The stables smelled of hay, sweat, and manure’s faint, sour tang. Jin Wu wrinkled his nose as he stepped inside, his back hunched, playing the part of the old caretaker. The wooden rafters above creaked in the breeze, casting dancing shadows across rows of horses, mules, and one very bored-looking stable hand.

The boy—no, not a boy, Jin Wu thought, squinting at the man’s wiry frame and lined face—stood up from a pile of hay, brushing dust from his patched robes. His grin was broad, sharp, and a little too enthusiastic, like he’d just spotted a mark at a gambling table.

“Welcome, honored sir!” the stable hand called out, bowing so low Jin Wu almost expected him to hit his head on the stall door. “What brings you to humble Lao Chen’s stables this fine day? A spirited steed, perhaps? A dappled mare to carry you across mountains and rivers? Or maybe…”

Lao Chen paused dramatically, his grin widening, “…a sturdy mule for a wise and careful traveler?”

Jin Wu chuckled softly, leaning on his cane. “What gave me away? The old bones or the empty purse?”

“Oh, honored sir, you misunderstand! Lao Chen’s eyes are sharp, and his heart is honest! I merely sense that you are a man of great practicality. The kind of man who understands that a good mule is worth more than ten horses!” Lao Chen clapped his hands together, nodding sagely, then gestured toward a row of mules standing in their stalls. “Come, come, let me show you our finest selection!”

Jin Wu followed slowly, his back hunched and his pace deliberate. Inside, he was smirking. He’d seen this act a hundred times before—half salesman, half storyteller, and entirely full of hot air. But there was a certain charm to it.

“This beauty here,” Lao Chen said, gesturing to a sleek, dark brown mule, “has a temperament as calm as still water. She can pull a wagon full of grain for miles without breaking a sweat! And this one,” he added, pointing to a dappled gray mule with a shiny coat, “is as strong as an ox! Just last week, she carried three barrels of rice and two grown men up the hill to Tianshi Lake. Ask anyone!”

Jin Wu tilted his head, unimpressed. “And the price for these marvels?”

Lao Chen’s grin didn’t falter. “Ah, a mere 25 silver taels, sir. A bargain! You won’t find better stock this side of the Heavenly Ridge.”

“Hmm,” Jin Wu murmured, pretending to examine the mules closely. His gaze drifted to a smaller sorrel mule in the corner stall, her coat a rusty red and her ears twitching lazily as she chewed on a mouthful of hay. She wasn’t as shiny or impressive as the others, but something about her steady, no-nonsense demeanor appealed to him. Her dark eyes flicked to him briefly, calm and assessing, as if she were sizing him up.

“What about her?” Jin Wu asked.

Lao Chen hesitated, his grin faltering for the first time. “Oh, her? That’s… uh… Granny Xiu. She’s… dependable. Been around a while. Not the prettiest or the fastest, but she’ll get you where you’re going. Eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“Well, she’s… cautious,” Lao Chen admitted. “Takes her time, you know. Careful with her steps.”

Jin Wu’s lips twitched. “Sounds like my kind of mule. And the wagon?”

Lao Chen perked up again, gesturing to a simple wooden cart parked outside the stable. “Ah, the wagon! Sturdy as the gates of Heaven, sir! Made from the finest pine wood and reinforced with iron nails. Perfect for carrying goods, supplies, or even passengers. I’ll throw in the harness and reins, of course.”

Jin Wu tapped his cane against the ground, his expression thoughtful. “And the price for the pair?”

Lao Chen’s eyes gleamed. “For you, esteemed elder? Twenty-eight silver taels, no less!”

“Fifteen,” Jin Wu replied, his tone flat.

“Did I hear twenty-five? Honored, sir, you wound me! I’d barely break even at that price!”

“Then you’d better not fall behind on your gambling debts. Eighteen, and not a tael more,” Jin Wu said mildly, leaning forward just enough to let his words land. Lao Chen flinched, his grin slipping for a fraction of a second before he recovered.

“Ah, but you drive a hard bargain, sir!” Lao Chen said, laughing nervously. “Very well. Eighteen silver taels it is. But only because I see you are a man of great wisdom and discernment.”

Jin Wu handed over the coins with a faint smile, his fingers deliberately slow as he counted them out. Lao Chen fussed over Granny Xiu and the wagon, adjusting the harness and reins as Jin Wu inspected the work.

When everything was ready, Jin Wu climbed onto the wagon seat, patting the sorrel mule’s neck. “Granny Xiu, huh? Well, here’s to a long and cautious partnership.”

Granny Xiu flicked her ears and brayed loudly as if in agreement.

Back at the modest inn where he’d rented a room, Jin Wu tethered Granny Xiu outside and parked the wagon beneath the shade of a ginkgo tree. The wagon looked plain and ordinary—perfect for a wandering talisman peddler. But Jin Wu wasn’t one to leave things to chance.

Inside the stable courtyard, he stood next to the wagon and concentrated. Imperceptibly, the energies around him started to stir. Then, he laid his hands on the wagon’s wooden frame, his fingertips glowing faintly as he coaxed the Shen to enter the wood. The pine wood shimmered briefly, the flow wrapping around each plank and nail, reinforcing the entire structure until it was as tough as iron. He knocked on the side of the wagon, listening to the satisfying, resonant thud.

“That should keep it together when we ride the wave,” he muttered to himself, satisfied.

Next, he opened a small wooden chest tucked into the corner of the wagon. Inside was a neat stack of talisman paper, brushes, and inks. Jin Wu worked quickly, sketching symbols onto the paper with steady precision.

He crafted dozens of paper talismans. Drawing them quickly and haphazardly as these were primarily for decoration—fake charms with no real power, meant to appeal to gullible mortals and make a few silver while he was at it.

Later, he took out jade slips and, with his silver stylus, etched a few lightning, protection, fireball, and illusion talismans. They were the simplest and least potent that he knew, but they would do in case any cultivators came snooping around.

By the time he was finished, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Jin Wu leaned back, wiping ink from his fingers and surveying his work. The wagon was packed with the box of talismans. And the bundles of dried herbs and jars of colorful powders he had picked up at the market—all the trappings of a wandering merchant. To any casual observer, it would look like the livelihood of an eccentric but harmless peddler.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Jin Wu smiled faintly, his gaze drifting to Granny Xiu, munching contentedly on a pile of hay. “Looks like we’re ready, old girl,” he murmured. “Let’s see if we can find those Ferrets.”

Granny Xiu brayed again, loud and unbothered, and Jin Wu chuckled.

But just at that moment, a tremor passed through his inner River.

"What is that Ying Yue up to?" he wondered.

----------------------------------------

Back in his modest room at the inn, Jin Wu bolted the door and slipped into the stillness of his mind. The creak of the wooden floor, the murmur of voices in the hall, and the faint scent of herbs from the kitchen below faded into nothingness as he let his breath flow steady and deep.

He closed his eyes, sitting cross-legged on the thin mat, and exhaled, his awareness diving inward.

The currents welcomed him.

Jin Wu opened his eyes—not in the physical world, but within the shimmering expanse of his Inner River. The vast waters stretched infinitely in every direction, alive with golden, flowing light. The currents hummed softly, the steady pulse of life and thought that guided his every move. Above him hung the symbols of the Flow, faintly glowing trigrams orbiting lazily in an endless void.

As his soul settled into the river, the reflections began to appear—memories, connections, and the faint echoes of the world beyond.

This time, five butterflies emerged from the depths.

Jin Wu blinked, watching as the butterflies took shape one by one. They were ethereal and translucent, their delicate wings shimmering in colors that seemed to shift with each beat of his Inner River. Each butterfly trailed a thin tendril of power—an energy thread extending far beyond the river’s horizon, stretching into infinity.

“The talismans are working despite the distance,” Jin Wu murmured, narrowing his eyes as the currents rippled around the tendrils. His gaze darted between them. Four butterflies were steady and calm, their threads pulsing faintly like distant echoes. But the fifth… the fifth was different.

The thread connected to it flickered erratically, glowing with a sharp, irregular pulse. Jin Wu frowned, his hand brushing the water's surface beneath him. The flow responded instantly, with ripples spreading outward in all directions.

“That girl is up to something again,” he muttered, feeling the resonance. He could almost hear the faint tremor of her presence in the currents.

The butterfly’s thread vibrated, pulling his attention to the far-off horizon. It was the tether between him and her—a connection he hadn’t entirely wanted but couldn’t ignore. And now, that connection was pulsating with urgency. Something was happening.

Jin Wu let out a slow breath, his fingers tracing a sigil in the air. His form shimmered and grew lighter, shifting into an ethereal state as he activated the Celestial Spiritwind Art. The spirit plane beckoned, its layers peeling back to reveal the vast web of energy and connection that flowed between all living things.

The butterfly’s thread brightened, guiding him along its path. Without hesitation, Jin Wu followed.

The world blurred as Jin Wu’s spirit form moved effortlessly along the thread. Trees, mountains, and rivers melted away into an endless tapestry of flowing shen and shimmering currents. The closer he came to the end of the thread, the more he felt the cold pull of Ying Yue’s energy, sharp and focused.

The thread led him to the edge of a rocky outcrop just outside the Celestial Serenity Sect. Below, a shadowed glade lay hidden beneath the sprawling canopy of trees. Two figures stood there, their presences distinct against the backdrop of flowing energy.

Ying Yue’s figure was sharp and steady, her light-blue robes faintly glowing in the moonlight. Opposite her stood a man cloaked in dark garments, his face obscured by a hood. His aura was heavier, darker—a void in the Flow that seemed to absorb the light around it.

Jin Wu floated silently, his spirit hidden in the Spiritwind. He focused his attention, the shimmering layers of the spirit plane sharpening until their voices pierced the stillness.

“…the list wasn’t on the corpse,” Ying Yue was saying, her tone clipped with irritation.

The man tilted his head, his voice low and gravelly. “Does the old man have it?”

Ying Yue hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “He didn’t tell anyone about it. Of that, I’m sure.”

“Then it’s with him,” the man replied, his tone cold and decisive. “I will retrieve it and silence him just in case.”

Jin Wu’s spirit wavered, his curiosity sharpening. “The list of sects,” he thought. “Why was that important?”

Ying Yue shifted, folding her arms. “I'm sure Elder Jing is keeping an eye on him.”

The man let out a faint snort. “That’s your concern, not mine. We can't allow even a hint of the plan to be known. You know what’s at stake.”

The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Jin Wu watched as the man turned, his figure dissolving into the shadows as if swallowed by the darkness itself. Ying Yue lingered for a moment, her gaze distant as if weighing her next move.

Then, with a sharp flick of her sleeve, she strode back toward the sect.

Jin Wu remained still, his spirit form hidden in the Spiritwind. He watched as the glade grew quiet once more, his thoughts churning.

“I best prepare for dangerous company,” he murmured to himself.

Jin Wu’s spirit snapped back to his body like a taut string being released. He opened his eyes, blinking as the dim light of his room came into focus. The world felt heavier, more solid, the lingering chill of the Spiritwind clinging to him.

His thoughts were racing. He hadn’t expected Ying Yue to act so soon—or to be so involved in something so dangerous. The dark figure she had spoken to… he was sure it was an immortal.

A Liuzhu couldn’t contend with an immortal, but a few talismans might tip the odds. It was time to prepare.

He breathed deeply and was about to get off the mat when a familiar weight settled over him—a pull, subtle but undeniable. It wasn’t the usual exhaustion of a long day nor the lingering chill of the Spiritwind. It was a compulsion, deep and instinctual, tugging at the very core of his being.

Jin Wu frowned, recognizing it instantly. It was the same compulsion he’d felt in Old Yu’s cabin—the irresistible urge to sit, breathe, meditate.

He sank back onto the mat, his movements slow and deliberate. The compulsion wasn’t something he could fight; it was woven into the fabric of his being, a condition placed upon him long ago.

As he closed his eyes, the memory surfaced, unbidden.

He cursed Old Yu for the millionth time, "that damnable compulsion!"

"When will this be over?" he’d once asked, exasperated.

"When will the current no longer pull you? When will you be strong enough?" Old Yu had leaned back lazily, chewing on a reed.

"Gods, always answering a question with a question!"

“Strong enough,” Jin Wu muttered, his fingers curling into fists. That was the answer—then and now. He let out a resigned sigh, muttering the first of the eighty-one sutras. At least he didn’t have to bother with those ridiculous breathing patterns like the Qi cultivators.

----------------------------------------

The wagon’s wheels creaked as they rolled over the uneven dirt road, the autumn sun casting long shadows across the fields. Granny Xiu plodded along at her usual unhurried pace, her ears twitching lazily with each step. Jin Wu sat hunched on the wagon seat; his face shaded beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat, the picture of a weary old merchant. His thoughts, however, were far from idle.

Two days had passed since he had spied on Ying Yue. He had left Tianshi Lake City that morning. The packed streets, the clamor of market stalls, and the whispers of wary cultivators were already behind him, fading into memory. The open road stretched ahead, leading him toward the mercenary camp he had seen during his first visit.

The journey was uneventful until the shen stirred.

Jin Wu’s hand froze on the reins as the sensation washed over him. A presence—a vast, heavy pulse of power—emerged in the distance, back toward Tianshi Lake City. It wasn’t subtle. Whoever—or whatever—it was made no effort to hide its strength, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore of his Inner River.

His fingers tightened on the reins, his eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his hat. “A Core Formation cultivator… no, stronger,” he murmured, his senses sharpening. He retracted his aura and enveloped Granny Xiu in an umbral flux that would mask her presence.

He urged Granny Xiu forward with a light flick of the reins. The sorrel mule snorted but obeyed, her steady pace unbroken.

The mercenary camp lay abandoned, its remnants scattered like broken toys. Ashes from long-dead campfires and the faint scent of scorched wood lingered in the air. Jin Wu stepped down from the wagon, his movements slow and deliberate as he scanned the area.

No bodies. No blood. Just silence.

The Shen rippled faintly, and Jin Wu knelt on the ground, running his fingers over a shallow footprint pressed into the dirt. Tracks led away from the camp, weaving into the hills to the north. Too fresh to be days old. He followed the trail for a short distance, his senses tingling with the faint residue of Shen.

“Looks like they weren’t alone,” he muttered, tracing a faint ripple of energy left behind. Familiar energy, but not quite identifiable as if it had been purposefully masked.

Before Jin Wu could search further, the pulse of power from earlier surged again.

He stiffened, turning his head sharply toward the south. The presence was moving toward him. Fast.

The Shen twisted uneasily around him, the pressure growing heavier with each passing moment. Whoever this was, they were searching. Their power brushed against the world like the edge of a blade, cutting through the natural currents of the land as they approached.

Jin Wu didn’t hesitate. He’d lingered long enough.

With a sharp breath, he reached out to the currents of the Shen, feeling the rhythm pulse through him. His hand flicked a quick sigil into the air, and the shen surrounding him stirred, rushing like a rising tide. He leapt back onto the wagon, gripping the reins tightly.

“Flood Dragon Wave,” he muttered under his breath.

The wagon surged forward as the Flow erupted beneath it, carrying both Jin Wu and Granny Xiu like a river cresting its banks. The wooden wheels hummed as the shen-infused wave propelled them forward, the landscape blurring as they streaked away from the abandoned camp.

Jin Wu glanced back over his shoulder, his straw hat fluttering in the wind. The presence loomed closer, its power brushing faintly against the edges of his senses, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on.

No cultivator could sense him inside the wave, but although it was taxing to maintain two flows, he kept the umbral flux around the wagon. “Hopefully, I was fast enough, and they didn't notice anything,” he muttered, focusing on maintaining his connection to the streams of energy as it carried him in the direction the mercenaries had left.