Pan Luoyang was very good at hiding which was a good thing because he needed to be.
“And he didn’t… touch you?”
The boy may have been only just into his 13th summer but his mother, Xinyi’s question to his slightly older sister, Yijun held a weight he knew was serious even if he suspected it was one of those, ‘I’ll-explain-when-you’re-older’ subjects he wouldn’t be told. It was why he was hiding just around the trade sledge, tucked behind one of the sand skimmers he was warned never to be under lest he get crushed under it when it moved.
They weren’t moving now, and the caravan wouldn’t for a while, so he was safe, especially with the monsters gone. He had never gotten a chance to see them beyond the dots in the sky, only what one of them did to his little sister’s leg afterward.
Yijun hesitated, her tried eyes darting back to meet their mother's anxious gaze. Her face was pale as she nodded slowly, her eyes downcast. "Yes, he didn't touch me," she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself as if cold despite the heat of the midday sun beating down on the Ever-Reaching Steppe. "He was... peculiar, Mother. But no, he didn't harm me. He seemed more interested in the sunrise than anything else. Just took the tray of food and let me leave.”
Pan Luoyang, clinging to the shadows under the sledge, absorbed every word.
Xinyi exhaled a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging slightly as the tension drained from her. "Good, that's good," she murmured, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her hair wilder than Luoyang had ever seen it. Then she snatched Yijun into a hug, shoulders shaking, back heaving with heavy sobs barely bit back by sorrowful words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I was certain he… When he fixed Yaling’s leg- I mean, the look on his face… I didn’t want… If he decided he wanted payment… I couldn’t… I would have if… If it was your sister, he might have…”
With too much to say and yet not enough to say it, her trembling voice just collapsed into weeping as she tucked her head into Yijun’s shoulder, the twisted scars of the burns peeking up as the high collared cloak began slipping down her neck. Yijun held her mother tighter, whispering words of reassurance that they were safe now, the threat had passed, and no harm had come to her from the peculiar stranger.
Pan Luoyang, listening intently from his hideout under a sandy tarp just a breath away from being discovered if either of them looked at him closely enough, felt a surge of confusion and fear mingle with relief. He didn't understand everything his mother and sister were discussing, but he grasped enough to know that the stranger—the same one who fixed his little sister’s leg—had been a potential danger in more ways than one.
Despite his mother's fears, Luoyang couldn't help but be fascinated by him. He remembered the look of awe on Yaling’s face when she could move her toes. His little sister was laying down in the sledge above his head, her leg bandaged but resting on a pillow.
His mom straightened up eventually, wiping away her tears and adjusting her cloak to cover her neck. "Get something to eat for yourself and Yaling” she began, her voice unsteady, “and find your brother, we don’t need him getting up to mischief.”
Yijun nodded, patting her mother's back gently before pulling away to follow her instructions, taking a moment to wipe her own damp cheeks before she stepped away, her form slightly shaky as she headed towards the central cooking fires where the caravan was congregating for a communal meal. "I'll find him, don't worry," she said, a soft reassurance that seemed to ease some of Xinyi’s anxieties as she watched her daughter walk away.
Pan Luoyang waited until the coast was clear before emerging from his hiding spot. His heart raced as his mother climbed into the sledge to check on Yaling, almost looking right at him with her red, puffy eyes.
He quickly dusted off his trousers, tossed the tarp into a different covered sledge, and roughly combed the sand out his hair as he scampered towards the food supplies, where he knew he would likely find Yijun.
As he approached, he saw his sister getting two helpings of hot spiced porridge from the cook, the nasty stuff smacking into the second bowl with a sloppy splat.
Yijun spotted him and waved him over, her face breaking into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “There you are! I was just going to look for you,” she said, handing him a piece of travel bread that came with it.
Pan Luoyang took the bread gratefully, his eyes flicking towards the spot where his mother had just been. He didn't want to ask about the strange man, but he couldn't stop the curiosity. Yijun noticed his quiet demeanor as he ate.
After a moment's pause, with his mouth full of travel bread, Pan Luoyang chewed then swallowed. “Sis… Can I help? I know everyone’s worried so…”
Yijun paused, considering her little brother. Ever since their father… passed, she knew he was eager to step up to fill the void left behind. But Luoyang was still so young, barely thirteen and was trying to take on too much far too fast. She suspected he blamed himself for them being forced to flee their home in West Fields back in the Empire, even though it was as beyond his control as the rain. Their father was a man of honest business which made him many enemies over the years. His death
had left them vulnerable as the vultures began to circle while they tried to decide what was the next step to solve their situation.
Then the news of the return of the demons in the North made their decision for them.
Yijun sighed, looking at her little brother with a mix of fondness and sadness. "Luoyang, I know you mean well, but there are some things you're still too young to be involved with." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Just focus on being a kid while you still can. Help look after Yaling and stay out of trouble. That's the best thing you can do right now."
Annoyed with the affection and flailing to push her arm away, Luoyang let out a groan, though his eyes were still troubled. "I just want to keep you all safe. Like dad did."
"I know," Yijun said softly, sadly. "But we're safe for now. The caravan is heading towards the mountains where we'll join our extended family in the Cloud Dragon clan. They're strong and can protect us."
Yijun balanced the two bowls of porridge carefully as she started rise to head back to the sledge, Luoyang staying behind. He knew he should just listen to his sister, but his curiosity burned as bright as any fire in the dark. "Was he scary, the stranger? He fixed Yaling's leg, didn't he?" He persisted, his voice dropping to a whisper as he glanced around to make sure the one he was talking about wasn’t listening.
Yijun paused, considering. "He wasn't scary exactly. Just...different. His eyes were so intense, like he could see right through you." She shivered slightly at the memory. “But yes, he did.” Signaling the conversation was over with her tone as much as her feet, Yijun walked away, leaving Luoyang to think. He watched her back disappear into their sledge as he took another bite of his bread, chewing thoughtfully as the camp hummed with conversation around him. The words she’d said spinning around in his head like leaves caught in a harsh wind, he knew better than to push any further; Yijun had that look she got when there was no more discussing a matter.
But that didn’t stop Luoyang’s thoughts from racing. His curiosity about the stranger wasn’t solely borne out of fear or fascination. There was something deeper, a kind of instinctual draw towards the man who had so mysteriously entered their lives and left an imprint that seemed to go beyond just healing Yaling’s leg. It was as if he had unlocked a door to something Luoyang couldn’t yet see to the other side of, but desperately wanted to. He wanted to learn about the strange cultivator, if for no other reason to fight him if he came for his family.
Deciding not to return to the sledge just yet, Pan Luoyang wandered off towards the edge of the caravan, where the camels and horses were being tended to. The air was cooler here, away from the warmth of the cookfire and so many bodies.
The smell of spiced porridge mixed with the scent of burning wood filled the air, creating a comforting yet pungent aroma that reminded Luoyang of their past in West Fields, though it was ruined somewhat by the stench of char from the wrecked sledges.
The fear that had clutched his heart last night now mingled with a budding sense of wonder. He had hidden with the others who couldn’t fight, under the sledges in the center of their defenses as the other cultivator, the woman in the golden armor, instructed. A shiver ran through him and suddenly he was very, very cold. Just thinking about the unearthly noises those monster’s made was enough for his guts go watery again. Not even the burning shame of getting out the hiding spot to discover he’d wet himself could fully erase the terror of that night. Luoyang shuddered, wrapping his arms tighter around himself as if to squeeze out the memory. He couldn’t do anything against those bastards back home then and last night was another reminder he couldn’t do a damn thing for his family. He didn’t want to imagine the disappointment on his dad’s face if he could see him now, trembling and afraid, unable to protect his own.
His sister's words echoed in his ears—about being a child, about staying out of trouble. But how could he, when danger seemed to follow them like a shadow? He watched as a young stable hand struggled to calm a spooked horse, its eyes rolling wildly. Instinctively, Luoyang approached, placing a gentle hand on the beast’s mane.
"Easy there," he murmured, using the calming tone his father had once taught him. The horse quieted under his touch, its breathing slowing as it settled down. The stable hand gave him a grateful nod.
"Thanks," she said, her voice shaky. "They've been on edge all night."
Luoyang nodded, understanding all too well as he went wandering.
Maybe that's why the thought of the strange man who had healed Yaling was so increasingly consuming; he represented a flicker of hope, a means to an end that Luoyang couldn’t quite articulate but felt compelled to pursue.
Luoyang's thoughts were interrupted by crunching sound and a mumbling voice. The boy turned sharply to find he’d wandered to the spot where the wrecked caravan sledges were left and standing before one, sifting through it with his brilliant red robes, was the cultivator. His red hair and cat-like ears seemed to flow together upon his head seamlessly, and his golden eyes flickered behind thin spectacles like the ones his father used to wear for reading.
He placed the charred, thick piece of wood on the ground and carefully balanced a beautifully crafted pot on top. As he began to mix ingredients inside the pot, steam rose from the bubbling liquid. It was clear that this makeshift setup was his kitchen in this remote part of the campsite.
He approached the man cautiously, suddenly nervous now that he was facing the person who'd been occupying his thoughts so intensely. Luoyang swallowed hard.
“What are you doing?”
The cultivator who saved everyone, who healed others like it was nothing, who’s eyes glowed from his face like bits of light, did something Luoyang never saw coming.
He jumped like a startled deer.
----------------------------------------
‘I am going to die.'
For the second time in her life, this thought lay across the swirling storm in her mind and enfolded everything into a muffled distant thing. It sucked down into every part of her soul, leaving her to hover.
In this void of senses between unconsciousness and awareness, she watched her dantian slowly break apart. At some level, she recognized the horrifying sight for what it was. Marred with ragged cracks like a poorly repaired bit pf pottery, her foundation was barely sound enough to handle the Qi flowing through her body before the battle. All attempts at healing the damage, to try fixing it before she lost everything, had barely progressed since the day it happened. But there had been progress.
Now... it was clear she'd pushed herself too far.
Her Qi flared in her meridians then grow weak like a fire struggling against the wind catching on bits of unburned wood. Each pulse should've caused great agony. She witnessed an outer sect disciple lose control during a breakthrough and while many paths were forgiving, The Golden Step was not. Her death was as brutal as it was haunting. Even as her body broke apart, the scream lasted longer than anyone who's lungs boiled away into steam should have.
Fear finally wormed its way to the surface and instinctively Zi Nuan reached out, trying to suppress her Qi as it ran wild through her body... only to let her control slip away like sand through her fingers as it passed into her foundation and added another glowing crack carved into it. There was no where she could put her Qi to suppress it, after all. Not without accelerating the inevitable.
The detachment made it an oddly peaceful experience.
'Maybe,' she pondered the spinning dantian, the cracks prying wider and wider by the glow which was darker than night and venting Qi like steam from a teapot. 'Its because this is the second time you've... I have neared death.'
A twinge of significant emotion broke through the placid surface of calm as she was reminded why those cracks were there.
That bastard Fan Liang.
She could say for the first time in her life that she hated her little brother. He was arrogant, supercilious, cocky, and had their father's favor ever since surpassing her and ascending to the first stage of the Spirit realm.
She had thought she hated him then. Now, she knew it was but jealousy.
No, she could've forgiven all of his flaws and accepted her own in exchange. What she hadn't known, what she could've never prepared for, what him being all that and a traitorous fool to boot.
She was placed in command for the expedition to Blood Drinking Chasm, him in second. His protests had walked a line most wouldn't dare but Zi Nuan had more military experience than he ever did in her service to the sect.
Fan Liang accepted his position but shockingly, made no attempt to assert his authority with his greater cultivation. Looking back, she would've preferred if he did, otherwise she'd have not lowered her guard. She had been focused on preparing for the dangers of the expedition, on the potential foes they might face, on the defenses they needed to ensure.
When the great chasm split open before their eyes, as seals older than any cultivator alive burned away and demons swarmed from the wound in reality, she rallied the troops around her.
While they hadn't been prepared for the worst, they had been prepared and if the mortals and outer sect disciples lost heart and scattered...
When Feng appeared at her side, she'd be relieved when Feng appeared at her side, reasonably assuming he was coming to her for orders in the face of a greater threat. Not even the pettiest of sects would try to settle scores when demons were charging from the wastes right at them.
She scoffed and it was a bitter thing. 'Anyone reasonable.'
It was instinct and the sheer breath of her training that saved her life.
She was familiar with the motions used to break a cultivation. When punishment for capital crimes against The Golden Step sect or the Empire itself, the shattering of one's cultivation was either the first or last step.
Zi Nuan could picture the blow in her mind's eye as if it were yesterday. The Young Master's fists flowed through the horrifyingly familiar pattern, his Qi brushing aside hers like it was a mere curtain before a gale. Unlike before she had no time to block, no time to dodge, between the shock and the dumb confusion she hadn't even struck back. Even the stirrups of the saddle seemed to tighten around her boots to keep her in place.
Her arms yanked the reins of her horse, but her strength suddenly was gone and the beast's neck was like iron.
Finally, like a prayer half-answered, the animal reared as she twisted and a blow headed for the center of the belly, lanced through her side. Every nerve screamed as she was thrown from her horse, fell to the ground, clutching her side, gasping for air.
her body on fire…
Fire?
A pulse ran through her, yanking her from the memory and into the present. Her dantian wasn’t spinning anymore, in fact her Qi had stilled, suppressed by a bright orange liquid heat. It flowed before Zi Nuan's eyes, casting a warm glow down her centerline meridians and spreading out through her limbs and joints. The liquid was hot, almost burning, and felt alien, alive. It moved with an almost purposeful fluid motion, like a river of lava, pulsing and swirling in mesmerizing patterns. Its flowing beauty was a sharp contrast what she sensed from it. It was harsh and bitter, almost like she could taste the heat itself and it also carried a hint of sweetness on her tongue, like a pleasant burn before a satisfying meal. It felt as if the sun had burst from within her, spilling its molten core through every inch of her body, igniting her from the inside out yet cooling down the pain her mind had been shoving down all this time.
Was she suffering from Qi deviation?
No, this was something else… The orange - fire? Qi…? No, it was that nonsense Qi. The unpredictable element, flickering between chaos and harmony, yet somehow still managing to hold together within her instead of breaking her like it should. It was a force to be reckoned with, wild and free, with a hint of madness in its brilliance.
The other Cultivator! He must’ve been healing her!
Her dantain, once broken and cracking, now pulsed with a life-giving force. The glow within the cracks which so steady worried at her foundation seemed to recoil within the core, trying to get away. The sight was enough to drive her to action, she had no idea if what she was about to do would help or in all honesty, if her interference would simply undo the cultivators work. As it was, she was faced with two choices. Do nothing or do something. Given it seemed like for the months leading to the point she was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t, Zi Nuan allowed herself a bitter smile. Many in the sect had once called her arrogant and too involved in mortal affairs to consider the celestial path, but Zi Nuan had always been a pragmatist.
And just laying down to let someone else do the work to save her life irked greatly, not when she was just liberated from the whims of the uncaring heavens. She reached her intent into the energy and a heartbeat later, was swept into it, guiding the tide which might have crushed her aside had it been focused on suppressing her.
Instead, the liquid crackled and hissed as it went after the wedges in her soul disc like a prowling creature, a low rumbling sound like distant thunder mixed with the sharp sizzle of fire meeting water as the darkness burned away. And underlying it all was the sound of her own heartbeat, racing in her ears.
Her once shattering dantian was now whole, the orange liquid heat enveloping her, merging seamlessly with the Qi within her body. Then the fire swelled, it pushed up and out, causing her whole body to tighten. The heat was momentarily unbearable, it rushed out of her, then the coolness of her own Qi filled in where it left. Her body tingled, her thoughts buzzed, and her Qi flowed through her body easily, a sense of wholeness filling her for the first time in months.
Zi Nuan opened her eyes to the canvas of the tent, mid-morning light leaking in through the open flap allowing her to make out the sound of voices talking throughout the camp. She took a deep, shuddering breath, tongue tingling, and surprised to find her airways clear and her lungs filled with air.
She sat up.
Too late, she remembered her ruined leg and flinched preparing for the searing agony which made her pass out before.
Instead, she ached but she didn't hurt. Surprised, she took stock of her body and felt her injury was not only gone but healed completely.
To her relief, not only was her sword laid by her side but it was clear, whatever art Cultivator used to heal her hadn't required him to remove her armor.
'Or he was just careful enough for you not to notice,' she ignored her inner bitter voice. If he had taken... freedoms, what could she do about it now?
'It wasn't like I could've done anything at the time.' She didn't consider herself a great beauty, but in these rough lands with their rougher folk, she knew better to moan about not having shoes, not when she easily could've had her feet cut off.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Even in the empire, situations like her's would easily be taken advantage of. A bitter pill to swallow indeed.
Still, she checked yourself or bruises and when she found none that bitter pill went down a little easier.
She rose and brushing down her armor and grasped her sword to examine. It was ruined now. Zi Nuan supposed it getting fixed alongside her cultivation was beyond even the heaven's great amount of generosity. The damage caused by the techniques she was forced to use remained, looking even uglier in the daylight that in the dark.
She could hear Senior brother Cheng Xue's exasperated castigation from here, going on about how even though she knew better, she was seeking more. Her ex-senior brother.
Her hand tightened on the grip, the final ring on the spine chiming with the pulse of the Qi in her body. It's sound was as remorseful and tired as she felt.
Crippled, left for dead, struggling to get back home then running for her life...
Now, she was indebted to a cultivator strong enough to defeat all the demons left when she passed out.
Her first steps at a new life beyond the Stellar Wing Empire was off to a very rough start and she hadn't even reached the free kingdoms.
The tent flapped open and she looked up to see the caravan master peering in, surprised but clearly relieved to see her awake. He bowed and it gave Zi Nuan time to flatten whatever expression she may have had on her face.
"This Xu Dingxiang greets Bronze Cleaver Zi Nuan. I thank you for your help in driving off the demon's last night. My Firebird Caravan will offer whatever service or good you deem fit for your assistance."
The cultivator wondered briefly if she were being made fun of but quickly shut the thought down. She was well aware of how he had barely held together on a knife edge between death by demonic consumption and death by her own Qi shattering her like fine glass. To a mortal's eyes, she supposed her struggles would've not seemed as such.
This man's greeting reminded her though. "You are familiar with me?" She asked then clarified when the man lifted his head confused. "You came to me when the horde was approaching and, now that I'm thinking about it, you called me by my title in the midst of battle."
"Yes, Mistress cultivator. I served under you as a captain during the Black Oath suppression." He bowed again this time with a very distinctive, stiff military bearing not easily imitated. "I recognized you almost at once upon setting off from Hawk's Tallon but since it was obvious you clearly did not want to be recognized, I kept the knowledge to myself."
She thought about the Black Oath suppression. What was that, 30, maybe even 40 years ago? Though the mortal could have been lying to ingratiate himself with her, some mortal's names and face she would never forget but a mere Captain? While the beard, weathered tanned skin was distinctive enough she imagined a younger, cleaner face and knew it would've blended together with the many who fought and died during that bloodied campaign.
The only real reason she could come up with as to why he would lie to her was due to the large bounty on her head. He must've noticed the look on her face because he stiffened. "Forgive this one's impertinence but I did not believe the crimes you are accused of." She raised an eyebrow but did not speak prompting the man to continue and explain himself. "There are many stories of how you and you alone, of all the other commanders, valued our lives. We were not just soldiers or mortals to you but loyal men of the Stellar Wing Empire. There were rumors of you adjusting tactics of generals who plan to simply use us as meat to weigh down the blades of our enemy. You insured supply lines remained safe and the wounded weren't left to die, rotting on the battlefield. I remember distinctly veterans from other companies having more..."
The older man paused fishing for an appropriate word, the hard steady voice wavering so slightly Zi Nuan wondered if she would've noticed had she not been a cultivator. "... difficult times. I got to go home to my wife and family because of you, my lady. Forgive me but how could anyone believe such... tales about you even if they came from the mouth of the Emperor himself?"
She took in every word, a muddled mix of emotion stirring in her breast. That last sentence from Xu Dingxiang's mouth edged into the very dangerous territory of criticizing both the sects and the Imperial government who sanctions them. But the gratefulness carried in every syllable softened it considerably. She didn't have the heart to tell him, she only did what and plainly made sense.
One of the biggest issues she had with her fellow cultivators of almost every sect which hung around them like the stench from a swine herd, was the detachment to the point of absolute idiocy.
The Black Oath suppression had shined the light upon the chasm between the common sense of the peasant and the cultivator. Even in her sect which claim to be the most righteous, some had forgotten simple basics such as soldiers needing pay or consistent rations. The colder sects simply enforced obedience through their intent, a heavy-handed method which she knew would eventually come back to cause trouble.
Thankfully, her seniors were open to her suggestions and as the war had gone on the results it spoken for themselves.
She decided not to let the mortal know all he was thanking her for was pragmatic logic. Instead, she recognized the opportunity to get information on the biggest issue in her mind and changed the subject. "What of this other cultivator?"
She couldn't miss how the man's expression became something more contemplative. Which was good, she guessed, since if he was some sort of tyrant she didn't think he would be smiling.
The tale that followed was almost too unbelievable even for her own ears. The cultivator, a great expert named Sè Piān, defeated the demons easily and then set upon the task of healing those injured in ways rumored only to be amongst the writing of the greatest sages of the age. He apparently spoke with a strange accent that wasn't of the city or the countryside.
His clear power wasn't the most unbelievable part though, the caravan leader speaking of a guard getting his eyes replaced with a pair of stones was baffling, it was that this cultivator didn't demand payment anywhere near enough to match what he had done. He was showing the mortals a great deal of face.
Was he some sort of ascended spirit beast? Or maybe some sort of hidden master?
She sighed, knowing she was going to have to find out herself. Though the veteran spoke enthusiastically about the expert, he clearly was being careful with what he said about him. One thing was certain though, she didn't want to insult someone so strong by not offering proper face and thanks for healing her. "This Zi Nuan appreciates your discretion." She began, sheathing her blade. "I must speak with this cultivator. Where can I find him?"
"He was looking for something to cook with, I believe. He insisted on searching the ruined sledges instead of allowing us to provide one for him. He should be on the other end of the camp."
She frowned, another mystery to solve. What cultivator cooked his own food?
----------------------------------------
Spoony glanced over the blackened ruins of what Zhong said was one of the equipment sledges that had carried a huge chunk of cookware, trying and failing not to feel a little disappointed. As per usual, these people wanted to make an event of things, falling over themselves to apologize and promising to search the camp for something suitable. He waved the father and son off especially when they actually started asking if they should take Su Rong's, the acting caravan cook, huge pot from him for Spoony to use. He was pretty sure he could find a metal something to use without taking from people who needed it. Even as he made his way to the southern part of the encampment, he passed through the central clearing where he saw everyone lining up in front of an old man, who couldn't be anyone but Su Rong, who had set up a large cauldron over a roaring fire. He wondered if Zhong or his father knew it was being used and if they would still made the offer if they had.
He got his answer almost right away. The flat area was full of people, seated on rocks or on rough rugs over the sand, they ate and chattered and laughed. Spoony almost wanted to join them, whatever was cooking beckoned him by the nose like siren song promising to be much more appetizing than the jerky from before. He could almost imagine he was in NNU's cafeteria. The illusion broke as, like a stone, his presence caused a ripple of reverent silence.
Spoony hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should intrude on their meal. He was hungry, but the quiet respect the others showed gave him pause.
The old man had not noticed Spoony at first, too focused on stirring the huge pot. But as the silence stretched on, he glanced over and caught sight of the stranger. His eyebrows almost met the thinning pate of his hairline, a hint of fear in the deep wrinkles that surrounded his eyes.
Spoony took a deep breath and tried but failed to ignore the sudden attention he was receiving. He continued towards the southern part of camp, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment that he wouldn't be sharing a meal with everyone after all.
In a way he'd already known the answer. With how everyone was treating him so far, the old man probably would've dumped the food out himself if asked. That's why he asked the leaders to get on with what they needed. There was already enough on their plate and the last thing he wanted was to throw even more on the pile of preparations they clearly were putting off for him.
"Cultivator this, cultivator that," He mumbled as he sifted through the wreckage by himself. "The gardeners around here must be amazing." The once sturdy thing creaked as he levered aside a beam from some warped and twisted panels and boxes and barely recognizable pieces of equipment.
He studied the sledge wreckage. Even in pieces, the toon could tell it was a solidly constructed thing. With the suspension and shape of a carriage, it reminded him wooden box set upon complex toboggans. The skis it would run on were closer in shape to the end of spoons, swept up and curled in just enough to keep from scooping sand into them as they went along. They were attached to the suspension by rough pivoting arms though when he levered a smashed corner up for a better look, he could see the sleds could be swapped out for banded iron wheels at any time.
Actually, if he were being honest with himself it was that roughness which made him uneasy.
While all the sledges in the caravan were designed in the same way and painted in brilliant reds and oranges to match the name, beautifully constructed with Eastern aesthetics that made them look like small temples on the move, there was a distinct look of age to them.
He couldn't put his paw on why which was doubly unnerving. It was like seeing the solution to a math problem and needing to find out what the problem was.
It was like... He rubbed his chin. It was like 42.
Was the problem 10+10+10+10+2? Or was it 10×4+2? Was it the meaning of life? Was someone just taken 4 and 2 and smacking them together like action figures?
'A answer with no problem?' He rolled it around in his brainpan for a bit hoping to knock a lightbulb up. He felt something flared to life above his head right as the idea came when he saw one of the nails sticking out of a panel.
He looked up and affirmed what he saw. Instead of a light bulb, a tongue of flame hovered in its place.
No electricity. There have been no hide or hair of a light bulb, radio, or a can of soda.
He flicked the nail with his thumb and it popped out with a PING, flipping a coin into his open palm.
The nail was a wide, thick piece of pig iron that ended more on a blunt triangular edge than a point.
Carefully, he brushed a finger across it, feeling the dips and bumps from what had to be a blacksmith hammer.
No commercial production.
He thought back to that unnerving map drawn on some kind of vellum or thick paper.
He considered himself an educated cat so being unable to recognize any of the landmasses or the names being used in the area, was just shy of alarming. Even if it was just local map in some faraway country, he leader and his son's confusion when he brought up the USA had been impossible for Spoony to miss.
It wasn't that these things were old. No, he just hadn't seen anything like this outside of the Ripley's Oddities of Ages Past museum. He suspected now that if he were to go to one of the other sledges and feel across the lacquer, the wood would be nowhere near as well treated from rain and moisture as the deck in the backyard of his house. Though, if this caravan was only going through what the people called the Ever-Reaching Steppe, maybe they didn't need to worry about water.
He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but he certainly didn't like it. He needed to get his hands on a conch or a coconut.
A lot of it was ash and as one panel fell over to split apart on a rock, the taste of smoke puffed up with the ash and tickled his nose. Before he had time to stifle it, he sneezed. He sneezed more forcefully than he'd ever sneezed before, sending an even larger thick cloud of ash and dust pluming into the air and momentarily blinding him. He could barely see through the haze, straining his eyes to make out the remaining wreckage amidst the swirling gray.
Tears stinging his eyes, Spoony stepped back, trying to fan the air clean when his heel caught on something hard and he
stumbled, barely catching himself from falling. He crouched down, inspecting where his foot had been and brushing some charred remnants aside. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the glint of polished metal.
With excitement building in him, he carefully unearthed the item and examined it his hands trembling slightly at the thought of at a cup of joe. When he saw the thing he whooped, hopping in the air with a click of his heels. It was without a doubt the most decorated, engraved kettle he'd ever seen but something in him recognized it was just what he needed.
It definitely was worth something too. As large as a crock pot but shaped like a fancy potbellied stove, its dark iron handles were curved up along it's sides, complementing the engraving of stylized flames sweeping up along its sides. Its top was even fancier, stylized like one of those eastern pagodas his mom showed him from her time in the service- a small tower with multiple levels and curved square tiled roofs. Each curve and line seemed to tell a story, and it was clear that whoever had crafted this piece had poured their heart and soul into it. It wasn't even scorched; it was that well made. At the bottom was grill shaped vents like miniature prison bars, a cage for the heating element… that he didn't see.
The toon raised the pot to the light to get a better look. There was no plug, not that he could've used it if there was, and the vents looked like they were cast into the sides. As Spoony brushed his hand over them, he could feel the rough texture of the iron and the slight indentation of the grill pattern but no latch of button to open it up.
"How do you turn this thing on?" He asked aloud to no one in particular, wanting nothing more than to figure out how to light the damn thing. As if on cue, his palms began to tingle where his skin touched the handle. The sensation spread down his arms and spread into his belly to end in a ticklish buzz under the navel that reminded him of the time he ate a whole box worth of pop rocks on a dare. This fizzy feeling, however, didn't end with him barfing up a rainbow, instead something flowed out the way the sensation came and with a sharp but quiet huff, blue flames flared to life through the grill. 'Didn't see a propane tank, but alright.'
It was the strangest bit of cookware Spoony had ever seen but he didn't waste any time. Taking a panel from the wreck and laying down like a table, he quickly opened the pot and, taking his water bottle out his briefcase, began making coffee the way mom taught him.
Now he was thinking about it, as he ripped the first of the instant coffees open with a practiced motion in one hand as he poured water in with the other, his love of all things dark, brown, and beany was probably Purrlina Taffy Tanglepaws Witherspoon fault. Being a hard smokin' rough and tumble alley cat straight out the Marine Corps, only his mother would give a kitten his age Boiler Compound. Then again, his dad would slip him shots of fire hootch in his orange juice so it kinda even itself out.
Stirring the first packet in with a finger until it dissolved in the warming water, Spoony added another and another and another until the bitter scent of the cheap powder began to fade and the bitterness gave way to an aroma so rich, one could mistake it for chocolate. He breathed it in and stirred it once more. As he stirred, the Compound made a low, scraping noise against the metal bottom and sides of the pot, almost like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard and when he removed his finger, a long thick string hung from the digit like tar before a quick shake sent it back in the pot with a heavy plop.
Mmm, perfect. He could almost taste it through the vapors, alone.
The concoction was bordering black and starting to steam, he was just putting the lid on it for it to boil and further distil into a concentrate that would last for days, when a young voice, asked a question less than a foot away from his ear. "What are you doing?"
"YIPE!" Spoony yowled, hopping a good three feet in the air before landing on his feet, his hair and tail standing on end, heart doing a little river dance in his chest. A boy with brown hair met his gaze, curious and wide-eyed. Spoony's eyes darted around, searching for anyone else nearby who could've snuck up on him. The kid had some light feet, that for sure. He found himself hesitating to answer, not because he had anything to hide but because he was unsure how to respond to the sudden intrusion and such a boldfaced open question. The kid was young enough to be his brother and had an open inquisitiveness glimmering in his eyes to match, clad in rough but well-made shirt and trousers, he had the tanned skin of someone who was used being outdoors.
The feline made up his mind. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he answered with a slight smile, calming his pounding heart. He looked down at the kettle, the steam billowing from its top, the boiling coffee mixture inside. "I'm making coffee, kiddo," he explained, "Need a bit of a jolt to get through the day, you know?",
From the way the puzzled frown crossed the kid's face; No, he didn't. "Is it something that'll make someone strong?"
"I guess." Spoony supposed with a shrug. "Certainly saw my mom lift a house after a cup of it." As if those were the magic words, the boy's eyes widened even more, the spark of curiosity igniting into full on interest.
Before the boy could ask another question, Spoony decided to introduce himself. "I'm Spoony. What's your name?"
The boy seemed to catch himself right as he mouth opened as if unsure whether to reveal his name. After a moment, he said "This one is Pan Luoyang, Master Cultivator." He bowed, his wild curly hair falling over his eyes as he put on the exaggerated overly polite voice kids did when trying to copy adults.
Spoony chuckled at the boy's formal introduction and Luoyang's face flushed in embarrassment. Not wanting the boy to think he was being made fun of, he patted the kid on the back to break the ice. "Nice to meet you, Pan Luoyang. You can just call me Spoony. I'm not a gardener. You work for the caravan?"
Luoyang shuffled his feet, looking down. "No...not really. I'm with my mom and sisters. We're headed to the city." He glanced back up at Spoony. "You fixed Yaling's leg." Then as if realizing he wasn't quite clear enough added. "My little sister."
Spoony studied the boy thoughtfully. Behind the intelligence and thoughtfulness in his eyes that seemed at odds with his youthful features, the face seemed vaguely familiar. Suddenly, it clicked - he remembered where he had seen that face before! It was the girl whose leg had been severed. "Oh, how is she feeling? Staying off that leg, right?" he asked with concern.
Luoyang nodded eagerly. "Yaling is doing much better thanks to you! She can't wait to walk and run again. She can even move her toes!"
Spoony rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the praise. "Great." Good to know she could do that.
"What about you? Do you live out here?"
Spoony chuckled, glancing around at the hard land. "Nah, I'm a city cat normally. I'm on a trip right now for…" He considered how to say it. "work." He decided.
He paused, studying the boy. The excitement wasn't there anymore. In its place was an air of tension about him that Spoony couldn't quite put a finger on. "You all right there, kid? You look like you've got something on your mind."
The boy bit his lip. "I'm ok. Just..." He hesitated. Then it all came out in a rush of words like a dam breaking. "Take me as your student. This Pan Luoyang wishes to learn how to fight!"
Spoony blinked, taken aback by the sudden declaration. His ears twitched as he processed the boy's earnest expression. For a moment, all he could do was stare at Pan Luoyang, trying to gauge whether the request was a child's whimsy or something more.
After a pause, Spoony scratched his ear, then crouched down to be eye-level with the boy. "Fight, huh? That's a big request for such a little guy. What makes you want to learn that?" To his surprise, the question just rose out of him, echoing the same words his old coached asked him so many years ago. He hadn't known it at the time, but the old codger had been testing him, making sure he wanted to learn for the right reasons.
Pan Luoyang's eyes grew intense, his small fists clenching at his sides. "Not just fight," he corrected, voice dropping to a whisper as if sharing a secret. "To protect. I want to protect my family, like you did for Yaling."
The sincerity in the boy's voice struck a nostalgic chord in Spoony. Memories of his own youth flooded back, making him grin as he straightened up. "Why not?" he mused aloud before being interrupted by Luoyang's excited exclamation of "Yes!"
"I will be the best student you ever had! I-"
The boy cut himself off as Spoony raised a finger, taking in the mess around them. "Just a sec."
It took about 5 seconds for him to find enough scraps of sack, wood, and rope that would hold the weight, but about ten more for him to throw together a passible punching bag. He jammed the post holding it in place into the ground, tested it to make sure it stayed up, and turned to see the boy's jaw was so low he could catch flies. "How?"
"I was in the scouts." He turned back to his bubbling pot, checking the lid, ensuring nothing would boil over while he attended to what was now feeling like a more pressing matter than his late morning jolt of caffeine. Once satisfied that all was in order, Spoony turned his full attention back to the eager boy before him.
"Alright, Pan Luoyang," Spoony began, his tail flicking with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "If we're going to do this, there are rules. First rule: you listen and learn, not just about fighting, but about why and when to fight. It's easy to learn how to throw a punch but much harder to know when you should or shouldn't use it."
Luoyang nodded so vigorously that his curls bounced wildly. "Yes, Master Spoony! I will listen, I promise!"
"And second," Spoony continued, holding up another finger, "Don't call me Master."
"Yes Ma-uhh… Yes, Lord Spoony."
"Okay," he let the slipup go, knowing if he let himself be annoyed every time someone called him that he'd be steaming before the day was out. "So, first if you want to learn how to punch, the sandbags the perfect way to do it. You see..."
He stepped up to the makeshift punching bag. It wasn't much to look at—just a mess of rags and old clothes tied together. But for a quick demonstration, it would do. Taking a deep breath, he assumed a relaxed stance, one foot slightly in front of the other, knees bent, hands slightly closed and up. "The most important thing is to protect yourself."
"Like this?" Luoyang mimicked Spoony's stance, albeit a bit clumsily.
"Yeah, kinda," Spoony said with a chuckle. "You'll get there. Now, watch."
And with that, he launched into a flurry of punches. Jabs, crosses, hooks—each movement was precise, controlled, and ridiculously fast. The air around his fists seemed to crackle with unseen energy as he hammered away at the punching bag like a speed bag.
Luoyang's jaw dropped. He had never seen anyone move so quickly!
Spoony finished his demonstration with a spinning back fist that sent the makeshift bag swaying wildly. He turned back to Luoyang, a mischievous glint in his eye. "See? Easy peasy."
Luoyang stared at him, speechless. "But… but how?" he finally stammered.
Spoony grinned. "Practice, my young apprentice." He winked. "And maybe a little toony knowhow."
Luoyang frowned. Toony knowhow? What in the world was that? He decided to file that question away for later. Right now, he wanted to learn how to move like Spoony.
"Alright," Spoony said, clapping his hands together. "Show me what you got. Give that bag your best shot."
Luoyang took a deep breath and stepped up to the bag. He mimicked the stance Spoony had shown him, then threw a punch with all his might.
thwap.
The bag barely moved
"Hmm," Spoony mused, scratching his chin. "Needs more oomph. More… pizzazz!"
He stepped back, beckoning Luoyang closer. "Here," he said, dropping into a fighting stance again. "Watch this."
And then, to Luoyang's utter bug-eyed shock, Spoony began to fight… himself.
His movements were a blur as he danced around an invisible opponent. His fists connected with unseen jaws, his feet swept across the ground as if dodging attacks. One moment he was in front, the next he was behind, a whirlwind of motion and energy which sent sprays of sand up and his red sleeves flapping.
Then, with a resounding CRACK, Spoony punched himself squarely in the face… from another direction.
Luoyang gasped. "How did you...?" He stammered and rubbed his eyes, certain what he was seeing had to be a hallucination brought on by the heat. He knew cultivators could move like lightning and even become like mist, but this… This was something else entirely.
Spoony rubbed his jaw, chuckling. "Okay, maybe that was a bit much for the first lesson." He shook his head, as if to clear it from the impact. "But that's the point, Luoyang. Fighting's not just about throwing punches. It's about thinking, moving, and reacting—sometimes even to yourself." He winked. "Now step up to the bag and pay attention. This time I'll go slow."
He repeated the first punch, this time at a snail's pace, his movements exaggerated to the point of absurdity. Even moving that slowly, there was a certain fluidity to Spoony's motions that spoke of years of practice.
Luoyang tried to copy him, but his body looked stiff and awkward. Another punch, another time the bag didn't move.
"Loosen up," Spoony corrected. "Imagine you're dancing. Yeah, like that. Now, when you throw a punch, put your whole body into it. Don't just use your arm, use your hips, your legs, your core. Everything!"
Luoyang threw another punch, this time putting a little more of himself into it. It was still a pitiful display, but he could clearly feel a difference. The bag still didn't move.
"Better," Spoony said with an encouraging nod. "But you're still holding back. Imagine you're trying to knock someone's block off with that punch. Really let loose!"
Luoyang took a deep breath and squared up to the punching bag once more. He closed his eyes, picturing the imposing face of the loan shark Baochun, who drove his family from their home. He imagined all the thugs working under the man that preyed on them when they were weak.
He opened his eyes, a newfound determination burning in them. He reared back and let loose with everything he had.
The punch landed with a solid thud.
And Luoyang stumbled forward, his hand throbbing. He looked up at the punching bag. It hadn't moved an inch.
Spoony let out a hearty laugh and clapped Luoyang on the shoulder. "That's the spirit! You've got fire, kid, that's for sure. We just need to refine it, turn that raw energy into precision and power."
Luoyang rubbed his sore hand, but his face lit up with a smile. Disappointment had threatened to drown him, despair at not being able to do what the cultivator obviously considered basic threatened to roll over him like a thunderhead. But Spoony's laughter and approving words were like rays of sunlight piercing through that storm cloud.
"Again," Spoony said, nodding toward the bag. "But this time, watch your balance. Imagine you're a wall of mist; your legs are solid enough to plant deep into the ground but loose enough that you can flow out the way."
Luoyang planted his feet as instructed, feeling the earth beneath him, trying to merge the solidity of his stance with the fluidity of movement Spoony emphasized. He threw another punch, this time more mindful of his entire body.
The bag shuddered slightly on impact, a small but noticeable improvement. Luoyang's eyes widened with excitement.
"See? You're getting it!" Spoony exclaimed. "Each punch is a dialogue between you and your target. You're learning its language."
Encouraged, Luoyang tried again, focusing deeply on the connection between his feet and the ground, the rotation of his hips, the extension of his arm, and the snap of his wrist just at the point of impact. This time, the bag swayed more markedly.
"Yes!" Spoony shouted, clapping. "That's what I'm talking about! It's all about harmony, my friend. Harmony between intent and action."
He was about to show explain further when a delicate, polite cough stopped him. Spoony turned and his smile grew even wider as he saw the woman in the ringed armor with the sword standing off to the side. He was more than happy to see her up and about finally. A good ol' shot of Hot Juice never failed.
To her left and a little behind, Spoony also recognized the girl from before, the one who gave him the drink and the dried meat. The latter's face was straining to remain clam, her green eyes flicking from him to Pan Luoyang, who suddenly looked like he was stuck in a fireworks factory with a lit torch. Oh? The cat spent enough time with his little brother to recognize that face. Someone was caught
Spoony's grin broadened as he waved them over. "Come join us! Luoyang here is learning how to pack a punch—or at least, he's getting there."
The woman in the armor stepped forward with measured grace, her sword hanging by her side, an air of quiet authority around her though she appeared a bit taken aback by the invitation. "This one greets the great expert," she said, her voice smooth but carrying a nervous edge that commanded attention. "This one is Zi Nuan. Apologies for interrupting your lesson with your disciple but it's a rather urgent matter." She bowed slightly and brought a hand over her fist in a salute of some sort, her gaze shifting between Spoony and Luoyang with a hint of curiosity.
Spoony waved off her apology with a chuckle even as the girl behind her made a choking noise. "I'm just a coach. No where near the expert my coach Brewster Buffalo was." He winked at Luoyang, who was rubbing his knuckles, still somewhat dazed by the sudden presence of company. "But he's just starting to get the hang of it!" Spoony replied cheerfully, then he caught up with what she said and turned fully to her. "Urgent matter, you say? Well, I'm all ears. What can I do for you, Zi Nuan?"
Zi Nuan shifted slightly from foot to foot, the sunlight catching the edges of her armor sending sparkles glittering around the area with the movement. "Yes, Great expert. On repayment for this Zi Nuan's recovery."
Spoony leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief and curiosity. "Repayment, you say? That's a serious word. But tell me, what exactly is it you feel you need to repay? A bit of Hot Juice wasn't exactly a king's ransom."
Zi Nuan seemed to stiffen slightly at his light tone, her face solemn. "It is not the value of the medicine but the intent behind the gesture that holds weight," she replied, her voice steady yet earnest. "This one would not stand indebted to another, especially not for life saved."
"Well, well," he purred, sounding much like a tiger pretending at being a cat, "Why don't we make this a little group session? Zi Nuan, care to show us some moves? It might just inspire our young friend here."
She looked up at him. "Uh…I- What?"