The dawn that followed was thin and silver, the kind of light that crept quietly across the eaves before the sun declared itself. Li Tianlan rose before it, out of habit rather than command. The small pallet creaked beneath him as he sat up. A faint breath of cold air slipped in through the narrow lattice window, stirring the smoke-scent of the old room.
Fiery was still curled in the corner, a small knot of russet fur, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. For a moment, Tianlan watched her sleep, the memory of their wandering days flickering in his mind—the forest trails, the rain-sodden camps, Mingyue's calm voice beside the fire. Those seemed already like echoes from another life.
He folded the thin blanket and tied his sash, the Iron Shadow badge glinting faintly in the lantern light. Today he would earn his first coin by labor, not battle. There was something almost comforting about that thought.
Outside, the Han estate was already awake. The household stirred with the discipline of wealth. Servants were lighting lanterns along the covered corridors, and somewhere a rooster cried, its echo swallowed by the clatter of buckets. Tianlan stepped into the courtyard, the morning dew still silvering the stones beneath his sandals.
The Han Family compound was larger than he had realized the night before. Three inner courtyards folded around a central hall, flanked by warehouses filled with silk bolts and ledgers. The Han clan's crest—a silver crane threading a bolt of silk—was carved into every lintel. The place smelled of order and old money.
The older guards at the gate greeted him with brief nods. Tianlan bowed slightly in return. He felt the newness of his uniform—a plain dark tunic, rough at the seams but sturdy—and adjusted the strap of his short blade.
"First day?" one of them asked, his voice dry but not unkind.
Tianlan nodded.
"Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut," the man advised. "The Hans pay well, but they don't forgive carelessness."
The other guard chuckled. "And don't stare too long at the mistress, or she'll have you sweeping gutters."
Tianlan managed a small smile and took his post by the outer gate.
As the sun climbed, the Han estate came fully alive. The clang of the blacksmith's hammer echoed from the rear courtyard where cart fittings were being checked; the scent of steamed buns drifted from the kitchen. Messengers hurried between buildings, robes brushing the stone in a soft rush.
The Han Family was no mere local merchant house. They were one of the Four Great Families whose fortunes threaded the trade routes between Jinling and Mingzhou. Silk was their lifeblood: bolts dyed in the colors of dawn and river mist, fabrics so fine nobles fought for them in the capital markets. Rumor said that Master Han Wang, the current patriarch, had once lent silver to a Jinling governor and earned friendship that could bend laws.
Today, the household had turned its attention to a single purpose: the arrival of a distinguished guest from the south, a merchant-envoy dealing in rare spirit dyes—liquids said to capture the essence of moonlight in cloth.
From sunrise, the courtyard hummed with preparation. Servants polished the brass fixtures along the walkway; apprentices brushed dust from the marble lions at the gate. Even the air felt taut, as though the house itself were holding its breath.
Tianlan's orders were simple: remain by the main gate, admit only those bearing the Han seal, and keep alert for anything suspicious.
Hours passed in rhythm—the steady creak of carts, the low murmur of business, the occasional distant laugh of children. It was an ordinary day dressed in ceremony.
Yet beneath the calm, something in Tianlan remained watchful. Years in the wild had taught him that danger seldom announced itself with noise; it came in silences, in the odd stillness before a storm.
Near midmorning, a small commotion stirred by the gate. A courier stumbled in, carrying a stack of account books bound with hemp rope. One slipped, scattering parchment across the threshold. Tianlan moved instinctively, catching the falling bundle before it hit the mud.
"Thank you, young master," the courier said breathlessly.
"Just Tianlan," he replied, handing the books back.
The man bowed and hurried off, muttering something about new records for the Jinling trade deal.
Tianlan watched him go, noting the seal stamped on the ledgers—a stylized wave pattern, not the Han crane. Odd. He filed the detail away quietly.
By noon, the sun was hot enough to turn the courtyard stones pale. A servant brought the gate guards a small tray of millet porridge and pickled vegetables. Tianlan ate quickly, not sitting, eyes still scanning the street.
Through the open gates, Yunhe bustled. Caravans rumbled by, carrying spices, fabrics, and coal. Somewhere a peddler shouted about "miracle charms" to ward off debt collectors. Life continued, unaware of the quiet tension building inside the Han walls.
It was near the third bell when the guest arrived.
First came two advance riders in silver-trimmed armor, their horses snorting clouds of dust. Behind them rolled three covered wagons, the cloth of their canopies dyed an uncanny shade of blue-black that shimmered when it caught the light. Then came a litter borne by four men in gray, each step measured, deliberate.
"Master Han Wang himself will greet them," murmured the older guard beside Tianlan.
Tianlan straightened unconsciously.
The litter halted at the gate. The curtain shifted, revealing only a glimpse of the figure within—a man in a loose traveler's cloak of dark silk, a bamboo veil hiding his face. His presence carried weight. Even without seeing his features, Tianlan felt it: a kind of quiet dominance, the air bending slightly around him.
Master Han emerged from the inner courtyard in robes of ivory and green, his expression respectful yet calculating. He bowed low to the veiled man.
"Honored guest, Yunhe welcomes you. May your journey have been without hardship."
The man inclined his head but did not speak. When he finally stepped down from the litter, Tianlan noticed something that made the hairs on his neck stir—the man's feet never quite touched the ground. The soles hovered a fraction above the stones, as if the earth itself dared not bear his weight.
No one else seemed to notice. The servants bowed deeper, the guards looked away.
Tianlan's hand brushed the hilt of his blade—not in threat, only in instinct. He didn't understand what he had seen, but his body recognized danger even when his mind could not name it.
Across town, in the dim room of the inn, Fierry's eyes snapped open.
For a moment she did not move. The air had changed. A ripple of power, subtle but unmistakable, had touched the threads of the world. It was faint—carefully hidden—but to one who had once danced among stars, it was like a thunderclap.
She rose slowly, every movement precise despite the dull ache that lingered in her small body. Her spiritual core, once vast as a sea, was now a broken shell; yet within that shell, her spirit sense still burned bright.
She reached outward.
Her awareness unfurled like silk across Yunhe, slipping through walls and courtyards, through the clamor of market sounds and the quiet of back alleys.
There.
A pulse of energy—dense, cold, ancient. The Nascent Soul realm.
Fiery's heart—or what remained of it—lurched. Such beings were legends even in their age. In the whole of Great Zhou, only a handful existed: three ancient patriarchs of the major sects, two guardians of the royal palace, and two rogue cultivators whose whereabouts were uncertain. That made seven known in the realm. The arrival of an eighth, in this provincial town, could not be chance.
Her fur bristled.
"Who would send such power here?" she whispered, voice trembling. "And why now… when he has only just begun to walk his path?"
She closed her eyes, sensing the faint thread of her soul mark—the one she had placed upon Li Tianlan when they parted that morning. It glowed like a single spark in the vast darkness, pulsing with his steady life force. But now, that spark trembled. Another presence brushed against it, like a hand closing slowly around a candle flame.
Fear surged through her.
Her paws clenched. "No… not yet. He's not ready."
She gathered what little energy remained within her. Pale light flickered between her claws, the color of dying embers. With a sharp exhale, she leapt to the window.
To mortal eyes, a small fox darted into the morning. To those who could see beyond, a streak of spectral fire shot across the rooftops of Yunhe, leaving trails of fading light in its wake.
Back at the mansion, the meeting between Master Han Wang and the veiled guest had moved into the reception hall. The outer guards remained alert, posted like statues. Tianlan's shift should have been ordinary—hours of standing still, watching shadows—but the air around him felt heavy.
The breeze had died. Even the street sounds seemed muffled, as though the world itself were listening.
He tried to shake the unease. "Just nerves," he told himself. But when he looked toward the inner courtyard, he caught sight of something strange: a shimmer, like heat over stone, rising briefly above the guest's litter before fading.
"Did you see that?" he asked the older guard quietly.
"See what?" the man replied without looking up.
"Nothing," Tianlan said, though the word tasted like a lie.
Moments later, the sound of distant thunder rolled across the sky—yet the clouds above were clear.
Fiery landed lightly on a rooftop overlooking the Han compound. The effort left her trembling; the faint glow around her paws dimmed. She crouched low, amber eyes fixed on the great mansion below.
Her spirit sense probed the air and recoiled immediately. The aura she felt was unmistakable—Nascent Soul, early stage, restrained but immense. Even sealed as it was, it pressed upon her like an ocean.
She gritted her teeth. "So it's true… Someone of that level hides here."
Her thoughts spun. The Han family were merchants, not cultivators. For such a being to appear within their walls meant one thing: either a hidden protector, or a predator wearing civility like silk.
Her instincts screamed the latter.
And beneath that pressure, she felt another tremor—the faint heartbeat of the boy she had chosen to follow. He was close, standing by the gate, unaware of the storm that gathered above him.
Fiery's spirit thread tightened.
She could not reveal herself, not yet. But she could watch. She settled on the roof's edge, her small form half-hidden among the tiles, and fixed her gaze upon the courtyard below.
Inside the Han reception hall, muffled voices drifted out.
"…shipment to Jinling… the royal dyes… secrecy required," came Master Han's tone, polite but edged with unease.
The veiled guest's reply was too soft to hear, yet his words carried strange resonance, like echoes within a cavern. At one point, a cup shattered though no hand had touched it. Servants flinched; the guards exchanged uneasy glances.
Tianlan, still at the gate, felt the vibration through the soles of his feet. It was faint, like the hum of distant thunder. His instincts stirred again. Something unseen, vast and ancient, was passing just beyond the reach of his understanding.
He glanced skyward. For a heartbeat, the clear blue seemed to darken, and in that dimness he thought he saw the outline of a figure—tall, distant, watching. Then it was gone.
The day dragged toward dusk. The meeting inside the hall continued, sealed by drawn curtains and whispered words. Guards remained tense, though none could say why.
When the final bell rang and the sun slipped behind the roofs, the veiled guest departed as silently as he had come. The air seemed to ease with his leaving. Yet Fiery did not relax. She tracked the fading aura as it drifted toward the western hills, still cloaked, still deliberate.
Only when it vanished beyond her range did she allow herself to exhale.
She turned her gaze down once more to the courtyard. There stood Tianlan, weary but unscathed, closing the gates for the night. A small, tired smile touched her muzzle.
"Good," she whispered. "You are safe… for now."
But deep within her spirit, a chill lingered. Whoever that Nascent Soul cultivator was, he had not come by chance. And she had felt—just for an instant—that his attention had brushed Tianlan's thread of fate, as though marking him for something yet unseen.
By the time Tianlan returned to his small room, the moon had risen. The household had quieted; even the merchants' murmurs had faded to soft snores. He set down his sash and counted the day's small pay—five copper coins, smooth and ordinary, yet they gleamed like tiny stars in his palm.
He smiled faintly. "One day earned," he murmured. "Nine more to go."
Fiery slipped in through the half-open window, silent as breath. She landed on the mat, her fur still faintly warm from the night air.
"Out again?" Tianlan asked sleepily. "You'll catch cold, little one."
She only blinked at him, curling beside his arm. Her gaze lingered on his face, the soft line of his jaw lit by the lantern glow. There was innocence still in him, untouched by the world's deeper cruelties.
Fiery closed her eyes. "Sleep," she whispered inwardly. "You'll need strength soon."
Outside, Yunhe slept beneath a quiet sky. But high above, the clouds began to gather—thin, silver, and restless—as though the heavens themselves were listening for the next sound of destiny.
Li Tianlan's first day as a mercenary guard teaches him vigilance, not glory. Yet within Yunhe's calm walls, powers beyond his comprehension begin to stir.
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