The coin clinked softly as it hit the stone bowl beside the guard post — three small silvers, dull from age. Jin stared at them, puzzled.
"A toll?" he asked, scratching the side of his head. "For entering a town?"
Ruan gave a quiet grunt and adjusted the sash around her waist. "You're not in the village anymore, forest boy."
Jin frowned, trying to piece it together. "So... it's like a... bandit's fee?"
Ruan didn't answer, just walked forward past the arching gate as if that was answer enough.
Jin followed, but not before glancing at the two guards — one bored, the other dozing off — who didn't even look in his direction. Strange. Back then, cities were guarded with reverence.
The moment he crossed the threshold, a new world unfolded before him.
Color.
Noise.
Motion.
The town of Tianliu was a teeming puzzle of fabrics, scents, and languages. Women in embroidered robes with sleeves like banners walked past traders yelling in strange dialects. Children with wooden shoes clacked down cobbled roads, chasing wind-spun toys. Bright paper lanterns hung over narrow walkways even though it was daylight.
A man roasted something that looked suspiciously like a purple-furred rodent on a stick. Jin watched a group of teenagers ride mechanical mounts shaped like beasts he'd never seen before.
And the smell.
Sweet steam rose from wooden carts selling bubbling teas and spicy noodles. The air carried hints of cinnamon, ash, sweat, perfume, and ink.
Jin blinked rapidly. "Did we cross into another world?"
Ruan snorted, partially understanding him. "You'd think you were raised in a temple."
He was too mesmerized to care about the jab. "Look at that!" he pointed at a glass orb rotating mid-air above a merchant stall, glowing softly. "What is that? Is it a... a Spiritual artifact?"
"That's a weather globe. Keeps things cool.Helps in predicting the weather ." She shrugged. "They sell knock-offs to tourists."
"Tourists?"
She sighed and kept walking.
Jin scampered after her. His eyes darted from one stall to the next, pausing every few steps.
A cart displayed hundreds of powders in glass tubes labeled with symbols he couldn't read. Another had bottles filled with glowing liquid — some sloshing like water, others moving like they were alive. A grumpy old man shouted prices, none of which Jin could understand.
He tugged on Ruan's sleeve. "What did he just say?"
"He said 'Three yuan for one. Seven for three. Don't haggle unless you've got teeth to spare.'"
Jin paused, was able to get the money part right. "...Wait. So I give him three for seven? That's cheap."
She turned and glared. "No, you—never mind."
They wandered deeper.
The town's heart was a spiral street that looped around a sloping hill. Shops and homes were built into the curved walls, some protruding with curved wooden balconies draped in silk. The higher they climbed, the richer the scent of ink and metal became.
"This place is… alive," Jin whispered. "Back home, the loudest thing was the rooster."
Ruan didn't respond, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.
A Bond in Missteps
Later, at a quiet tea stall under a hanging vine-roof, Ruan ordered something from a sharp-tongued server who glared at Jin like he'd tracked mud into the shop.
Jin sat down, fidgeting. "What did you order? I hope it's not rat. I saw a guy roasting one earlier."
Ruan sipped her tea, unfazed. "It's hawthorn tea. And that wasn't a rat, it was — never mind, just eat."
A plate of steamed buns was placed before them. Jin leaned in and sniffed. "They smell... sweet?"
"Red bean," she said.
Jin picked one up carefully, as if it might explode. He bit in — his face scrunched, then lit up. "This is amazing!"
The server smirked, hearing his reaction.
Ruan raised an eyebrow. "You act like you've never had sweets before."
He swallowed. "Well... I haven't. Not this sweet. Our village had honey sometimes, but only during harvest....i think? Not sure, hard to remember."
She hummed, sipping slowly. "So your first city in a long time?. Impressions?"
Jin looked around. "Everyone's so... confident. Like they know what they're doing. Even the kids. And the shops sell things I can't even describe. And no one understands me."
"You'll get used to it."
"Will I?"
She glanced at him. "You'd better. I'm not translating your nonsense forever."
Jin laughed, but it faded. "Ruan..."
"Hm?"
He stared at the teacup in his hands. "Do you think the world... left me behind?"
Her expression didn't change, but she didn't speak either, she barely understood him but got the message. Then finally: "No. You just took the long way around."
There was silence between them, but it was the settled kind. A quiet beginning.
Nightfall and Market Lights
By evening, the town bloomed into a new shape. Lanterns glowed like fireflies above the streets. Music drifted from a plaza where dancers spun in rhythm to a flute-like instrument Jin had never seen before. A puppet show gathered children by a fountain, the storyteller speaking in a dialect even Ruan had to strain to follow.
Jin bought a small talisman from a kind-eyed vendor — though he wasn't sure if it was good luck or a curse. Ruan didn't stop him.
As they found a small room above an old tavern to stay in, Jin sat by the window watching the town breathe under stars.
Ruan was already sharpening one of her blades.
"Ruan?"
"What?"
"Thanks for not leaving me behind."
She didn't look up, but he heard her mutter:
"Didn't say I wouldn't later."
He smiled anyway.
They finally made it to an Inn.
The inn was modest but clean, tucked between a tea shop and a tailor's store, both humming with the gentle rhythm of the town. Compared to the rugged path they had endured for five days, the quiet clatter of commerce and distant music from street performers felt like a lullaby to Jin's bones. The wooden sign above the inn swayed gently in the breeze, etched in a language Jin still couldn't decipher.
Ruan did all the talking, her words brisk and confident. Jin stood beside her, nodding when she nudged him, pretending to understand. Inside the stables, he excused himself under the breathy pretense of checking on the horse, but in truth, he just needed to breathe.
The horse—an arrogantly smug creature with a flowing dark mane and pale eyes—gave him a look as if to say "Finally, someone as clueless as me leading the way."
"You think you're better than me?" Jin asked as he fed it a bundle of dry hay. The horse snorted, flicking its tail arrogantly.
"…You probably are," Jin admitted, scratching its neck. "At least you know where we're going."
In the Room
Their room was small, with wooden floors and faint floral incense lingering in the air. Two neatly made beds sat on opposite ends with a circular table between them. The lanterns hanging above flickered slightly, casting a dim, golden glow.
Ruan was in the corner, barefoot, moving through slow martial forms with the elegance of flowing water. Her limbs curved and struck with deliberate rhythm, a solitary dance that told of discipline and long nights of practice. She didn't speak, but Jin could hear the swish of her sleeves and the tiny creaks of the floor beneath her.
Jin lay belly-down on his bed, book open, eyes darting from one drawing to another. Sketches of plants, herbs, mushrooms, and roots he'd collected along their journey filled the pages. Some had rough names beside them in old script—others were marked with question marks. He flipped to a page of blue-veined moss that had a strange glow at night.
"Is this one edible?" he asked out loud in their awkward shared tongue, pointing at a sketch.
Ruan paused mid-pose, blinked, then answered something vaguely affirmative.
"…So it's poisonous?" Jin asked, confused.
Ruan rolled her eyes. Jin smiled.
Even in silence, their dynamic was growing—like fire meeting water and making steam.
The Bathhouse
"I'm going to wash," Jin said, standing and stretching his arms.
Ruan raised a brow. "Alone?" she asked with a subtle edge in her voice.
"I'm not a kid," he replied. Though he still had no idea what she really said, her tone always carried more than her words.
She waved him off reluctantly.
With a towel slung over his shoulder, Jin made his way through the wooden halls of the inn and followed the signs with steam symbols until he found the men's bathhouse. His steps slowed as he passed a group of finely dressed women near the hallway. One glanced at him, whispered to another, and giggled. He caught it, his pride swelling.
"They think I'm good-looking," he muttered, smirking. "Well… they're not wrong."
But as he turned the corner, their laughter shifted tone. One gestured toward his towel and whispered something disapprovingly.
"…Wait, what?" Jin asked himself, looking down. "Was I supposed to wear something else?"
Still, he brushed it off, stepping into the bath.
---
Steam and Silence
The hot bath was built into stone, carved into a sunken pool surrounded by incense burners and dim lanterns. Steam clung to every surface, making the walls sweat and the lights seem distant and warped. Jin lowered himself slowly into the water, a long exhale escaping his chest as the heat soaked into his bones.
He leaned back, arms sprawled along the rim. The pain in his shoulders, feet, legs—gone, dissolved into the heat.
For the first time in days, there was silence.
Stillness.
And within that silence… thoughts.
His smile faded.
His fingers twitched slightly above the water. Then he raised one hand and looked at it, brows drawing together. In the steam, he could see a faint shimmer… a translucent outline of something—like a current running beneath his skin.
It flickered.
"…What is this?" he whispered, voice deep and low.
The temperature around him began to rise unnaturally. A deep heat radiated from his chest. Tiny bubbles formed in the water. A hairline crack stretched along the edge of the stone near him with a pop. Jin didn't notice. His eyes were locked on the glow now curling around his fingertips.
A pressure—not unlike the one Yue Qingshui had used days before—pressed at the air around him. But this was different. Wilder. Unformed.
Zin.
His fingers curled into a fist, and his jaw clenched.
Why couldn't he remember?
Why did he feel like something was buried in him?
Why did the term "Martial King" make his stomach twist?
He closed his eyes. His memories were like wet ash—smoldering but unreadable.
Don't trust anyone too much, something whispered in him. Not yet. Not even her.
His fists loosened as the heat finally began to fall. The stone stopped cracking. His breathing steadied.
Then, something brushed past his ear.
A tiny glow flitted before him—soft and slow. A creature no bigger than his thumb.
"…A Flutter Moon Fly?" he whispered, his voice back to its curious warmth.
The insect hovered, its wings leaving faint glowing trails in the steam as it danced above the water. Jin reached for it gently, letting it rest on his knuckle. It pulsed with a blue light.
A faint smile crept onto his face. The same way the heat had crept back into the bathwater.
He closed his eyes and leaned back again, hand resting just above the surface, the moon fly still pulsing on it.
For now… he would play the role of the clueless traveler. But deep down, the power was waking.