Guard Captain Chen arrived at the trading town just as the sun peaked out the horizon. The streets still bore signs of the previous night's chaos – broken glass, scattered pelts, and an angry innkeeper. Hui Fan did leave enough to pay for repairs, though. But probably not enough to cover business losses…

"They headed north," a merchant told him, eyeing the Han family crest on Chen's armor. "Six riders. There was one especially suspicious guy who wouldn't stop talking about venom or poisons."

Chen pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Rowan would be giving impromptu lectures while fleeing for his life.

"The mountain pass at Mount Feng Shan?" Chen's second-in-command asked.

"The mountain pass." Chen sighed. "Alert Minister Han. Tell him his son is heading into Beast territory with..." He paused, remembering the reports about Hui Fan's group. "...some very dangerous excavators."

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

The checkpoint at the base of Mount Feng Shan was less a gate and more a statement of intent – ancient stone markers carved with warnings in languages Rowan itched to translate, and guards who looked like they'd been carved from the mountain itself.

"No passage," the lead guard said, his accent thick with the local dialect. "Mountain's closed until spring thaw."

"But it's barely autumn," Rowan protested, already pulling out a book. "According to historical weather patterns in this region—"

Hui Fan's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "We have permits."

The guard examined their papers with exaggerated slowness. His eyes lingered on the official seals, then on Rowan's face. Something flickered in his expression – recognition? But that was impossible. Rowan had never been this far north.

"These are correct," the guard said finally. "But..."

"But?" Liu Shen's hand twitched toward his weapons.

"Strange lights in the peaks lately. Voices in the old tongue. The mountain..." The guard glanced up at the looming peaks, where clouds swirled unnaturally. "The mountain remembers."

Rowan perked up. "Remembers what? And what do you mean by 'old tongue'? Is it similar to the inscriptions on these markers? Because I've been studying ancient mountain dialects and—"

A commotion from the road behind them cut him off. Rowan's face fell as he recognized the approaching banners.

"Ah," he said. "That would be my family."

The Han family delegation approached with all the subtlety of a avalanche. Minister Han himself led them, flanked by Uncle Chen and a dozen elite guards. Rowan unconsciously shifted closer to Hui Fan, whose expression had gone carefully blank.

"Young Master Han," Minister Han's voice carried across the checkpoint. "Your mother is worried."

Rowan winced. The mother card – his father must be truly desperate. "Father, I can explain—"

"You can explain at home." Minister Han's eyes swept over Hui Fan's group, lingering on their leader. "After we deal with those who kidnapped you."

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"Kidnapped?" Rowan sputtered. "I left a note! Several notes! Very detailed notes with citations and everything!"

"Young master," Uncle Chen stepped forward, his weathered face concerned. "These people... they're not what you think."

"Oh? And what do I think they are?"

"They're tomb raiders," Minister Han said flatly. "Criminals seeking forbidden artifacts. And their leader..." He nodded toward Hui Fan. "Is not who he claims to be."

Rowan opened his mouth to argue, then paused. He looked at Hui Fan, whose expression remained unreadable. "Well, obviously he's not who he claims to be. He barely claims to be anyone at all. That's part of his whole..." He waved vaguely at Hui Fan's general aura of mystery. "Thing."

Minister Han blinked, clearly not expecting this response.

"But," Rowan continued, warming to his topic, "he's also teaching me more about practical medicine than I've learned in years of study. Did you know we encountered Dusk Stalkers? Actual Dusk Stalkers! The data I've collected on their venom composition alone—"

"Rowan." His father's voice cracked like ice. "These people are dangerous."

"Everyone's dangerous," Rowan said cheerfully. "You should see what Song can do with knives. Very educational from an anatomical perspective."

The checkpoint guard cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. "The mountain is closed," he repeated. "Family disputes included."

As if in response, wind howled down from the peaks, carrying whispers in a language that made Rowan's scholar brain light up with interest. The guard's face paled.

"They're calling again," he muttered.

"Who's calling?" Rowan and Minister Han asked simultaneously, then glared at each other.

The guard's eyes darted between them, then up to the peaks where dark clouds gathered. "The Old Ones. They've been restless since..." He stopped, looking at Hui Fan. "Since certain things were disturbed."

"Fascinating!" Rowan pulled out his notebook. "When you say 'Old Ones,' are you referring to the mountain clan mentioned in the Chronicles of—"

"Young Master Han." Uncle Chen's voice was gentle. "Please. Come home."

Rowan looked at his father's stern face, at Uncle Chen's concern, at the gathered Han guards who'd known him since childhood. Then he looked at Hui Fan, who met his gaze steadily.

"I am home," Rowan said quietly. "I'm with my books, my research, and people who let me study freely."

Minister Han was silent for a long moment. Then, to everyone's surprise, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound, but genuine.

"You truly are your mother's son." He sighed. "Chen, take half the guard and go with him."

"Minister—"

"He'll go with or without us. At least this way..." He looked at Hui Fan. "At least this way we can watch his back."

"Father..." Rowan started.

"Don't thank me. Your mother will have both our heads when we return." He turned to the checkpoint guard. "Now, about these mountain permissions..."

As Minister Han negotiated their passage, Rowan felt Hui Fan's presence at his shoulder.

"That was unexpected," the martial artist murmured.

"The Han family specializes in unexpected." Rowan grinned. "Though usually it involves more explosions. Did I ever tell you about the time my mother reorganized the Imperial Library?"

"Later," Hui Fan said, but his lips twitched. "We have company."

A figure had appeared on the path above the checkpoint – an old woman in flowy robes. Her eyes, when they met Rowan's, were the same swirling grey as the mountain clouds.

"The seekers arrive," she said in that same ancient tongue that had whispered on the wind. To Rowan's delight, he could almost understand it. "But do they know what they seek?"

He recognized that dialect somewhere—Rowan fumbled with his books, but when he looked up, the woman was gone.

"Did anyone else see...?" He looked around at the others. The Han guards looked confused, but Hui Fan's expression was grim.

"The mountain remembers," the checkpoint guard repeated softly. "And it knows you're coming."

The guard looked between Minister Han's official documents and Hui Fan's permits once more, then at the gathering storms above. Something in his expression shifted. "The mountain will have its way," he said finally, stamping both sets of papers. "Pass if you must. But remember – when the old voices speak, even the bravest should listen."

As their expanded group moved through the checkpoint, Rowan could have sworn he saw the old woman again, standing among the ancient stone markers. But when he turned for a better look, there was only mist.