Part 3. Duojia's Secret Techniques.

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Chapter 16, in which the hero is introduced to the charm of wandering

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Even though Xing was in no hurry, he did not walk along the road like a lone traveler. After all, why walk when you could run, whirlwind along the path and then along the paved road, keeping a watchful eye on the sides? Sight and perception of qi told the way and warned of possible surprises. A lone rider, half-slumbering upright on a leisurely horse striding straight ahead, not turning anywhere. The faint qi in the tracks of a fox that had once crossed the road. Birds in the trees shriek at the approach of a man. A pair of peasants, clearly off to work in the city. And life. Life is everywhere, from the spirits of nature invisible by sight to all the animals, larvae, birds, fish, and worms.

The peasants called out to Xing, but he waved at them, not even thinking of engaging in a long and pointless conversation. His feet in wolfskin boots stomped rhythmically along the rutted track, kicking up a plume of dust. A hay wagon came into view, and Xing overtook it, barely restraining the urge to leap over it.

The burgeoning power inside and the intoxicating sense of freedom pushed him to recklessness and awakened the desire to boast, to show off.

After a while, he realized that running had long ago become natural for him, like breathing. And running, even with a heavy load, he gets nothing out of it. What kind of training is it if you don't have to make any effort for it?

If he knew how to make talismans, he would have made something heavy, that would make running a challenge. Of course, he could have used a heavy rock, but then a guy carrying an entire rock on his backside would be the talk of the world. Xing wasn't hiding, but he wanted to wait for that kind of fame.

Xing decided to use the easiest way to train his body. He gathered his qi, and with some effort, he removed the usual enhancement, returning to the capabilities of a normal person. Then, he removed the qi from his eyes, for he relied too much on additional ways of perception. Qilin's Gaze didn't completely disappear as it had happened in the past, but only faded slightly - after all, seeing qi had long since become part of Xing's very essence.

The weight of the basket immediately drew him to the ground, and his pace slowed. Xing laughed - this was going to be a great workout! He ran as fast as he could, trying to unravel and read all the tracks as he went, relying as much as possible on his eyesight. Han Nao had studied enough scrolls to know the theory, but now all he needed was practice.

As it turned out, "knowing" and "being able" were two very different things. Xing was a poor tracker, despite his excellent eyesight because his scrolls and books were just a dead weight in the back of his mind. The peasants didn't know much about hunting, and he usually relied on his qi vision rather than his ability to read tracks. So at other times, he would simply run past without noticing the scuffed footprints, the straightened bushes, and the scrawny, unwashed observer sitting a little farther away. But the feeling of qi, of life around, even if suppressed, still gave more information about the surrounding world than was available to the average person.

Xing had to admit that the brigand's hiding (and who else could sit in the roadside bushes?) was excellent. He must have had either natural talent or a lot of experience. Maybe Han Nao had read too many stories about heroes saving princesses and heiresses of great houses from bandits, so he blame a simple peasant who sat down to poop by the roadside, as he had done many times during the journey. The two clots of qi nearby could have been just companions of the "peasant" waiting for their companion to finish his business, not reinforcements from a bandit gang.

Xing ran past the ambush, a little tense in anticipation of the attack. He looked like an ordinary kid, dressed simply and well, but the huge basket on his back made it clear that he was a good prey. He pretended to run away as if he had been sent on an errand, and there was no more defenseless and easy prey to be found all the way to the capital. There was no attack.

Fuelled by curiosity, Xing jogged a little further, turned around, and turned off the road.

"Maybe he sat down there to poop," he said in a low voice.

"That's too far," he said to himself.

"Maybe he's bashful! Maybe he found mushrooms, berries, or even a bird's nest."

"Or a fugitive criminal, hiding from the authorities," Xing agreed with himself. "With his friends!"

If the man in the bushes had been here for a long time or was traveling in the right direction, there was a reason to talk to him, to ask if the merchant had passed by, and if so, how long ago and where to? Xing walked in a large arc, then crept up stealthily behind him, giving him a good opportunity to get a better look at his target. Skinny and unwashed, in a strange variety of clothes, he was sitting comfortably on a large rock, squirming, scratching, puking, and sniffling, making it easier for Xing to sneak up on him silently. At his side, leaning against a tree, was a spear with a real iron tip.

Xing silently picked up the spear, wondering how a person making so much noise could go unnoticed from the road.

"Don't yell," Xing advised, putting the tip of his spear against the skinny man's back.

He immediately shrieked and jumped sideways, hitting a tree trunk, clinging to a root, and falling headlong onto the rock he had just been sitting on. He smashed his face and forehead bloody and appeared to have lost consciousness. Xing scratched the back of his head puzzledly, recognizing that this moment had somehow not been thought through. But what else was he supposed to do? How could he have known instead of doing as he was told the skinny man would make a funny scene out of the crystal? The kind where clumsy troublemakers fell over, knocked over tables, knocked over bowls of food, got tangled up in their legs, or banged on doorjambs to cheerful music. Xing could have snuck up, grabbed him, and put his hand over his unwashed mouth, but he didn't want to do that.

Heal him? He might be a great healer in the distant future, but he could do some things now. And it was a simple matter to treat such a small bleed.

"Did you hear that?" A hoarse voice asked.

"Aha, Harkun is obviously sitting down to shit again, right on the twig!" replied the other.

Harkun? Well, it doesn't take a great thinker to figure out why the skinny guy got that nickname.

"He should admit he likes it," said the first one.

Xing crawled a little to the side and lurked, looking up from below. The two others he had sensed earlier had appeared, but he had overlooked them for the moment, focusing his attention on the skinny one. An unfortunate oversight. He would have been doing push-ups on sharp rocks long ago in the villain master's class for such a thing. No one but himself was forcing him to do anything right now, but there was a lot more to lose than just dinner. He'd only trained in the village but hadn't been in real, dangerous fights too often. And, as his encounter with the skinny Harkun had shown, Xing still had much to learn before he became a true warrior.

"Oh, look, he jumped up a tree out of fear and killed himself!" The owner of the first voice continued to laugh.

"Wait, there's something wrong here," said the other, short and thin, even thinner than Harkun. "Harkun wouldn't just lie there."

The first one looked like a muscular giant against him, though there was no muscle, only fat. Dirty clothes, thick, greasy hair, disheveled mustaches, and beards. Xing's enhanced eyesight made it easy to see everything in the most unpleasant detail.

"Yeah," agreed the first one, "especially when we haven't even started dividing up the spoils yet."

"Quiet," growled the second, "have you forgotten the words of your senior?"

"There's no one here," the first one dismissed him, but he stopped anyway and started looking around.

They both looked at each other anxiously and drew short blades from the folds of their clothing, perhaps not well suited for epic battles but perfectly suited for gut-wrenching or ambushing, sneaking up from behind, stabbing at the liver or slitting the throat while an accomplice held the enemy at spear's length.

Xing released some of the Tree's qi united with Water. The tree stretches its branches to the sky, swaying its branches and rustling leaves, while the clouds are heavenly water pouring down to the earth. The elements combine to create Wind. Xing created it by causing the air to swirl in the distance. The rustling of leaves was heard as if a careless foot had shuffled there.

"Over there!" The pair rushed at the sound, not caring about Harkun's bleeding.

Xing slid to the tree where Harkun's forehead had crashed against, flew up it like a squirrel, and lurked in the shade of the dense crown, spear at the ready. At first, he had doubted whether it was a company of peasants or woodcutters, one of whom had gone to take a shit, but after the words about sharing the spoils, everything became clear. Perhaps he was on the trail of a merchant, or maybe, as a hero in the crystal, he just ran into a gang of bandits. Of course, these bandits did not resemble the subordinates of some Bandit King, but he was not a real hero either but only started his heroic path.

Xing had never heard from the headman, priest, merchant, or the occasional traveler there was a bandit gang in the area. However, he was fast and had run a good distance. The bandits might have moved here recently.

"A hedgehog or a badger," came the words of a short bandit.

"I could eat a badger right now! I love badger fat," the fat man licked his lips.

Returning, they didn't hide much. Stopping over Harkun again, the short one kicked him in the side.

"Hey, get up!"

"Look, maybe he was afraid of a snake." The fat man looked around warily. "Or maybe it bit him."

"Or mistook his shit for a snake!" cackled the short one.

Contrary to all fears, they did not look up. Xing prepared himself.

For the bandits sitting in ambush, they weren't exactly hiding. The distance from the road, Xing thought, would have drowned out any conversation, but there were rules and regulations! They had heard Harkun's fall, so a passerby on the road might have been wary, too.

Xing didn't hesitate any longer. He flew, almost falling out of the tree, hitting the short man in the right shoulder with his spear and stamping his foot right into the fat man's teeth. In a real fight, holding back, as one of his quotes said, was foolish. Qi rushed into his hands obediently, and Xing pushed the wounded bandit away and kicked the other under his breath.

Stepping forcefully on Harkun's stomach who let out an agonized groan, he leaped forward and assumed a fighting stance, ready for the real battle. His qi and blood surged, giving him clarity of thought and confidence in his abilities. But alas, the battle ended before it could begin. The fat man was lying on the ground as a shapeless sack, moaning muffledly with a broken mouth. Petty grasped his punctured shoulder, staring at Xing in horror. The wound looked serious, and the qi showed that without the help of a healer, this brigand was no longer alive. But Xing didn't want to treat anyone, he just took a step forward and poked the spearhead under the bandit's chin, preventing him from opening his mouth and screaming.

A moment of fear and doubt - what if he attacked the Emperor's peaceful subjects? - went by with a feeling of joy and confidence in his abilities. Yes, he had made many blunders, but his enemies were far from being the main villains from the crystal.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Xing asked. "What kind of booty are you going to divide, and who is your leader?"

Unfortunately, he didn't know the laws of the Empire too well, but what if he took the loot for himself? Or would it be better to turn the bandits into the authorities and be rewarded? In crystals and scrolls, heroes did both, though usually they didn't get their hands dirty about such trifles, just killed thugs and moved on without thinking about money.

"I'll put the spear away, but don't even think about yelling," Xing warned.

"You're just a kid!" When his throat stopped stabbing with the blade, the shorter man was able to lower his head and finally get a good look at his opponent.

"You're hurting like a grownup," Xing smirked. "Shall I pierce the other shoulder? Just to clear your doubts?"

"No, don't," the bandit shook his head fearfully. "I see you have a spear!"

"A spear? What do I need a spear for? Look, I can pierce you through with my finger!"

Xing stretched out his hand and poked at the long-suffering tree trunk. Splinters and bark spattered, and his hand sank into the wood almost to the wrist.

The demonstration was sufficiently graphic. The bandit almost collapsed to his knees and began a rambling story. Xing listened and glanced at the other two bandits, waiting for them to come to their senses, ready to attack the wounded short man.

But Xing's strength must have frightened the bandit, for he did not attack. He told what he knew, even if he didn't know much.

The gang used to bandit westward, then they were raided by the guards, defeated, and the remnants fled here. Lately, they had their first serious case - a passing merchant, relaxed by his usual route, hadn't taken enough guards. That allowed the wagon to be captured and he to be taken prisoner. It was clear why the bandits had not attacked Xing, a lonely, defenseless traveler, the desired prey for any robber. If people started disappearing on the road, the authorities would raid again. And the merchant's kin won't tell anyone unless they want him to give up his life.

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"It's not our fault!" cried the bandit. "We are honest people, and we never wanted to rob anyone! We had to join the gang out of poverty! How can you know what hunger is and how unbearably hard peasant life is?"

An almost real tear came to the short man's eye. But the qi showed he was not bitter, but hopeful - hopeful he could get the rich young fool to let him go, with a promise to start living righteously again.

I wonder who he thought I was? Xing thought to himself. A disciple of some hidden sect? A disguised nobleman who has been cultivating qi since he was in diapers? A monk from a martial monastery who has made his first foray into the big world by pretending to be a layman?

"Are you trying to pity me, you scum?" he growled, clenching his hand into a fist. "If you have turned to brigandage because your life is unbearable, why do you spoil it for the other peasants? Yes, the merchant takes a lot of money, but most of the time he takes it in advance! Now, who will bring them what they ordered? Who will return the money and goods earned with blood and sweat? You, scoundrel, robbed your fellow peasants!"

"It's not me, it's the Elder!" he was scared

But Xing was no longer listening. It was because of this scum that the merchant didn't come! It was because of them Feng had been in trouble during the entire naming ceremony, the most important event in any child's life! He made a swift movement, unleashing a carefully calculated fist strike on the back of the thug's head. Xing stopped the bandit from dying but did not heal the wound. After knocking out the others, who were beginning to regain consciousness, he grabbed them by the scruff of the neck and dragged them to the unfortunate tree, mentally apologizing to the nature spirits that dwell here. Once again, making sure that all three were unconscious, he climbed up the tree and lifted each of them in turn so that their toes barely touched the ground and pressed their wrists against the rough bark.

After the incident with the wolves, he worked hard to eliminate his shortcomings. Now, the wood obeyed the chi he had transformed into the element of Wood and allowed the brigands' hands to flow through it, binding them more securely than any shackles. When he was sure that none of them could escape, he raced toward the bandit camp, fierce with rage and a desire to smash their heads in.

As he ran, a sudden thought occurred to him: Maybe it was for the best that the merchant was thwarted. If the bandits had shown up a month later who would have fought back? The authorities? Maybe. But only after prolonged rampages, violence, and deaths throughout the area, including Duojia, the village where Feng had spent five years. The thought served as a bucket of water poured into the rekindled hearth. He calmed down and came to his senses, regaining the ability to think in a balanced and judicious manner.

What did he need in his new life? Knowledge and power. And to get it, he needed money and the ability to act and move without interference or questions. He had some money, but he didn't want to rob his foster parents, taking a relatively small sum for travel and lodging.

Capturing the bandits could help with the money, and killing them and talking to the guards afterward could lead to lengthy trials, during which Xing would have to stay in some underground prison with water dripping from the ceiling and in the company of various scum: a plot that has been repeatedly seen in the crystals.

Even if we assume that the authorities would immediately believe, sort it out, and let him go, which is not a fact, it is still a waste of time and effort.

The most frustrating thing was that even killing all the bandits and bringing their heads to the guards would not have done anything reprehensible. On the contrary, it would have been a deed pleasing to the Empire. And if he were even a dozen years older, it would cause the guards nothing but sincere gratitude. However, even then, it was better to take the bandits alive so they could either go to the penal colony to work hard at their crimes or to the plague to serve as an example and warning for other scoundrels.

As he approached the camp, Xing pushed aside extraneous thoughts, hiding his qi and sneaking up with the utmost caution. Just like near the road, watchers were sitting around the camp. They were more interested in what was going on inside instead of trying to see if there was a possible enemy.

In spite of their relatively recent stay, the bandits had prepared thoroughly. Several large huts covered with spruce branches stood near a deep pit covered by a grating of crossed sticks. There was even one hut made of thin poles as thick as a hand. By the hut huddled a gang of unwashed, stinking ragamuffins like the ones Xing had encountered earlier.

"Write!" commanded the huge, animal-shaped bearded man.

There was no fat in his body, and his off-shoulder shirt crackled under the pressure of his muscles. Xing felt his anger flare up in him. Now that he knew firsthand the hard work of peasant labor, uprooting stumps, hauling weights, standing hunched over beds with his family, freezing his feet blue in the cold water and mud of rice fields, or trying to break up unyielding earth with a wooden hoe, he realized the bearded man, this "poor peasant who took up robbery because of the unbearable peasant life," had never held a sickle or a chain. Such a heap of muscle demanded plenty of food, not vegetables or rice, but real meat. Meat like any other food, the peasants never had enough of, so they had to eat everything from maggots to bark. Feng had lived his life without even dreaming of the chicken breast that Han Nao had once turned his nose up at and often went to sleep hungry, feeling his empty stomach cramping with pain. The bearded man looked very strong, but it was empty strength - after all, Xing could see only ordinary muscles. The Qi inside the bearded man's body was dormant and remained undeveloped.

Putting aside the idea that the bearded man was a warrior from a reasonably well-to-do family who could afford to eat meat and exercise his body every day, what he was seeing meant that he was taking the hard-earned wealth of others and eating to his heart's content. While he was living at the expense of others, depriving the peasants of food, they were toiling and dying from the hard work in the fields.

The Jing Merchant, whom Feng had waited for and never waited for, was sitting on the ground, clutching a quill and a scroll in his hands. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut, a long cut crossed his cheek, and a dirty, bloody rag was wrapped around his arm. Above him, with his arms at his sides, stood another bandit with a menacing look. Another bandit stood nearby, sharpening a lousy, rusty blade with a loud, ear-splitting squeal, either in a hopeless attempt to make the blade sharp or to intimidate Jing.

"Write what?" The merchant asked with a wistful doom in his voice.

"How many fingers have we sent them so far?"

"Two!" the one towering over Jing readily reported.

"Cut off the third one. Wait! Let him write first, then cut it off."

Xing watched and felt his teeth grind and his hands clench into fists. He was well aware that the bandits did not greet their victims with hugs, but he had not expected this either.

"So what to write?" Jing stretched out even more wistfully, leaning over the scroll.

"It's up to you," the bearded man grinned, showing his yellow teeth. "I think you'll find the right words when it comes to your daughter's fate. You merchants are very good with words, always fooling us peasants."

Xing wanted to go up to this "peasant" and beat him to death. He understood the cruelty and the desire for profit, but he couldn't bear the vile, lying hypocrisy.

"So go ahead, do your best to mess with your family's heads. And if they don't send the ransom this time, your daughter will stop warming my bed at night and start pleasing everyone. And they will not be as kind as I am."

"No, we won't!" There was a lot of laughter.

"We'll sneak in the back door as an Elder, too!"

"Hey, fatty, don't write anything! Be brave!"

"That's right! You'll write later! You'll see it first!"

The merchant turned gray, large drops of sweat rolling down his face.

"I...I'll try," he almost whimpered.

"You have a deadline," the bearded man thought for the sake of appearances, "let's say one cycle of days."

Elder, why wait so long?"

"They won't send it anyway!"

"I understand your impatience," said the leader good-naturedly. "She is a sweet berry, and I know how good she is! But with the money of that fat swindler, all the women from Jumen to the capital will be ours!"

Why did he drag his daughter here as well? Xing wailed mentally. Rescuing damsels in distress was a common thing. Heroes in crystals and scrolls did it almost all the time. Often, it was a meeting predestined by the heavens, helping the hero to find, if not a life partner, then at least the help and support of the powerful family of the rescued girl.

Except... Except that the heroes of crystals always arrived on time. Bandits and robbers killed or wounded only the guards, no one cut their fingers, and the girls were finished with only a neatly torn dress, showing not only defenselessness but also seductive beauty. And then they did not tremble, shrinking into a frightened, stuttering lump, but burst into flames of true love when they met their destined mate.

Xing spat irritably. After living among the peasants and learning about the not-so-bright side of life, he regarded such things with great doubt. Marriages were not usually arranged by love, but by agreement of the parents, and neither the age nor the sympathies of the bride, and sometimes of the bridegroom, mattered. Of course, there were times when the choice of the bride, parents, and groom coincided, as seems to be the case with Master Yi and Aimin, but it was very rare.

"Hey, Elder! What if she herself?" shouted someone's voice.

"If she falls in love with one of us and wants to stay, that's fine with us!" The leader cackled, and the bandits joined in the laughter. "There will be someone to sell the loot to! Yes, dear father-in-law?"

The merchant was drenched in sweat from fear, the quill was shaking in his trembling hands, and drops from his forehead were falling on the scroll, blurring the ink. Xing, who had planned to wait until nightfall to act for sure, decided it was time. Unlike real heroes, he was certainly too late, but he could still save at least Jing's finger, not to mention the lives of the merchant and his daughter.

There was no point in making cunning plans. Xing had a good look at the qi of the people around him. None of them were worthy of opposing him. If he strengthened his body, none of them would even be able to hurt him except for a small cut. Harkun and his buddies had already shown what kind of warriors the bandits were, so he should have taken the easy way out in this case. He wasn't a great warrior and had made many mistakes, but in this case, overestimating the enemy was a mistake, too.

Xingxing changed his stance and inhaled deeply, concentrating on his qi. It was a pity that he didn't know or master anything yet since the sneaky master hadn't taught him anything. After all, if he were a hero of the crystal, he would definitely use the Threefold Crimson Fire Ball or Great Water Dragon technique to make the surviving bandits fall to their knees without thinking of resisting.

If he had a proper Master... Eh!

But regrets were also foolish and inappropriate. Xing simply transformed the qi into Fire and threw it into the fire where some animal was roasting.

That exploded, raising a large cloud of ash. Under this cover, Xing rushed out. He picked up the spit, roast fox, took a bite, and grimaced. No spices, not even salt, and it looked like it had starved to death!

Spitting, he slammed the half-roasted beast into the first brigand caught in the puffs of ash and smoke.

Xing was still a long way from the true masters who could move mountains, part the seas, and unleash fiery storms. But he had learned a few things at his rural and primitive level. Even though he didn't know a single technique, having only come up with a few tricks, these weaklings didn't even have that. He gave qi and transformed into Wind, raising even thicker clouds of ash and smoke, concealing himself and depriving the bandits of sight.

He, of course, not only saw the enemies with qi vision but could perfectly sense their presence in any direction.

The bandits were surprisingly numerous - about two dozen. To feed such a crowd, it was necessary to rob a lot of peasants. There wasn't enough for all of them to eat a single fox! So Xing didn't hold back too much.

His soul yearned for an epic battle, a tension on the brink of life and death. Something that would look good in crystal. Nothing of the sort had come to pass. The battles with the river monster and the wolves were a dozen, no, a dozen of dozen times more dangerous and difficult.

While these fools were poking in every direction with their rusty knives and crooked spears, coughing and wheezing from the smoke, Xing simply walked at a light, leisurely pace and gave each of them a slap of his palm that could pierce tree trunks and smash rocks. Therefore, not even a dozen dozen breaths passed before it was over.

Xing took a final look at his work as he released the Wind and cleared the air. The picture was beautiful, with a couple of dozen bodies lying around, a shivering girl, and the face of a merchant who seemed unfamiliar because of the bulging healthy eye.

"Master Jing," Han bowed.

"Feng! Or is it no longer Feng?" The merchant sighed sadly. "I guess you already have an adult name."

"Duo. Xing Duo," he introduced himself.

"I, my daughter, and my whole family owe you a debt of gratitude!" said the merchant. "Lingyun, go say hello to our savior! Hurry up!"

The daughter, a girl only a little older than Xing, nodded. As she passed the unconscious leader, she paused for a moment, looked back, and, making sure Xing wasn't looking in her direction, she brought the heel of her thick wooden-soled traveling shoes down on his crotch with all her might. Xing had to make an effort not to laugh, thus showing that he felt qi regardless of the direction of the gaze. This tactic paid off immediately. When he turned to face the girl, and they greeted each other, he managed to "miss" the desperate gesticulation of the merchant and his fingers pointing at Xing.

The characters and scenery changed, but the performance in the theater remained the same. Only now, it was no longer the peasant women from their native village trying to charm and bind the young and foolish but very promising bridegroom. The merchant was in a hurry before Xing had been anywhere else before he had gained experience and intelligence in the big city.

Xing didn't play the fool and pretended to be a dumb peasant. His path had crossed with the merchant, and life might bring them together again, but this was probably the last time they would see each other. But Xing didn't want to quarrel and assert himself by showing how he had figured everyone out. It wasn't worth the effort. It would remind him of his bastard master. Xing had aspired to be like his master, but not in this aspect.

He simply kept a nonchalant face, ignoring all innuendos, acting polite but aloof. Using qi, Xing repaired the broken carts and dismantled the leader's hut, making a few drags to carry the loot. Horses were in short supply, and the bandits had already eaten some of them while waiting, but he had some very good replacements. Two dozen replacements.

Xing pulled the battered and groaning charioteers, who were also guards, out of the pit, suspecting that a couple of the four had already agreed to join the brigands, for they could be paid much more, albeit illegally, for almost the same occupation.

It didn't matter now, though, so Xing kept his suspicions to himself. He only dragged the bandits, including the first three he met, and then, after waiting for them to come to their senses, harnessed them, with the crouching and groaning leader at their head, to the heavily laden wagons that had been left without draft animals. Xing threw his basket on one of them and pulled it himself. The battle had been too easy, so he had to make up for lost time by practicing stamina and strength while running.

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"Your reward for the bandits and some of the loot," Jing said, holding out a weighty leather sack. "Xing, are you sure you don't want to stay? It takes time to sell everything else, so we could do it together...."

"You may consider yourself paid for your unpaid debt, Mr. Jing," Xing replied, stashing the sack in the basket and slinging it on his shoulders.

"But together we could..."

"You didn't come, Mr. Jing," Xing interrupted and raised his hand in warning. "Through no fault of your own, I know. But that's not important. Fate is giving me a sign, and who am I to argue with it?"

Jing saw Xing's determination and immediately faded away, leaving his prepared speech unspoken. Xing quickly left the merchant's house and made his way through the crooked streets to the gate. He looked around, saw a bored guard, and said hello politely.

"Can you tell me, dear sir, if the road that passes through this gate leads to the glorious city of Zhumen?"

"It leads," the elderly guard yawned. "I've been standing here for over two dozen years but never heard anyone call Zhumen glorious. Don't go there alone, boy! There's been a lot of bandits on the road lately. They caught a whole bunch the other day. And why would you want to go to a shithole like Zhumen?"

"The best blacksmith in the province, Master Gong, lives there," Xing replied.

"Master Gong!" The guard jumped up as if he had been stabbed in the ass with his spear. "I understand you want to order weapons. Who wouldn't? If you only knew how much they cost, boy! I see you're not a poor man, but neither you nor your parents have enough money to order a knife from him. Anyway, do you even know where he lives?"

"No, I don't know," Xing admitted. "I thought I'd ask in Zhumen."

"Near the Forest of a Dozen Steps! Almost in the forest itself! Right on the edge!"

"Steps? Only a dozen? So small?"

"Your head is small! And the Forest of a Dozen Steps is not named for its size. It's a scary and deadly place! The trees there seem alive, swaying, watching you, creaking, and trying to grab you with their branches! And among them howl ghosts and evil spirits. They're fighting with underground demons. Do you want to know why it's a dozen steps?"

Xing nodded.

"That's how many steps a careless traveler can take through the forest before being dragged away by demons or eaten by the beasts of the forest! The best masters of the Empire built a road around the forest, but even so, travelers still disappeared. A man was walking, walking, and then one day he was gone! Not even a bone to be found! They say even a detachment of Imperial troops disappeared there. And you, boy, you really shouldn't go there!"

Xing Xing shuddered. It sounded very frightening. Even the name, which seemed to come out of the crystals, inspired fear. Bao Xiao had once fought the Amethyst Blood Monkey in a similar-sounding place, the Thousand Howling Demon Forest, and even he, the hero of heroes, had been severely injured there.

But Master Yi, who had told him about the best blacksmith he had ever heard of, had never mentioned that he was such a great warrior. And if he could not only live near the forest for many years but also somehow get orders, there were ways to reach him without having to fight through hordes of demonic beasts and evil spirits.

"I thank you for your warning," Xing bowed. "I will not take a step into this forest, much less a dozen!"

He took off from his place and rushed forward on the road to Zhumen, feeling as if he was about to conquer the whole world.

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Chapter 17, in which the hero learns the shortcomings of his splendor, but shows which beast has the most powerful paws