The trio left the Martial Hall, joining the bustling flow of people within Pale Fang Fortress. This was the primary settlement of the Daihu Tribe—a vast, walled structure spanning over twenty square miles. Its pale grey stone walls towered fifty feet high, providing protection against the region’s native threats. The surrounding area, known as the Nine-Striped Hills, was a sweeping grassland filled with large rolling hills. Its name came from the terrifying Sun Tigers that roamed the wilds—massive beasts whose striped hides earned them their infamous moniker, and whose presence made the fortress walls a necessity.

  Inside the fortress, numerous homes, merchant stalls, and tribal buildings supported the thriving life of the Daihu Tribe. The layout was structured in rings—like the growth rings of a tree—each layer dedicated to a different purpose. The Martial Hall was located in the innermost ring, alongside other official tribal compounds. Restaurants like the Sapphire Canopy were found in the middle ring, while residential quarters filled the outermost ring. The Sapphire Canopy itself stood on the eastern side of the fortress, and Bin led the group in that direction.

  It was a long walk, but the friends made the most of it. They caught up on the events of the day, careful to save any discussion of Bin’s special achievement until they arrived at the restaurant.

  By the time they reached the Sapphire Canopy, the sun had begun to dip below the fortress’s western wall. The restaurant stood three stories tall, constructed of smooth timber painted the color of the azure sky. Known for its exotic wine selection and excellent noodle soup, it was a popular destination for disciples and merchants alike.

  Bin opened the doors with a wide grin, Ishin and Na close behind. The lower floor bustled with patrons, all enjoying steaming bowls of noodle soup and fragrant cups of rice wine. The rich aroma of food filled the air, mingling with the hum of conversation. Ishin spotted several fellow disciples from the Martial Hall already seated, unwinding after training.

  A cheerful server wearing a sapphire-blue uniform greeted them at the entrance. “Welcome, disciples, to the Sapphire Canopy. How may I assist you this fine evening?”

  “We’ve come to celebrate!” Bin exclaimed. “And need a table for three.”

  “Certainly. We have space on the second floor if that’s acceptable?”

  “Absolutely. Please lead the way.”

  The server guided them upstairs and brought them to a square table tucked into the corner. Before departing, he asked, “Is there anything I can bring you? We just tapped a new barrel of tangerine wine from Yellow Dome City—very popular.”

  “We’ll take a bottle—no, make it two,” Bin said with enthusiasm. “And three orders of your beef rice noodle soup.”

  “Can you bring a plate of boiled chicken as well?” Ishin added. When Bin gave him a curious glance, he shrugged. “We’re celebrating, right? Might as well order all your favorites.”

  “In that case,” Na said with a playful smile, “we’ll take a bottle of your pearl rice wine too.” She looked between them. “Sounds like enough?”

  They both grinned and nodded.

  The server returned shortly with two bottles labeled Tangerine Wine and a stack of three small wine cups. He poured them each a serving. To Ishin’s surprise, the wine really was orange. The server promised to return with their food shortly.

  Bin raised his cup first. “A toast!”

  Ishin lifted his own. “To yourself?” he teased.

  Bin smirked. “Can’t a man toast himself?”

  “Today you can,” Na offered, raising her cup.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The three clinked their cups and drank.

  “Not bad,” Bin said, inspecting his empty cup.

  “I think I prefer the rice wine,” Na admitted. “I’ve never been fond of citrus.”

  “I actually like it,” Ishin said, savoring the lingering tartness. The sourness balances the wine’s natural sweetness perfectly.

  “Good thing we have two bottles, then,” Bin laughed, pouring himself a second cup. “Who else wants more?”

  “What are you three so happy about?”

  Ishin turned to see Jun Wu and three of his friends at the table across from theirs. Judging by their senior disciple robes and obis, they had also just finished training.

  Jun Wu had changed greatly since their first encounter. His humiliating defeat had fueled a fierce determination. The youth who now stood before Ishin was tall and broad, his lean face a testament to years of rigorous training. He wasn’t as muscular as Ishin, but he easily outclassed Bin and matched him in height.

  His cultivation had advanced as well. He had formed his first chakra just a month after their match and had risen swiftly. Rumor placed him at the third layer already, with expectations of reaching the fourth within a year. He was widely considered one of the five strongest disciples in the Martial Hall. Ever since his grandfather became a tribal elder, Jun Wu’s path had been clear: he was expected to join the tribe’s warriors next year and bring further glory to the Jun Clan.

  As Jun Wu’s eyes met Ishin’s, the tension between them became undeniable. The animosity forged eight years ago still lingered—untouched by time.

  “We’re out celebrating,” Na said, clearly trying to ease the tension.

  “What? Guo Bin’s ability to stumble into the third layer?” Jun Wu said with a sneer.

  For a moment, Ishin was confused about how Jun Wu knew about Bin’s breakthrough. Then he remembered—Jun Wu had opened his third eye. He could see Bin’s cultivation level with a glance.

  Bin shifted in embarrassment, but Ishin refused to let Jun Wu belittle his friend.

  “Any advancement in cultivation is worthy of celebration,” Ishin said firmly. “I’m sure you did something when you reached the third layer.”

  “What would you know about cultivation?” Jun Wu said, dismissing the remark.

  “Enough to know that Brother Bin’s achievement is more than you’re suggesting. How many of your companions have reached the third layer?”

  In truth, Ishin had no idea what stage Jun Wu’s friends were at. But judging by the sheepish expressions that crossed their faces, he’d guessed correctly.

  “A cripple like you has no standing to insult senior disciples of the Martial Hall,” snapped the short, stocky disciple standing beside Jun Wu. Ishin remembered his name—Pan Feng.

  “In case you’ve forgotten,” Na cut in, “Brother Ishin is an Assistant Instructor at the Martial Hall.”

  “An empty title crafted for a cripple,” Pan Feng said mockingly. “Everyone knows he was only given the role because his mother is the First Warrior.”

  Now others on the second floor had turned to watch the confrontation. Ishin’s stomach churned.

  So even strangers believe it. He had feared as much. Whispers and rumors had circled the Martial Hall for over a year.

  Bin stood sharply, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “Take it back, Pan Feng!”

  “Or what?” Pan Feng scoffed. “Going to defend his honor since he can’t do it himself?”

  Bin didn’t respond immediately, and Ishin understood why. Challenging someone to defend another’s honor was typically reserved for when the victim was truly powerless—usually a child or someone from a vastly lower realm of cultivation. To do so for Ishin would be to admit that he was no more capable than the children he taught.

  “I thought so,” Pan Feng said smugly when Bin remained silent.

  Bin’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Na’s face was tight with anger, but she too remained quiet. Neither of them wanted to disrespect Ishin by implying he couldn’t speak for himself.

  Calmly, Ishin pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. The sudden motion drew all eyes to him.

  Pan Feng looked surprised. “Going to speak for yourself, Assistant Instructor Ishin?” he asked, sneering over the title.

  “Brother Ishin—” Bin began, but Ishin raised a hand to silence him.

  He turned toward Pan Feng, the weight of his irritation simmering beneath his calm expression. Jun Wu tried to ruin Bin’s moment and downplay his success. But Pan Feng crossed a line—insulting my mother, Elder Fa, and everything I’ve worked for?

  “Senior Disciple Pan Feng,” Ishin said, voice sharp and clear so every diner could hear, “I challenge you to an official duel tomorrow morning at the Martial Hall.”