The Ever-Reaching Steppe was a deadly place, contained between the verdant hills of the Stellar Wing Empire and the Mountain ranges of Baochun, it was a vast untamed land which separated the independent kingdoms from being caught in the grasp of the Star Hawk’s talons. It wasn’t that the emperor who once swept a single hand and flattened the far northern savage’s crude attempts at invasion with a single skin-shredding gale didn’t desire the riches which lay beneath the Steppe’s skin or not have the single stubborn nettle which was the eastern states finally within his grasp.
The reason the Imperial Wings had yet to brush it’s feathers upon just the gate of Ever-Reach City was because the land itself defied conquest. The Ever-Reaching Steppe had never been named for its creeping extending borders which were held in check by the unassailable mountains on one side and the arts of elder cultivators on the other. No, in those early days after the demons were swept away and cast out, the land was known as the Creeping Steppe. It wasn’t until the first legion trekked across its soil to unite the continent did the Steppe earn its reputation. Cultivators tasked with carving a path through it, leaders and generals all, with their mortal military and their necessary supply trains, soon found themselves at war. Not against an enemy of flesh and blood but rather the land itself.
Winds did not simply whisper but howled like the bellows from a thousand angry throats of ancient spirits, storms would rise without warning and turn benign plains into a churning sea of choking dust and deadly lightening. The few safe grasslands where the storms abated in intensity were found to be the hunting grounds of dangerous beasts and numerous spirit beasts. Predators prowled under cover of night and even in the day, the most innocuous dear targeted by bowmen to bolster supply could lash out with Qi attacks from their horns or kick with the strength to shatter armor and pulp the mortal wearing it in the bargain. Not even the Cultivators were prepared, for those who sought to harvest cultivation supplies from the exotic flora and fauna quickly discovered that each plant, each creature was imbued not just with vital energy but an intrinsic cunning and deadly defense mechanisms. Roots would unexpectedly entwine, grasping at ankles, while trees seemed to subtly shift, disorienting even the most skilled of pathfinders.
But what truly earned the Steppe it’s name was how entire battle groups would go missing. A camp would settle in for the night, only to arise to find a 6th of the camp including tents, men, material, and cultivators in charge of the section gone without so much as a boot left behind and the night watch not having heard or seen a thing. When the retreat was finally decided, barely a 3rd of the legion remained in their escape from the ever-reaching grasp of the Steppe.
Legion after legion entered the Steppe’s greedy fingers, banners high and spirits buoyed by conquest, only to emerge diminished, fractured by forces seen and unseen.
Legends spoke of the final battle with the demons of old ended here. The Ten Immortal Sects and the emperor himself drawing on long forgotten, invincible arts which scarred the land and forever split the continent in two. Many believed it tainted by the corpses of demons in the times when their grip on the world was strong and firm, the blood and bodies left behind in battles befouling the soil and tainting the air. There were some cultivators, specifically amongst the sects which carved out tiny fiefdoms among the Steppe who believed the very Earth and Heavens cursed this land, turning it barren and treacherous as punishment to those first long ascended Ten Immortals who dared to defy the celestial order.
And yet, as if to spit in the face of imperial ambition, life thrived against all known sense. Tribal nomads roamed, caravans wound their way along like serpents through tall grasses, even the rebellious sects were allowed to exist here.
Only the empire found itself constantly turned away for reasons it could not fathom.
Spoony nor his Doozy knew a lick of this. The Steppe was even less equipped to handle what was plowing through his terrain. Like a stunned merchant watching a bull trot the isles of a china shop, the various beings, animals, and spirits which made their home here got a first-row seat of what could only be described as chaos with a purpose thundering along to the Southeastern Groves.
So, as the caravan went on at a comfortable 85 mph, gliding over bumps and debris and rocks that would've cracked wheels on lesser vehicles, the toon enjoyed the scenery. He had to suppress the touristic urge to take out his phone and snap some pictures. These 'Ana Mayline' people in the east had quite a beautiful country, breathtakingly so. Spoony had never seen a deer with crystal antlers or thunderheads with yellow lightning bolts before and the few east nation travel guides Paulie slipped under his nose with the subtly of a mace to the face never mentioned butterflies that danced like living shadows under the sun.
Paulie must have picked up the tourist trap brochures, Spoony mused as he noticed a group of silver foxes playfully dart among the butterflies. When they heard Spoony approaching, the foxes abruptly stopped their playful game and scattered in different directions as he passed by even though he was a long way off.
The cat caught himself reaching for his phone before the memory of his father's voice reached up and smacked him upside the head: "Luck isn't a wheelbarrow, boy. It don't work if you push it."
A photo-op past highway speeds would land him face first into a boulder and since crashing his car was not part of today's plan, he let the urge go. Spoony's fingers itched with the desire to capture every odd rock formation and colorful burst of magic flora they zoomed past, but Doozy, ever the practical auto, required all his focus. ‘Best not push it.’
Mentally marking the landmarks they passed on the map and leaning back comfortably in the rich leather with one hand on the wheel and the other on the stick, Spoony checked the gauges. Had he been in Anytoon, this would've been the moment his car would've thundered into an absurdly large cake being inexplicably carried by two people across the road and he might’ve been lucky enough to get a slice in the bargain though it would never be chocolate, the best flavor of cake. Or the road would curve slightly, ramping up into a billboard freshly painted with an ad for "Bob's Gigantic Pancakes – So Big, They Cover Your Whole Plate!" causing a cartoonishly large pancake to fall right on Doozy, temporarily transforming the vehicle into a comical flat plate on wheels.
But this was the Ever-Reaching Steppe; no cakes, no random balloon rides.
Instead, as he looked down, the Steppe managed to gather up the nerve. Though it didn’t know how to handle the Doozy, it had turned the ambition of cultivators greater than Spoony. Besides, with demons roaming its lands, it wasn’t in the mood to let this oddity go unchallenged.
The sentient vines, remnants of a primordial age, were coaxed into waking from its deep slumber. They had lain dormant for many cycles, the vast underground network consuming too much energy from the Steppe as the vines as far above mere flora as an ant was from an eagle.
Intent was communicated and received. These ancient tendrils, thick as ropes and resilient as imbued steel began creeping upward, rising with a primal wrath.
As the rumbling vehicle got closer, the reeds writhed and slither beneath the dust. The ground itself appeared to ever so slightly shudder, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and something else, a faint hint of decay.
Ancient vines that could snare a grown elk mid-stride peeked ever so slightly through the hard ground. The tips of the vines squirming through the hardened soil, poised like deadly living nails, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Hidden in the thinning soil, their flexing lower cords were thick as a man’s thigh and bristling with sharp, sap dripping barbs, ready to ensnare.
The green reeds coiled back to strike constrict. Spoony never noticed the pedal under his foot lowering an extra fraction of a centimeter, as he tapped the fuel indicator with a finger and smiled. The V16 growled a very violent warning as it closed in, a deep rumbling threat through the chassis to any who dared challenge its passage. The reeds, which moments before had been writhing with an ancient, life, now quivered with apprehension.
The vines were ready to shoot up, barely 6 inches out the around and aiming to entangle and crush. But The surge of primal aggression and ancient anger fled under the tidal wave mechanical pressure. Qi swirled ever so slightly as Verdant, leafy thorns, smashed against pistons, fire, and fury and lost.
The Doozy plowed forward, unrelenting and unstoppable, as the ancient vines fleeing beneath its sheer mechanical force so as to not be crushed by its wheels. Spoony was blissfully unaware of the orchestrated assault by the Steppe's deep-rooted defenders. His focus remained fixed on navigating through the vibrant yet perilous landscape that unfolded before him like a tapestry of ancient tales and untamed wilderness.
The Steppe observed and realized; it had no choice. The wild Qi swirling through its own was as unyielding as the metal beast that tore through its territory. For a brief moment, the Steppe's deep consciousness felt a flicker of respect for this seemingly indomitable force that had emerged so unexpectedly as the Qi sank into the soil. But also realizing itself was… itself? A mind, the Steppe realized for the first time; it had one. That it felt… respect? To feel such a thing was to know. TO know was to feel. To feel was to-
A profound shift stirred within its ancient soul. Thoughts collided, reality sneezed again, and looked up to the dust floating down from the metaphorical attic and groaned. This was becoming a pattern, wasn’t it?
Nudging the clutch with his toe and downshifting from fourth to 3 1/2, he delicately turned the wheel 19° to the left and whipped his car and the sledges behind along the rim of a dune. It held for a moment, centrifugal force ever so lightly pressing him firmly into the driver seat, then with a revving, free spinning wheels and a tingly lightness, the car left the ground and easily floated settled back on its wheels at the top of the plateau.
The caravan followed behind, and for the first time the Firebird Caravan took wing, each sledge a segment in this centipede rampaging across the land. One by one, they landed behind just as easy on a primitive suspension which should've by all rights smashed to pieces under the weight.
The toon checked the mirrors and saw Xi-Di's arm was waving from the sledges window. Spoony let off the gas, not quite able to stuff down the slight bit of disappointment bubbling up. They only just started and, even as he resisted the urge to check his broken watch which would only serve to tell him jack and all, he would swear the older man was calling for stop way too soon.
When he glanced at the sun, he was actually little surprised. It was much higher than he expected it to be and, nobody was paying attention, his stomach was rumbling. He shrugged, putting the car in neutral and using the left-over momentum to guide the car to a wide clear area with grasses and shrubbery. A rest stop if there ever was one.
The Doozy, shining like a beacon, rolled to a gentle stop amid the tall grasses of the Steppe. As the engine purred into silence and Spoony got out, the caravan that followed in its wake came alive with activity. The sledge doors swung open, and people including one cultivator and others spilled out onto solid ground with a collective sigh of relief so deep, it could've blown a fire out.
Some, like the guards, quickly gathered themselves, scanning the area for any signs of danger, hands on weapons and their bodies alert.
Others stumbled out with pale faces, bodies swaying and limbs shivering from a hours long adrenaline high as they tried to regain their lands legs.
One poor young woman, looking very green in the gills, fell to her knees and was helped up by a member of her family and guided off to a private bush.
Yet, single thing which tied all those who'd gotten car sick was the fact they were adults.
The children in the caravan were practically giggling with delight, eyes wide with wonder as they looked around, and locked on to the Doozy.
The group of children, their eyes wide with wonder, rushed to the Doozy, their small hands reaching out to touch the sleek surface of the vehicle. They marveled at the way the sunlight danced across the chrome accents.
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Xu Dingxiang tried and failed to not stare in awe at their surroundings. This was the Shrub Plane, just on the edge of Oasis’s Heel, and looking at the sun, they'd made more than a day and a half trip in only a few hours. The vast expanse of shimmering sand was far behind them, and green flat land punctuated by the occasional scrubby bush, stretched out before them.
It left the seasoned merchant struggling for words for what had to be the umpteenth time that day.
"By the ancestors," Xu Zhong murmured from beside him. Xu Dingxiang turned to his son to see the boy's hands were on his knees and he was bent over and breathing hard. "The stories... it's never…huphm, never spoke of this." He wheezed, shivering like a leaf on a stiff breeze.
"You're telling me. One wonders how Cultivators ride swords through the sky if it’s like this." Xu Dingxiang muttered, clapping his son on the back. "But who would have thought any of the last few days was possible?"
"Indeed, who would?" Xu Zhong managed, straightening up and trying to regain his composure. The youth wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, brushing his brown locks from his eyes. "It's all so... much, Father. And he told you he can get us further still before nightfall?”
“Is that doubt, I hear?”
Xu Zhong scoffed as if the very idea wasn’t worth the effort of considering. “What is it cultivators say? I’d be blind to the mountain or something, to start now. I’m just…” He brushed his hair straight, forcing himself upright in single breath. “I don’t even know… waiting for the price?”
Xu Dingxiang tilted his head, considering the truth in his son's words. "Yes, there always seems to be a price, isn't there?" His gaze drifted back to the cultivator who was now chatting animatedly with some of the children, oblivious to the awe and trepidation of the adults. Not one of them wanted to approach him, as he apparently allowed the children to touch his miraculous machine, not even irked as one bold little boy climbed atop one of the sloped, tortoise shell-shaped curves.
He didn't feel up to talking to the cultivator, not that he was afraid, but because he was utterly exhausted from being pulled through the rough terrain and even occasionally lifted into the air - he was sure they had left the ground multiple times, but he was too afraid to look out the window and confirm it - at speeds faster than he’d ever moved in his life.
“It’s a chance we’ve taken though.” He finally answered the implied question, folding his arms across his chest as he watched the children's delighted chaos around the ‘Doozy’ as Sè Piān left, doing his own stretches it seemed. "If nothing else, we won't have to worry about White Oasis squeezing us like they're trying to get blood from a stone."
Xu Zhong snorted, finally looking more like himself now. "White Oasis? Hah! They'll be lucky if we even decide to sell them a single bolt of silk after this." He gestured towards the Doozy. "Not with the speed and efficiency of this... this..."
"Miracle," Xu Dingxiang supplied, watching as Sè Piān stretched his arms high above his head, his robes shifting to reveal strange markings on his wrists. The cultivator then proceeded to touch his toes with a graceful ease all cultivators had, the uncanny smoothness as he rolled his shoulders and stretched reminding him just how beyond he was from the rest of them.
"Right, miracle." Xu Zhong shook his head. "Even with the stock we lost, we'll be swimming in jade coins by the time we reach Baochun."
"Don't count your coins before the deal is done, son," Xu Dingxiang warned, though he couldn't entirely suppress his son's enthusiasm. He was mentally crunching the numbers, and even his most pessimistic estimates indicated that the savings on provisions alone would cover half the trip's expenses. A quick resupply of water at Oasis Point was all they really needed.
"Still, it wouldn't hurt to start thinking about which merchants we should contact first. We'll need to leverage this... advantage... carefully. If the cultivator is willing to sell an item to us even a fraction as powerful…"
"I've already made a list, Father." Xu Zhong said, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"Of course, you have," Xu Dingxiang chuckled, shaking his head fondly.
"Though," Xu Zhong's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "There is still the matter of the price. And of that the other cultivator..."
Xu Dingxiang's smile faded. "Yes, the Bronze Cleaver." He said, his gaze drifting towards the tent where he'd last seen Lady Zi Nuan wandering off herself. Reencountering her had shaken him more than he cared to admit.
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Seeing the Great General when they were about to set out from Hawk's Tallon, disguised poorly by any mortal eye who knew what to look for, requesting a berth from him like any normal person had nearly given him a heart attack.
Even if Xu Dingxiang hadn't known her face at a glance, cultivators were pretty bad at hiding their identity. Lessons he learned during the Black Oath suppression which saved his life more than once.
It had taken everything in him not to kowtow on the spot and make things very awkward.
‘No,’ he reminded himself. ‘Things were already awkward.’ His son had been itching to ask questions for awhile and only now was there seemingly room to breath
“Father," his son hesitated and Xu Dingxiang decided to simply rip the weed up now.
“I knew. The Bronze Cleaver is no small figure among the cultivators in the Empire.”
His answer left them both in silence for a moment, each lost in their thoughts about the potential complications Lady Zi Nuan's presence could introduce to their journey. The laughter and shouts of the children playing around the Doozy seemed distant now, overshadowed by the weight of what having Zi Nuan meant.
“Why then? If cultivators are hunting her and if she actually did what they say…”
The old merchant shivered as a deep cold creeping fear implanted into his very bones when he was… well, younger than his son was now squirmed to life. feeling as though his mouth was parched and water wouldn't do any good “Because I’ve seen what happens to those who deal with demons.”
The heavens tipped a steady sprinkle to a plummeting relentless downpour, each fat raindrop exploding against Xu Dingxiang’s armor with a dull, ringing thud like the world's smallest broken bell.
He huddled further under the awning as best he could without looking like he'd left his post entirely, the flimsy wooden structure doing little to protect him from the elements as he patted himself dry as best he could. Officer Zou was a cold, unfeeling ass, probably because he was an imperial legion officer and Xu one of several thousand common militia levies from the lands and villages the Bronze Ring sect controlled.
Boisterous laughter hammered through the thin guard post walls, Zou and his fellows apparently having a grand time while he stood out by the road in cloying stinking mud.
The midday sky had taken on the color of a week-old bruise, thick storm clouds obscuring what little sunlight dared to peek through, but it did give Xu enough to draw with the end of his spear. He was going for Zou planting a fat kiss on the nastier end of a hog, but he just ended up with squiggles as the rain filled his strokes with brown.
He cursed under his breath and stomped feeling into his toes, the metallic tang of rust mingling with the taste of rainwater that had found its way past his lips. His armor, already heavy and cumbersome, felt like it had gained an extra hundred pounds from the soaking.
‘Stupid cultivator business.’ He thought sourly, shifting his weight uncomfortably and trying in vain to find a position that didn't leave him feeling like he was trying to heft a heavy pack up under a waterfall. ‘Why do we even bother? Let the Emperor and his fancy sects deal with it themselves.’
The Black Oath Sect. Just the name sent his teeth grinding. Cultivators. What made these ones so damn special? That they cavorted with demons? Ha, if that was the case, the Emperor needed to check his own fallow fields then. Cultivators would kill a man over crossing his path the wrong way or take someone’s daughter because she was pretty. Surely these Black Oath bastards were a different breed altogether, weren't they? With their mystical powers and their aloof disregard for the common folk. They lived in their ivory towers, untouched by the mundane worries of everyday life?
His knuckles when white on his spear. Of course, they had to be. Then, it wouldn’t be left to simple men like him, armed with nothing but iron and hope, to clean up the mess.
He was about to start stomping around and cursing loudly enough to shame a sailor when a hand clapped him on the shoulder, almost making him jump out of his armor.
Still sulking, Dingxiang?” A cheerful voice cut through the drumming of rain.
Zhong Liu, his grin as bright as ever, stood before him, two steaming cups clutched in his hands. He offered one to Xu Dingxiang, the aroma of ginger and something spicy hitting his nose like a welcome slap. “Not anymore.”
Xu Dingxiang took the cup gratefully, the warmth seeping into his chilled hands. He took a long sip, letting the spicy ginger chase away the cold inside him. The rain continued to lash down, but the hot drink and Zhong Liu’s irrepressible cheer offered a small bastion against the dreariness.
"How did you manage to get this?" Xu Dingxiang asked, taking another grateful gulp.
Zhong Liu winked. "I have my ways. Let's just say not all the cooks are as humorless as Officer Zou."
"Did you hear anything useful, or were you too busy pilfering our rations?" Dingxiang joked grimly, shifting his stance to ease the pressure on his spine.
Zhong Liu gasped, mocking offence as he placed a hand over his heart. “Surely, you're not accusing this Zhong Liu of going through our mighty emperor’s blessed provisions. Not when our great commanding officer boasted of his private tea stash to me while he was drunk on duty. Surely, that isn’t wine they’re all guzzling down in there. You jest, my dear Dingxiang! Pilfering? Never! I merely redistribute resources temporarily forgotten by their owners.”
The two of them stood under the awning, watching the deluge turn the road into a river of mud. Despite himself, Xu felt a small chuckle escape his lips.
"But since you must know, I did overhear something from Officer Zou's tent.” Zhong lowered his voice, leaning closer as if the rain itself could overhear. “A scout reporting back. It seems this Black Oath business isn't as simple as we thought."
Xu Dingxiang raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued despite the chill sinking deeper into his bones. "What do you mean?"
“I mean, this isn’t just the usual reprimand from the imperial court like we were told.”
His grip tightened around the cup, his earlier resentments momentarily forgotten. “You’re serious?”
“As missing, probably dead cultivators.”
Xu Dingxiang’s blood ran colder than the rain. “Fuck me.” No wonder the officers were drinking, this meant war at least.
Zhong Liu elbowed him lightly. “Sorry, I go for the fair maidens and not the muddy hogs.”
Xu Dingxiang snorted, the tension easing out of him even as the gravity of Zhong Liu’s words weighed on his mind. They leaned back against the soggy wall of the guard post, both men lost in their own thoughts as they drank.
He took another sip of his tea, feeling the warmth spread through his torso. “So what are we dealing with here, Zhong? What did the scout say exactly?”
“The scout mentioned entire villages disappearing. Not just people missing — entire places wiped from existence like they were never there.” Zhong Liu glanced off to the middle distance. “A storm is here, and not just this one beating down on us.”
As if on cue, an unexpected jolt of unease ran down Xu Dingxiang’s spine, a feeling he’d learned to trust during years spent haggling in less than savory markets. "Something’s wrong,” he muttered, peering into the gloom.
Liu did the same, using his free hand to shield his eyes from the rain. His expression turned serious, the jovial lines of his face pulling taut with concern. A figure trudged into view, a shapeless mass shrouded by the heavy rain, its slogging progress through the mud becoming more purposeful as it approached their post.
Xu Dingxiang watched the figure approach, its outline solidifying as it emerged into the light from their torches. A sense of dread filled him as he recognized the fine green-tan silks of a cultivator. He couldn’t place the sect though he knew he’d seen the uniform before.
"Who goes there?" Xu Dingxiang called out, his voice barely audible over the pounding rain. The figure didn't respond but continued to advance, their low hood turning towards him and their pace steady and unhurried.
Zhong Liu stepped forward, leveling his spear to warn but not quite ready to attack. "Halt! Identify yourself!"
Nothing. Not so much as a twitch to imply they were heard.
Liu's grip tightened, his knuckles white. "I said, halt—"
His words died in his throat as the figure finally looked up at him. Xu Dingxiang was more to the left, closer to spot where the awning provided just that bit more cover and so, didn't get a good look.
Liu's face eyes widened in horror. "Xu, get back!" he screamed, shoving Xu Dingxiang aside with all his might.
Xu stumbled, taken off guard, folding almost face first into the mud. He didn't see what happened but the sound would forever haunt his nightmares.
A wet, sickening crunch.
A strangled, gargling shriek cut short.
Then silence, save for the relentless drumming of rain.
Xu Dingxiang scrambled back, scrambling for his spear, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He didn't need to see to know that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
"Zhong?" he choked out, his voice hoarse with fear.
There was no answer.
He fumbled for his flint and steel, his hands shaking so badly he could barely strike a spark. Finally, a flickering flame caught on the tinder , casting a wavering, orange glow into the gloom.
The torch sputtered to life, and what Xu Dingxiang saw made his stomach churn.
The stranger stood where Zhong Liu had been just a moment before, but he was no longer a man. His jaw hung slack, elongated and twisted into a grotesque grin that stretched impossibly wide, splitting his face nearly in two. His eyes bulged, bloodshot and crazed, staring off into the middle distance as if fixated on some unseen horror.
His skin, once a healthy tan, was stretched thin over grotesquely swollen features, a sickly pale green that made him look like a week-old corpse fished from a stagnant pond. It pulsed and rippled, something moving beneath its surface, like a sack stuffed with writhing worms.
The stranger shuddered, his body convulsing as if wracked by a seizure, and then, with a sickening crack, his bones began to twist and reform.
Xu thrust his spear with all the desperation terror could throw it's weight behind and-
Xu Dingxiang winced at the memory and tapped his aching back. Standing around here wasn’t going to help his old joints after sitting for so long. He gestured for Xu Zhong to follow him while they talked. “No cultivator can hide it. It was the people who warned about the Black Oath before any steel was bared by a cultivator.”
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The atmosphere among the caravan shifted as they began to settle, the initial shock of their rapid journey giving way to a cautious curiosity about their new environment. Some of the more resilient travelers started unpacking provisions, spreading out blankets, or working out their limbs from being tense for so long. A few of the guards went to let the animals wander a bit, the horses and oxen surprisingly calm after sharing such cramped space for so long.
However not everyone disembarking were in such high spirits, Pan Luoyang had to keep himself from following after the other kids as he and Yijun helped their mother from the sledge as they had done so many times before.
With his shoulder under his mother’s armpit and his side pressing into hers, he felt mother’s twitch in pain but the whimpers which followed weren’t as loud as he expected. He knew she tried to mask her pain for their sake, would let a small grimace slip flicker across her features before she would open her face and school her expression into one of calm.
Traveling hadn’t been easy on any of them, but his mother had it the hardest. Luoyang and Yijun swapped the job of putting the medical salves on her back for her burns, murmuring words of thanks through clenched teeth and tense muscles. The salves were a mix of herbs and oils, the smell sharp and medicinal, a constant undercurrent to their journey. Today, while the application would need to be gentle but thorough, as the jostling of the caravan ride… well, there hadn’t been much.
In spite of everything, the journey was smoother than any before even as the land had flown by so fast it was as if they were birds taking wing. As they found a relatively flat piece of ground for her to sit on, Luoyang pulled out a small blanket from their sledge and placed it under her. He watched as Yijun ran back to fetch some water. It left them alone, a stiff silence between them as thick as a wall.
It had been that way from the moment they left, after his sister dragged him to their sledge and told their mother what he’d been up to. Not a word had been said after that, it was to the point even his sister’s had gotten progressively nervous in the sledge, expecting an explosion of spiritual proportions the longer nothing was said. The silence got even thicker and soon Luoyang couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, I-”
The fan in her hand folded closed with a snap, shutting his mouth better than any word or gesture. Mother didn’t even so much as look at him, her head bowed in the way father pointed out was her thinking face, eyes focused on the ground as if reading a story only she could see.
The long pause was broken by Yijun’s return with the waterskin. “I’ll make sure Yaling gets some fresh air.” She informed them before hurrying off.
Luoyang waited, holding his breath, knowing this was one of those moments when his mother weighed her words with the care of a master jeweler assessing diamonds. “Son, what is the one lesson I taught you when we started your training for a merchant’s license?”
Luoyang shifted uncomfortably on his feet, both certain where this was leading but not where it would end up. Still, nervous though her was, the words came out as easy as an exhale. “Do not incur debts you cannot repay.”
His mother nodded, the movement of her head slow and deliberate, expression unreadable. "Exactly. And yet, you have taken a risk that could jeopardize not only your future but also the safety of this family. Do you understand the implications of what you've done?"
The boy swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the patch of grass between his shoes. The weight of her disappointment; it was a heavy cloak around his shoulders. He opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words all of a sudden, like they were thick and syrupy.
“You have taken upon a debt of a different kind.” His mother's voice was sharp, the usual softness as hard as any stone. “Why?”
Luoyang swallowed hard, his gaze faltering before he steeled himself to speak. "I thought I was protecting you, Yijun, and Yaling. I thought-”
“Thought what? That you could repay him by involving us in his disputes?” His mother’s voice cracked with controlled anger. Luoyang winced, the sharpness in her tones like the stinging of a whip. “It was one thing he allowed a gift he gave to everyone, deeming repayment of no concern to him.
Luoyang tried again. “I thought I should-"
His mother bowled over his words like he hadn't tried to say anything. “Should nothing. I’ve told you many times before that our safety is not your responsibility. It’s mine as the head of this family. You are to focus on your studies and your future when we get to Baochun, not engage in reckless endeavors that could bring harm to us all."
But harm had already come to them. Father was dead. Their lands taken. And Luoyang still remembered his mother’s screams of agony and things deeper as he and Yijun desperately levered the burning of beam off her as sooty sweat dripped into his eyes and burned them. How the fire seemed to follow her even as they managed to drag her free. How the doctor said there wasn’t much they could do.
How she was never going to fully heal.
He noticed how mother’s fingers tugged her collar up over the slightest peek of raw pink skin along her neck and Luoyang felt a desperate ache in his throat as he tried to hold back tears. "I know your heart, Luoyang, and its what scares me the most.”
Luoyang felt a shiver run through him at her words. It wasn’t just disappointment that he saw now; there was fear too. Fear for him. "Mother, I..." he started, then hesitated, struggling to find the courage to continue. “He helped Yaling.” It was a weak answer to both his mother and now, his doubts and he knew it. Because if he was honest, now he had all this time in their silent ride to think about it, mom was right. Master Sè Piān was almost eager to accept him, and Luoyang initially believed himself blessed, one of the lucky few honored to learn from a cultivator of such strength like he stepped into the pages of the legendary stories dad would read to him before bed. It might've been a foolish wish, but he thought maybe the man saw in him a righteous heart worthy of the path.
The one-way people were trapped into owing more than they could ever pay was when the one offering didn’t tell them upfront what the price would be. Surely, he wouldn’t have accepted him as a student without demanding some payment.
The only doubt which desperately held back true panic was what he saw when the other cultivator the sword had shown up and how Master Sè Piān wasn’t even upset when she refused to show her techniques.
It didn't make his mother's rebuke any less cutting. “And you asked to learn a cultivator’s secrets.”
His mother sighed deeply, her features softening somewhat. “I will negotiate with this great master. You’ve already taken an oath to learn, and you will insult him if you were to retract it at my word. He will feel as if you’ve wasted his time otherwise. We can only pray he wants nothing else from us.”
“Yes, Mother.” He nodded, feeling the gravity of her words sink deep within him. He didn't fully understand but he knew negotiating with such a man would not be straightforward. He just prayed his master was as forgiving as he appeared.
Pan Xinyi was praying for Luoyang in her own way as her son wandered off to help his sister attend to their youngest. She found herself praying more than she ever had in her entire life these days.
She delicately twitched her fan, unadorned but finely crafted, using it to usher a refreshing breeze towards her flushed face.
Not even in the months before her arranged marriage, when she was but the eldest daughter of the Cloud Dragon clan did, she pray as hard or as desperately as she did now. Oh, how she'd succeeded in keeping the court-like doctrine trained into her from the moment she could speak, playing into the demure daughter of the most powerful clan’s in Baochun.
In secret, she prayed that her future husband would be kind and gentle, unlike the horror stories of forced unions for political gain that plagued her thoughts. In those days, her worries seemed all-consuming in her small world. The mere thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage to a yeomen far from home for the sake of convenience or power sent shivers down her spine because that’s what it was.
Her parents were Daifu, her at the time future husband, Shi. In Ever-Reach City such a marriage would’ve been at best a fine joke to titter the air during a fine dinner and at worst, the insult would start a feud. But her husband’s clan, may they be bound in the dark realms to starve forever, were of the Stellar Wing and thus a ‘higher’ quality of yeomen than the one’s of Baochun.
‘Typical imperial arrogance,’ she'd thought then, echoing what an uncle of her once scoffed. ‘They would say the sun shone brighter in their lands, the water was cooler, and their pigs cleaner and fatter than those of any other domain.’
The gates of the Shi Estate had towered over her, gilded and ornate, bearing the emblem of a majestic, winged beast against a field of stars. It was an intimidating sight, the grandeur of the estate almost palpable in the air, as she was escorted through the sprawling grounds.
In her silk finery, with her hair painstakingly arranged by hair pins in a sophisticated upstyle with the calculated small lock of hair hanging from the bun, she'd felt small and insignificant. She was road weary and was only just barely allowed enough time to make herself presentable with the help of her few handmaidens and, at least two of the guards. That’s how desperate the moment leading up to their first meeting was, needing the help of two men who didn’t know a slipper from a boot.
The feeling was only exacerbated when she was led into a reception room, its ceiling adorned with intricate murals of celestial beings and mythical creatures.
There, amidst the crowd of well-dressed guests and a flurry of servants, she'd first laid eyes on him.
He stood tall and confident, his robes the color of the twilight sky. His hair, dark as night, was neatly tied back, revealing a face that was both gentle and stern. His eyes, a deep, rich brown, held a warmth that was surprisingly disarming.
As he turned to greet her, she'd seen a spark of genuine interest in his gaze, a curiosity that belied his otherwise stoic demeanor. He'd bowed, a courteous gesture that was both formal and respectful, and extended his hand to her.
"Madam Pan," he'd said, his voice a soothing baritone that resonated through the bustling room, "I am Shi Ye Ying, your future husband."
She'd taken his hand, her own feeling small and fragile within his firm grasp. His touch was surprisingly warm, his grip steady and reassuring. As she'd looked up into his eyes, she'd seen something that she hadn't expected.
Kindness.
She could see bare, unadulterated kindness in his eyes, a gentle warmth that was a stark contrast to the cool detachment she'd been prepared for and made the coldness she readied herself with seem so… cruel. And as he'd smiled at her, a genuine, soft smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, she'd felt a spark of hope.
Perhaps, just perhaps, this arranged marriage wouldn't be as bleak as she'd feared.
That first meeting had left an indelible impression on her. In the following weeks, as they'd spent more time together, she'd found that he was not just kind, but also patient and understanding. He listened to her, valued her opinions, and treated her with respect.
Her fear of a loveless marriage slowly gave way to a tentative affection, a blossoming fondness that she hadn't expected to feel. In Shi Cheng, she'd found not just a husband, but also a friend, a confidante, and a partner.
After the long arduous journey, it was a cruel irony, that their happiness was so relatively short-lived. He was a two-fold lesson that she should not be so quick to judge.
She also learned the only nightmare worse than him being everything she feared, was him being better than a young girl’s fondest hopes and taken from her.
Pushing down the swell of tears, she breathed in stiffly through her nose, the action pulling at the scars crisscrossing her skin and making the constant stinging sharper.
Pan Xinyi's heart had broken not once, but twice—the noon she lost her husband, and the night she was dragged from the rubble of their once happy estate, scarred and bereft in more ways than one.
Now, her son’s unwitting entanglement with a cultivator, someone who dealt in secrets and power far beyond ordinary understanding, seemed an echo of her past fears coming to rattle her anew. She knew all too well how quickly fortune could turn; how swiftly security could evaporate like mist in the morning sun.
She was going to have to talk to the cultivator.
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Spoony hopped from foot to foot, trying to stretch out a kink in his... well, his everywhere.
That and as he moved away from his car, he wanted to give the children space while he looked around for a good picnicking spot. Plenty of space to be sure, this part of the Steppe reminded him of the Prairie back home, mostly flat ground peppered with shrubbery probably hiding a ton of prairie dog holes to fall in.
He half expected to hear a thump of a broom handle underfoot, soon chased by a squeaky voice telling him to cut out the racket.
He tipped an ear down just in case he couldn't hear it over the others. While nothing muffled and angry caught his attention, jittery tension in his body kind of... Sloshed to one side making his ear itchy and brain fuzzy, not in the 'pop rocks and Cubba Cola' way either.
He felt tired and wired, tight and loose, high strung and at ease and he could nail down why. He pulled out a hand mirror as he skipped, stretching his arm out to get his whole face in the reflection.
No rashes on his face and he certainly didn't look flushed more than usual.
Once again, he tried to change back to normal. He closed his eyes and tried to push himself back into shape. His paws, his fur, and even his labcoat.
For a brief happy second, he felt it was about to happen. The sloshing within rolled along a invisible edge, surface tension swelling from his belly button, up the chest, flowing against gravity reaching for the nape of his neck.
Something felt ready to give, a finger nail's tipping point which would finally tip over the glass and let his real self spill out.
Then that fizzy feeling twanged like a rubber band, snapping everything back in place with so much force it rattled his spine like a rimshot off a cymbal. The vibration shot down his legs, rebounded off his heels hard enough to make the soles of his shoes explode, rebounded and, reversed its way up to his skull, rattling his brain like dice like a pea in a tin can. Clap his hands over his temples to get the roar in his ears to stop, he waited for the horizon to stop bouncing.
Needless to say, it didn't help the weird feeling.
Once he was certain his head wasn't going to fly off because he did not have the patience to chase after it, He gazed at his fingers and flexed them. There was distant ghostly feeling, like texture over his skin where he knew his gloves would be. He wasn't sure if his eyes were still seeing quadruple but he would swear as he peered hard enough he could see the white –
"Master Cultivator?"
Spoony turned to see… Ah, the mother of that little girl!
"Everything alright with your daughter?" Spoony asked, tilting his head. He hoped she wasn't hurt again or that something had gone wrong.
The woman hesitated behind her fan, then lowered her gaze. "Honored Master," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "This Pan Xinyi wishes a moment of your time. I have a... a question."
"Shoot," Spoony said, plopping down on the ground and stretching his toes out from his ruined shoes. He patted the ground next to him, inviting her to sit. He figured whatever it was, it was probably important. These ani-mobile guys were very serious about things like honor and respect, and he didn't want to accidentally offend anyone.
"It is about my son, Luoyang," Xinyi said, accepting his offer and perching on the edge of the grass. "The things you are teaching him... they are valuable. What would be the cost of his... apprenticeship?"