I crouched low in the grass, checking over the vials tucked into my belt pouch one last time. For any situation we'd come across during our mission. Antidotes, restoratives, and even purifying elixirs if we were unexpectedly ambushed my cultists along the way.

The others had similar concoctions prepared.

I glanced up at them.

Jian Feng, sharp-eyed and steady as ever, and the two Verdant Lotus disciples who had helped with the refugee disguise operation.

Everyone was ready.

Still... I counted the vials again, my fingers brushing lightly over each stopper like it might disappear if I didn’t double-check.

Then, a ripple through my bond.

The bond.

Tianyi's presence brushed against my mind like a flicker of cool mist, laced with a sharp thread of intent.

'Clear.'

I straightened slightly, heart quickening, catching Jian Feng's glance and giving a small nod.

I slid into motion with the others, keeping low. The tall grasses parted around us like murmuring water, hiding our movements from any distant watchposts. The hill crested ahead, the beginning of the valley network where the bandits had holed up.

As we moved, a shadow darted across the grass ahead.

Tianyi.

She swooped low out of the overgrowth. Her wings fanned wide for a breathless second before she pivoted sharply, vanishing back into the sky.

In her wake, the grass was flattened, and a dark stain bloomed across the soil where she'd struck.

Blood.

'Windy is handling the others,' her voice brushed lightly through our bond, not words exactly, but meaning shaped cleanly enough to understand. 'I’ll help him clean up.'

I nodded, but a quiet unease stirred at the back of my mind.

It shouldn’t have felt this easy.

Tallying vials. Counting lives. Moving forward with a plan that would end in people's death.

I pressed my palm briefly against my sash, grounding myself, feeling the coarse weave of the cloth against my fingers.

Innocents were at stake. If we faltered, more would suffer.

I repeated the mantra in my head, grounding myself to the moment. To erase all my anxieties and focus on the now.

The two Verdant Lotus disciples crept ahead, silent and sure, surveying the slope as the ground began to level out into a narrow ravine.

Jian Feng moved beside me, his presence calm but firm.

As if sensing my hesitation, he spoke low, almost conversationally.

"You’ll have to make hard decisions, Kai. Again and again," he said without looking at me. "But if you don't make them… someone worse will."

The words didn’t lift the weight from my chest.

The sky had begun to darken now, the last edge of daylight bleeding into a heavy twilight. The tall grass ahead shivered in a whispering breeze.

“We’re close,” one of the disciples murmured, tapping two fingers against the hilt of his sword.

I exhaled once through my nose and nodded. “Take it now.”

Together, we pulled small corks free from a vial; the one prepared specifically for this moment.

A blend of goji, chrysanthemum, and a drop of refined silver essence, courtesy of Wang Jun.

The liquid burned sweet and sharp down my throat. A moment later, it felt like a thin sheet had been pulled away from the world around me.

The darkness peeled back.

The murky twilight sharpened into crisp detail; every blade of grass, every swirl of dust.

I could hear them.

Distant chatter. Laughter. Clinking mugs and the dull thud of boots on packed earth, even though we were still a good few li out.

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I caught the others exchanging brief glances, their postures tightening in response to the heightened senses. Jian Feng gave a small, satisfied nod.

It was time.

We pressed forward, the grass parting silently around our steps.

The noises grew clearer now. Coarser.

Snatches of drunken boasting.

The rustle of crates being dragged across stone.

A slurred argument about who had claimed which spoils first.

Tianyi and Windy’s presence circled on the edges of my mind, like silent wolves tightening a noose. No more scouts. No early warning.

We had the element of surprise.

Jian Feng tilted his head toward the two disciples and flicked his fingers, a silent order. They split off, melting into the side paths, moving to block the likely escape routes that led through the ravine’s broken walls.

"Now."

The word was little more than a breath, but it snapped through us like a spark to dry tinder.

We moved.

SCENE BREAK

Inside the main cavern, Han Chen knelt on one knee, head bowed, arms resting on his thighs in practiced stillness.

Before him, seated atop a rough-cut stone bench with one leg lazily crossed over the other, was Renshu Bao.

Self-proclaimed leader of the Red Maw.

He was a well-built man, thick through the shoulders and chest, but softened by comfort. A heavy paunch pushed against the buttons of his patched tunic, and a gleaming knife hung loosely from his belt. His hair was tied back in a crude topknot, and his broad face was split by a wolfish grin.

“Good work today, Han-ge," Renshu said, voice thick with the smug satisfaction of a man used to being obeyed. “You’re making yourself useful."

Han Chen remained silent. He kept his head low, hands curling into tight fists just above his knees.

"Come now," Renshu Bao said, leaning forward, his belly shifting with the motion. "No need to look so sour. Here—"

He reached into a pouch at his side and produced a small ceramic vial, flicking it open with a lazy thumb.

Inside was a pill.

Han Chen’s eyes sharpened the moment he saw it.

A qi-nourishing pill. Crude. Shoddily made. The sheen of it was wrong, the scent faint and muddy, as though it had been cut with inferior materials. Not even comparable to what alchemists would consider a third-rate product.

But it would keep his brother breathing.

Another day.

Maybe two.

Han Chen shifted forward to take it.

But Renshu Bao chuckled and pulled it back slightly, wagging the vial between two fingers.

"Ah, but before you take your reward," he drawled, "we need to make a few changes to our arrangement."

Han Chen tensed. He kept his voice even. "You said if I followed orders—"

"And you have," Renshu Bao said smoothly, cutting him off with a raised hand. "Beautifully. You’ve done well. No denying it."

He leaned back again, one meaty hand drumming idly against the packed dirt wall beside him.

The ceiling trembled faintly.

Dust rained down between them in a lazy drift, and small pebbles clattered to the ground.

Han Chen kept his face carefully blank. But he knew better than to think it an accident.

A reminder.

Renshu Bao's talent wasn't just talk. Likely self-trained, but a cultivator nevertheless.

His control over earth and stone, though crude compared to a true sect-trained practitioner, was dangerous in an enclosed space like this.

"You're a first-class disciple, Han-ge," Renshu said, flashing yellowed teeth. "You’re not like the rest of the filth we pick up off the road. You’ve got real power. Potential. So you’re gonna have to prove it."

Han Chen stayed silent.

"The new recruits..." He continued, his grin widening, "they're eager. Hungry. I like that. Means competition. Means no dead weight."

He tossed the pill into the air lightly, caught it again.

"You want your brother’s medicine?" he said, voice dropping to a soft, oily purr. "You stay top of the pack. You make yourself indispensable. You crush anyone that tries to climb over you."

Han Chen’s jaw tightened.

"And if you think about pulling anything funny," Renshu said, patting the dirt wall again with a slow, measured thump, "well. You know what I can do."

More dust sifted down. The air grew heavy, thick.

Han Chen bowed lower, hiding the searing rage that flashed through him.

"I understa—" he said quietly.

Before he could continue, a low rumble echoed from outside the cavern.

At first, Renshu didn’t react. Noise was common. Bandits fighting among themselves, brawls over food or spoils. But then the rumble sharpened; voices raised not in drunken jest, but in panic.

Metal clashed against metal, the hollow ring of weapons meeting weapons. Screams, short and sharp, punctured the air.

Renshu's head snapped up, his mouth curling in a snarl.

"What the hell is that?"

The shouting grew louder. More frantic.

Han Chen stepped forward—only for Renshu Bao to shove a hand into his chest, stopping him.

"You," Renshu growled, voice low and dangerous, "go deal with it."

Han Chen's hand twitched around the vial. "I want the pill first."

A dangerous silence fell.

Renshu’s face twisted, replaced by something far colder. His fingers flexed once, and the earth beneath Han Chen’s boots shifted just slightly. Enough to remind him of the walls that surrounded them. How easily they could become his tomb.

"You think you have the luxury to bargain, boy?" The Red Maw's leader sneered. "You move your feet now—or your brother’s lungs fill with dirt."

Han Chen’s gut twisted.

This wasn’t a bargain anymore.

'It never had been.'

Rage and helplessness warred in his throat, but he forced them down.

He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the exit tunnels.

Behind him, Renshu Bao’s voice echoed deeper into the caverns, harsh and commanding.

"Wake the others! Arm up! We’ve got rats in the walls!"

Han Chen ran, the labyrinthine paths of the hideout blurring past him, the twisting turns burned into muscle memory from too many nights patrolling.

The sounds of battle grew clearer with every step. Sharp cries, wet impacts, the unmistakable crunch of bone giving way.

He burst free from the mouth of the main cave and froze.

The ragged camp that served as the Red Maw’s outer ring was a scene of chaos.

Bandits lay sprawled across the rocky ground, groaning or motionless. Supplies were overturned, crates smashed open, scraps of stolen goods strewn everywhere, a massive crater down the middle.

Three figures moved like wolves among sheep.

Han Chen narrowed his eyes. One wore the sea-green trim of Verdant Lotus disciples; fluid, clean in their strikes.

And the last—

A boy, young, wearing simple maroon robes.

But it was the way he moved that froze Han Chen in place.

The boy was fast; unnaturally so. The air around him bent faintly with every motion, as if the ground itself urged him onward. A kick dropped one bandit, a sharp elbow crushed another. Not wasting movements. Just moving forward like an inevitability.

Han Chen clenched his fist tightly, heart hammering.

Verdant Lotus. Second-class disciples, maybe higher. And the boy… was different. Dangerous. His uniform didn't match with any of the sects in the region either.

For one awful second, a thought slipped into his mind.

'Could I ask for help? Could I explain? Could I tell them I wasn’t like the others?'

To turn his fists against these criminals and save his brother.

The thought flickered, bright and desperate—

"HALT!"

—and he crushed it.

'No.'

Even if he spoke, who would believe him?

He wore the same colors now as the monsters who raided villages, who left broken bodies and smoldering homes in their wake. He had dirt on his hands. Blood under his fingernails.

He couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Even if they pitied him, there was no guarantee they could save his brother even without Renshu's threat.

But if he stayed—if he proved his worth—

Then he'd get another pill.

Another day.

Han Chen grit his teeth, rolling his shoulders back.

He stepped forward into the battlefield, qi flaring out in the hopes it would deter the two.

"I don’t care who you are," he said, voice low and cutting across the noise. "This place is under my protection. Leave, and we will spare your lives."

The boy in maroon straightened slightly, glancing at him across the strewn bodies.

Their eyes locked.

And Han Chen faltered.

Because the boy wasn’t afraid.

His gaze wasn’t arrogant or mocking like so many young sect disciples Han Chen had met.

It was simply clear. Steady. Focused. No hesitation. No guilt. No confusion.

And something about that clarity unsettled Han Chen more than anything else.

Because he remembered when he used to have that same look in his eyes.

Before shame hollowed him out.

Before survival warped the edges of his principles into something sharp and shameful.

Now, when he looked in the mirror, all he saw were compromises.

But this stranger looked back at him with the kind of silent conviction that made Han Chen feel… smaller. Dirtier. Like the dried blood beneath his nails would never wash out.

"Jian Feng, I'll take care of him."

He almost wanted to laugh. Bitterly.

Even now, being spoken of like an obstacle... he couldn’t help but bristle. He was still a first-class disciple of the Iron Palm Sect. One of the last. His name had once meant something.

Slamming one foot into the ground, he kept his stance wide, solid.

Drawing from the Iron Palm techniques that had once made his sect feared.

The art of standing where others would fall.

He would remind them.

Even if he didn’t believe in it anymore.