outside, a crow cawed, so loud that Mo Xuanyu’s eyes flicked to the window. The Sheriff’s eyes didn’t follow, too intent on examining his beautiful face.

‘And your spouse?’ He spoke into the quiet of the air.

‘I… I am rightfully sorry, Sheriff, but I never had one. You’re the only one for me. But mourning a child – your only family, even if not by blood – all these years made me realize letting people think I was a widower was easier, to handle the concern, and the grief.’ Mo Xuanyu looked so apologetic, Han Guang Jun took one of his hands and held it firmly, a silent urge to continue his plea.

‘He was an innocent baby, only six years old. The murderer is still alive and well, and I’ll hate him for what he did until the day we both die. I need justice.’

Sheriff Jun nodded. ‘I know it must be painful, A-Yu. If you’re willing, tell me about this murderer, so I can find him and bring the law down upon him.’

Mo Xuanyu turned red, a blush filling his face at the diminutive, but he didn’t shirk away from it. ‘I- I can’t do that, Sheriff. I don’t have faith in the law. You’re the only one I trust. They didn’t help me the first time, and I don’t think the judges will help this time, either. Please, Sheriff. I know you trust the system, but I can’t. The murderer is a dangerous outlaw, even more dangerous because he’s been hidden for this long, acting like common folk.’

Out of his sleeve he drew a worn sheet of paper, clearly well-looked after but frequently unrolled. With a sigh that heaved his bosom, Mo Xuanyu let it unfurl to display the person Han Guang Jun least expected – the face of his partner, Zhang Chung.

Zhang Chung’s face was sixteen years younger, snarling and growling through the ink, but still very recognizable (perhaps even more so because of the sneer). The Sheriff didn’t react outwardly – nor inwardly, since his vow to the man in front of him had easily eclipsed his whole heart. The poster had all the markings of a legitimate WANTED poster, with proper numbers and a bounty that was high, yet not inflated to be boggling. A prolific criminal. Went by the name of The Leader. Han Guang Jun had never questioned how Zhang Chung had been so good at understanding the minds of the people they brought in.

The crow cawed again, almost louder this time.

‘Sheriff, you made me a vow. But I want to ask-’ and here he leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. ‘Are you going to help me because of that vow, before you knew the details, or because it’s what’s right to do?’

He didn’t hesitate. There was no need to choose your words carefully, when the answer was ‘Both.’

The word had barely left his lips when the door to the office slammed open, as it usually did with Zhang Chung. In the very same moment, Mo Xuanyu whirled on the desk to face the other Sheriff. A gun was in his hand, had jumped there from who-knows-where. Lifted, aimed.

Zhang Chung only had time to splutter ‘You?’ before he was shot in the heart. Clean and tidy, it ended his life and pushed him back out the door, sending the body collapsing into the street. The gun vanished again, and Mo Xuanyu turned back to Han Guang Jun to kiss him with haste – and beautiful, true passion, speaking like Han Guang Jun did: with concentrated intent, and action instead of words, if possible.

To a chorus of crows, the two of them dashed out into the street holding hands. Townspeople screamed around them, confused and shocked. Mo Xuanyu, freed of his need for revenge, dropped the WANTED poster he had shown Han Guang Jun onto Zhang Chung’s cooling corpse, and they mounted their horses. They rode westward, never to be seen again. The legend of Lao Zu was never told, neither to Han Guang Jun nor by any bandit huddled around the campfire, nor to the stars themselves. The lies and the truths – all were set to rest. Reader, is crime worth the price of justice?”

---

Jingyi closed the book gingerly, then tossed it back to Zizhen to store in his pack.

Wei Wuxian, for his part, had been quieter and better at not interrupting than the kids, but that was because he was busy alternating gazing into Lan Wangji’s eyes and holding himself from giggling at the writing.

“That wasn’t anything at all how it went down,” he grinned. “But I’ll cut the author some slack for making Lan Zhan so handsome. Geez, you shoot your brother once, they start making up that he killed your kid. Just can’t win.”

“That was… fun,” Sizhui ventured. “I think.”

“Shh, wait, do you hear that?” Jin Ling said, waving his hands frantically to deter further post-book conversation.

Sure enough, Jin Ling’s keen ears had detected someone yelling – and the sound was getting closer.

Lan Wangji, however, had even better hearing than Jin Ling. He whispered something in Wei Wuxian’s ear, and the two of them rose, dusting grass off of their jeans and tipping their hats.

“Catch you later, kids! We’ll meet him later, when we’re more presentable. Wouldn’t want the infamous Three Poisons to think we were the ones being a bad influence on you, hey?” In a blink, the two of them were gone, just as fast as they had appeared. The hoofbeats fell away into splashes through the brook, the opposite direction from the other set, thundering closer.

“Jin Ling!” came the familiar, grating holler of Jiang Cheng himself. Alive and well, as they’d ever known him to be.

Jin Ling’s face lit up. “Speak of Cao Cao, and Cao Cao appears!” He grinned, rising to his feet to peer across the rolling plains. Sure enough, down the green a ways away was his uncle, sitting tall atop his huge draft horse. The handle of his whip Zidian, spit-shined silver, gleamed at his hip, so bright it caught the sun.

“The End,” Zizhen murmured, and all four of them snickered. Their notoriety had a long way to go before being written into a book, but they were well on their way. Or so each of them hoped inside their hearts. Made for a good life, if you had a story worth telling you could read at the end of it.