Chapter 42: Violent Wash

Rain drummed against the barn’s wooden roof, each drop echoing through the musty air. Xiulan pulled her cloak tighter as she watched the stablemen secure the wagon with thick hemp ropes. Water dripped from the edges of her hood, running cold trails down her neck.

Feng Yu strode forward once the men finished, producing a yellowed talisman paper from her sleeve. With a practiced motion, she channeled qi into her fingertip until it glowed like an ember. The paper crackled as she traced a burning symbol across its surface.

The talisman slapped against the metal with a wet thud. “Listen carefully.” Feng Yu’s amber eyes locked onto the stable hands. “Anyone who touches this wagon burns to death. Understand?”

The stablemen’s faces paled. They dropped into hurried bows, nearly stumbling over each other as they scrambled backward through puddles and hay.

Xiulan followed Feng Yu out into the downpour, their boots squelching in the mud. “What if it actually triggers?” The inn’s weathered walls poked through the gray curtain of rain. “A fire would destroy everything.”

Feng Yu’s laugh cut through the drumming raindrops. “Just a bluff. That talisman will just make a piercing shriek.” She shrugged, sending water cascading from her shoulders. “Enough to wake the whole inn, but no flames.”

“Smart.” Xiulan ducked under the inn’s covered entrance, shaking water from her cloak. “Talismans, though—could you teach me about those later?”

“Of course.” Feng Yu wrung water from her hair. “I have some cheap blank papers we can practice with. Fair warning—I only know a handful of basic forms.”

The inn’s common room buzzed with activity. Laborers hunched over bowls of steaming food, their clothes still damp from the rain outside. Xiulan noted how they pressed against the walls and tables, creating a clear path as she and Feng Yu approached the bar. The sharp scent of rice wine mixed with woodsmoke from the hearth.

The innkeeper bowed deeply, his weathered hands polishing a ceramic cup. “Your room awaits, honored guests. Would you prefer to dine in private or join us here? One tael covers both your meals.”

“In our room—”

“The common room—”

Xiulan turned to Feng Yu, who smiled at their synchronized response.

“The locals might have useful information.” Feng Yu gestured toward the crowded tables. “Even simple gossip can be useful.”

Xiulan eyed the packed room. Workers’ voices overlapped in a constant rumble, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter. “Not sure we’ll catch anything useful through all this noise, but I don’t mind staying.” She slapped down a single coin.

The innkeeper set down his cup, and the tael disappeared. “I’ll have your meal brought to your table right away.”

Feng Yu weaved between the crowded tables toward a quieter corner. She selected a small square table tucked against the wall, gesturing to the corner seat with an exaggerated flourish.

“The safest spot for my martial sister.”

“Hah.” Xiulan slid onto the wooden bench. “What dangers lurk in a simple roadside inn?”

A few minutes later, the floorboards creaked under approaching footsteps.

A server balanced a laden tray, setting down steaming plates of braised pork belly in dark sauce, stir-fried water spinach with garlic, and bowls of fragrant congee studded with preserved egg and strips of ginger. Two ceramic cups clinked against the table, followed by an earthenware pitcher of rice wine that smelled strongly fermented.

Xiulan breathed in the aroma of star anise and soy sauce from the dishes. The quality couldn’t match the refined cuisine from Lin Manor’s kitchens, but her stomach growled appreciatively. She retrieved her chopsticks from their cloth wrapping, the worn bamboo smooth against her fingers.

She savored each bite, observing the bustling common room through wisps of steam rising from her congee. Workers laughed and joked, sharing dishes and stories—a scene both foreign and achingly familiar.

Memories of fluorescent lights and plastic trays flickered through her mind. College cafeteria lunches with friends seemed like another lifetime now. In many ways, they were. Those carefree days had ended long before the truck had transported her into this world.

Feng Yu hummed softly while picking at the last bits of braised pork. Her chopsticks froze mid-motion. Xiulan glanced up, eyes sliding over her companion’s shoulder toward the entrance.

Five figures pushed through the door, rain dripping from their dark cloaks. As they lowered their hoods, Xiulan spotted the telltale cut of martial outfits beneath the wet fabric. The outline of sword hilts pressed against the cloth.

“Feng Yu, there—”

A slight shake of Feng Yu’s head silenced her.

The innkeeper scurried toward the newcomers, bowing repeatedly with promises of premium wine and fresh dishes. A serving girl passed by with a tray of empty bowls. One of the men reached out and grabbed her, making crude suggestions about “sampling the women” instead.

The innkeeper guided them to a nearby table, still bowing and scraping. Xiulan’s eyes narrowed as she detected the faint ripple of qi emanating from the group. Cultivators, throwing their weight around like common thugs.

She suppressed a sigh. Another group of arrogant cultivators. The encounter with the arrogant young master earlier in the week still irritated her, and now this nonsense. Across the table, Feng Yu’s hand drifted to her sword belt, loosening the tie with practiced ease before lifting her cup to take a measured sip.

The cultivators’ voices carried across the room, their words slicing through the ambient chatter. “That Blackmere bounty?”

“Waste of time.” Another cultivator snorted. “Too many dogs fighting over one bone.”

“House Chao wouldn’t pay anyway—greedy bastards.”

Their leader slammed his cup down. “Forget that. The real money’s in hunting the hunters.”

Every muscle in Xiulan’s body tensed. Her fingers tightened around her chopsticks as qi instinctively gathered in her meridians.

The cultivator nearest their table turned, his gaze sliding from Xiulan to Feng Yu and back again. A predatory grin split his face. “Hey... speaking of hunters. We’ve got two right here.”

“What?” Their leader pushed back from his table, wooden legs scraping against the floor. He fixed them with a glare that might have intimidated common folk. “Well, well. Quite rude of you ladies not to come say hello.”

Feng Yu raised her cup again, taking another unhurried sip. “Sit down. Trash like you don’t even come up to my knees.”

Ah, fuck. Xiulan exhaled slowly. So much for a quiet meal.

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One of the men’s elbows crashed through their own table. Splinters and ceramic shards exploded outward as he roared, “What did you just say?!”

Chairs scraped against wooden floorboards as patrons scrambled toward the exits. The acrid stench of fear mixed with spilled wine and food. Xiulan tracked the chaos through narrowed eyes, calculating angles and distances.

“Please, honored cultivators!” The innkeeper dropped to his knees, hands clasped. “My humble establishment cannot—”

The leader’s palm struck with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed across wooden panels as the innkeeper sailed through the air, crashing into a rack of wine jugs. The ceramic shattered, dark liquid pooling beneath his motionless form.

Metal sang as Feng Yu drew her blade in one fluid motion. The nearest cultivator jerked backward, a thin red line appearing across his ear. His stumble knocked over another table, sending more bowls clattering across the floor.

Xiulan snatched her spear from its resting place, muscles coiling as she rose. The familiar weight settled into her grip. Her qi crackled beneath her skin, begging for release—but the inn’s wooden beams wouldn’t survive that kind of power. The ceiling would collapse, crushing everyone inside.

A blur of motion drew her attention as Feng Yu’s foot connected with another cultivator’s chest. The impact launched him through the outer wall in an explosion of wooden splinters and torn paper. Feng Yu pirouetted, her sword arcing toward the leader’s face.

Two cultivators lunged at Feng Yu’s exposed flanks. Xiulan darted forward, pressing against Feng Yu’s back. Her spear flashed outward, forcing the one on the left to retreat. The weapon’s length kept him at bay while Feng Yu focused on her opponents to the front and right.

Steel clashed as Feng Yu’s blade danced between the three attackers. Each strike rang with precise force, deflecting their swords with masterful control. Xiulan thrust her spear at her own opponent, the weapon’s reach negating his shorter sword’s advantage. He cursed, unable to close the distance.

Movement flickered in her peripheral vision—the cultivator from outside charged through the ragged hole in the wall. Xiulan channeled qi into her foot, slamming it against the floorboards. Water Stepping Foot ripped through the wood floor, sending a jagged spike erupting outward. It impaled the charging cultivator and shredded what remained of the wall.

Feng Yu’s laughter rang out bright and clear, as if they were sharing tea rather than fighting for their lives.

“How can you laugh at a time like this?” Xiulan gritted her teeth, maintaining her defensive stance.

The leader stepped back, spreading his hands with exaggerated casualness. Feng Yu seized the opening—her blade flashed silver through the dim light. A red line appeared across one thug’s throat. He stumbled backward, hands clutching uselessly at the spurting wound.

Xiulan thrust her spear in quick succession, forcing her opponent to retreat. The cultivator circled left, boots crunching over broken pottery. She recognized the tactic—he wanted to flank her. Xiulan pressed back until she felt Feng Yu’s shoulder blades against her own.

Perfect. The idiot had positioned himself away from his allies and with no civilians behind him. Qi surged through Xiulan’s meridians, flooding her palms with swirling energy. She brought her hands together in a thunderous clap. The air itself seemed to compress before exploding outward in a devastating shockwave.

The blast caught her opponent square in the chest. His body sailed through the air like a rag doll, taking the corner of the building with him. Wood splintered and stone cracked. The inn’s frame groaned ominously but held steady.

Xiulan spun to face the remaining threats. A wave of crimson fire rolled toward her, distorting the air with its heat. Feng Yu stepped forward, left hand extended. The flames swirled into her palm like water down a drain. With a grunt of effort, she redirected the inferno upward.

The ceiling erupted into flames. Burning timber rained down as it flash ignited and spread across the wooden beams.

Ah, fuck. The leader surged forward with his remaining companion, their blades glinting in the firelight. Feng Yu swept her hand across her sword in a fluid motion. The steel ignited, transforming into a ribbon of living flame.

Well, double fuck. The entire inn would burn at this rate. Heat pressed against Xiulan’s skin as smoke curled toward the ceiling.

The blazing sword proved more than a mere spectacle. Xiulan pivoted to guard Feng Yu’s flank as she swung at the second cultivator. Despite being well beyond striking distance, a crimson arc peeled away from the blade. The fiery afterimage sliced through the air, painting a burning line from the cultivator’s head to groin. His agonized screams pierced through the crackle of flames as he collapsed onto his knees.

Feng Yu’s burning blade intercepted the leader’s desperate charge. Xiulan darted through the opening, driving her spear deep into the kneeling man’s shoulder, impaling him.

Less than a minute had passed since the first blow. Only the leader remained standing.

Feng Yu unleashed a relentless series of strikes. Each time the leader’s sword blocked her blade, waves of fire rushed past his guard to sear his flesh. A final sweep sent flames cascading across his face. His screams cut short as Feng Yu’s sword separated head from shoulders.

Xiulan couldn’t help but stare as flames backlit Feng Yu’s form, casting her in an otherworldly glow that spoke of power barely contained. One precise swing extinguished the flame on her blade before it disappeared into its sheath. The surrounding inferno seemed to bend away from her, creating a pocket of calm.

Fire raged around them, yet Feng Yu remained eerily composed. The inferno reflected off her amber eyes like distant stars. In an instant, her coldness vanished, replaced by her usual demeanor. She grabbed Xiulan’s hand, the touch startlingly cool despite the surrounding heat, and pulled her toward the exit.

Smoke billowed out behind them as they burst into the rain-soaked night. “Well, so much for resting at the inn...” Xiulan coughed, wiping soot from her face.

“Stay here.” Feng Yu released Xiulan’s hand. “Don’t follow me into the fire.” Before Xiulan could protest, Feng Yu spun and strode back into the blazing building.

“What are you doing?!” Panic surged through Xiulan’s chest as flames engulfed the doorway behind her companion.

“I’m immune to weak flames!” Feng Yu’s voice carried over the roar of the fire.

Xiulan bit her cheek. There wasn’t anything weak about the burning building’s fire!

The shifting orange glow illuminated the other woman’s silhouette as she knelt beside the fallen cultivators, methodically searching their bodies.

Xiulan blinked rapidly. “Looting the corpses?”

Through gaps in the burning walls, she spotted Feng Yu efficiently rifling through clothes and pouches. The fire spread upward, consuming the second and third floors in a terrifying display. Feng Yu emerged, making her way to the cultivator Xiulan had launched through the wall earlier.

Looting...

The concept clicked in Xiulan’s mind, but something about it felt wrong. They had likely planned worse for them—robbery, murder, or worse. Yet watching Feng Yu strip resources from their cooling bodies made her stomach turn queasy.

She stared at the burning inn, raindrops sizzling as they hit the flames. The memory of her servants dragging bodies into Lin Manor surfaced—how she’d ordered them to search the corpses of the arrogant young master and his thugs. Her hands stayed clean then, but the result remained the same.

This world doesn’t care about clean hands. The thought settled like lead in her stomach. More fights would come, more deaths would follow. Standing on moral high ground wouldn’t keep her alive. She’s already killed plenty of people herself. Why was she suddenly worried about going through the pockets of men who had meant her and her friend harm?

Xiulan’s eyes narrowed. It was just echoes from a more peaceful world.

Smoke and ash swirled through the rain as she stepped toward Feng Yu. Her boots splashed through puddles reflecting orange firelight. “Find anything worthwhile?”

Feng Yu straightened from her crouch, pocketing a small pouch. “Two dozen spirit stones between all of them.” She held up an oddly shaped ring. “This looks interesting. The rest?” She kicked a discarded sword, sending it skittering across wet stones. “Trash weapons. These idiots probably couldn’t even qualify as sect fodder. Got kicked out.”

Xiulan wiped rain from her face, studying the burning inn. “I hoped we could sleep indoors tonight. Camping in this weather sounds miserable.”

Feng Yu glanced toward the adjacent structures, flames reflecting in her amber eyes. “We should extinguish the fire before it spreads to the barn.”

“The barn?” Xiulan’s heart skipped. Their wagon sat inside that barn—along with all their supplies and the massive dawn serpent scale collection device. She sprinted across the muddy ground, boots splashing through puddles.

“Wait!” Feng Yu’s shout cut through the crackle of flames. “Don’t use that thunderclap technique—the air burst will feed the fire!”

“Argh!” Xiulan stumbled to a halt, rainwater dripping from her hair. “Do something then!”