“H-how… how did this…” The curator looks as if he’s about to break down.

“Someone broke in,” Song says.

“Thanks Song. Very helpful,” Shu remarks dryly. He then turns to the curator. “Curator sir, do you have an idea when it happened?”

“It must have happened within the past couple of days” The curator shakes his head. Song has not seen anyone this crestfallen in a while. “I check the vault at least three times a week, to make sure everything is in order. Sometimes to admire the works myself.”

“Anyone else know the existence of this vault?”

“Well…” The curator hesitates. “Nobody but me, and the part-timers that work here, know about this place. It is strictly off-limits to the public. Only for heroes such as yourselves, I would grant special permission.”

“So other Purgers know about this place too?” Song folds his arms.

“Only if they ask for works that are stored within here, which are usually my most prized possessions. Some are even considered to be national treasures!”

“How come I don’t know about this place then?” Song says before turning to Shu. “Do you?”

“No,” Shu answers while looking through the scattered works. “It’s my first time in here too.”

“Purgers are supposed to keep the existence of this vault a secret too,” the curator explains. “It’s a humble request of mine for them. For you to be unaware of this, must mean that the Purgers were all honourable beings, and men of their word.”

“But that also means any Purger could be a suspect for this crime,” Shu says gravely. “And I hate to say it, but if it’s true, then we’re not safe here.”

The curator is starting to look nervous. Song can feel the tension in the air, as well as the adrenaline pumping in his veins. Rei looks visibly anxious as well.

“W-whatever do you mean?” the curator asks.

“Forget it. Just help us look around to see if Shi Wei’s works are still around, particularly the ones about his sword’s origins,” Shu says. “Song, Rei, guard the entrance.”

For once, the both of them are out of cheeky remarks for Shu. They take their positions by the vault’s entrance, eyes steeled ahead, their senses sharpened by anxiety. If the trespassers were truly Purgers, then even they would have a hard time fending them off.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

But nobody else comes through the rock tunnels. Eventually, Shu tells them that they couldn’t find any of Shi Wei’s works on his sword’s origins anywhere. After bidding the depressed curator farewell, they make their way back up to the surface in silence, a heavy atmosphere blanketing the trio.

“It has to be Long,” Shu growls.

“What makes you say that?” Song asks, only to glance up briefly and following up with, “Ah, yeah. It’s probably Long.”

“Long?” Rei asks.

“Another Purger,” Shu answers, rubbing his temple. “He’s the one that gave us the big hint about inter-dimensional travelling, so it’s not a surprise he’s one step ahead of us.”

“That’s… not good, is it?”

“It’s not that bad.” A faint smile creeps across Shu’s features. “If Long actually went through all that trouble to steal Shi Wei’s works, then that means we’re on the right track. Kind of annoying that he took the scrolls before us, but at least it narrows our priorities down by quite a bit.”

“So… what do we do now?”

“First of all, we need new clothes.” Shu points at Song’s navel. “Our uniform is a dead giveaway to our identities.”

“No kidding.” Rei winces. “This time, please get something that doesn’t look like brothel-wear.”

Song raises his hand. “While you’re at it, I’m gonna get food.”

“Of course.” Shu rolls his eyes. “Leave it to the pig to remind us of our ‘real’ priorities.”

“Sweet! I’ll grab pork buns for everyone. Chicken buns too. And meat skewers. And maybe some red bean biscuits. And―”

“Just get out of here already, you glutton.” Shu shoves his partner away. “I’ll bring Rei with me. We’ll meet back here in an hour. Don’t be late.”

Without replying, Song turns around and sprints for the marketplace. Even from this distance, he can hear his partner’s exasperated sigh cutting through the clamours of the street.

“But seriously… I wonder how does Long know so much more than us about this crap?” Song mutters. “Even though his powers are the brute force kind like mine… why is he so much smarter than me?”

As Song proceeds to sweep the street stalls of their delicacies, his thoughts of Long gradually fade. Even if these are the less wealthy parts of the capital city, the atmosphere is so much livelier than Bai Hu’s, or any of the smaller cities, for that matter. Despite his love for food, Song can’t help but let himself be distracted by the occasional street performer he comes across; jugglers, dancers, martial artists, all of these talented people seem to be infected by the energy of the city and in turn, lifting Song’s mood as well. It’s almost as if there is a festival going on every day.

“It’s ridiculous how carefree these people are even with the war going on,” Song mutters between munches of his pork bun. “Well, this beats everyone being desperate and depressed I guess.”

And then, just around the corner is a table covered in a white sheet, with a storyteller seated behind it, along with a small crowd of eager peasants soaking in tales woven by his melodrama. Song is not usually fond of tales unless Shu is the one telling them, but there’s something in the way the storyteller’s prose that has Song rooted to the ground to listen in as well. And before he knows it, the story is over, and with smiles and praises, the satisfied audience toss coins into the tin bowl of the storyteller’s booth.

“That was actually pretty fun!”

With the buns and meat skewers tucked safely in the paper wrappings and stuffed in his bag, he skips cheerfully back to the promised meeting spot. Food always makes him happy, and with Feng Cheng’s merry mood, Song realises he has not had this much fun in a very long time.

Under the dazzling rays of sunlight, a streak of gold flutters in the corner of Song’s vision.

Wait. Was that―

Song takes off after the mirage, bumping against peasants along the way. He tackles the corner of the street. Right ahead, Song catches sight of the boy with silky golden hair fluidly flowing down his back.

“Long!” Song calls out.

The boy stops. Candidly, he turns around to face Song. Song almost couldn’t recognise him without their signature uniform on him. Long dons a set of white overalls, with a thin waist protector held by an expensive looking purple ribbon. He’s showing so little skin that even Song can hardly believe he’s looking at a Purger right before his very eyes. As much as Song hates to admit it, when he’s in that outfit coupled with his calm disposition, Long exudes the air of royalty.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Long says. Judging by his neutral expression and even tone, he doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest. “I see you are still in your uniform. Either you’re the boldest Purger I’ve ever met, or the most foolish.”

“Don’t make me kill you from where you stand.” The sight of Long is always enough to make Song’s blood boil.

“Uncouth as ever, huh?” Long shakes his head. “So what do you want?”

“We need to talk.”