The first rays of dawn descended over the caravan, playing across canopied roofs, wooden wagons, sleeping horses. They brushed down Zhao Gaoren’s face, warming his body. The sword sagged out of his grip, sliding down his body. As the light reached his eyes, he wrinkled his nose, then yawned and stretched, finally peeling his eyes open.

Abruptly, Zhao Gaoren sat upright. He looked around, rubbing his eyes. When no threats leaped out at him, he sat back and smiled. A content sigh escaped him.

The curtain hanging in the back of one of the wagons lifted. Chen Wuya stepped out, squinting into the early morning light. Aside from a fresh line of stitches across the chest of his robes, there was no sign of the night’s excursion. He wobbled over to the dead firepit and crouched there, his hair a bird’s nest, eyes half-shut.

Zhao Gaoren smiled. He climbed down from the wagon and tinkered in a corner for a bit, then swaggered over to sit beside Chen Wuya, carrying a pot. “Ah, I suppose those rumors were false.”

Half-awake, Chen Wuya squinted at him, completely lost.

“No one attacked us, after all.” He propped the pot over the firepit.

Chen Wuya snorted.

“Are we having breakfast?” Jing Fengge walked over beside them and turned a stump over, sitting atop it. He nestled a kettle into the gray ashes and sat back, lifting a book to wait.

Chen Wuya furrowed his brows. He glanced at the other two and opened his mouth, then shrugged and returned to staring at the dead firepit.

Jing Fengge watched Chen Wuya from the corner of his eyes. “I’m glad to see you bright and early this morning. I feared you might run off in the night.”

“Feared I might run off?” Chen Wuya chuckled under his breath. He shook his head. Ah, is that why you didn’t come help us? Or are you just a sound sleeper?

“Did I say something amusing?” Jing Fengge asked, narrowing his eyes.

A cold snort was his only answer.

Bells jingled, high and clear. Meiling walked over and joined them, standing beside Chen Wuya. A pair of silver bells dangled from her belt, jangling as she walked. She stood there for a few moments, then furrowed her brows. “The fire… isn’t lit?”

“Eh?” Zhao Gaoren frowned and poked at the ashes with a stick.

“No, it isn’t,” Chen Wuya confirmed with a dry chuckle.

Jing Fengge cleared his throat. He reached into his robes and offered Zhao Gaoren a flint and steel.

“Right, right. I was just about to…” Zhao Gaoren took the tools and bent over the fire. With a few practiced moves, he lit it.

Chen Wuya and Meiling exchanged a glance. Chen Wuya smiled, and she grinned back. A second later, he narrowed his eyes slightly and turned away. Meiling. The girl with the flute. Is it a coincidence that she shares a name with the heroine who helped seal me? Is she a cultivator, or is the flute a magical treasure?

Stirring the fire, Zhao Gaoren hummed to himself. As the flames grew high, he glanced at Chen Wuya. “So, what brings you to Golden Pavilion City?”

“I’m a wanderer. I go where my feet take me,” Chen Wuya stated.

“Really? Are you sure it isn’t to go see Qiu Xuanwu’s sword, Xiong Zhao?”

Chen Wuya sat bolt upright, eyes opening fully for the first time since he’d gotten up. “Xiong Zhao is in Golden Pavilion City?”

Zhao Gaoren smiled, eyes twinkling. He doled out servings of porridge for Chen Wuya and Meiling. “Indeed. It’s sealed deep in an ancient temple. They discovered the temple twenty years ago, when they dug the foundation for a new palace. It took ten years to dig out the temple’s iron vault, break in, and discover the sword. The leader of the city re-sealed the sword, and the local sect’s highest-ranking members have been continuously chanting for the last nine years to attempt to purify it. It’s said that once it’s purified in a few weeks, the city will put it on display for all to see.”

“Purify it? A few weeks?” Chen Wuya asked, horrified. That can’t be. If they do that—everything is over. I’ll have to start over from scratch. It probably isn’t Xiong Zhao, but— No. I can’t allow it. Even an infinitesimal chance is too much.

Zhao Gaoren nodded sagely. “If you’ve got nothing better to do, you ought to stick around and see the sword! I’m sure it’ll be quite the sight to a young swordsman like you.”

Shoveling down his porridge, Chen Wuya thumped the bowl down and stood.

“Where are you going?” Zhao Gaoren asked, frowning.

“Shitter,” Chen Wuya replied.

Shocked, Zhao Gaoren covered Meiling’s ears. “Language!”

Chen Wuya walked into the forest. The second he could no longer see the camp, he sprinted into the forest, operating Pass Amidst Leaves as fast as he could. He rushed along, much faster than before. Between the battle experience and the demonic qi in the forest, his cultivation had greatly increased overnight. Most of the qi still swirled inside him, not fully integrated, but he circulated it as he ran, cultivating on the go.

He narrowed his eyes, darting through the underbrush with barely a sound. Xiong Zhao! If that’s my sword they have, then they’d better be ready! This grandmaster is coming to take his sword!

--

Red lacquered walls soared to the sky. Far beyond them, golden pavilion stood in the city’s heart, its seven layers all gilded, towering into the sky. It gleamed, brilliant in the sunlight. All around it, the sloped roofs of elegant palaces crowded close, as if they wished to borrow the pavilion’s brilliance and reflect it, bask in its golden light.

Four golden gates opened into the city, massive, studded doors open to the streets beyond. A steady line of travelers approached the doors, waiting to be let into the city. One after another, they approached the guards at the gates and showed papers, then were let inside.

Chen Wuya watched from high above, looking down on the antlike passerby. He leaned against the tree trunk, snacking on the last of the dried meat. Down below, the guards turned to accept a new set of papers.

The second they did, Chen Wuya burst into motion. He leaped off the tree branch and floated through the air. His feet tapped down on the wall, one step, two, and then he leaped again, vanishing into the city.