The forest air still clung to him as Jin walked alongside the imperial messenger. Their pace was steady, but the silence between them was anything but.
Jin had cleaned himself up after the incident, brushing leaves and dirt off his clothes—though his hair still had a twig in it. The messenger, a young man in his twenties with sharp features and a regal posture, rode his horse cautiously, glancing at Jin every so often like he was walking beside a beast in human skin.
"…You alright?" Jin finally asked, noticing the sideways glances.
The messenger cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes, of course."
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I… saw you punch a man into the air. With one hand."
Jin blinked. "Oh. Right. That."
The two fell silent again.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of Jin. "So, what was in that thing that the bandits wanted so badly?" He motioned to the cloth-wrapped, ornate case strapped to the horse's side.
The messenger hesitated, then answered, "A sealed weapon from the southern dynasty. I'm transporting it under imperial decree from the Iron Lotus Kingdom to the eastern court of Shuye."
"Iron Lotus? Shuye?" Jin raised an eyebrow. "What's that? Names of dishes?"
The messenger stared at him. "They're kingdoms."
Jin shrugged. "Ah."
"…You don't know them?"
"I don't know anything," Jin said with a chuckle. "I barely remember what I had for breakfast. Wait—I didn't have breakfast."
He frowned and patted his stomach. "That's probably why I'm still hungry."
"But you speak fluently. How can you not—wait, earlier you said you had trouble understanding the villagers?"
Jin nodded. "Yeah, all their words come out slurred and twisted. Like someone stuffed a hornet's nest in their mouth."
The messenger gave him an odd look. "That's just… how people speak."
There was a pause.
Jin stared at him. "…Seriously?"
The messenger's expression didn't change.
Jin made a face like the world was playing a joke on him. "So it's me? My ears? My brain? That's not normal?"
"No," the messenger said, shaking his head. "It's not."
They kept walking until Jin cleared his throat. "You wouldn't happen to have… a map?"
The messenger reached into his satchel and pulled out a scroll, handing it to Jin. He unrolled it, stared at the unfamiliar symbols and curved lines for a long time, then gave a tight-lipped nod like he understood every bit of it—even though he didn't.
"Looks great," he lied.
The messenger climbed onto his horse, ready to depart. "Thank you again… for your help."
"No problem," Jin replied.
Then, as the horse turned, the messenger paused. "Wait. I never got your name."
"Jin."
"Jin…" The messenger waited, brows lifted slightly.
"…Just Jin."
The silence after that felt a little heavier.
"No clan name?"
Jin shrugged, looking off. "Don't have one."
The messenger was clearly surprised. "Strange. But I suppose… fitting." He nodded, then added with a smile, "I'm Shen. Shen Liang."
"Nice meeting you, Shen," Jin said.
As Shen rode away down the hill path, the sealed case on his horse gave a faint pulse—thrum. Shen slowed, glancing back with a frown, eyes narrowing toward where Jin was now walking away casually, hands behind his head.
"…No way," Shen muttered.
Back in the village, Jin returned to the training grounds where the old master was putting several disciples through rigorous drills. The sun was dipping low, painting everything in warm golds and oranges. Jin stood to the side, arms crossed, watching the clumsy stances and misaligned movements. Without realizing, he began correcting them mentally.
"No, your foot's too far back—shift the weight… your elbow should be tighter…"
He didn't speak aloud, but it all played out in his head—perfectly. His body itched with the urge to move.
The old master, spotting him, raised an eyebrow.
"You've returned."
Jin walked over. "Hey, I've got a favor."
The old man sighed. "You haven't even finished the first form of Tide's Root."
Jin grinned, rubbing the back of his head. "Come on, I'm just a slow starter. I've been… learning."
"You punched a tree in half yesterday."
"I was leaning."
"…You leaned with a full force burst."
"Okay, yeah. Maybe I was a little off balance."
The old master shook his head. "What do you want, Jin?"
"A map. I mean, I have one. But I can't read it."
"I'll read it for you. If…" The master's gaze sharpened. "You finish mastering the first form."
Jin groaned. "Seriously?"
"Yes."
"…Can I at least get better food than whatever nightmare mush your cook makes?"
The cook, standing just beyond the training ring, turned her head slowly at the sound of that sentence. Her eyes narrowed. The air dropped a few degrees.
Jin suddenly felt a chill race down his spine. "…Did you feel that?"
The old master smiled. "You're on your own."
They shook on it. Jin would train, and in exchange, the master would help him decipher the map.
Just as Jin turned to leave, a sudden sting of memory flickered in his head.
A place. A name.
"The Hollow Vale."
He froze. The words came unbidden, like something hidden in his bones had whispered them aloud.
He turned back to the master. "Do you know a place called 'The Hollow Vale'?"
The old master's brows furrowed deeply. "That… is an ancient name. A valley untouched for centuries. No one dares enter its grounds anymore."
"…Centuries?"
"Yes. It is cursed ground, boy. Why are you asking?"
Jin looked away. "No reason. It just… came to mind."
But in that moment, something shifted behind his eyes. A seriousness that hadn't been there before. A glimpse of the real Jin—one who didn't trust easily, who wore masks and smiles to hide something darker, deeper.
But then the light-hearted smirk returned.
"Alright, enough of that. Let's eat. I'm starving."
He walked off, hands behind his head again.
The cook was still watching.
Jin noticed.
"…I'm sorry about the food thing."
She didn't blink.
"…Please don't poison me."