This is a story based upon Hero, the 2002 Chinese film. Hero was the first wuxia movie I'd ever seen, and it's still my favorite. This is a slightly AU retelling of the meeting of Flying Snow and Broken Sword. I would be so grateful if you would review after reading, if only to tell me that I'm not the only person on this site who enjoyed this movie!


The winter solstice was only just behind us when Broken Sword first appeared in my tale.

At Shanxi Enclave we go to our rest at nightfall (so early in winter), and rise before the dawn- the better to save our precious candles. So it came as a surprise to me when I found myself awake, suddenly, in the still midnight.

The freezing air had that special stillness that only came in the deepest darkness, in the coldest of midwinters. The beating wings of a dove could have woken me in that silence, so of course unfamiliar footsteps in the hallway did as well.

I did not hear the visitor's step, which was, I imagine, what startled me out of my rest. Scribes do not walk so silently. I heard only the air move past him, over him. Then, the tiniest papery scratching of the dormitory door sliding open, then closing again.

I could hear him pulling off his robes, like a moth fluttering powdery wings. The straw pallet crinkled under his weight, and then he let out a long, slow breath.

I heard a history in that sigh: long, shivering nights under the cold stars, blowing frosty plumes of breath to add to descending snowflakes. Days in the mountains and forests, choosing whether to run or fight. In that breath I heard that our little Enclave (with its straw pallets and its frozen washbasins) was a much needed respite.


Then I slept again.

At dawn, I rose, pulling on my cold robes. I broke the thin surface of ice on the basin and washed and scrubbed my face. I meditated until the sky (I knew) began to turn deepest purple at the horizon.

By the time I had had congee and tea with the other Masters, a pale golden sun had risen. Then we moved to our desks and resumed last night's tasks: grinding pigments and mixing ink, stretching canvas and finishing parchment, and of course, making our art.

I ladled fresh water into my inkwell, checked my brushes, and continued my script. It was a difficult piece, and because it was one of my first as a Master myself, my concentration was complete.

I didn't think again upon the visitor whose movements I'd overheard until I noticed that Master Cascading was not among us, in his customary place at the head of the room.

At that moment, the divider slid open softly, and our Master entered. Twelve heads looked up, and we greeted him in unison. Cascading nodded, and I noticed that he wasn't alone.

The man behind him was taller by a head, but lean, even in draping robes. His hair was long and loose, totally unornamented, falling to his waist. As he entered the room, closing the divider behind him, I noticed the sharp lines of his face, just on this side of harshness. He had a neat, close-cropped goatee and simple white robes.

Master Cascading cleared his throat, as though our attention could have possibly been on anything other than the front of the room.

"Masters. My students. There is a guest among us. I present Broken Sword of Zheng. He is a Master in his own right."

The one I now knew as Broken Sword cast his eyes downward demurely and nodded deeply to us, his hands in his sleeves. We nodded again in unison and he slid onto the floor beside Master Cascading, sitting on his heels.

Even that simple movement was marked with the grace and economy of movement of a warrior. He put his hands on his knees and I saw the calluses on his knuckles, and over them a criss-crossing network of thin scars.

I realized with a start that his gaze was on me, and my eyes flicked up, meeting his abruptly. Despite the violence betrayed by his hands, he had very gentle eyes. At that moment, they held the barest hint of amusement.

Then Cascading spoke, pulling my attention away from Broken Sword. I could feel a blush rising.

"Broken Sword has come seeking an apprenticeship to one of the Shanxi Masters. He has no coin, but your old Master entreats his students to consider him regardless."

There was a muttering a surprise from the assembly. It was a highly unusual moment. There were only two ways into the Enclave: to be chosen an accepted by a Master as their Apprentice (as I had been), and to pay a large sum of money for the privilege. The former was much rarer, and the only way to become a calligrapher at our school. The latter was more usual, and generally occurred when wealthy parents wanted to send their children away to study for a few years.

There was a pregnant pause in the room before Master Cascading spoke again.

"He is a personal friend of mine, and has much worldliness and knowledge."

Broken Sword sat calmly, motionless. The set of his jaw and the posture of his body spoke of nothing but serenity and quiet confidence. He didn't set his eyes upon me again.

"I have a proposition, if Master Cascading Water and Broken Sword will hear me." I said, nodding over my desk.

"We will hear you, Mistress Driving Rain." Cascading said, gesturing at me to speak. The long sleeve of his robe flowed with the movement.

"I will teach Broken Sword my art and perhaps he will share his with me." I said quietly. At that, Broken Sword's eyes fell upon me, and his full lips moved into a tiny, lopsided smile.

"And to which art do you refer, Mistress Rain?" Cascading asked neutrally.

"The art of the sword, Master." I responded quietly.

Cascading only nodded, but I thought I detected a little surprise in his face.

"What say you, Broken Sword?" He asked, turning to his companion.

"I am honored to accept." Broken Sword said, speaking for the first time. His voice was deeper than I had expected, but very smooth and quiet. He bowed deeply to me, then to Master Cascading.

"Very well." Cascading said lightly, then began inspecting his brushes.


I finished my final commission just as it was time to share our midday meal. I finished my congee quickly then put on my outer robes and boots: I was in the habit of walking around the grounds when the sun was highest and warmest.

My boots crunched on new snow, sinking in to the ankle. Overhead, however, it was a very clear, bright day. Sparrows flitted about overhead, the doves that always roosted (despite our efforts) in our awnings and rafters cooed. I was squinting against the glare of the sun on snow, wondering what had become of my new apprentice, when Broken Sword fell silently into step beside me.

"Mistress Driving Rain." He said, bowing deeply, hands in his sleeves. Again, I was surprised by the timbre of his voice, not to mention the soundlessness of his step, even in the snow.

"Master Broken Sword." I said, returning the gesture. We walked out into the clearing together, blowing plumes of frosty breath before us. I found myself unable to look directly into his gaze, or even directly at him.

There was something otherworldly about the man. He radiated an almost preternatural calm. His every movement spoke of grace and power, but his manner was quiet and modest.

"Mistress Driving Rain is very perceptive." He said at last, and there was that same gentle amusement in his voice. "I could have been a Master poet or a philosopher. An artist with words or music."

I smiled despite myself.

"Please call me Rain, if you would. And no poet has calluses on his sword hand and a dozen scars across his knuckles." I said.

I didn't mention the sigh I heard in last night's still darkness, from the dormitory on the other side of my thin wall. The life I heard in that one exhaled breath. Or the fact that he was just slightly spare, his face just slightly weathered. The disciplined way he moved.

Broken Sword just smiled softly.

"As I said, you are very perceptive." He replied.


Broken Sword sat on his heels at my left all afternoon, grinding pigments with a mortar and pestle, then carefully blending them with almond oil and water to form ink. It was the first lesson an apprentice learned, and I couldn't help but smile to see a grown man learning as I once had as a tiny child.

I didn't speak except to issue instructions, and he didn't speak save occasional questions.

We ate a silent dinner with the Masters, then finally went to practice in the sand wells.

We stood side by side, drawing in the sand in tandem. Broken Sword was a natural, and for a long time we merely drew a simple character ("Lotus"), then smoothed the sand over and began again.

There were many questions circling in my mind, like wheeling hawks in summer. What was a man like Broken Sword really doing in a remote country calligraphy school? How long would his apprenticeship last? It was usual for even a casual student to stay with a Master for at least two years. It seemed unlikely that he would like to be with us for so long.

And what of the other half of my proposition?

"You've done very well, Broken Sword." I said, resetting the sand one last time as the night chimes sounded.

Outside the sun was setting, the diffused glow through the thin walls of our compound was now closer to red than amber. The ambient sounds of the Enclave were dimming as well as we put away our supplies and swept stray sand back into the wells.

Broken Sword replaced our styluses in their customary corner, then bowed deeply to me for perhaps the third or fourth time that day. I smiled behind my hand.

"Thank you, Mistress Driving Rain." He said solemnly.

I found myself casting my eyes downward. It didn't seem quite correct that someone such as Broken Sword would defer to me.

"Again, please call me Rain, Broken Sword." I said.

He only sank onto the ground, sitting on his heels, his hands falling open in his lap.

"I believe I will stay and meditate awhile. Is there a large, open area in the Enclave? Somewhere quiet?" He said, pointedly not assenting to use my informal name.

I considered.

"The east library is quite large, and not often used."

Broken Sword nodded.

"Then I'll see you there at dawn tomorrow." He said with a little smile.

So he had remembered! I thought.

Feeling a tiny thrill of excitement and nervousness travel through me, I nodded.

"Rest well, Broken Sword."

"Thank you, Mistress Driving Rain. You, as well."

I turned and left the room before he could see the color in my cheeks.