The journey out of the mountain's heart was both easier and more disorienting than the journey in. The path Su Yang had taken, battered and half-drowned by the river, was now retraced with a body humming with newfound power. The darkness that had once been a suffocating blanket was now merely a dim haze to his enhanced eyes. He could see the subtle gradations of shadow, the minute reflections on wet stone. His movements were sure and silent, his feet finding purchase on slippery rocks with an instinctual grace he'd never possessed before. The skittering creatures of the deep gave him a wide berth, sensing the potent, controlled energy that now radiated from him.
He found the underground river that had delivered him to his destiny. Its current, which had once been a brutal, mindless force, now seemed like a manageable flow. Taking a deep breath, he plunged in. The water was still icy, but his Body Forging Realm constitution registered it as merely bracing. He swam against the current with powerful, effortless strokes, his lungs needing air far less frequently than before. He was no longer a leaf on the water; he was a predator returning to its domain.
After what felt like only minutes, he saw a faint light ahead—the entrance to the cavern system, filtered through the rushing water. He broke the surface, gasping not from exhaustion, but from the sheer, visceral joy of the sunlight on his face. He hauled himself onto the rocky shore of the mountain river, lying there for a moment as the water streamed from his ruined suit, now little more than rags clinging to his hardened frame.
The air was different out here. It was fresh, filled with the scent of pine and damp earth, but to his newly attuned senses, it was also… empty. Qi-starved. The memory of the potent, ancient energy within the cavern was a stark contrast to the thin, weak spiritual breath of the outer world. It was like stepping from a feast into a famine.
A deep, primal hunger gnawed at his stomach. It wasn't just for food; it was a craving for energy, for substance to fuel the powerful engine his body had become. His eyes scanned the forest edge, his hearing picking up every rustle of a leaf, every chirp of a bird.
His gaze locked onto a wild apple tree standing a short distance away, its branches heavy with ripe, red fruit. Without a second thought, his legs coiled beneath him. He didn't run; he simply pushed off.
The world dropped away. He soared, a clean, vertical arc that carried him effortlessly twenty feet into the air. The sensation was breathtaking—a feeling of pure freedom and power. He grabbed a thick branch, his grip firm and sure, and pulled himself up to sit amongst the leaves. He plucked an apple, its skin cool and smooth under his fingers. He bit into it.
The flavor was a revelation. It wasn't just an apple. His enhanced senses could taste the sunlight in its skin, the minerals from the soil in its flesh, the very essence of its life force. It was the most delicious, the most *real* thing he had ever eaten. He ate another, and then another, consuming them core and all, his body eagerly absorbing every nutrient, every shred of energy they offered. He sat there on the high branch, a modern-day ascetic in tattered clothes, viewing the world from a new perspective, both literally and figuratively. The worries of Su Yang, the intern, felt like a distant, fading dream.
It was then that the new, sharper hearing of the Yin-Yang Envoy caught another sound. It was faint, carried on the breeze from further down the mountain slope where a plume of smoke suggested a small village.
It was the sound of a struggle. A woman's voice, raised in desperate protest, frayed with fear. It was followed by the deeper, coarse laughter of men.
The peace of the moment shattered. The contentedness vanished, replaced by a cold, focused clarity. The Harmonic Convergence Art within him stirred, the balanced energy humming, ready to be directed. He was no longer just a man who had found power; he was the inheritor of a righteous path. His master's words echoed in his mind: *"…to restore the glory of the righteous sects that once upheld the balance and protected the weak…"*
This was no longer an abstract ideal. It was a call to action.
In a single, fluid motion, he dropped from the branch, landing silently on the forest floor twenty feet below. He moved through the trees not like a man, but like a ghost, his passage making no sound. The sounds of the struggle grew louder, more distinct.
He emerged at the edge of a clearing near a dirt path leading into a small, rural village. The scene before him was a brutal tableau of mundane tyranny.
A young woman, her clothes simple and worn, was pinned against a dusty jeep. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes wide with terror. Surrounding her were three hulking men, their faces leering and cruel. And standing before her, a smug, sneering expression on his face, was a man who could only be their leader. He was well-fed, dressed in expensive clothes that looked absurdly out of place, a local tyrant playing at being a king.
"Come on, Xia Ling," the man drawled, his voice oily. "Your father's debt is my debt now. A few months working at my lodge will clear it right up. It's a generous offer." His hand reached out to touch her cheek, and she flinched away with a cry of despair.
The sound cut through Su Yang. It was the sound of powerlessness, of a world without justice. It was a sound he knew intimately, but one he would never be forced to make again.
He didn't shout. He didn't announce himself. He simply raised his right hand, index finger extended. He focused a minuscule amount of his Qi, a mere wisp, and directed it not as a blast, but as a precise, concussive pulse.
*Flick.*
One of the thugs pinning the woman's arm, a brute with a scarred face, suddenly flew backward as if hit by a wrecking ball. He sailed through the air for a dozen feet before crashing into a stack of firewood with a sickening crunch of breaking logs and bones. He did not get up.
Silence. The leering smiles vanished, replaced by stunned confusion.
*Flick.*
The second thug, who had been grabbing the woman's waist, met the same invisible, irresistible force. He was thrown sideways into the side of the jeep, the metal door buckling with a loud groan. He slid to the ground, unconscious.
The tyrant, a man named Boss Gao, stumbled back, his face pale. His remaining crony let go of the woman and drew a knife, his eyes darting around wildly. "Who's there?" Gao screamed, his voice losing its oily confidence, becoming a shrill demand. "Show yourself! This is my business!"
The woman, Xia Ling, slumped against the jeep, trembling, her eyes scanning the tree line for her unseen savior.
Su Yang stepped out from the shadows of the trees. He did not stride forward with aggression. He simply walked, his pace steady, calm, inevitable. He was a shocking figure. His clothes were in tatters, his hair was long and unkempt, but his posture was erect, his eyes held a terrifying, ancient calm, and his body, visible through the rips in his shirt, was corded with lean, defined muscle that spoke of impossible strength.
Boss Gao stared, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing. This wasn't a village hero or a policeman. This was… something else. Something feral and dangerous.
"You… stay back!" Gao stammered, his bravado crumbling. In a flash of panic, he acted. He lunged forward, grabbed Xia Ling by the hair, and yanked her in front of him. With his other hand, he pulled a sleek, black pistol from a holster under his jacket and pressed the barrel hard against her temple.
Xia Ling froze, a whimper of pure terror escaping her lips.
"Stop right there, you freak!" Gao shouted, his hand shaking. "You take one more step and her brains are on the road! Now turn around and get lost! This doesn't concern you!"
Su Yang stopped. But he didn't look at the gun. He looked at Boss Gao. His expression didn't change. There was no fear, no anger, no negotiation. There was only a flat, dispassionate assessment, like a scientist observing a failed experiment.
He took a step forward.
"I said stop!" Gao screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Su Yang took another step.
The tyrant's nerve broke. With a strangled cry of fear and frustration, he pulled the trigger.
*BANG.*
The gunshot was explosively loud in the quiet mountain air. Xia Ling squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the impact.
It never came.
Su Yang's right hand was held up, palm outward, between them. His movement had been too fast to see. Slowly, he opened his fingers. Resting in the center of his palm was a misshapen lump of lead, smoke curling from its surface.
The world seemed to stop. Boss Gao's jaw went slack. His mind simply broke. This was impossible. This was a nightmare.
"Demon!" he shrieked, and in a blind, panicked frenzy, he began to empty the entire clip at Su Yang.
*BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!*
The shots rang out, one after another, each one a thunderclap of defiance against the impossible. Xia Ling screamed, collapsing to the ground and covering her head.
Su Yang didn't move from his spot. His hands became a blur, moving with preternatural speed and precision. He didn't dodge. He simply plucked each bullet out of the air as it arrived, the sound of the gunshot followed instantly by the soft *ping* of metal hitting his palm. His expression never changed. It was a display of such absolute, casual superiority that it was more terrifying than any roar of anger.
The hammer fell on an empty chamber. *Click. Click. Click.*
Silence returned, heavier and more profound than before. The air stank of cordite and fear.
Su Yang opened his hand. Nine deformed bullets clattered onto the dirt road at his feet.
He took the final few steps until he was standing directly before Boss Gao. The tyrant was hyperventilating, his eyes wide with uncomprehending horror. The empty pistol fell from his numb fingers. He was looking into the eyes of a being from another world, and he saw his own utter insignificance reflected in them.
He let go of Xia Ling completely, stumbling backward before his legs gave out and he crumpled to his knees in the dust.
"P-please…" he begged, snot and tears mixing on his face. "Don't kill me! I have money! I can give you anything! She's yours! Just take her! Please!"
Su Yang looked down at him, this pathetic worm who had thought his little bit of power made him a god. Killing him would be as insignificant as stepping on an ant. But justice was not always about death. Sometimes, it was about balance. About ensuring the threat could never harm the innocent again.
"You threatened a life," Su Yang said, his voice low and calm, yet it carried the weight of final judgment. "You wielded power without responsibility. You will do so no longer."
He moved.
It was so fast it was almost invisible. His foot lashed out twice. There were two sharp, wet *cracks* that echoed sickeningly in the clearing. Boss Gao screamed, a high-pitched, animal sound of agony as both of his knees were shattered, the bones pulverized. He collapsed fully onto his side, writhing.
Before the scream could die, Su Yang knelt, grabbing the tyrant's right wrist—the one that had held the gun. He looked into the man's pain-glazed eyes.
"And this hand," Su Yang said, "will never hold a weapon against the helpless again."
*CRUNCH.*
He squeezed. The bones in the man's hand and wrist compacted into powder. Boss Gao's scream cut off abruptly as he passed out from the shock, lying in a broken heap in the dirt.
The justice of the Envoy was swift and absolute.
The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of Su Yang's breathing and the soft sobs of the woman on the ground. He turned to her. She was curled into a ball, her clothes torn, her body shaking uncontrollably. The violence of her rescue had been as terrifying as the assault itself.
Su Yang's dispassionate demeanor softened, just a fraction. He wasn't here to terrify the innocent. He walked over to the unconscious thug by the jeep and, with a deft motion, stripped the man's relatively clean cotton shirt off. He then approached Xia Ling slowly, giving her time to see him.
He knelt beside her, not touching her. "You are safe," he said, his voice quieter now, losing its edge of judgment. "He will not trouble you again."
He held out the shirt. "Here."
Trembling, she uncurled slightly, her eyes filled with a mixture of awe, terror, and overwhelming gratitude. She took the shirt with shaking hands and quickly pulled it on over her torn clothes, covering herself. It was several sizes too big, but it offered a barrier, a return of some dignity.
"Th-thank you," she stammered, her voice hoarse from crying. "Who… what are you?"
Su Yang looked toward the distant mountains, then back at her. "I am just a passerby," he said. He rose to his feet. "Go home. You are safe."
Without another word, he turned and began to walk down the path away from the village, leaving the scene of broken tyranny behind him. Xia Ling stared after his retreating back, the image of the man who caught bullets with his hands and moved like a shadow burned into her memory forever. She was no longer just a village girl. She was a witness to the return of something the world had forgotten.
And Su Yang, the Yin-Yang Envoy, walked on. His first act of judgment was complete. The path of the righteous had its first, small footprint in the modern world. And he knew it would not be its last.