Morning light filtered through thinning canopy as Ru Yan knelt beside Li Wei.
She did not rush.
Two fingers rested lightly at his wrist while the other hand hovered above his sternum, guiding a thread of wind-aligned Qi into his circulation. The ember in his core flickered — weak, uneven.
Li Wei winced.
“It’s fine,” he muttered. “Just overextended.”
Ru Yan did not look up.
“The flame is thinning at the edge of your dantian. If left alone, it will recede.”
Feng sat nearby, back against a tree, his right arm resting across his knee. When he flexed his fingers, faint lightning crawled along his knuckles — then dissipated before reaching his wrist.
Ru Yan moved to him next.
She pressed two meridian points along his forearm.
The lightning steadied briefly.
Then fractured again.
Her brows drew together — just slightly.
“I can ease the turbulence,” she said calmly. “But not repair the fracture.”
Li Wei exhaled sharply. “Meaning?”
“Third-grade Meridian Stabilizing Pills,” she replied. “At minimum.”
Silence settled between them.
Zhi Yuan leaned against a tree, watching.
Wasn’t Heal area enough? he thought.
He had cast it. More than once.
Warmth had spread. Pain had lessened. Blood had stopped.
In his mind, healing meant restoration. HP restored. Status normalized.
But —
The structure remained damaged.
He frowned slightly.
Maybe the output was insufficient.
Or perhaps
He dismissed the thought.
Ru Yan rose smoothly.
“There is a city east of here. Loyang City. Pill halls there will have what we need.”
Feng pushed himself to his feet without complaint.
Li Wei gave a crooked smile. “Then let’s go shopping.”
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By midday, the forest thinned.
Stone walls rose in the distance, sunlit banners snapping against the breeze.
Loyang City.
The gates stood open.
Caravans entered in slow procession. Merchants shouted prices. Cultivators in neat robes gathered in clusters near hanging banners embroidered with sect emblems.
“Recruitment — Three-Year Assessment!”
“Heavenly Root Preferred!”
“Direct Lineage Evaluation Today!”
Young men and women stood in lines, postures rigid with anticipation.
Zhi Yuan slowed slightly.
They were queuing to be told what they were.
Feng walked past without glancing. Li Wei barely spared the banners a look. Ru Yan observed quietly — not interested, simply noting.
They entered the city like ordinary travelers.
The pill district lay along a broad avenue scented with crushed herbs and spirit ash.
Glass cases displayed polished pills sorted by grade. Assistants moved briskly between counters. Refiners in the back rooms tended steady furnace flames.
Ru Yan stopped before a reputable-looking hall.
“Here.”
They entered.
The shopkeeper assessed them with a quick glance — clothing worn and dirtied, blood stain, however posture disciplined, no visible sect insignia.
“Looking for?”
“Third-grade Meridian Stabilizing Pills,” Ru Yan answered.
The man hesitated only a moment before producing a lacquered tray. Four pale-green pills rested within carved slots, each faintly glowing.
Li Wei leaned closer.
His flame stirred slightly in response.
Feng exhaled quietly.
Ru Yan inspected one between her fingers.
“Quality acceptable.”
She nodded.
“We will take —”
The shop fell silent.
Not abruptly.
Gradually.
Conversations tapered. Assistants stepped aside.
The shopkeeper straightened instantly and bowed.
“Your Highness.”
A young man entered, dressed in layered silk trimmed with subtle gold embroidery. His expression was pleasant. Composed. Used to being acknowledged before speaking.
The 3rd Prince of the Da Xia Dynasty.
He moved casually through the hall.
People bowed as he passed.
Zhi yuan and the rest did not.
They were mid-transaction.
The prince stopped near them.
“You do not greet me.”
Li Wei looked up, puzzled.
“We are buying pills.”
Feng remained silent.
Ru Yan placed the inspected pill back into its slot.
Zhi Yuan finally turned.
Their eyes met.
The prince smiled faintly.
“As cultivators within my territory, courtesy is expected.”
Zhi Yuan tilted his head slightly.
“We were unaware.”
The air shifted. Not violently.
Just – tighter.
The prince stepped closer to the tray.
He lifted one pill delicately between two fingers.
“Third-grade,” he said lightly. “A suitable choice for – recovering mediocrity.”
He let it fall.
The pill struck the lacquered tray, cracked, and dissolved into faint green mist.
No one moved.
The prince dropped the remaining 3 on the floor.
The prince’s foot came down casually on the remaining three.
A soft crushing sound.
Qi dispersed into the air.
The shopkeeper’s face went pale.
No protest. No objection.
Silence.
Li Wei’s ember flared instinctively at his hilt — a thin white flicker.
Feng’s fingers twitched.
Lightning traced briefly across his knuckles.
Ru Yan’s gaze sharpened — still calm.
Zhi Yuan simply watched.
Not angry. Not surprised. Measuring.
The prince noticed that.
He expected fury.
Or fear.
He received analysis. It unsettled him.
“You may purchase what remains,” the prince said mildly.
There was nothing left.
Zhi Yuan stepped forward just enough to stand between Li Wei and escalation.
His voice was even.
“Are you finished?”
The prince’s smile thinned.
“For now.”
He turned away, attendants flowing after him.
Before exiting, he paused just long enough to say softly to an aide:
“Find out who they are.”
Then he left.
The hall slowly exhaled.
The shopkeeper did not meet their eyes.
Ru Yan closed the empty tray gently.
Li Wei’s jaw tightened.
Feng’s lightning had gone still — too still.
Zhi Yuan turned toward the door.
“Let’s go.”
No argument.
They stepped back into the street. The city bustled as if nothing had happened.
Banners fluttered. Recruitment chants continued.
Loyang did not bend.
But somewhere beyond the walls, in a shaded enclosure where iron cages lined packed earth—
A handler received quiet instructions.
A latch lifted.
Inside one cage, a spirit beast opened its eyes.
They did not reflect hunger.
They reflected direction.
And at dusk—
It would be released.
