The morning mist still clung to the empty streets of the abandoned town. The silence was so heavy that even the clop of hooves felt like it broke something sacred. Jin stretched lazily, yawning as he slung his bag over his back. Ruan, on the other hand, was quiet but no longer trembling the way she had last night. There was a strange brightness in her eyes—as if the storm inside her had finally calmed a little.
"Ready?" Jin asked casually, rolling his shoulders.
Ruan nodded, her hands tightening around her pack's strap. "Ready."
Together, they left the hushed skeleton of the town behind. The path before them was uncertain, and though neither said it aloud, both knew their lives had shifted into unfamiliar territory.
By evening, the sun had begun melting into the horizon, spilling orange fire across the hills. Jin unrolled the worn map he had tucked away, squinting at the lines and ink blots.
"Hm. Looks like… clan territory," he muttered.
"Which clan?" Ruan leaned over, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Jin shrugged. "No idea. Don't recognize the crest here. Do you?"
Ruan shook her head. "I've never gone this far. My world used to be small."
He folded the map back up. "Well, that makes two of us."
They eventually decided to rest beside a grove of crooked pine trees. The horse, finally free of constant marching, snorted in satisfaction and began grazing. Xiǎoyè, however, immediately claimed the horse's back like a throne, curling on top of it with all the smugness of a little emperor.
The horse flicked its ears and bucked slightly, trying to shake the cat off.
Xiǎoyè didn't budge.
The horse bucked harder.
Xiǎoyè yawned.
The horse's eyes widened. "Not again…"
Ignoring the poor beast's struggle, Jin and Ruan set aside their packs. Jin stretched his arms, groaning. "It's been a while since I last practiced. My joints feel rusted."
"Then let's train," Ruan said, stepping forward with a grin.
They squared off. Jin flowed into the opening stance of the Tide Root style, his movements automatic, instinct buried deep within him. His body knew these techniques—but to Jin, it felt less like passion and more like obligation, as if martial arts were an anchor he was forced to drag around.
Still, he matched her blow for blow, the sound of clashing limbs breaking the quiet. Ruan's strikes were crisp, precise. Jin's were lazy but strangely fluid, like someone who danced without realizing they danced.
Sweat formed, breaths grew heavier, until Ruan twisted under his guard and swept his legs out from under him. Jin hit the ground with a thud.
Ruan straightened, victorious. "I win."
Jin groaned, rolling onto his back. "Unfair! I was holding back. Obviously."
Ruan smirked. "A win is still a win."
Before Jin could retort, the air whistled. An arrow cut past his cheek, slicing a strand of his hair.
His hand snapped up instinctively, catching the second arrow aimed directly for Ruan. The shaft quivered in his grip. His eyes narrowed briefly, his entire demeanor shifting—but he quickly forced his face back into a mask of childlike exasperation.
"Really?!" Jin shouted, flailing his arms dramatically. "Who just shoots strangers like this?! What if I was a delicate traveler looking for directions?!"
More arrows rained down. Jin and Ruan dove behind the trees, wood splintering around them. The horse whinnied in panic. Xiǎoyè tilted its head, watching the chaos with mild amusement, tail flicking like it was watching a play.
Men emerged from the trees, armor rough but marked with a clear crest—an unfamiliar clan symbol painted across their chests.
"Hands where we can see them!" one of them barked.
Jin's eyes rolled so hard it was almost comical. He opened his mouth for another dramatic outburst, but before he could get a word out—prick.
Something sharp stung his neck. He plucked out a dart, blinking at it in disbelief.
"Oh, great. Poison darts now? What is this, a bad play—" His words slurred. His knees wobbled. He looked at Ruan, then burst into laughter. "Ruan… you're… you're a bird now. A very… angry bird."
"Jin!" Ruan hissed, trying to steady him.
He stumbled, arms flailing, still giggling. "Caw! Caw! Don't peck me!" Then, with a dramatic twirl, he collapsed face-first into the grass.
"Master Jin!" Ruan shouted, but her voice was drowned as rough hands seized them both.
They were tied, bound tightly with ropes. The horse neighed furiously, pulling against its captors until—snap!—the ropes broke.
Freedom! Sweet, glorious freedom! The horse galloped away, joy bursting in its chest. Finally, no more chaos, no more strange humans, no more—
"Meow."
The horse's soul froze. Its ears twitched. Slowly, it turned its head.
Xiǎoyè was sitting comfortably on its back.
The horse stumbled mid-gallop. No… no, no, no…
It snorted, shaking violently. "Get off! I'm free now! I'm not helping anymore!"
Xiǎoyè tilted its head, unimpressed. Then—SMACK!
The cat's paw tapped the horse's skull. Except, it wasn't just a paw. It was like a mountain collapsing. The horse shrieked as its entire body was sent hurtling through the air—sixty feet—before crashing back down. Dust erupted around them.
Miraculously, neither cat nor horse was harmed.
The horse's eyes bulged, its legs trembling. It could only stare at the creature perched upon it, perfectly calm, perfectly smug.
Demon.
It's a demon.
It's… it's been riding me this whole time!
The horse wailed, eyes wide with tears. "I'm cursed…"
Xiǎoyè simply purred, stretching luxuriously. To it, this was nothing more than entertainment.
Meanwhile, Jin lay bound and unconscious, Ruan glaring furiously at their captors, the clan men tightening their ropes. The path ahead had suddenly become far darker—and far stranger.
Jin woke to the cold bite of iron.
His body felt heavy, sluggish, as if the darts from earlier still poisoned his veins. He tried to raise his arms, only to hear the rattle of chains. For a moment, he laughed. A strange, unbothered laugh that echoed oddly in the dim chamber. His limbs had gone soft, like worms wriggling on stone. He rolled across the floor like one, grinning to himself as though it were the funniest thing in the world.
Beside him, Ruan was bound as well, her usually calm demeanor burning with quiet fury. She tilted her head and slammed it against Jin's skull.
"Stop acting like an idiot!" she hissed, her voice sharper than he had ever heard it.
"Ow!" Jin rubbed his forehead, stunned. Ruan rarely scolded him like this. Her tone was different, harsher, as though she had given up trying to hold back.
Grumbling, he forced himself up, wobbling on weak legs. He puffed his chest, throwing his voice to the air.
"Alright, you dirty pigs! Where are you? Come out and fight me like men!"
His words boomed with defiance—until he realized the silence around him wasn't emptiness.
Before him stretched a great hall. Rows of high seats lined with nobles, governors, and generals looked down upon him with grim faces. The air was thick with incense, banners of various regions hanging from the carved stone pillars. In the center, elevated above all others, sat a man whose presence was so heavy Jin felt it press against his lungs.
The clan leader.
His robes were pristine white with streaks of silver, embroidered with a fierce symbol—hard for Jin to read at first, but as his eyes narrowed, he picked out the name. The clan's name. Tiān Yún Diàn
And the moment he read it, his instincts screamed: Danger.
He staggered a step back. Even in his dazed state, Jin knew this man was no ordinary ruler.
Ruan was muttering something low and bitter, but Jin couldn't focus on her words. She had never spoken to him in such a cold tone before, and it unsettled him more than the chains did.
The court herald's voice rang out. The language was rough, unfamiliar, broken in Jin's ears. He caught fragments, tones, but not meaning. It was enough to frustrate him to the point that his mask slipped. His usual careless smirk faltered, irritation flickering across his face.
Still, he pieced together what little he could. From their gestures and repeated phrases, it seemed they were accused of grave crimes: trespassing into restricted territory, and—most shocking of all—using martial arts.
Jin blinked. Wait… martial arts are banned here?
He recalled something his old master once said, half-drunk by the fire: There are lands where certain arts are forbidden. Places where techniques are monopolized by clans, and outsiders must tread carefully.
At the time, Jin had laughed it off. But now, standing in chains before nobles, it was no longer a tale. It was law.
The herald finished speaking, and the clan leader himself rose. His voice was amplified—not with breath, but with Zin itself. It thundered across the hall, commanding silence from the crowd.
Jin's eyes widened. Zin amplification? That's… that's amazing! He wanted to clap, but the chains rattled when he moved.
Ruan inhaled, ready to speak in their defense—but Jin, as always, decided he was the better choice.
He cleared his throat, straightened his back, and summoned what he believed was his most dazzling, heart-melting expression.
"Yes, yes, I will speak," he said proudly. Time to charm them.
Dropping suddenly to his knees, he clasped his hands together and began to wail.
"Forgive us! We didn't know! It was a mistake, I swear! This is my sister, and we lost our home! Please have mercy!"
His voice cracked dramatically. He even sniffled for effect, forcing tears into his eyes.
The entire court froze.
Who was this clown? Why did his words sound so broken? And what on earth was this ridiculous display?
Ruan stared at him in shock, genuinely believing for a moment that he was truly begging. She hadn't expected Jin—loud, arrogant Jin—to kneel so easily.
But Jin wasn't finished.
He lowered himself further, one knee to the ground, clasped his hands tightly, and performed a gesture he remembered from his master—one meant to show respect. A salute with both hands pressed forward.
The hall erupted.
Voices shouted over one another. Nobles gasped. Generals barked in outrage. The clan leader's expression darkened like thunderclouds.
Ruan's jaw slackened. She had no idea what Jin had just done—but from the reaction, it was clear this was bad.
Meanwhile, Jin smiled brightly. "Heh. See? It worked."
He didn't know, of course, that the gesture he made was not one of submission here. It was a formal challenge.
A duel. Against the clan leader.
Far from the court, across hills and valleys, a horse galloped desperately. Its eyes streamed with tears, breath wheezing in panic. On its back sat a small figure—Xiǎoyè.
Unlike the horse, Xiǎoyè was smiling. Its long tail swayed like a banner in the wind, glinting under the sun. Each step brought them closer to the city, closer to the chaos awaiting in the court.
"How will we save them?" the horse sobbed.
Xiǎoyè tilted its head, the smile widening.
"Don't know," it sang, voice as cheerful as bells. "But isn't it fun?"
The horse cried louder, while Xiǎoyè's laughter echoed across the fields.