Two days had passed since Xiao Lei had left Lian in her father’s care. For forty-eight hours, he had remained confined within the walls of the inn, his mind and body consumed entirely by cultivation.

  Outside, the city carried on with its usual bustle and chatter, but for him, the world had shrunk to the rhythm of his breathing, the flow of formless qi, and the pulse of power surging through his veins.

  Each inhalation drew in the ambient energy of Duskwillow City. His eyes were closed, his expression serene yet unreadable, as if the weight of a lifetime of struggle had already settled upon his small shoulders.

  He shifted his cross-legged posture slightly, letting the flow of qi settle along his spine, a faint bead of sweat tracing his temple.

  Hours slipped by. Perhaps even an entire day. Each dissolved into the next, a haze of disciplined focus. Time had no meaning here—only the push and pull of qi, the dance of energy through his body, and the quiet determination that anchored his soul.

  Meanwhile, in a dimly lit corner of the city, Lian fumbled over a stove that emitted more smoke than warmth. The room smelled faintly of charred rice and old wood, mingling with the lingering scent of incense from her stepmother’s vanity corner.

  Her father had not returned. Perhaps he lingered at the Fragrance House, while her stepmother preened before mirrors, lost in her admiration of new clothes.

  Lian, small and unnoticed, moved with careful hesitance, as if she were a shadow avoiding any disturbance. She placed half-burned rice onto a plate and poured what watery soup she could scrape together, her motions awkward but deliberate.

  Each bite stirred memories she could not name aloud. Her mind painted the boy—slightly older than herself—crouched beside a fire, turning strips of meat over the flames with quiet care. She had watched him, silent and focused, and now the memory pressed into her chest with a bittersweet ache.

  Her eyes welled with unbidden tears. She blinked rapidly, fingers tightening around the spoon, shoulders stiffening, breath catching with each swallow. Each mouthful carried warmth—and the hollow echo of absence.

  Once she finished, she cleaned the small, sooty plates as best she could, lining them neatly beside the stove. The sole bed in the room was claimed by her father and stepmother, leaving her only the cold floor. Curling herself into the narrow space, Lian let exhaustion pull her down. Yet sleep came heavy with the weight of Xiao Lei’s image pressed against her young heart.

  She did not know when the yearning had begun. She could not articulate its depth. The boy lingered in her thoughts—more present than her grandfather, more constant than the tick of the city.

  Even in the quiet solitude of that tattered room, she felt the tug of connection: a tenuous tether anchoring her to someone who had, in two short days, become impossibly important.

  Outside, the city hummed, oblivious. Inside, a small girl on a cold floor and a boy immersed in the currents of qi each carried their solitude differently—but both hearts beat in quiet resonance, drawn inexorably toward the paths they would soon walk together.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The shouting tore through the fragile quiet of the early morning, yanking Lian from her restless sleep. She rubbed her eyes, blinking against the weak light that seeped through the cracked windowpanes, and slowly realized what had awakened her: her father and stepmother quarrelling.

  Voices twisted and sharp, a cacophony of greed and anger reverberated through the walls, carrying the metallic sting of resentment. The argument was over the spirit coins Xiao Lei had left behind.

  She understood instantly—her father’s share had already vanished, likely squandered on gambling and wine, and now he demanded more from her stepmother, dragging her into the fray.

  Curses rattled the room, punctuated by the slam of furniture and the rattling of fragile belongings. Her father’s face was flushed, lips trembling with intoxicated authority. Yet beneath the staggering bravado, for an instant, Lian caught a glimpse of something she had yearned for—a trace of warmth, a shadow of love, fleeting as sunlight across storm-tossed water.

  But it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, drowned in the haze of liquor and selfish desire. With a sneer and a slurred command, he snatched the coins, his eyes flicking toward Lian for a brief heartbeat of recognition before he staggered out, leaving the air thick with the scent of stale alcohol and broken promises.

  Minutes passed. The echoes of his departure faded. A faint breeze stirred the tattered curtains, carrying the lingering scent of incense. The floorboards groaned softly beneath the empty room, and the weak morning light shifted slowly across the walls.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The woman, still cursing, now turned her fury on Lian. Harsh words spat into the morning air, but Lian barely flinched. In the two or three days since Xiao Lei had left her, this scene had unfolded several times, each repetition dulling her shock, hardening her resolve.

  She rose slowly. Her small hands brushed away scattered debris, collecting overturned cups and broken shards from the room that bore the scars of her father’s greed. Her fingers stiffened as she picked up each shard, shoulders tensing, breath catching as the memories of chaos pressed in.

  Lian had never known maternal love. Her mother had died giving birth to her, leaving only echoes and unanswered questions. All she had ever known was the steady, protective presence of her grandfather, who had raised her with unwavering care. His passing had carved a hollow ache inside her, one she had been too busy surviving to feel fully.

  The wilderness of the Duskroot Wilds, the constant peril, and Xiao Lei’s unyielding—sometimes harsh—methods of protection had kept her alive. Yet even amidst danger, there had been moments of warmth. A shared morsel of food, the unspoken promise that someone would not let her die.

  Now, with the house echoing with silence after her father’s departure, she sat for a long while on the dilapidated gate, staring at the crumbling structure before her. The wood groaned, paint peeling like tears, walls warped by neglect, mirroring the fractured state of her own life.

  She felt the vast emptiness left by her grandfather’s death and the subtle ache of missing Xiao Lei, whose absence gnawed at her more keenly than the absence of a father who had never truly cared. The realization pressed against her chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding.

  “He must have left the city,” she whispered softly, almost to herself, her gaze drifting to the empty streets beyond the gate.

  The house around her seemed to sag in agreement, collapsing in both its form and metaphor, a reflection of the hollow spaces in her young heart.

  She let the cold wind brush against her cheeks, letting it carry away the first, faint tears of longing she had allowed herself in days. A distant crow called, cutting through the quiet. The faint hum of the waking city drifted from afar, and a soft scent of woodsmoke lingered on the breeze.

  Alone, yet anchored by memory and longing, Lian understood in that quiet hour how fragile the threads of care and protection were—and how fiercely she would clutch them when they appeared again.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The morning sun slanted through the latticed windows, painting the inn’s wooden floorboards in shifting bands of gold.

  Xiao Lei finally emerged from his room, steps light but edged with the stiffness of someone who had sat cross-legged far too long. His body was starved, the hunger beneath his calm face gnawing with the persistence of a blade against bone.

  The dining hall was already full—merchants haggling loudly even over breakfast, travellers clattering bowls, the air thick with the mingled scents of oil, roasted meat, and steamed grain.

  Yet when Xiao Lei stepped into view, space seemed to part around him. A servant, quick-eyed and deferential, rushed forward and found him a seat as if instinctively unwilling to let him linger in the crowd.

  Xiao Lei sat, his posture composed, and ordered without hesitation—three, no, four dishes. Soon, steaming plates arrived, and he began to eat in silence, chopsticks moving with steady rhythm.

  His thoughts drifted even as he chewed. ‘Lian should have come by now.’ The girl’s absence pressed against his mind like an unwelcome shadow. Should he go check on her? His instincts urged him to move, but his discipline held him still.

  No—better to wait. Everything was unfolding according to plan. If it wasn’t… then he had other methods. Troublesome, yes, but not impossible.

  The sharp crack of raised voices cut through the murmur of the hall, shattering his line of thought.

  At first it was just noise—petty quarrelling outside, the sort of squabble common in crowded cities. He almost dismissed it, lowering his gaze to his food. But then, amid the clash of words, one sentence rose like a spearpoint.

  “You dare threaten someone from the Lei Clan?!”

  The shout crashed through the air, followed by the heavy thud of a body striking earth.

  The chopsticks in Xiao Lei’s hand froze mid-motion, a morsel of food hovering inches from his lips. For an instant, even the din of the inn seemed to dull, leaving only the heavy pound of his heartbeat.

  'Lei Clan.

  The name struck him like a thunderclap, reverberating through marrow and memory alike. He turned his head, gaze narrowing toward the commotion spilling in through the open doorway.

  A small crowd had gathered, faces pale and wary. At the centre stood a group of three—no, four—figures, their posture dripping with arrogance, their presence enough to drive three battered men into the dirt like discarded dogs.

  Recognition pierced him at once.

  Fogwood Branch.

  And among them… one stood out sharply, etched into Xiao Lei’s memory like an old wound. A scar carved across his left eye, unmistakable even at a distance—Lei Morin. Right hand of Lei Varian, Xiao Lei’s uncle.

  For the briefest heartbeat, rage surged within him, hot and violent, the urge to rise and strike almost overwhelming. His muscles tensed, qi stirring dangerously beneath his skin. But he forced it down with the iron weight of reason. Not now. Not here.

  The group strode into the inn, and the noisy dining hall seemed to shrink away from them. Chairs scraped hastily, conversations broke mid-word. The crowd melted aside, granting the newcomers space without a second thought.

  The Lei Clan was one of the pillars of Shanli Kingdom, their name enough to carry the weight of law. No one doubted their claim. No one dared. They chose a table near the wide window, sunlight pouring across it like a stage prepared just for them.

  Xiao Lei sat only a short distance away, his back to them, forcing himself to keep eating though the taste of food had vanished from his tongue.

  Lei Morin hesitated, his scarred face tilting as if he’d caught a scent on the wind. His single good eye swept the room—but found nothing.

  Just patrons eating quietly, servants bustling about, and silence where moments ago there had been noise.

  He exhaled, dismissing the instinct.

  Then he sat, and the laughter of his companions swelled, coarse and careless, but on his tongue, it tasted of ash.

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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.