Year 320 of the Sealed God Era.
The blazing midsummer sun scorched the southern wilderness, warping the very air above the mountain forest trails.
Two young men walked along a winding woodland path.
The one in front was about twenty, broad-shouldered and striking in fine robes, a folded fan flicking lightly in his hand, and a sword three feet long hanging at his waist. His name was Hao Lan, the only son of the Lord of Yunyang City.
Trailing a half-step behind was his nephew and attendant, Jien, sixteen or seventeen years of age, with a lean build and a boyishly handsome face. His clothes were plain, his body jangling with bits and trinkets tied everywhere, and on his back… a comically small black iron pot. He gnawed at a half-ripe fruit, wincing at the sourness.
"Uncle Lan, don't rush. Even if we crawl, we'll be back in Yunyang before tomorrow noon." Jien wiped his sweat and pulled another sour face as he bit into the fruit.
Hao Lan glanced back, frowning in distaste. "Throw that away. It isn't ripe—it makes my teeth ache just looking at it."
"I can handle it," Jien muttered, quickening his pace. Then, changing the subject, he asked, "Uncle, what kind of test do you think the Soul Suppression Alliance will use this year to pick disciples?"
"How should I know?" Hao Lan shot him a sideways look. "And throw that fruit away, already. Look at yourself."
Jien crunched down a few more bites before reluctantly tossing the pit. "Hasn't the City Lord heard even a whisper of their plans?"
"The Alliance hasn't arrived yet. How could Father possibly know?" Hao Lan sneered. "Why? Don't tell me you're thinking of joining?"
"Me? The Soul Suppression Alliance is way out of my league." Jien gave an awkward laugh and shook his head.
Hao Lan cleared his throat, preparing for one of his trademark speeches. "Jien, you are still of the Ji clan's bloodline. You mustn't belittle yourself! A true man should bear ambitions as vast as the sky, carry the fate of the world upon his shoulders—"
Jien hastily shoved his waterskin into Hao Lan's hand. "Uncle, drink! Drink some water!"
Hao Lan sighed, shaking his head as he took a swig. His nephew's sweat-drenched, clutter-rattling appearance made him scowl again. "Five days from Lanxiang Academy to Yunyang, yet you insist on carrying that pot. Pure self-torment."
"You'll surely be chosen by the Soul Suppression Alliance. We won't be returning to the academy. If I don't bring our things, someone will steal them. Besides—how else are we going to eat? You can't live on dry rations forever."
"You're my nephew, not a servant!" Hao Lan frowned. "If people see you like this, they'll think your parents' passing left you neglected by me and my father."
"Fine, fine, got it. Let's keep going." Jien waved him off.
But suddenly Hao Lan halted, raising his hand sharply. "Shh. Quiet."
Jien froze, straining his ears. Through the whispering leaves came a faint cry for help.
"That… that sounded like a woman's voice!" Jien's heart skipped a beat.
"Not one—two," Hao Lan's expression turned grim. "Two young women, if I'm not mistaken. This mountain isn't safe."
"What do we do?" Jien clenched his fists.
"We are cultivators," Hao Lan declared, straightening proudly. "When injustice appears, we draw the sword. Two defenseless women, alone in the deep mountains—how could we—"
"Uncle!" Jien snatched the waterskin back, cutting him off. "If we don't hurry, those bandits won't leave you a chance to play hero!"
Hao Lan froze, stung into silence. He quickly adjusted his robe and hair, forcing a heroic look.
"Seriously?!" Jien stomped in frustration, then charged toward the cries on his own. The pots and pans clanged wildly on his back, an accidental alarm bell ringing through the forest.
The cries came from just ahead. As he sprinted, Jien shouted, "Heaven-damned villains! Stop at once!"
It was a foolish warning—his racket had already alerted them long before.
Rounding a bend, the scene that burst into view made his stomach lurch.
Seven, eight bandits circled a pair of terrified sisters, their clothes torn, shoulders bared, tears streaming down their faces. On the ground, an elderly couple lay butchered, their blood soaking the dirt.
The bandits turned at Jien's arrival, startled, then burst into cruel laughter.
"Where'd this beggar come from? Carrying a pot on his back—running from famine?" one jeered.
"Alone? What luck!" another chuckled, twirling his blade.
The leader, a burly man with a thick beard and a cruel grin, hefted a giant cleaver. "So you're the brat yelling 'heaven-damned villains'? Heh. Come here, little lamb."
Jien's gut knotted. They outnumbered him heavily. He had no real training, no proper weapon. And Hao Lan—his uncle's "cultivation" was mostly airs.
Still, he forced himself to shout, "You've spilled innocent blood. Retribution is upon you! My uncle is right behind me—your doom has come!"
And right on cue, Hao Lan stepped into view, his stride calm, his expression grave… until his eyes fell on the sisters. He froze mid-step, gawking.
Jien nearly laughed out loud. Of course—his uncle wasn't stunned by the danger. He was gawking at the half-clothed girls.
The bandits blinked, then roared with laughter.
"You serious? That's your 'uncle'? Another pampered brat, barely older than you—and he's already drooling at our prey!"
The bearded leader snarled, lifting his cleaver. "Back off, boy. These two are mine!"
Hao Lan snapped out of it, quickly raising his voice in a righteous tone. "In broad daylight, how dare you lay hands upon defenseless maidens! You villains are utterly without conscience! And look—you've already bruised them six or seven times—"
The leader almost choked from laughing. "You're really counting their bruises? What about the two corpses? Enough talk. Cut this poser down!"
Two bandits lunged. Hao Lan flicked open his fan, then finally drew his sword with a ringing "shiiing."
"Jien! Drop those ridiculous tools. Stay back!"
Jien, clutching a kitchen knife in one hand and a spatula in the other, blinked. "Uh… right. Got it, Uncle."
But inside, he was already bracing. If the bandits swarmed, Hao Lan wouldn't last long.
And as the blades swung, Hao Lan, ever the would-be orator, began lecturing. "Lay down your arms, repent your sins! The sea of bitterness has no end—turn back and you may yet—"
"Kill him already!" the bandit leader snapped.