True stillness had an infuriating quality to it: an oppositional energy of restlessness that sat in every corner of the stillness and hummed and vibrated in anticipation. In moments of true stillness – differentiated from regular stillness by both the extremity and necessity of the immobility – this energy was all anyone sitting in the quiet could feel. It became an overwhelming nuisance, an itch that demanded scratching even though the scratching would only spread a terrible rash further and further. Yet still the itch was there, burning and demanding attention, annoying the shit out of everyone in its clutches.

Fen had never had a chance to experience a stillness like that before. Her whole life there had been things to do, chores to attend to, and people to speak with. Even in moments of forced quietude – prayers, meals, sleep – there was the anticipation of the next rush of movement, the next place to be and the next activity to perform. But in the far recesses of the bandit’s cave network she felt her first true moment of stillness, and all she could think of was the energy that sat underneath it, waiting to be unleashed by one stray scratch, one tiny bluster of movement. Fen and the forty plus men and women standing in the cave with her refused to give in though, they held onto the stillness for all they were worth. No one spoke, no one sniffled, no one even sweat. And no one had said it, but they had grabbed onto the stillness when they heard the bandits approach. When the first test passed – their two planted bandits did not give away their location or plan – their grasp on it only tightened.

In actuality they could have made quite a bit of noise without alerting the bandits. The cave network was long and winding – they were almost a hundred and twenty yards away from the opening of the cave into the gash-tunnel, and they had taken shelter in an offshoot from the main cave, which the bandits had never used but which they had discovered when they’d surveyed the camp. The room was small – too small for forty to fit comfortably, but it had one very special aspect why they’d chosen it – a tiny hole to the surface that they had dug out enough for an individual to crawl out of. Their plan was simple: the archers would exit out the hole, one by one, then flank onto the sides of the tunnel base. They would rain arrows down on the remaining bandits, at the same time as those with melee weapons charged into their ranks. This was the trap Lian had devised, and they knew it was the best chance they had to win, so they were not going to let anything like a stray cough or even the shuffling of feet give away their position before they were ready. As a whole they committed to the stillness, and they didn’t let its more annoying properties overwhelm them.

They sat in it for almost an hour – as the bandits returned to camp, and then after Lian had faked the approach of an army, as most of the bandits from the camp left to fight their supposed enemy. Trapped as they were in the recesses of the caves, they had no idea how many had left, but they could make out the shouted orders and the trampling of horses that indicated at least a good number of the men had taken Lian’s bait. When the stampede faded completely and the only sounds that came into the caves were the echoed restless murmurs of the remaining bandits, they gave into the stillness, and eviscerated it.

A makeshift ladder was put up to the hole, and the archers – mostly villagers, who were more comfortable with bows and arrows than rushing up close with spears and swords – scrambled up, into the daylight, where they kept low and fanned out to approach both sides of the gash. Li Jie went with them, which had been decided only that morning when Fen absolutely refused to go. It was the safer route, and she made the point that her uncle’s safety was more important to their family than her own. She would be on the ground with Puotong and the majority of the soldiers, leading the rush.

With the stillness broken, the nervous energy poured through her body. The dagger in her palm felt like it was going to slip out of her grip, she was sweating so much. She tried to keep time with the quick, still hushed movement of the armed soldiers in front of her, but she almost tripped over every loose pebble and indentation in the cave floor. All night she had been trying to build a resolve that would prepare her for battle, for killing. She’d been unable to get out the feeling of sickness since she’d fired at Lian. Everything about it made her ill: the thought of what a bullet would do to another person; the smell and feel of the pistol as it fired, shocking every part of her body; the very idea that she could have pulled the trigger. Ever since then she’d been fighting the illness so that she could fight, and failing miserably.

It wasn’t until she followed Puotong and his soldiers out of the cave and into the light that she realized what she was actually trying to steel herself from: the fact that Lian was right.

Because right away, after the soldiers had speared through the first few unsuspecting bandits and before the archers had started to fire, in that brief moment when the bandits’ resolve to fight was stronger than her own, the truth of Lian’s statement came over her: it was her or them, and it was exactly that simple.

Her grip on the dagger tightened and a cry of pure bloodlust ejected from her mouth without any prompting as she charged at one of the bandits who had managed to mount his horse and had turned it around to face the soldiers’ attack from the rear. His eyes made contact with Fen’s, and she saw there was nothing in them except hatred and fear and death. There was nothing human about what they did next, it was animal.

The bandit tried to kick start his horse to mow over her, but a nearby soldier thrust his spear into the horse’s chest. The horse reared up before it died, and the bandit had the sense to jump off before it thrashed into its death throws. He was armed with a spear of his own and he thrust it at the Imperial soldier, whose armor saved him from being impaled. Fen rushed forward and hacked down with her dagger, sloppily but with all the force she could muster. Her short sword caught the bandit in the arm, just above the elbow, and he grunted in pain as blood sprayed into the air. He recoiled and dropped his weapon, but Fen didn’t stop. She thrust forward and he threw himself onto the ground to dodge, but it did no good, she kept going, and thrust again. He tried to roll away but the blade found purchase into his thigh. It sunk in deep, just like it would have on any chicken she’d ever decapitated or any game she’d ever skinned. The blade embedded in her victim, and Fen firmly attached to her blade, they formed a small chain and the bandit’s rolling pulled Fen on top of him. She crashed onto his body and the edge of her blade sliced her on the stomach as they continued rolling. She felt nothing, and just remained focused on holding onto the blade. The man screamed into her ear as she lay on top of him, and screamed even louder when she scrambled to stand tall and pull the blade out. Then she raised it again and struck it firmly into his chest. His scream turned to a gurgle as the knife cut through his lung and his entire breathing halted as his air sacs filled with blood. She struggled to pull the blade out again – it had become lodged between two ribs, and she had to stomp onto his chest to remove it. She lifted it one more time to strike again, then looked back at his eyes, which were staring into nothing. Blood was pouring out of his mouth and she knew he was dying. Their battle was over, and she had won. She turned and looked for more enemies.

But most of the enemies were gone. Their ambush plan had worked perfectly. As Puotong had led the charge out of the cave, the archers had risen up and fired at the bandits in the northern, shallower end of the gash. They’d felled almost all the horses and most of the soldiers there, blocking any path of retreat. The soldiers had likewise gotten a good jump on the bandits near the cave, and few of the bandits in the middle had any idea what was happening when the arrows starting falling on them too.

Puotong’s soldiers had continued pushing on, making short work of the ill-trained and panicked bandits, leaving Fen behind to finish off her enemy. None of the soldiers had noticed the small group of men and women off to the side, many of whom were bound and cowering as the bloodshed started. Fen forced herself to listen to their terrified screams.

“We’re not bandits!”

“We’re prisoners!”

“They captured us!”

She rushed towards them to reassure them it would be ok. As she approached though, one of them, who was not tied up, leapt up and attacked her. He was a small, young man, not much bigger or older than Fen herself, but his ferocity overwhelmed her. He knocked her backwards and struck the dagger out of her grasp. She scrambled to avoid falling, but her foot struck a stone planted in the ground and her ankle twisted. Unlike the scratch on her belly, her body was not in shock enough to dull the stab of pain that rocketed up her leg and caused her to shriek in agony.

She fell to the ground on her side and instinctively pulled her leg close, gripping her ankle. She held the pose for a second, until she saw the man who had attacked her. He’d picked up her small sword and was scrambling towards her, preparing to do to her what she’d done to the bandit. She felt the start of a panic take her, and she began crawling back, pushing with her good leg and the same side hand. The other hand fell to her midsection, where it found the pistol tucked in her belt.

He was almost upon her by the time she drew it. Far less than fifteen feet. She cocked it back and looked at him as she aimed and fired. Another noxious mix of gunpowder and deafening explosion struck her, but something far worse struck him. He crumpled to the ground only a foot away from her, clutching the very middle of his chest where the bullet had struck him. He rolled about on the ground as blood pooled under him. Then he stopped rolling, but the blood kept pouring.

The pain in her ankle began to dull, and she forced herself to stand up on her good leg. Puotong was yelling at the surviving bandits, who had coalesced into a small circle at the center of the camp. She looked up to the sides where the archers had them in their sights. The Imperial commander was offering them their lives in exchange for surrender.

They surrendered. Fen had won. And she felt it. The other half of the animal instinct she hadn’t wanted to admit she would feel. The joy of victory. Of survival in the face of a threat. It brought a giant, joyous smile to her face. To all their faces, peasant, soldier, noble alike. She could see it on her uncle’s face, high up on the tunnel edge, waving at her. She waved back and the joy became so unbearable she began to cry.

And before she knew it the tears were not joyous at all, but sorrowful and pained. And guilt. Guilt above all else, as the smell of blood and gunpowder came back to her and she heaved her empty stomach over and over, as a new stillness came over the camp. This one too, had a nervous energy, a knowledge.

A knowledge of death, humming just below the thrill of their continued lives.