The day after the oath felt like walking on thin ice.

Tianyi returned home last night and remained asleep. I still trained. Still worked. Still moved through the village like I always did. But under it all, a constant thrum of tension ran through me, an invisible wire pulled tight.

Waiting for when Ren Zhi would find me.

Waiting for when my real training would begin.

Waiting for when Heaven's Will might, at any moment, decide I’d somehow violated my vow and strike me down with celestial judgment.

Not that Ren Zhi acted any differently. He still sat by the foot of the Soaring Swallow Inn, telling tales to the children.

I didn’t go near him.

I didn’t even look at him too long.

Because what if Heaven decided that counted as “seeking him out"? What if the skies split open and a giant hand grabbed me by the ankle and yanked me screaming into the stars?

Or worse, what if it was lightning?

A bolt straight through the skull. Quick, but humiliating. Charred in the middle of the village square like a cautionary tale.

I shivered at the thought and refocused on tying the latest batch of care packages for Qingmu, hands moving automatically.

The only problem was... focus wasn't really happening. Even with my Mind's ascension into the Essence Awakening Stage.

"You're distracted," Xu Ziqing said, after defeating me for the fourth time in a row in under a hundred moves.

We sat across the Tianqi Duel board like always, the tokens scattered in a sad little cluster around my 'fortress.' Xin Du was off practicing footwork drills nearby, pretending not to notice how badly I was losing.

"I’m not," I lied.

Xu Ziqing gave me a long, flat look.

"You missed three flanking moves. Overextended your scouts. And tried to flood a fortified river crossing with cavalry," he said. "All within twenty moves."

"It was... a strategy," I offered weakly.

"A strategy to get you killed," he said dryly, resetting the board with quick, practiced movements.

I sighed and rubbed my face. "It's complicated."

"Most good excuses are."

He didn’t press further. Just placed the tokens back in their pouches, movements neat and unhurried.

"Fix your mind," The second-class disciple said as he stood. "Or it will break under real pressure."

He walked off without another word, his robes catching the wind like a departing storm.

That guy always had a way of humbling me, didn't he?

The rest of the afternoon dragged.

I sorted hybrid seeds into labeled vials for the greenhouse project. Calming work, or it would have been if my thoughts weren't gnawing holes in the back of my brain.

I gathered a basket of labeled vials under one arm and crossed the square toward the supply post, threading through villagers patching roofs and raising new beams for the greenhouse. Supplying the workforce with alchemical concotions for recovering their stamina was the least I could do.

That’s when Jian Feng approached, his expression serious as he strode towards me.

"We found it," he said.

I blinked, adjusting the basket. "Found what?"

He gave me a look like it should have been obvious. "The bandit hideout."

My fingers tightened instinctively around the basket.

My anxieties about Ren Zhi faded to the back of my mind.

I shoved the vials into Li Wei's arms as he passed by, nearly making him drop the whole crate he was carrying.

"Distribute these among yourselves," I said hurriedly. "Instructions are written on the labels. Don't mix them!"

He shot me a bewildered look, but nodded, already shouting for a few younger workers to help him as I turned on my heel and jogged after Jian Feng.

We moved quickly toward the longhouse, where most of the Verdant Lotus scouts had gathered. A faint heat still clung to the air inside, mixing with the sharp tang of sweat and travel dust. Several familiar faces sat around the low central table; disheveled, tired-looking, still in their dirt-stained disguises from the refugee bait operation.

One of them, a broad-shouldered disciple with a short scar across his nose, was tracing lines on a rough map of the surrounding region laid out in front of him.

Jian Feng gestured for me to sit.

"Two days southwest," the scout explained, tapping a finger between a series of low hills sketched onto the parchment. "Right here. There's a network of shallow caves. Hard to spot unless you're looking for them."

He pointed out another detail. Small, almost invisible. Tiny notches along the trails.

"They've been setting up hidden trenches near travel routes. Covered with woven mats and dried grass. Scouts posted in ambush points. Regular travelers wouldn't notice until it was too late."

I frowned. "That... sounds like a lot of preparation for ordinary bandits."

"It's not just them," another scout chimed in, pulling off his scarf. His voice was hoarse, like he'd been breathing dust for days. "We saw cultivators among them. At least a few, by the way they moved."

He hesitated, glancing at Jian Feng, before adding, "I think one of them is from the Iron Palm sect."

I stiffened immediately.

The name was familiar. Instructor Xia Ji likened my Rooted Banyan Stance to their own defensive technique, long ago. After doing my own reading on them, it was clear they were a well-respected sect.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Not the kind you'd expect to find skulking in a bandit hideout.

I looked toward Jian Feng, searching for confirmation.

"But... why?" I asked, feeling the weight of it. "Why would cultivators from Iron Palm be mixed in with bandits?"

Jian Feng exhaled slowly, running a calloused hand through his hair. "There’s only one likely reason."

He tapped a knuckle against the map. A sharp, final sound.

"The sect must have fallen."

“But Iron Palm wasn’t a minor sect,” I said, trying to reason it out. “Wouldn’t there be other orthodox sects that would take them in? Even if their home was destroyed?”

"They could have tried," Jian Feng said. His voice was steady, but there was something rougher at the edges. "Maybe they did. But not everyone survives the same way. Conflict often brings out the worst in people."

The scout with the scar across his nose, spoke up. "Pride does strange things to men who’ve lost everything. Especially cultivators."

Jian Feng nodded once, slow and firm. "Sometimes it’s easier to abandon everything you once stood for... than to live as a beggar under another sect’s pity."

A heavy silence blanketed the longhouse.

"They’re organized," one of the scouts broke in, steering the conversation back to what mattered. "Shifts. Rotations. Internal patrols. They're running it like a garrison. Whoever their leader is... they're smart."

He pointed to the map again. "Hard to estimate numbers exactly, but from what we observed, there’s at least two dozen. Some trained. Some not."

I leaned in, studying the rough outline he’d traced.

Two dozen fighters. Hidden trenches. Cultivator-level strength among them. Beyond that of a regular bandit group, if I had to surmise.

Jian Feng turned back to the map, voice steady. "A full force would be spotted easily. They'd scatter into the hills, maybe even dig in deeper. We can't afford to give them that chance."

He looked up at the assembled group, gaze sharp.

"This needs to be a small squad."

I didn't hesitate.

"I'll go," I said.

The words left me before doubt could.

"And I'm bringing Tianyi and Windy with me."

Jian Feng didn't argue. He just nodded once, like he'd expected it.

The scouts exchanged glances but didn't protest either. Maybe they'd seen enough already to trust me. Or maybe they knew we couldn't waste time debating.

"We'll be ready," I said, my heart thudding with a strange mixture of fear and certainty.

I left the room in silence. The moment I stepped through the familiar door of my shop, the tension I’d buried threatened to surface.

Tianyi manned the counter. Windy coiled himself tighter atop the cabinet, tongue flicking once to acknowledge my presence.

"We'll be going tomorrow. The others found where the bandits are hiding.

A low hiss rumbled from Windy’s throat. A question, maybe.

Tianyi leaned over the counter. “You want to fight?”

“Yes. With all of us. They need a small squad to do this; and I couldn't think of anyone more suited for the job than us three."

"Then we will."

I moved behind the counter, brushing dust off the edges as I opened the lower compartment.

I pulled out a vial sealed with wax. Within it shimmered the Golden Bamboo essence. The mainstay of my strongest pill yet; the Golden Drop.

But that alone wouldn’t be enough anymore; I needed to change the nature of what the Golden Drop had once been.

I laid out a fresh stalk of Jadeleaf Lily, its petals translucent with fine qi-veins. I reached for ginger, pine ash, and amaranth. Not part of the original formulation, but ones I needed regardless.

As I prepared and placed the ingredients onto the Two Star Pagoda Pill Furnace , my vision shimmered.

The Refinement Simulation activated. The air bent slightly, a spectral overlay unfolding in my vision: diagrams of heat flow, essence interaction, and catalytic timing. Every particle danced in predictive rhythm. The Alchemical Nexus soon followed, shifting to maximize the potency of this batch.

I watched the ingredient combinations bloom, burn, and destabilize before they even happened.

I adjusted the Jadeleaf Lily’s timing, reduced the pine ash’s proportion, and inverted the sequence of the bamboo infusion. My hands followed instinct refined through memory. Each step was guided not just by theory, but by certainty.

I wasn't making a body-enhancing pill anymore. This wasn’t a simple copy of the old Golden Drop.

This was a revitalizing variant; less about brute physical reinforcement, more about channel restoration. Something that would flood the meridians with energy, yes, but in a way that soothed, that reset the body rather than driving it forward like a war drum.

When it was done, the powder gleamed like precious jewels. I split it into three small pills, waxed and sealed with thin strips of paper.

"Take one, we're going into this mission as strong as we can be."

Windy slithered close, eyes fixated. He hissed twice; low, almost purring. Tianyi translated without hesitation.

“He says it smells right.” She took one of the orbs delicately. “And strong.”

“Let’s hope so,” I murmured.

I sat cross-legged, the other two settling nearby. I placed my orb beneath my tongue. The heat was instant but clean; no sting, just a rush of clarity. I closed my eyes and sank into Vermillion Lotus Refinement.

My breath flowed, slow and deliberate. The lotus of flame bloomed within me, its petals licking through my meridians with focused intent. The pill's essence unspooled itself like sunlight into the roots of my being.

SCENE BREAK

The iron scent of blood clung to Han Chen’s robes, even after he scrubbed them raw in the creek. It never left.

The smell, or the guilt.

He wrung out the soaked fabric and looked up at the twilight sky, a dull, colorless bruise overhead. Another day surviving. Another day stealing from the weak.

He hated it.

But when he closed his eyes, he saw his junior brother’s face.

Ashen, trembling, lips cracked from fever.

“You coming, Han-ge?” a voice called out. Rough, low.

Rui Gan, one of the newer "recruits," someone who had never known honor, only hunger.

Gan Rui jogged up the creek bank, grinning like a dog who had rolled in something rotten. His roughspun cloak was patched and stained, barely enough to call a uniform. The others called themselves the Red Maw. A name as ugly as their work.

Han Chen didn’t answer at first. He just finished wringing out his sleeves, watching the water warp his reflection.

"You’re quiet as usual," The bandit said, laughing like it was some inside joke only he was privy to. "Come on. Another fat target spotted. Might even have coin this time."

Han Chen rose slowly, ignoring the casual way Gan Rui clapped him on the shoulder, as if they were comrades. Friends.

They weren’t.

He could have shattered Rui’s ribs with a flick of his wrist. Flattened him into the dirt like a leaf under a boot.

But he didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Because if he did... his brother would pay the price.

"Lead the way," Han Chen said curtly, voice rough from disuse.

Gan Rui didn’t seem to notice the disgust coiling behind the words. He just laughed again and motioned for Han Chen to follow.

They stalked the shallow trail along the treeline, where the last fingers of sunlight struggled to reach. Ahead, down a gentle slope, was a rickety wagon crawling its way along the old merchant's road; an ox-cart loaded with bundled wares, a handful of passengers, and one man on horseback with a soldier’s bearing.

"One armed guard," Gan Rui muttered, gleeful. "Good odds."

Han Chen’s stomach twisted.

'Good odds. Good prey. Good pickings. That’s all they saw.'

He pulled his cloak tighter around his frame as they closed in.

The ambush was quick, practiced.

A tangle of Red Maw bandits burst from the undergrowth, shouting, waving cheap blades and rusted spears.

"Drop the goods!" one bellowed. "Or we’ll take more than your coin!"

"Courting death!"

The armed escort reined his horse around sharply, sword flashing from its scabbard.

Han Chen sighed under his breath.

'Amateurs.'

He stepped forward from the second line just as the soldier charged, blade arcing down toward the nearest bandit.

Han Chen moved faster.

A single pivot of his hips, a sharp backfist across the incoming sword-hand—

CRACK!

The steel snapped at the hilt like dry wood. The soldier's wrist buckled. Han Chen caught him by the breastplate, turned, and drove his elbow into the man’s side.

The soldier crumpled without even a cry, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Han Chen dropped him gently into the dirt. Better to be broken and breathing than dead and defiant.

He faced the merchant next, voice low and even. "Surrender your goods. We’ll leave you your lives."

The merchant, a wiry man with fear-widened eyes, tried to plead. "Please—we have families—"

Han Chen didn’t respond.

He couldn’t afford to.

Mercy was rationed now, measured against a clock he could barely see.

The Red Maw rushed forward, rifling through the wagon, yanking sacks and crates loose with greedy hands. One yanked aside the large tarpaulin, revealing two women huddled within.

Gan Rui's gaze sharpened immediately, a leering smile creeping across his face.

Before he could step closer, Han Chen moved.

He let his qi bleed out; a low, sharp pressure rolling across the clearing like a hammer about to drop. The bandits froze, instinct overriding greed. Even the ox shifted nervously.

Han Chen said nothing. Just stared at them.

Only the goods.

That had been the deal.

The bandits backed off, muttering curses under their breath, but none dared challenge him openly.

They loaded the supplies and horses, leaving the battered merchant and his passengers behind. One of them whimpered quietly as they passed.

Han Chen turned to leave—

—and heard a sharp crack behind him.

"AGH!"

He spun around just in time to see Gan Rui wrenching the merchant’s arm unnaturally, letting the man drop to the ground clutching the broken limb.

"Next time," Gan Rui sneered, "just hand it over."

Han Chen’s blood boiled.

He stormed forward, fury surging up his spine, but Gan Rui didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in, voice dropping to a low, knowing hiss.

"You lay a hand on me, Han-ge," he said mockingly, "what will happen to that brother of yours?"

Han Chen stopped. Frozen mid-step.

"You think you're here to keep us in line?" Rui sneered. "Wrong. We're here to make sure you don’t screw anything up."

He patted Han Chen’s shoulder mockingly, then sauntered off toward the rest of the gang, laughing.

Han Chen stayed rooted to the path, fists clenched so tightly his nails drew blood against his palms.

He breathed, slow and deep.

Counted it out.

One breath.

Two.

Three.

Then he turned away, falling back into the line of looters without a word.

The ox-cart faded behind them.

The merchant sobbing quietly into the dirt.

The girls holding each other, too scared to move.

Han Chen walked on, feeling each step carve another notch into the hollow pit where his pride used to live.

All for his brother.

For now.

They returned the way they came, winding through the half-concealed footpaths only the Red Maw knew, boots crunching over brittle grass and the damp mulch of fallen leaves.

Ahead, tucked into a dip between two hills, the trench came into view; one of the hidden checkpoints they'd carved into the landscape. A shallow gouge in the earth, roofed over with woven mats and a scattering of dry brush. To a passerby, it looked like nothing more than a patch of scraggly field.

The Red Maw began splitting up without a word. Habit. Survival instinct. Some peeled off toward the caches where they'd stashed stolen goods. Others simply vanished, pockets bulging, grinning, chewing on pilfered fruit or tugging loose jewelry from the sacks they'd carried off.

Han Chen said nothing.

He was given his task, as always.

Return to the main compound. Report that the haul was clean, and their tracks were covered.

He adjusted the strap of the sack over his shoulder, weighed down with bolts of cloth and dried goods, and turned toward the west path, the one leading deeper into the hills.

As he walked, he could hear Rui Gan’s voice behind him, loud and lazy.

"Guess we’ll hole up here a while, huh?" Rui drawled, flopping down near the edge of the trench, pulling a twig from the ground and chewing on it idly. "Nothing better to do until the next mark."

Han Chen didn’t look back.

Didn’t see the way the others glanced at each other behind Rui’s words.

Didn’t see the way the smirks started to spread.

He only walked, shoulders stiff, boots crunching on the dry earth, until the slope of the hill swallowed him from sight.

The moment he vanished over the ridge, the trench grew silent.

The casual laughter evaporated like mist burned away by the sun.

Rui spat out the twig and rose to his feet, brushing off his knees.

He jerked his chin back down the path they had come.

Toward the cart.

No words were spoken. As one, they began moving.

Smooth, hungry, patient.

Their smiles were sharp as broken glass.

And the night closed in around them, swallowing the hills whole.