The air still hung heavy with the scent of singed fur and fresh earth. Though the threat of the wolves had passed, the weight of unease had not. Two warriors stepped forward from the caravan's flanks, their expressions stone-carved, their stances like poised bows—ready to strike if the man before them so much as breathed the wrong way.
Their blades remained sheathed, but their hands hovered too close to the hilts for comfort.
Li Wuji tilted his head slightly, lips twitching into something too faint to be called a smile.
'It's only natural,' he mused, surveying the twin sentries with hooded eyes. 'I emerge from the woods, bloodied and breathing, chased by wolves and bearing no emblem—of course I would be treated like a cornered snake.'
What they did not know—and he would not soon reveal—was that their cultivation could not touch the edge of his shadow. They were mid-stage Qi Shattering cultivators, their aura clumsy and unrefined. A duel would be over before their blades even cleared the scabbard.
But pride had no place in the path of survival.
Li Wuji's thoughts drifted toward something greater. 'If their goals align with mine, there's no shame in striking a temporary accord. A free escort out of this forest may well buy me more than a blade ever could.'
He folded his arms behind his back, adopting a posture of calm neutrality. The guards circled him but did not strike—likely awaiting orders from above.
His eyes flicked to the crest adorning the largest carriage's side: a silver carp swimming upstream, framed by interwoven reeds. 'Blue Carp County. So, the old snake's daughter walks among them.'
From the corner of his vision, movement stirred.
The guards shifted subtly, stepping aside.
Two figures approached—one leading, one trailing slightly behind.
The man was tall, finely dressed in battle-trimmed silks, his eyes stern beneath well-kept brows. His steps were confident but cautious—a noble who had seen the battlefield as much as the banquet.
The woman behind him walked with languid elegance, her posture relaxed yet alert. Even the soil seemed reluctant to cling to her robes.
'And so the stage is graced by those who matter.'
Li Wuji's eyes narrowed as the woman's features sharpened into familiarity. Her name drifted back to him like a forgotten echo.
'Chi Yue, daughter of the Ecclesiastical Sage, Chi Chao...'
Memories whispered: counsel halls, secret trials, false judgments all directed by a man whose words cut deeper than blades.
'To think that the bastard's offspring would be here. The sage moves pieces even when he's absent.'
He masked his thoughts behind a disarming expression as the noble pair halted just beyond sword's reach.
"This is the man," one of the guards reported quickly, bowing his head. "We have yet to question him deeply. We thought it best to await your arrival, Lord Tang, Lady Chi."
"Understood," said Tang with a nod.
His eyes met Li Wuji .
A silence passed between them—measured, not hostile, like scholars parsing the first stanza of a poem neither had written.
"Who are you," Tang asked plainly, "and what brings you to our path?"
Li Wuji did not waver.
"My name is Yang Gui," he said smoothly, his voice low and even. "And my thanks for your timely aid. The forest was unkind today."
Chi Yue's eyes, sharp as polished jade, studied him with a flicker of amusement.
"Yang Gui?" she repeated softly. "A loyalist's name. Yet you bear no emblem, and your clothes…" She let the observation hang.
"I parted from the army over disputes best left in the past," Li Wuji replied, eyes never leaving Tang's. "I've since taken up hunting rare beasts for coin. Today's game bit back."
Tang's brow furrowed. "Those wolves… were no ordinary pack."
"They weren't," Li Wuji agreed. "And they weren't the worst of what lurks deeper. There is something else in this forest, Lord Tang. Something clever. Elusive."
Chi Yue's gaze sharpened. "And you've seen this creature?"
"I've seen its marks. I heard it from the ravines. I've tracked beasts my entire life, and I've never seen prints like those it left behind."
"And you lived to speak of it?" Tang's tone was more curious than skeptical.
"I did," Li Wuji replied. "Though my equipment lies lost to the forest now, and my supplies are fewer still."
He glanced down at his torn robes, stained with his own blood.
"I know the forest. I can help you find it. But I'll need a few of your men."
Tang folded his arms, studying him.
Chi Yue tilted her head.
"So you offer to guide us into the mouth of a beast," she said. "For what price?"
"Safe passage when it's done," Li Wuji said simply. "And if we find the beast, the core is mine."
A beat of silence passed.
Tang's eyes narrowed slightly, thoughts turning behind them like oiled gears. "That's a steep claim."
"It is," Li Wuji agreed. "But the reward may be steeper still. You want to protect this convoy, do you not? Letting that thing live could make this forest unwalkable for your kinfolk next season."
Chi Yue's lips twitched. "You speak like a merchant, but fight like a savage. How curious."
Li Wuji smiled faintly. "The fox survives because it learns both paths."
Tang remained still for a moment longer. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"We'll rest here for the evening. You'll remain under watch until morning. If your words hold by dawn… we'll speak again."
Li Wuji bowed his head slightly. "As you wish."
As he was led aside, flanked by two quiet guards, his mind remained ever sharp.
'They've taken the bait. The question now is who will reel whom.'
The clearing quieted. No growls, no steel, only silence and stares.
Li Wuji stood amidst the half-circle of soldiers, a lone figure whose every breath seemed calculated. His robes hung in tatters, stained with grime and crimson. But he bore himself not as a beggar or fugitive, but a man well-versed in being hunted—and more dangerously, in surviving.
Across from him, Lord Tang's thoughts churned like a storm beneath placid waters. The young noble's brow remained furrowed, though his face betrayed little. The forest wind carried with it the remnants of Li Wuji's tale—elusive beasts, lost gear, elusive truths. It smelled faintly of ash and cunning.
'He has the bearing of a man who's walked through blood and silence… but I cannot determine whether he drips venom or valor.'
Tang's gaze remained fixed on Li Wuji, studying the sharp set of his jaw, the stillness in his posture, the readiness in his limbs.
A single word—fox.
That was what Chi Yue's father, the Ecclesiastical Sage, had once called such men. "Some foxes pretend to limp so they may sniff the henhouse without the hounds barking."
Tang mulled the risk carefully. It was not trust he needed—it was control. Even a dangerous beast may serve well if it's leashed.
'If his claim of a lurking beast is false, we lose a day. If true, and we ignore it... we lose our lives.'
He shifted his weight slightly, placing one hand behind his back and extending the other slightly toward his sister. Chi Yue was already watching him, her expression unreadable. Yet a glance passed between them—silent and swift.
What do you see, elder sister?
She nodded—barely perceptible.
Enough to proceed. Not enough to sleep easy.
Tang turned his gaze back to Li Wuji.
"You spin your tale with enough space between truths to cast doubt," he said at last. "Yet there is fire beneath the smoke… and we have no luxury to sit idle."
He raised a hand, signaling the guards around Li Wuji.
"You will remain under escort," he continued. "Our steel shall protect you. But until your words bear fruit, so too shall it shadow you."
Two warriors stepped forward, placing themselves behind Li Wuji—not too close, not yet hostile. Their eyes never left him.
Wuji inclined his head, the faintest smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.
"Protection and suspicion—both well measured," he replied. "May all my future agreements be this even-handed."
Chi Yue stepped forward at last, her tone as chill as snowmelt.
"Do not mistake our restraint for trust. You walk among cautious folk, Yang Gui." She folded her arms, voice poised like the tip of a calligraphy brush. "Every gesture you make from here forth will determine how deeply your shadow is remembered."
Li Wuji offered a slight bow, the angles of his posture precise.
"I seek no deception, Lady Chi," he replied. "Only opportunity."
Her eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. "And serpents seek only shelter."
At this, Wuji chuckled under his breath, low and mirthless. "Even snakes slither from fire, my lady. And I smell smoke deeper in these woods."
Tang turned then, his words sharp as he addressed the company.
"We make camp here. Guards, clear the perimeter. If that beast does exist, its scent has already tasted us. Best we greet it with steel, not sleep."
HUFF. CLINK. CRACK.
The warriors moved at once. Some gathered wood, others scouted the bordering tree line. Tents unfurled, small cooking fires sparked beneath iron tripods. Horses were calmed and fed, wagons inspected for damage.
Li Wuji was guided to the edge of the inner camp. Though allowed to sit and drink, two guards remained planted behind him—like shadows with swords.
He sipped from the canteen they handed him, eyes flicking upward toward the twin noble siblings who now stood beside their central carriage, whispering between themselves.
Chi Yue pulled her sleeve tighter around her wrist as a cooler wind rolled through the leaves. The scent of dew-dampened pine and iron filled her lungs.
"Well?" Tang asked quietly.
Chi Yue shook her head, her voice barely audible.
"He is lying," she said. "Not all of it. Just enough."
Tang nodded.
"I thought as much."
"But..." she added, her eyes never leaving the man now seated near the guard fire, "...he's too skilled to lie without purpose. I believe he has seen something."
"And you would risk the convoy for it?"
"I'd risk nothing," she said. "But if we play this well... we'll have the beast and the liar both."
Tang looked at her then, the flicker of amusement at the edge of his gaze.
"And how do we leash a liar?"
Chi Yue turned toward the firelight.
"With promises. They bind men tighter than rope."
He could feel their eyes. Not just the guards'—but hers.
Chi Yue... he thought.
So the old fox sent his daughter ahead to scout the roads. Or perhaps this is a coincidence.
He leaned back slowly, feeling the ache in his ribs from the wolf's tackle. But his mind never drifted.
He watched how the soldiers moved. He noted which wagons bore sigils and which bore straw. He saw where the young nobles slept and where the guards took their meals.
Every detail was a string in the web he now wove.
'You fear I lie... yet you let me in.'
He looked into the flames, eyes narrowing.
'Soon you'll wish you had asked me for more lies—because the truth will cost you more than coin.'