That’s enough,” the innkeeper said to the crowd, waving them away. “What does my inn look like to you? A theatre? Off with you lot now.” She glanced at Zhelan, then, Sezha. “Shall I draw you a bath? I understand you’ve been training, young lord.”

“Ah,” Zhelan said, shrugging. “Looks like you aren’t affiliated, after all. You should take that bath, young lord. It would be unfortunate if people got the wrong idea of your truly noble character on account of that stench.”

Sezha frowned and sniffed his sleeve. He didn’t smell that bad, did he?

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” he said to the innkeeper.

“I’ll be on my way,” Zhelan made for the door leisurely, the crowd parting for him in hushed awe as if he were a monarch going on a stroll. With one foot out of the door, he turned and said, “No need to thank me. I look forward to seeing your true skill, Kyu Sezha.” With that, the martial artist left the inn.

“Quite the interesting man,” the innkeeper muttered, starting up the stairs leading to the second floor of the inn. “I’ll have your bath ready in just a minute, young lord.”

Sezha nodded, his mind already wandering to other things.

. . .

A half-hour of scrubbing and soaking later, Sezha was sprawled out on his bed. It had been forever since he could just relax and do nothing. Every last second of his life was either dedicated to training, meditating, or securing his next meal in that hell of a pocket realm.

Nara had wandered off somewhere, giving him some time to think. He was grateful for everything she had done for him, but her constant preaching was too much at times.

“Don’t let a single minute go by without practicing, Sezha,” he whispered, imitating her voice. “No, you can’t rest, Sezha. Why aren’t you training hard enough, Sezha?”

Still, it was because of her he was alive. It was sobering to recall all his narrow brushes past the cold spirit of death the past few months.

Such was the way of the Path. However, even immortals who reached the peak of the Path had moments where they could lay back and have fun, right? Sezha was nowhere near that stage, but it wasn’t like there was a set rule preventing him from enjoying his downtime.

He glanced around his room, which was kept tidy at all times. A person’s abode defined their personality, or so he used to think. Documents and scrolls stacked neatly on his desk, alongside a row of his best brushes and pens. A shelf ran along the wall adjacent to the door, laden with thick tomes and notebooks.

Before meeting Nara, was this really all his life was about? Perhaps it was time for him to find a hobby, or at the very least, do something beyond studying or research.

Sezha swung his feet over the edge of his bed, resting them on the carpeted floor. He rolled his head side to side, one hand over his shoulder to work out the knots in his muscle, then the other side. Although his body felt like an ancient wreck, he knew that with just a quick cycle of his meridians, the otherworldly power of the Way was within the grasp of his fingertips.

He finally rose and joined Kan at the high window overlooking the moderately filled street. It saw a steady stream of people, though hardly anything compared to the main trade roads. Fortunately, the inn was a respectable distance away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Now that the festival was in full swing, sleep would’ve been an impossible task if his room was near the main roads.

It hadn’t taken long for Kan to make herself home in his room, claiming the sofa by the window. Her bow was placed against the armrest, her quiver hanging from a robe rack. She was hard at work carving something out of a block of wood. It was too early for Sezha to tell what.

“Why don’t we go down and have some fun,” Sezha said, turning away from the window and toward his wardrobe. He picked out a fine ensemble fit for a young noble; fine silk robes and boots that were as soft as sin.

Kan scooped up her scarf and wrapped it around her neck. Apparently, that was all she needed to get ready.

At the foot of the stairs, Sezha met the innkeeper, who was just starting to go up. “There’s been strange men asking for you, young lord,” she said, her eyes darting around the taproom. “Specifically, a young noble and his wild-eyed manservant.”

“Do you have any idea who they were?” Sezha asked, rubbing the pommel of his sword with his thumb.

“I’m afraid not,” the innkeeper said, her face lined with motherly concern. “In our line of work, we hear about most happenings in the city. I’ll keep an ear out, young lord. Please do stay safe out there.”

“Thank you,” Sezha said. His allies in the city were few and far, but the innkeeper was reliable enough, even if a little vapid. A trait he had come to admire in a person. It was tiring to treat every conversation and interaction as a contest in slyness and cunning.

Sezha left through the alley exit, Kan following close behind him. He stuck his head out and looked both ways when they came upon the mouth before hastily slipping into the flow of people. A little caution never hurt anyone, more so for a person of Sezha’s status.

His senses heightened as they followed the river of people into one of the more busy streets. Like always, the air tasted of the salty sea and commerce.

A million things seemed to be happening at once. The men and women of Cheng-Kai dressed in their finest moved back and forth between street vendors hawking their wares. There was nothing a person couldn’t buy on the market road. Sezha’s eyes lingered on a pair of wicked-looking shortswords displayed behind a locked case.

Even the beggars were more spirited than usual. Festivals tended to give a sense of charity to even some of the more stingy residents of the city. That didn’t mean everyone waited for handouts, though. The urchins in rags lurked at the edges of the street, their shifty eyes on the prowl for fat ringpurses.

Sezha's fingers instinctively wrapped around the ringpurse on his belt. While he wasn’t short on rings, he didn’t need grubby ruffians snatching what was his.

The smell of roasting meat and freshly baked bread drew Sezha’s attention to a crowded eatery. It was the open-air type closed off to Sezha’s class of elites. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at Kan, whose eyes were glued to the eatery.

“Fine,” Sezha relented, pushing the hilt of his sword back further under his outer robe. The last thing he needed was some numbskull starting a brawl over it.

The roughly dressed men on the eatery’s benches had the look of hard labor about them, some bearing swords and daggers on their belts. Serving wenches moved to and from the tables, dodging outstretched hands with painfully fake smiles. An eatery of this caliber wasn’t usually his first choice in dining, but there was always a time to try something new.

Sezha pushed open the gate, studying the fencing around the eatery. A light breeze was probably enough to uproot the hastily embedded posts, most certainly not up to code with Cheng-Kai’s strict construction codes. At the very least, they had stretched a canvas canopy over a thick pole at the center of the eatery, giving customers much-needed shade from the elements.

A giant of a man blocked Sezha’s path, leaning on an equally giant spear. He was probably only a few fingers shorter than the guardian of the pocket realm.

“You lost?” the giant asked, a single bushy brow raised. His voice sounded like sharp rocks underneath bare feet.

“No,” Sezha said, not giving even an inch. “I just want a meal, no problems. Not unless you make one.”

Kan stepped forward, her chest puffed out and eyes as fierce as a tiger cub.

“What an interesting pair.”

Sezha started, twirling around to face the new voice. It was a young woman not much shorter than himself. At least, he thought she was a girl, despite her chestnut hair being cut short and dressed up in men’s robes.

“No need to scare off business, Ton,” she continued, eyeing Sezha up and down before crossing her arms and nodding. “We’ve got such a high-class customer here, and you’re already scaring him off? Have you learned nothing under my tutelage?”

Ton, the giant, surprisingly enough, bowed his head as if he were a mischievous schoolboy being scolded by his teacher. “Sorry, Mistress Riya. You know I’m not very bright.”

“We all have strengths and weaknesses,” Riya said, snapping for the attention of a passing serving wench.

“Yes, Mistress Riya?” the wench inquired, balancing three different trays, one for each hand and the third on top of her head.

“Get this young lord and his little companion a meal,” Riya directed, throwing her arm over Kan’s shoulder. “Some milk for the girl, as well.” She tossed her head back and laughed. “Just skin and bones, ain’t she?”

Riya led them to a lonely, deserted corner of the eatery. As Sezha followed her, he studied the faces of the patrons. Many looked to be mercenaries or soldiers, though some had the appearance of farmers from the sticks. Festivals at Cheng-Kai often drew people from all corners of the lowlands.

Within half an hour, Sezha and company were seated with bowls of stew and wine displayed haphazardly on the table. Compared to the lightly steamed foods he was used to, it appeared the simple folk liked their meals prepared with a hearty dash of seasoning and grease.

Unceremoniously, Kan dug in without a word to their host. She started on a plate of short ribs, leaving nothing but white bone behind. It wasn’t long until she was slurping down a bowl of stew, some of it dribbling down her chin and onto her shirt.

Sezha sighed. While he didn’t place too much attention on table manners, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to teach her basic etiquette.

“Look at her go,” Riya said, smiling warmly. “You must be fond of her.”

Sezha frowned. Just what did he think of his young servant? He hadn’t known her very long, but she was a reliable shot with the bow. And with no qualms about taking human life, she was the perfect support for dicey situations. Still, it just didn’t feel right having a young girl kill under his orders.

If he wanted to reach the end of the Path, his soft heart would have to be discarded. He couldn’t think of Kan as a friend but as a comrade in his goals. He couldn’t afford to spare enemies out of some vague, misguided sense of honor. To become a divine artist was to replace the soft fleshy parts of himself with cold steel.

“Yes,” Sezha answered, taking a bite out of rough rye bread. “I’m very fond of her.”