I awoke to a deep and penetrating cold. For a moment, I thought I was back in the dream, adrift in that grey, frozen void. But this cold was real, the kind that seeped into your bones and settled there like a sickness. I realized the fire had burned low, its once cheerful flames now just a handful of glowing, sullen embers. My woolen overcoat, the one I had given away, was draped over me. A gruff, unspoken gesture of kindness that I felt I had done nothing to deserve.

  The maiden was nowhere to be seen. I pushed myself to my feet, my body a chorus of dull aches and protesting muscles. I walked outside into a world of white. Using a small, serrated saw from my kit, I found a fallen tree and cut away a few thick, dry branches to feed the dying flames. We were not far downriver from Luoyang; I could tell by the way the trees were sparse, the land picked clean by decades of human habitation. Our cave was a shallow hollow carved into the high riverbank, but beyond it, the terrain was relentlessly flat, the lower plains stretching out in a blanket of unbroken snow.

  I returned to the cave to find she had come back, a small, rough-spun sack slung over her shoulder. She set it down, and from it tumbled meager rations: a handful of dried meat, tough as leather, and a small measure of raw grain.

  “Where did this come from?” I asked.

  “Abandoned village,” she said, her voice quiet. “The people fled with what they could carry. They did not take everything.”

  She produced two empty waterskins, and together we filled them from the river, the water so cold it made my fingers ache.

  “We need to find you some boots,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “We are to travel far. The cold will be hard on your feet.”

  She looked up at me, and nodded. “Boots have been taken already,” she added, a hint of steam rising from her shoulders as she stood, “In the meantime my qi keeps me warm, even in winter.”

  The same could not be said for me. Despite my thick winter clothing and the heavy wool of my coat, I felt a profound chill that had nothing to do with the snow. It was a coldness deep inside, a hollow space where my purpose used to be. It was an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling.

  We set out an hour later, two solitary figures in a vast, white world. I walked a few paces ahead. I was a soldier; if there was one thing I still knew, it was how to read the sun and the stars, how to find a northward path even in a featureless landscape.

  When I glanced back, she cut an ethereal figure against the endless white terrain, a ghost in fluttering green silks that seemed to defy the season, the dark steel sword in its simple scabbard a stark line at her side.

  I noticed she was not without choice for other outfits. The road was a frozen testament to the chaos we had fled. Bodies littered the path, some with the clear, brutal wounds of a soldier’s work, others with no apparent injuries at all, as if they had simply laid down in the snow and surrendered to the cold. There were peasants in their rough hemp and the wealthy in their finery. I saw a few aristocratic women, their fine silk robes, once the envy of a banquet, now glistening under a delicate, cruel layer of ice. Most of the rich died wearing silk shoes had disintigrated after miles of walking they were never built for.

  Few however dressed in the quality of silk the Maiden had on her.

  I realized with a jolt that our path along the river was taking us deeper behind the main lines of the rebellion. The Luo River flowed northeast from Luoyang, and we were following its current. For hours, we did not encounter a single living soul. Those who had fled the city’s fall would have gone southeast, away from the heart of An Lushan’s power, not into it. The only company we kept was the silent, frozen company of the dead.

  Late in the afternoon, I held up a hand, my fingers stiff with cold. In the distance, a long, snaking column of men and carts had appeared on the road, moving slowly toward Luoyang. We scrambled for cover, finding it in a dilapidated farmer’s hut just off the road, its door long since torn from its hinges. In the far corner, an old man lay frozen on his cot, a thin blanket pulled up to his chin as if he had simply died in his sleep. We knelt by a wide crack in the mud-brick wall, peering out as the convoy rumbled past. It was a substantial force, about fifty soldiers escorting four dozen carts piled high with supplies, each with its own driver. Ten men were mounted, the rest were infantry. Judging by their mismatched armor and weary posture, these were second-line troops, but they were far more than the two of us could handle.

  The two mounted scouts at the front of the column paused, their eyes fixed on the ground directly in front of our hut. They had seen our footprints in the snow. I could barely make out their conversation as the wind carried scraps of it to my ears. A junior officer rode up to join them.

  “Man and a woman,” the lead scout said, pointing with his spear. “Heading for these huts. A couple of refugees, maybe. Or a deserter and his prize.” His voice held a low, leering tone. He gestured toward our hiding place. “She must be a pretty one for a man to risk freezing to death for her. We could have some fun, sir. Warm us up a bit.”

  The junior officer who lead the cololumn considered it, his gaze sweeping over the collection of abandoned buildings. I felt a cold fury, sharp and useless, coil in my gut. I glanced at the maiden beside me. She was perfectly still, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, her eyes like chips of ice.

  “It’s not worth the trouble,” the officer finally grumbled, his shoulders slumped with a weariness that had clearly settled deep in his bones. “It’s been too damn cold, and a deserter will be armed. I just want a hot meal and a warm bed in Luoyang.” He turned his horse. “Leave them. Let them freeze.”

  As the officer rode on, one of the soldiers further back cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled toward our hut, his voice full of mocking laughter.

  “You’re going the wrong way!”

  A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the ranks. Another soldier added a cruder offer. “I’ve got a whole package of dried meat here! Happy to share it for a bit of fun with your lady!”

  "Now that's no way to treat a lady," I called out, laughing as I walked toward them with easy confidence. A sergeant placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as I flashed him my personal seal.

  His eyes went wide.

  "General Cui?" The words came out strangled. "But... but you fell at the northern gate! We all heard—"

  The recognition rippled through the convoy like a wave. These men who'd been making crude jokes moments before suddenly straightened in their saddles. The one who'd offered the dried meat went pale beneath his helmet.

  "General, I... forgive my words, sir." He stammered, genuinely mortified. "The cold and the march, they make animals of us sometimes. I meant no—"

  I waved him off, walking closer. "I know, soldier. I know." I could see myself in their exhausted faces, see Luoyang in their tired eyes. "The winter roads strip away our better selves if we let them."

  They dismounted—all of them, even the junior officer—and gave proper salutes. These were second-line troops, but they knew my name, knew my reputation. The stories of the vanguard had spread through the ranks.

  "General," the junior officer ventured carefully, "what are you doing out here? Why aren't you with—"

  An older soldier quickly coughed, cutting him off. They all understood something had happened, but soldier's code held their tongues.

  I smiled. "I died back at Luoyang, remember?"

  A moment of silence, then slow nods of understanding. No one asked further questions.

  "Supplies," I said simply. "Whatever you can spare. Dried meat, grain. And..." I glanced back toward the hut, "winter gear. Boots, a coat if you have extra."

  They didn't hesitate. Within moments they were pulling from their carts—not the official supplies, but their personal stores. A thick wool coat from one man's pack, fur-lined boots another had been saving, dried meat, a small sack of millet, even a precious jar of pickled vegetables.

  I moved among them as they gathered the supplies, clapping shoulders, speaking to each man. "What's your name, soldier?" I asked the one who'd made the crude offer.

  "Liu Wei, sir."

  "Where from?"

  "Hedong, sir. Got a wife and two boys."

  "Then get home to them alive, Liu Wei. And do it with honor." I gripped his shoulder. "The things we do in war... don't let them follow you home."

  To the junior officer, I pulled him aside. "Get your boys back safely. They're good men—I can see it. Don't let the war take that from them."

  A younger soldier, barely more than a boy, kept staring at the hut. Finally he blurted out, "General, the lady with you—"

  The older soldier beside him immediately cuffed his shoulder. "Mind your tongue, boy."

  I smiled and leaned close to the youth, whispering just loud enough for him to hear: "I owe her my life."

  His eyes went wide with a kind of awe, and he nodded quickly.

  As they prepared to leave, the junior officer asked quietly, "General... do you need us to... is there anything we should report?"

  "You never saw me," I said. "I died at Luoyang. That's all anyone needs to know."

  They saluted again, mounted their horses, and continued toward the city. I heard Liu Wei say to another soldier, "Not a word of this to anyone. Not even in our cups."

  "What general?" the other replied. "We didn't see anyone on this road."

  I gathered the supplies and returned to the hut. The maiden was standing now, having watched from the doorway. I tossed her the coat and set the boots by her feet.

  "They recognized you," she said. It wasn't a question.

  "They did."

  "Can they be trusted to stay silent?"

  I started packing the supplies into our bundles. "We should assume the story will get out. Soldiers talk, especially when wine flows.." I held out the boots to her. "These boots might be a little big, you should stuff them with straw, let me show you how."

  She put on the coat and exhaled after a shiver, then picked up the boots, examining them thoughtfully and nodded. I knelt down and showed her how to bind dry straw into little braids and bundles, how to start stuffing boots at the toe so the foot doesn’t slide when walking, and finally how to build up along the sides for stability. Her feet were rough and callused, far more than I'd expected from a just day or so bare.

  She took a few practice steps and I helped her adjust the stuffing so it wouldn’t cause blisters. We’d be walking a great deal, even calluses have limits.

  When we were finished I looked up at her and she didn't avert her gaze.

  A moment later I was rewarded with a soft “Thank you”