The sun rose slowly over the peaks of the White Crane Sect, spilling golden light across its tiled roofs and stone paved courtyards. Mist drifted lazily through the valleys, parting only when flocks of cranes soared from their roosts, their cries echoing faintly in the mountain air.
While other disciples gathered in the training squares to begin their morning routines, four figures were already on the move. The mountain road leading east wound downward, framed by bamboo groves and pines, and along it rolled a sturdy carriage drawn by two black-maned horses.
At the front, reins in hand, sat Zhāng Wei. His posture was straight, calm, the sort of man who seemed born to endure long miles without complaint. Each flick of his wrist sent the horses forward with steady rhythm.
In the carriage's back, Xiǎo Yǔ leaned against a crate, her twin tails swaying as she shifted restlessly.
"So unfair," she muttered, poking her cheek with a finger.
"I thought cultivators were supposed to fly on swords or ride spirit beasts. But no ,here we are bumping along in a dusty carriage like merchants."
Hú Lì laughed from where he lounged beside her.
"Patience, little sister. Sword-flight is for Core Formation and above. You should be happy we even have horses. Do you know how many disciples have to walk on their first mission?"
Xiǎo Yǔ stuck out her tongue at him. "Still boring."
Her whining earned a faint smile from Duō Yī, though he said nothing. He sat quietly in the corner.
The hours passed, the mountain roads slowly flattening into broader paths trodden by mortal traders. Trees thinned, streams widened, and the cries of cranes gave way to the bleating of goats from distant villages.
Xiǎo Yǔ kept the mood lively, her endless chatter spilling from one topic to the next. She asked Zhāng Wei about his hometown, only to get short, steady replies that revealed little. She teased Duō Yī for being a stone statue, then complained that Hú Lì laughed too much. The banter made the journey lighter, even as the road stretched endlessly ahead.
By midday, clouds had gathered, the air thick with the smell of wet soil. It was then the horses grew restless. Their ears twitched, hooves stamping nervously against the dirt.
Zhāng Wei tugged the reins, slowing the carriage. His eyes narrowed, scanning the brush. "Something's here."
A low growl rolled from the undergrowth. Then, with a sudden lunge, a massive wolf burst from the trees. Its fur was black as tar, its fangs long and jagged. A faint ripple of qi clung to its body, the mark of a spirit beast, albeit a low-ranked one.
The horses screamed, rearing back.
Zhāng Wei moved first. He leapt from the carriage, his fist already wrapped in qi. With a single swing, he drove it into the wolf's flank, sending the beast crashing into the dirt.
The wolf snarled, struggling back to its feet, but Xiǎo Yǔ was already there. She flicked her wrist, a shard of condensed qi shooting forth like a blade of light. It pierced cleanly through the beast's eye. With a final shudder, the wolf collapsed.
Silence returned, broken only by the panting of the horses.
Hú Lì hopped down, shaking his head. "Barely half a day out, and already we stumble on a spirit beast. Imagine what the mortals here would do if this thing reached their village."
"Die," Zhāng Wei said simply, wiping his fist clean before climbing back onto the carriage.
Xiǎo Yǔ wrinkled her nose, nudging the corpse with her toe. "Qi refining stage one. Hardly worth the effort. At least it was good practice."
They resumed their journey without delay, though the air in the carriage was quieter now. Even Xiǎo Yǔ seemed thoughtful, gazing out at the passing woods.
They pressed on. The road stretched endlessly, and the land grew flatter, barer. By dusk they reached a bend in the river, its waters glinting faintly beneath the first stars. There they stopped to camp.
Zhāng Wei gathered wood and built a fire, sparks rising to meet the darkening sky. Hú Lì unpacked strips of dried meat, skewering them over the flames until the smell of roasting fat filled the air. Xiǎo Yǔ sprawled on a blanket, humming tunelessly as her tails flicked back and forth.
The fire cast a warm glow across their faces, soft against the night. For a while, they simply ate and spoke in low tones, their earlier banter mellowed by the long road.
Then Hú Lì, ever restless, rummaged through his pack. "Ah, I nearly forgot," he said with a grin. From within he drew a polished wooden box. He set it down by the fire and flipped open the lid, revealing carved figures of pale bone and dark stone soldiers, horses, towers, kings, and queens.
Xiǎo Yǔ's ears perked instantly. "What's this? Toys?"
"Not toys." Hú Lì smirked. "A game I picked up during a mission in the mortal world. They call it chess. Their generals use it to sharpen their minds before battle."
"Chess?" She leaned closer, eyes glittering with curiosity. "How do you play?"
Hú Lì began setting the pieces onto the board, his movements deliberate. "Each piece moves in its own way. Pawns march forward like soldiers, sacrificing themselves for the army. Knights leap in crooked arcs, like cavalry sweeping from the flanks. Towers march straight and unyielding, while the queen…" He tapped the tallest piece. "…is the most dangerous of all."
Xiǎo Yǔ picked up a pawn between two fingers, frowning. "So small. So weak. You're saying they're just sacrifices?"
"Precisely." His grin widened. "Sacrifices, if made well, win wars."
Zhāng Wei, sitting opposite the fire, glanced up from where he was oiling his blade. His voice was quiet, even. "Sacrifices win battles. They don't win peace."
Hú Lì chuckled. "Perhaps. But peace doesn't come without battles."
Xiǎo Yǔ ignored the philosophy, her tails swishing excitedly. "Teach me! I'll win on my first try."
The game began.
It was chaos. Xiǎo Yǔ shoved pawns forward recklessly, squealing with delight when she captured one of Hú Lì's knights, then wailing in despair when her queen was snatched a few turns later. She accused him of cheating, he laughed until his sides hurt, and Zhāng Wei even allowed himself the faintest smile.
Duō Yī, as ever, remained quiet. Yet his eyes followed the board, tracing each move, each counter. Though he did not speak, he absorbed everything the rhythm of the pieces, the hidden logic behind sacrifice and survival.
By the time the fire burned low, Xiǎo Yǔ had lost three matches. Still, she leaned forward with determination blazing in her eyes. "One day, I'll beat you, Senior Brother. Just wait."
Hú Lì chuckled, placing the pieces back in their box. "When that day comes,junior sister, I'll shave my head and call you senior sister."
The group settled after that, laughter fading into the soft murmur of the river and the whisper of wind through grass. Above them, the stars wheeled silently.