When Xiao Lei finally returned to the inn, the ground floor was nearly empty. The usual bustle had faded to faint murmurs and the occasional creak of floorboards. The innkeeper, flustered and anxious, hurried forward with a bow, but Xiao Lei ignored him, moving with quiet precision toward his room.

  Inside, dim candlelight flickered against the walls, casting shifting shadows over Lian, curled beneath a thin blanket. Her breathing was slow and even.

  He set the now-empty sack in a corner. The coarse beast-skin rustled softly. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he closed his eyes and let his consciousness dive inward. The flow of qi twisted and spiralled within him, and the air seemed to hum faintly, carrying the subtle scent of herbs and smoke, as if the inn itself had paused in respect.

  Time passed almost imperceptibly. Shadows slid across the walls. When morning light seeped through the narrow window slats, it painted long, thin lines across the floor.

  Lian stirred at the distant clatter of carts and the murmur of townsfolk starting their day. Her eyes opened to Xiao Lei still seated, absorbed in cultivation. An aura of concentrated energy surrounded him.

  She froze. Even the smallest movement might shatter the fragile thread of his focus.

  Xiao Lei finally opened his eyes. A sharp awareness glinted in them, softened by exhaustion. He exhaled slowly, releasing a wisp of turbid air, as though expelling the residue of countless thoughts and tensions from the night. Rising, he adjusted his posture.

  “Breakfast?” Lian’s voice broke the quiet, hesitant yet hopeful.

  Xiao Lei nodded once, expression neutral, and moved to the washroom. By the time he returned, a simple meal awaited: rice, steamed buns, and herbal tea. The aroma warmed the cool morning air. Even the innkeeper, likely wary after yesterday’s display, had ensured that the meal was ready promptly.

  They ate quickly, efficiently. The silence was tense, yet strangely comfortable. When the last bite had been taken, Xiao Lei finally spoke, instructing Lian to prepare herself; he would see her safely to her father, fulfilling the task her grandfather had entrusted to him.

  Excitement flickered across her features, bright and unrestrained, and she hurriedly finished her meal. Yet, a sudden pause caught him off guard—she hesitated, glancing back at him. “Will you leave immediately?” Her voice wavered, uncertainty beneath the words.

  “Yes.” Xiao Lei’s tone was flat. The earlier joy in her eyes dulled. She turned toward the washroom, steps slow, but glanced over her shoulder once more.

  Xiao Lei, precise and unyielding, straightened one of his bent arrowheads. Each movement deliberate. A silent reminder: discipline governed every facet of his life.

  In that quiet interplay of glances and gestures, weight hung between them. Expectation, restraint, and trust mingled, heavy yet intimate. Morning light filtered through the small window, casting long, silent shadows across the room.

  The duo of Xiao Lei and Lian stepped out of the inn, the city’s afternoon sunlight spilling onto the narrow cobblestone streets. Dust and smoke from distant forges hung faintly in the air, mingling with the faint tang of food from roadside stalls.

  Xiao Lei had left his belongings behind, a subtle signal that he intended to return, but Lian was too caught up in the thrill of the city to notice—or perhaps, even if she did, her mind was too enthralled to care. Her small hand occasionally brushed against his sleeve as they moved, eager and impatient, her steps almost bouncing with anticipation.

  Xiao Lei scanned the crowds with quiet intensity, asking discreetly about Zi Lao, Lian’s father. The city seemed oblivious, its residents shrugging and shaking their heads, offering vague directions that led nowhere.

  Hours slipped by. They threaded through bustling markets, sidestepping carts laden with goods. A cart nearly blocked the alley, forcing them to duck aside. Lian’s hand brushed his sleeve instinctively, and he adjusted his pace, ensuring she stayed close.

  Lian’s excitement dimmed slightly with each dead end, but she masked it with forced curiosity, trusting in Xiao Lei’s silent confidence.

  By afternoon, the sun hung low, painting long shadows across the streets. They had nearly wandered half the city when an old hawker, his back hunched and voice gravelly, offered them a lead. His eyes gleamed with the cunning of someone accustomed to half-truths and street rumours. “Fragrance House,” he rasped. “Zi Lao hangs there, if you call it hanging.”

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  An hour later, they stood outside the Fragrance House, its wooden gates weathered and darkened with age. The heavy scent of liquor and perfume floated out into the street, mingling with the city’s dust. Girls in scant clothing lingered near the entrance, their laughter sharp, flirting with passing patrons.

  Lian instinctively shrank closer to Xiao Lei. The scent of alcohol and raucous energy pricked her senses. Xiao Lei’s eyes narrowed. His posture stiffened as he read the environment. Every shadow and sound hinted at threats and openings with the instinct born of months surviving in the Duskroot Wilds.

  Before he could step forward, a man was abruptly thrown from the gate, landing hard on the street with a thud that drew murmurs from the gathering. He cursed violently, slurring his words, and staggered upright, turning toward Xiao Lei with bleary eyes.

  Lian’s gaze froze. Recognition jolted through her, a tremor running from head to toe. The man’s features—rugged, lined by years and liquor, yet oddly familiar—echoed her grandfather’s, and the resemblance to her own face struck her like a sudden wind.

  Xiao Lei’s sharp eyes caught the connection instantly. Stepping closer, his tone calm yet probing, he asked, “Are you Zi Lao?”

  The man blinked slowly, swaying slightly, suspicion and intoxication clouding his gaze.

  “Who’s asking?” he slurred, voice rough as gravel. “Does Zi Lao owe you money? If yes, then I am not Zi Lao.” He laughed mirthlessly, the sound carrying a note of bitter defiance.

  “No,” Xiao Lei replied evenly, his gaze unwavering. “Zi Lao does not owe me money. But I have something precious… something that belongs to Zi Lao.”

  The drunk man’s eyes, glassy and unfocused, flickered with sudden alertness. Greed, curiosity, and recognition mingled in his pupils. “Something precious…?” he murmured, leaning forward slightly. His voice sharpened as a faint coherence returned. “Me. I am Zi Lao!”

  Lian’s heart thumped violently in her chest. The city seemed to hold its breath, leaving only the tense exchange between the boy, the girl, and the man who might be her father.

  Xiao Lei’s gaze, calm and unyielding, made the drunken man flinch almost imperceptibly. “Didn’t you just say you aren’t Zi Lao?” he asked flatly, as if testing the man’s chaotic composure.

  The man laughed, a harsh, rasping sound that grated against the afternoon air. He lifted his head slightly, revealing yellowed, crooked teeth. “You know,” he slurred shamelessly, “I owe a lot of people money… that’s why.”

  The words were careless, almost mocking, but his glance darted toward Xiao Lei and Lian with the faintest flicker of awareness, as if the boy’s presence unsettled him despite his bravado.

  Xiao Lei shifted his eyes to Lian, who stood beside him, anxious, fingers curled tightly at her sides. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and the fine line of her lips trembled with tension.

  After a brief pause, the man muttered, “If you don’t believe me… come with me to my house. I’ll show you proof.”

  They followed him through twisting alleys and uneven stone paths. The city’s bustle thinned, replaced by dust, damp wood, and faint decay. Eventually, they arrived at a tattered, sagging house, its roof patched with worn cloth and timber, the walls bearing streaks of age and neglect.

  Xiao Lei and Lian paused at the gate, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. The man staggered inside, and moments later, voices erupted—sharp, heated, filled with frustration. A woman’s shrill tone collided with the man’s gravelly shouts, each word laced with tension and old bitterness.

  Then he emerged, holding a small, tarnished emblem. Its edges glinted faintly, catching the dim sunlight. Behind him, the woman followed, eyes flashing with an unexplained anger as they swept over Xiao Lei and Lian. There was a bitterness in her posture, a weight of resentment that seemed ingrained into her very being.

  Xiao Lei’s eyes narrowed slightly; the pieces aligned. ‘She must be Lian’s stepmother, the woman Zi Lao had taken with him before Lian’s birth’, he thought, noting the subtle curl of her disdainful lips.

  Lian’s gaze fell upon the emblem, and recognition sparked in her chest—a tangible connection to the family she had never truly known. Only then did Xiao Lei speak gently, almost quietly, “This is your daughter.”

  Zi Lao froze, his drunken haze faltering for a moment as he stared at the emblem, then at Lian. His voice was thick, rough from liquor, yet tinged with disbelief. “Is this… the precious thing you talked about?” he asked. Xiao Lei nodded, his expression impassive, his presence commanding calm.

  Lian’s knees trembled as she stepped forward, sobbing softly, drawn to her father despite the years and the pain that lingered. Zi Lao’s arms wrapped around her with surprising gentleness, though he seemed barely able to support her weight.

  His eyes, usually clouded by drink, flickered with the faintest glimpse of grief—the ghost of a man haunted by loss and regret. Only when he realized that his daughter had grown without knowing him did a shadow of real pain cross his gaze, soon drowned again in liquor.

  Xiao Lei turned to leave, the movement smooth, deliberate, almost ceremonial. Lian’s lips quivered as she watched him recede into the street, her heart torn between gratitude and confusion.

  She didn’t call out, but he paused, then returned. Kneeling slightly, he pressed two hundred spirit coins into her hand. Lian’s eyes shimmered with tears, the coins glinting like cold stars before the glistening, uncomprehending eyes of Zi Lao and his wife. Without a word, Xiao Lei turned and disappeared down the street, leaving only the echo of his footsteps behind.

  As soon as he vanished, the woman snatched the coins from Lian’s hand, retreating into the house with a mixture of triumph and greed. Zi Lao called to Lian, urging her inside, and soon the door closed behind him.

  Lian remained standing outside, the air heavy around her, a strange ache pressing against her chest. The street felt suddenly colder, emptier, and the lingering presence of Xiao Lei, the boy who had changed everything, hung in her mind like a shadow she couldn’t follow.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.