"This was quite the trip."
Miss Alvie didn't look up from her sketchpad. The pencil moved in short, deliberate strokes—scratch, pause, scratch—each line pressing lightly into the paper before lifting again. The page shifted under her wrist with every sway of the carriage, the lower corner lifting and settling as the train rocked along the tracks.
"But after a rather series of travels," Heiwa said from across the aisle, her voice quieter, "we're on the last of it."
She didn't turn. Her gaze stayed fixed on the window, on the pale stretch of land sliding past. The glass carried a faint chill where her breath had brushed it, a thin fog forming and fading with each exhale.
"Hm."
I leaned back, adjusting against the stiff seat. The fabric resisted slightly before giving, the wooden frame beneath it firm, unyielding.
"First a train from Twin Hill Province," I said, the rhythm of the rails pulling the words out slower than intended. "Then the capital… then another to Hǔyuǎn Shěng… and now another to its provincial capital."
The carriage hummed beneath us. Metal against metal. Constant.
"What's your point?" Heiwa asked.
She turned her head just enough to look at me, her expression steady.
I met her gaze.
"Why didn't we just fly?"
The question hung there, light. Easy.
Mr David turned a page.
The paper made a soft flick as it settled.
"The price of fuel has gone up," he said. "So has the price of tickets."
He didn't look up. His thumb smoothed the edge of the page once before returning to stillness.
"I see."
The words came out under my breath. They didn't go anywhere.
The carriage settled back into its rhythm. Not silence—never silence—but something contained. The low murmur of distant passengers filtered through the walls, broken occasionally by the faint clink of porcelain further down the train. Beneath it all, the steady cadence of the rails continued—unchanging.
Outside, the world had shifted.
The sunlight still existed, but it felt distant. Thinner. It stretched across the land without warmth, touching snow-dusted fields and pale stretches of earth that had already given themselves over to the cold. Mountains rose in the distance, their edges softened by frost, white caps blending into a sky that refused to deepen.
"I'm bored."
The words slipped out as I leaned closer to the window. My breath fogged the glass again, the chill pressing faintly against my cheek.
"Maybe we can pass the time with some card games."
Miss Alvie's response came immediately.
The sketchpad slid aside. Cards appeared in her hands mid-motion, already shuffling. The edges snapped softly against each other, quick, practiced, careless.
"I'll play."
I pushed myself upright. The seat creaked faintly beneath me.
"I will play as well," Heiwa added, setting her cup down. The porcelain clicked softly against the saucer before stilling.
The cards slapped lightly as they were dealt. One after another. Quick.
Old Maid.
Of course.
I gathered my hand, fanning the cards just enough to see them. The paper felt worn—edges softened, corners slightly bent from use. One card stood out immediately.
A woman.
Two jars tilted in her hands.
Water pouring endlessly into something that didn't need it.
I glanced up.
Miss Alvie was already grinning.
Then—
Thud.
"Ouch—old man!"
Her hand flew to the side of her head. The cards in her other hand shifted, one slipping slightly out of place before she caught it.
Mr David lowered his book just enough to glance at her.
Then returned to reading.
Heiwa's eyes moved between them, then settled on me. Her gaze dropped—slowly—toward my hands.
I followed it.
The card was still there.
Of course it was.
I looked away. Out the window. The pale land. The drifting frost.
When I looked back—
Still there.
"It's cold."
I shifted, pulling my coat tighter around me. The fabric dragged slightly against my sleeves before settling.
"Good thing I brought this."
Heiwa didn't respond. She reached forward, drew a card from Alvie's hand, and added it to her own without comment.
The game continued.
Moves made. Cards exchanged.
Nothing changed.
Three rounds.
Three endings.
Miss Alvie lost twice.
Heiwa once.
I said nothing.
By the third round, the energy had drained from the space between us. The cards fell into a loose pile on the seat, edges overlapping unevenly. No one gathered them.
We drifted back toward the window.
Back to the moving world.
Back to waiting.
—
The whistle cut through everything.
Sharp.
Long.
Whooo—whooo—
The train slowed. At first subtle—the pull easing, the rhythm beneath us breaking into uneven beats. Then more noticeable. The forward motion resisted, then gave way, the carriage settling gradually into stillness.
I blinked.
My head lifted.
"Oh—"
I straightened—
Then stopped.
Heiwa's shoulder.
My cheek.
Warm.
"Sorry."
I pulled back quickly, wiping at the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.
She glanced at me.
"It's fine."
Nothing more.
We stood with the others, moving with the slow press of bodies toward the exit. The air shifted as the doors opened—cold rushing in, sharp enough to sting the inside of my nose.
The platform was crowded.
Voices overlapped. Footsteps echoed against stone. Luggage dragged across the ground, wheels catching on uneven seams. Breath hung in the air in faint clouds, dissolving almost as quickly as they formed.
"This is Bǎoshān," Mr David said as we stepped down. "The provincial capital of Tiger Province."
My boots met the ground.
Cold.
Firm.
Real.
I looked up.
The city was white.
Not clean. Not pristine.
Layered.
Snow gathered along the edges of buildings, clinging to rooftops in uneven patches. Frost traced along window frames and doorways, catching what little light there was in a dull shimmer.
Even the air felt pale.
"Hm."
Heiwa's voice was quiet beside me.
My eyes moved without asking.
People passed—bundled in layers, movement quick against the cold. Breath visible. Some had ears—orange, flicking slightly as they spoke. Others carried tails that brushed lightly against their coats. A few blended almost completely into the surroundings, white against white, their outlines barely holding.
Heiwa's hand caught my sleeve.
"Don't stare."
She pulled me forward.
We moved with the flow. Out of the station. Into a line of waiting carriages. Horses shifted in place, hooves scraping lightly against frozen ground, breath rising in steady bursts from their nostrils.
The ride was quieter.
The city passed in muted tones—white, grey, occasional dark frames breaking the monotony. Lanterns still burned in some places, their glow soft, restrained.
By the time we reached the hotel, the sky had already begun to dim.
—
Morning came without announcement.
The dark lifted slowly. Gradually.
The world revealed itself piece by piece.
The carriage rolled forward.
No one spoke.
We were dressed alike—dark suits, clean lines, hair tied back. Movements restrained.
When we arrived—
The difference settled immediately.
White.
Not snow.
Cloth.
People stood in long lines, garments shifting softly with the wind. The sound of fabric brushing against itself replaced the usual noise of a crowd.
"We stand out."
My voice stayed low.
"I think it's called Sangfu," Heiwa said. "Or Bámǎ."
At the front—
A woman stood.
Still.
A wooden tablet held firmly in both hands. Her grip didn't shift, even as the wind pressed lightly against her sleeves.
Behind her, attendants moved.
White paper lifted into the air in steady handfuls. It rose first—caught in unseen currents—then turned and fell, drifting slowly as it descended.
"Do you see that?" Mr David asked.
We nodded.
"Bribe money," he said. "For the spirits of the underworld."
I watched the paper fall.
Some pieces caught on shoulders. On sleeves. On the edges of the casket as it passed.
"What about that sound?"
I turned slightly.
It cut through everything—high, sharp, insistent.
"The drums?" Heiwa asked.
I shook my head.
"No. That."
Mr David listened.
"Suona."
I nodded.
The casket came into view.
Large.
Heavy.
Sixteen men carried it. Shoulders squared. Steps measured. The wood creaked faintly under the weight, each movement controlled, synchronized.
"To show the weight of his status," Heiwa said quietly.
The paper continued to fall.
White.
Then black.
The daughter stepped forward.
A paper figure rested in her hands—shaped like a man. She lowered it into the flame.
Fire caught quickly.
The edges curled. Blackened. Broke apart.
Ash rose instead of smoke.
It drifted differently.
Slower.
Heavier.
The sky filled with it.
For a moment, it looked like snow falling in reverse.
I glanced at Mr David as he brushed a speck from his sleeve.
The pocket watch caught the light.
Silver.
Clean.
Emerald-like crystals along the chain fractured the pale sunlight into small, sharp reflections.
We followed the procession.
Up the hill.
The path narrowed. Snow thinned where others had walked before us, the ground beneath uneven, packed.
At the top stood a stone archway.
Worn.
Unmoving.
We passed beneath it.
Beyond—
The burial ground.
The casket was lowered.
Slowly.
Ropes tightened. Then eased. The wood descended inch by inch, the men adjusting their grip as the weight shifted.
"She's looking at it."
Heiwa's voice barely carried.
I glanced at her.
She didn't look at me.
Her gaze remained forward.
I didn't ask.
Three cups of wine were placed.
Offered.
The liquid caught what little light remained before it was poured.
We stood there.
Among ash.
Among paper.
Among people who had come to witness something that had already ended.
Miss Enmatsu stepped away from the front.
Then toward us.
Or perhaps we moved first.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
The words left all of us.
They felt small.
Her eyes moved.
Slow.
Deliberate.
They settled on Heiwa.
For a moment.
Then she bowed.
Slight.
No words.
She turned away.
"That went well," Miss Alvie muttered.
Thwack.
"Manners."
Mr David lowered his hand.
Alvie opened her mouth—
Then sneezed.
Sharp.
Sudden.
She blinked, nose wrinkling slightly.
"Maybe we should go back," Heiwa said.
Her gaze lingered a moment longer before turning.
The cold felt heavier now.
Not sharper.
Just thicker.
We retraced our steps down the hill. The archway passed above us again. Behind us, paper still drifted. Ash still hung in the air. The sound of the suona continued—unbroken.
No one spoke.
The city received us the same way it had before.
Quiet.
Pale.
Unmoved.
And just like that—
It was over.
Or at least—
That was what we told ourselves as we returned to the hotel.