Morning sunlight bled into the narrow inn room, casting lazy gold over the packed bundles and tied sacks by the door. Jin and Ruan had gathered every essential for the road ahead—dried food, spare clothes, medicine, and a few trinkets Ruan insisted were "necessary" but Jin suspected were just sentimental.
The next major stop was the merchant city of Huayin, a sprawling market hub where goods from the southern provinces found their way north. Jin had heard of it—its sprawling bazaars, its famed gambling houses, and the fact that its land was under the control of one of the most influential martial clans in the region.
The thought made him grin.
A martial arts clan… He hadn't met one since the first village, when the old master taught him the Tide Root style. Maybe he'd learn something new—something worth adding to his already formidable skills.
Outside, their horse waited, flicking its tail with the smug, self-important look it always wore when Jin approached. This time, however, the smugness was replaced by mild offense. Its eyes shifted toward the strange winged, long-tailed cat Jin carried in his arms, as if asking: What is that thing, and why is it on my back?
Jin chuckled. "Don't look at me like that. You're both strange in your own way."
He'd finally decided on a name for the creature.
Jin: "You'll be Xiǎoyè. 'Little Lord.' Because you act like you own everything you touch."
The cat Xiǎoyè meowed approvingly, wings twitching ever so slightly before it hopped onto the saddle, claiming its spot without permission.
They rode through the streets toward the city gates. Jin was half-dreaming of what new martial techniques he might see in Huayin when his instincts prickled—something was coming.
Turning in the saddle, he saw a group of mounted men approaching fast. At their head… was the noble man from earlier.
A grin spread across Jin's face. Coming to see me off? How thoughtful.
He pulled the reins and called over his shoulder to Ruan, "Hold on. I'll handle this."
Dismounting, he strolled toward the approaching horses with the easy gait of someone who thought himself untouchable.
Jin: "Ah, Chief! You didn't have to trouble yourself to—"
The noble man cut him off coldly.
>Noble Man: "Return what you stole."
Jin stopped dead.
Jin: "...What?"
The noble man's expression was unreadable, but his tone was iron.
Noble Man: "The jade necklace. Hand it over."
Jin's face cycled through shock, disbelief, and theatrical outrage.
Jin: "You dare accuse a master of such things? A master of my standing? A master—"
Ruan, still on the horse, watched him with the flat expression of someone who'd already accepted that trouble followed this man like a shadow.
Before Jin could puff himself up further, Xiǎoyè padded toward him and, with impeccable timing, dropped a gleaming jade necklace at his feet.
Jin blinked.
Then blinked again.
Jin: "...I don't even know this cat."
The noble man's eyes narrowed.
Jin took a careful step back—only for a small clink to sound from inside his robes. A ruby tumbled out and rolled to a stop between them.
Jin froze, face pale. Slowly, he turned toward Xiǎoyè. The cat sat there smiling in the way only cats can—eyes half-lidded, tail swaying like a metronome.
When? How?
The noble man's face was now a storm.
Jin inhaled sharply.
Jin: "Look! In the sky! A dragon!"
Every head tilted upward.
There was, of course, no dragon. And by the time they looked back down, Jin was already vaulting onto the horse, Ruan hastily tied in place.
Jin: "Sorry! No time to clear this up!"
The horse bolted, hooves pounding against the packed dirt. Shouts erupted behind them as the noble man and his men gave chase.
Jin leaned low over the saddle, shouting curses at his luck—and at Xiǎoyè, who seemed entirely too pleased with himself.
Jin: "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?!"
The cat's innocent look almost made Jin forget the situation—
—until an arrow whistled past his head, close enough to slice a few strands of hair.
Jin yelped. "Hey! That's my face you're aiming at!"
Behind him, Ruan was silent. Too silent. Which, Jin knew, meant she was already planning his death in the most efficient way possible.
The land stretched endlessly behind them, dust clouds marking their path like scars across the earth. For what felt like half a day they had been chased, the thunder of hooves and the hiss of arrows always pressing against their backs. Jin, still gripping the reins with both hands, felt his throat dry with the kind of laughter that came only from fear dressed as madness.
"Are we even on the right path?" he muttered between his teeth, snapping a glance down at the crumpled map tucked into his belt. His eyes darted across the drawn rivers and faint ink-lines of borders. "This territory is bigger than I thought. Too damn big. How many more miles before we reach the next one?"
The horse beneath him—poor beast—was already frothing at the mouth. Its muscles rippled with strain, hooves pounding the soil harder with every step. It tossed its head back in fury, the whites of its eyes flashing. In that instant, it turned its gaze toward Jin as if to curse him itself, ears flattened, nostrils flared wide.
"Don't you dare look at me like that!" Jin shouted, jerking the reins. "It's not my fault! I dropped the stupid thing I stole ages ago. Ages ago! What in the Nine Heavens do they still want with us!?"
As if to punctuate his frustration, an arrow hissed past his shoulder and cracked against a stone ahead. Jin ducked instinctively, cursing louder than before.
Between Jin and the bound figure of Ruan, the little creature Xiǎoyè sat cross-legged, perched as though the galloping chaos around them was nothing more than a gentle river ride. Its dark fur flared in the rushing wind, whiskers trembling, bright eyes glinting with curiosity. Now and again, it raised its head to savor the cool air rushing past, ears flicking back, tail lashing with delight.
Jin could swear the creature was enjoying this chase.
"Of course you'd like this," Jin barked at it over the wind, his jaw tight. "You're not the one being shot at!"
The beast gave no reply—only turned its head back, as though watching the pursuing riders with a quiet kind of amusement.
Behind them, the clamor of men grew. Jin risked a look—armored pursuers in disciplined formation, horses lean and bred for the chase, bows raised. The nobleman's crest gleamed against their armor, hatred burning in their eyes.
And then, up ahead, the land broke.
The ground simply fell away into a great dark wound—a chasm splitting the world in two. Wind whistled through it, carrying the echo of hidden rivers and jagged stone. The men behind surely thought this was the end of the chase. No horse could leap that void.
No sane man would even consider it.
Jin grinned.
The horse felt it first—the shift in his rider's posture, the gleam in his eyes. Its ears twitched back, panic rising as it sensed what Jin was thinking.
"Oh, no. No, no, no!" The horse neighed violently, nearly veering aside.
"Yes," Jin whispered, almost gleeful. "You can make it."
The beast tossed its head in defiance, hooves stumbling in protest. Even Ruan, lashed and helpless between them, widened her eyes in horror.
"You're mad!" Ruan croaked, voice hoarse with fear. "You'll kill us all!"
Madness? Perhaps. But it wasn't madness that Jin felt surging through him. It was a kind of reckless certainty, born of too many near-deaths and not enough common sense.
Because Jin had seen something—a fallen tree, long and thick, bridging part of the gap. It leaned from the cliffside at a slant, one end nearly reaching across the divide. Not a perfect bridge, but enough for a madman to believe it possible.
The horse screamed in protest, hooves skidding against the dirt. Jin leaned low, voice a hiss in its ear.
"If you don't jump," he whispered darkly, "we die anyway."
The beast snorted, quivering, as if weighing its choices. Death behind, or death ahead. Neither appealed, but a sliver of instinct, old and deep, urged it forward.
The moment came. The ground beneath them thundered toward the edge. Jin pulled the reins tight, lifted his weight, and shouted.
The horse leapt.
The world fell away. Wind tore at their bodies. For an instant, all was silence—the silence of the abyss, endless and cold.
Ruan's lips moved in frantic prayer, her knuckles white against the ropes binding him. Xiǎoyè tilted its head, unbothered, and tapped the horse's flank with one paw as if in encouragement.
The beast's hooves struck wood. The fallen tree groaned, bending under their weight as they thundered across its length. The other end jutted just close enough.
One more bound—
—and they were across.
The horse's hooves slammed against solid earth, stumbling, then steadying. Dust kicked up as they galloped onward, alive.
Jin whooped so loudly his voice echoed off the canyon walls. He threw his head back in laughter, raw and triumphant.
Behind them, the pursuing riders had halted, staring in disbelief from the far edge. Not a one dared follow.
Jin, of course, turned in his saddle to shout across the void.
"You sons of swine! You cowards! Tell your noble princess I said she looks like a boiled turnip!"
His insults grew more colorful with each breath, curses tumbling from his mouth like arrows of their own. Even Ruan groaned, wishing the man would show just an ounce of restraint.
But restraint was not Jin's way.
The land stretched before them again, the dust settling. Their chase was broken. The horse, still panting, ran with a weary determination.
Jin pulled the crumpled map free and squinted at it, hair whipping in the wind. His finger traced the marked paths. The only route left wound through difficult terrain, cutting across two more territories and even a clan's domain. A week's ride, at least, if luck favored them.
A week of danger, uncertainty, and madness.
Jin smiled, folding the map.
"This journey," he said to no one in particular, "is actually fun."
Ruan groaned, closing her eyes in despair.
Xiǎoyè purred.
And Jin, staring at the horizon, thought once more of the voice that had started all of this. Become the Martial King, it had said. But the words lingered like riddles in his mind. Was he meant to become such a legend… or merely find it?
The thought gnawed at him, even as laughter still tingled in his throat.
Whatever the truth, it promised more chaos.
And that, at least, was something Jin understood well.