The rhythm of the forest was broken by the arrogant jingle of bells and the crunch of many wheels on gravel. A caravan, grand and self-important, snaked its way along the road bordering the bamboo grove. Banners of midnight blue fluttered, embroidered with a silver star seeming to plummet towards a stylized mountain peak. The Starfall Sect.
Ye Xingliu paused mid-punch, his knuckles hovering an inch from the bamboo. The faint, almost-chime he'd been chasing died in the air. He watched the procession, a mix of curiosity and disdain in his star-flecked eyes. They moved with such rigid order, such pomp. It felt like the opposite of everything Old Huo had just begun to teach him.
"Ooh, shiny!" Little Comet zipped to his shoulder, its light reflecting the polished metal of the disciples' armor. "Do you think they have any spare starlight to snack on?"
Inside the hut, the sound of Huo's snoring cut off with a sudden, wet-sounding gurgle. The door flew open. The old drunkard stood there, his eyes bleary but sharply focused on the caravan. A slow, cunning smile spread across his face, a look that usually preceded either profound wisdom or profound trouble. Today, it seemed to be both.
"Opportunity," he slurred, taking a triumphant swig from his ever-present gourd. "Presents itself. Come, boy."
Before Ye Xingliu could protest, Huo was striding, with a drunkard's unerring grace, directly into the path of the lead carriage. The entire caravan ground to a halt with a chorus of annoyed shouts and snorting horses.
A severe-looking man in finer robes leaned out. "Out of the way, beggar! This is a Starfall Sect procession!"
"Beggar?" Huo drew himself up with an air of offended nobility that was entirely undercut by the wine stain on his chest. "I am a… patron of the arts! And I have a candidate for you. A fine, sturdy lad. Strong back. Make a wonderful… servant disciple." He jerked a thumb towards Ye Xingliu.
Ye Xingliu's jaw dropped. "Servant disciple?"
The sect elder's eyes swept over Ye Xingliu, noting his simple, worn clothes and his general air of being a rootless vagabond. He sneered. "We are not a charity. We seek those with talent."
"Talent?" Huo laughed, a loud, barking sound. "Talent is a seed that grows in strange soils. This one's soil is… interesting. And he comes cheap. Just take him. You'll thank me later when he's scrubbing your latrines to a brilliant shine."
The elder looked as if he'd bitten into a lemon, but a calculating glint entered his eye. A free pair of hands was a free pair of hands, after all. He waved a dismissive hand. "Very well. He can tend to the spirit-horses. See Overseer Zhang at the rear. Now, move!"
Huo stumbled back, giving Ye Xingliu a broad, sloppy wink before turning and ambling back towards his hut without a single backward glance.
Stunned, Ye Xingliu was shoved towards the back of the caravan by a junior disciple. He was given a rough-spun grey robe and a bucket, then pointed towards the massive, shaggy-maned spirit-horses whose hooves sparked faintly against the stones.
This was not the adventure he had imagined.
As dusk fell and the caravan made camp, Ye Xingliu was scrubbing down the third spirit-horse, the animal huffing in bored contentment. The work was menial, but he found a rhythm in it, a mundane kind of meditation.
A soft rustle came from a large storage chest strapped to one of the wagons. The lid lifted a crack, and a pair of bright, curious eyes peered out. A girl, maybe a year or two older than him, slipped out as silently as a shadow. She had hair the colour of dark water and eyes that shifted like sunlight on a stream. She brushed dust from her simple, but clean, robes and then noticed Ye Xingliu staring.
Instead of being startled, she put a finger to her lips and grinned. She drifted over to him, her steps making no sound on the trodden earth.
"You're new," she stated, her voice a soft, melodic whisper. "The servant boy Old Drunkard pawned off."
Ye Xingliu narrowed his eyes. "And who are you? A junior disciple slumming it?"
Her grin widened. "Oh, nothing so official. I'm Feng Shui'er. And I'm a stowaway." She said it with the pride of someone announcing a royal title. "They'd never let someone like me in through the front door. So, I'm using the back."
"Someone like you?" Ye Xingliu asked, intrigued despite himself.
She leaned in conspiratorially. "Let's just say my parents were a gust of wind and a mountain spring. It makes the sect elders… nervous." She circled him, her head tilted. "But you… you're different. You don't smell like dust and horse, not really." She took a deep, dramatic sniff. "You smell like cold starlight and old ashes. You smell like… adventure."
She stopped in front of him, her shifting eyes now serious. "The Starfall Sect is a cage of rules and stuffy robes. But you… you're not here to join the cage, are you? You're just passing through."
Ye Xingliu looked at this strange, elemental girl who had seen right through him. He thought of Huo's cryptic help, of the Comet Fist, of the road that stretched ever onward. A slow smile touched his lips. "The Dao is a road. I don't walk it to arrive."
Feng Shui'er's face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy. "Perfect! Then we're of the same spirit. I'm not here to arrive either. I'm here to see what happens along the way." She stuck out her hand. "Let's be friends. It's more fun to cause trouble with a partner."
Ye Xingliu looked at her proffered hand, then at his own, still damp from the washing. He took it. Her grip was cool and firm, like smooth river stone.
"Ye Xingliu," he said.
"I know,"Feng Shui'er replied, her eyes sparkling. "Your friend, the shiny one, told me. He's trying to teach the spirit-horses to sing. It's not going well."
As if on cue, a frustrated zipping sound was followed by a confused whinny from the corral.
Ye Xingliu laughed. It seemed his collection of companions, like his path, was going to be anything but ordinary.
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