Raised stone walls covered the town area.

  Beyond the gates, the town was modest, but not fragile — stone foundations, sloped roofs of dark tile, courtyards hidden behind carved wooden walls., and the faint murmur of voices carried through the air. Red banners fluttered from the gateposts, the color too bright to be anything but celebration.

  Two guards stood at the gate, spears held casually at their sides. Their robes were plain, but Zhen could sense the quiet discipline in the way they held themselves.

  Zhen descended the slope with measured steps, Ning Xue a few paces behind him. As they neared the gate, the guards shifted subtly, their stance tightening.

  Without a word, Zhen reached into his sleeve and drew out a narrow jade token, letting it rest between two fingers.

  The guard’s eyes widened slightly before his expression smoothed over. He stepped aside without a word, motioning them through.

  Zhen nodded and walked past, Ning Xue following just behind. As they entered the town, the sounds of daily life grew louder — the chatter of vendors, the clink of iron on wood, the shuffle of feet over stone. The air carried the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread.

  “We should find an inn first," Zhen said.

  Ning Xue’s gaze swept the town with quiet curiosity. “Any particular reason?"

  "Don't you want to have a bath?" Zhen replied. “We’ll figure out our next steps once we’re settled."

  They approached a modest two-story building at the edge of the main street. A wooden sign carved with the characters Clear Spring Inn hung over the entrance. A young boy sweeping the steps glanced up and bowed quickly as they entered.

  The inside was clean and simple — polished wooden floors, modest tables, and an open window letting in the afternoon breeze. An older woman stood behind the counter, her gaze sharp beneath her grey-streaked hair.

  Zhen approached the counter, Ning Xue following close behind.

  A pair of men sitting by the window quieted as he passed. One of them leaned slightly toward the other, eyes narrowing. Another figure near the doorway adjusted his belt — or pretended to — but Zhen could feel the subtle shift in his gaze, the quiet tension in his posture.

  Zhen ignored them all with a relaxed expression, as if he hadn’t noticed a thing.

  “We need two rooms," Zhen said.

  “You’re unlucky," she said with dry amusement. “We’ve been quite full lately."

  Zhen’s eyes narrowed. His posture straightened slightly. Don't say it.. Don't say it…

  The old woman’s gaze remained steady. “There’s only one room left."

  “Dang it," he muttered under his breath. Of course. But it’s not even night yet. What’s the point?

  The old woman’s brow lifted. “Are you taking it or not?"

  Zhen rubbed his temple, his mouth tightening. No—that’s not the point.

  His gaze flicked toward Ning Xue’s face. Her expression was calm, her dirt-streaked face utterly plain. Even her hair was a mess from the night before.

  Why do I feel like I’ve somehow tangled with a jade beauty?

  “No problem," Zhen said flatly. “Ning Xue should use the room."

  “Senior Brother —"

  “Is there a bathouse available?" Zhen interrupted.

  “Yes. We offer baths for a small fee. Both inside the room and communal bathouse."

  Zhen nodded. “Then that’s fine. One bath and another in the room."

  He handed over the payment with a steady hand, even as his mind raced through all the possible ways this could go wrong. The woman passed him the key without hesitation.

  “Second floor, third door on the left. The bath is the right backyard" she said.

  Zhen gave the key to Ning Xue. And turned around for his bath.

  The bathhouse was simple and rustic, the sort of place that promised function over comfort. The wooden walls were dark with age, the scent of damp wood and faint traces of soap lingering in the air. The pool was empty. Asking around, the pool was available only in the evenings. Even if steam from the hot stone around the pool curled lazily beneath the rafters, barely warmed by the weak sunlight that filtered through the small, clouded windows.

  The large room also connected with three side rooms for bathing. Two buckets of hot water were pushed inside by a servant who barely spared him a glance. The floor was uneven, worn smooth by years of wet feet and dripping clothes.

  Zhen’s gaze drifted toward his robes, stained with sweat and dirt from the night before. His fingers curled at the edge of his sleeve.

  Guess I should wash these.

  He peeled off the outer layer of his robes and dipped them into a nearby basin of cold water. His fingers worked through the fabric, kneading at the dark stains. The water swirled, cloudy and gray as the dirt bled out. After a few moments, he wrung the cloth between his hands, water spilling between his knuckles in thin rivulets.

  Drying this will take too long…

  His gaze sharpened. Holding the damp garment between his hands, he directed a steady pulse of qi through his fingertips. At first, nothing happened. He focused, adjusting the flow — his qi condensed and began rotating rapidly.

  The wet cloth trembled. A low hum vibrated through the fibers as it spun between his palms. Water droplets flicked outward in a fine mist, scattering across the floor. He increased the speed, the cloth blurring as centrifugal force pushed the moisture out.

  After a few moments, he released his grip. The cloth fluttered downward, landing neatly across his forearm — dry and crisp.

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  Zhen’s lips curled faintly. Not bad.

  — ? — ? — ? —

  After bathing, Zhen made his way to the common room of the inn. The heavy scent of hot broth and fried dough mixed with the low hum of conversation.

  A few battered tables lined the edges of the room beneath greasy lanterns. Thin streams of light from the window caught the dull sheen of worn floorboards.

  He settled at a table near the window. His gaze drifted toward the street beyond, where the bustle of morning travelers and merchants played out against the backdrop of weathered stone buildings and hanging lanterns. A few more patrons were sitting at nearby tables — some nursing bowls of congee, others sipping weak tea.

  The earlier tough looking patrons were nowhere in sight. Zhen leaned back slightly, his gaze distant.

  An inn, huh? He had read enough stories to know how many encounters started in places like this. Cultivation rivalries, young masters, bar fights, new allies, hidden enemies.

  Let’s hope things stay quiet this time.

  But somehow… he already doubted it.

  His ears tuned in to the conversation at the next table, a group of three men and an older woman — busybodies, judging by their eager tones.

  “Did you hear?" one of the men whispered conspiratorially. “The Fu Clan’s young miss is getting married to the Wang Family’s young master."

  “Hah! Miss Fu is lucky," another said, voice tinged with jealousy. “The Wang Family’s influence could make anyone rise overnight."

  “Miss Fu?" the older woman scoffed. “She’s already married."

  “Eh?" The man leaned forward, lowering his voice. “But wasn’t the marriage just in name?"

  “Exactly." The woman nodded knowingly. “The Fu Clan had to follow the old rules — had to marry a wastrel son-in-law or face consequences from the ancestral elders."

  “A wastrel?" the first man repeated. “But the Wang Family's young master still accepted to marry her?"

  "Isn't it because of her beauty?" The man continued while making obscene finger movements.

  The conversation drifted into murmurs as they quieted down, exchanging dark humor before turning back to their breakfast.

  Zhen leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful. Politics. Clan disputes. Power plays. Some things never changed.

  A light set of footsteps interrupted his thoughts.

  Ning Xue came down the stairs, her expression as plain and steady as always. She was dressed in simple robes, her dark hair hanging loose down her back.

  For a brief, fleeting moment, Zhen felt a strange tension beneath his ribs — a sudden and ridiculous concern that she might have transformed into a beauty after a bath.

  She didn’t, of course. Thank whatever gods for that.

  But still…

  Two plates slid onto the table, pushed forward by a servant with a practiced lack of ceremony. Steam curled upward from a bowl of rice porridge and a plate of stir-fried vegetables.

  Zhen sat back, arms crossed loosely over his chest, chopsticks resting lazily between his fingers. His eyes flicked over to Ning Xue, who was quietly picking at her rice porridge.

  She ate with a curious mix of grace and raw edges — the initial food was prepared with unguarded roughness then it converted to the polished movements of a lady trained in propriety. Rough, efficient, graceful, and completely lacking in joy.

  For a fleeting second, Zhen wondered what kind of terrible past she had to have grown up with to eat like that. And then he realized he was overthinking again.

  “There’s a marriage happening in town," Zhen spoke idly, breaking the lull in conversation. “That’s probably why the inn is so busy."

  She lifted an eyebrow faintly, her expression unchanged. “Marriage?"

  "Are you interested?" Zhen’s tone was light, but there was a glint of curiosity beneath it. He wanted to see what marriage was like in this foreign land—and honestly, after the previous hectic day, a celebration didn’t sound so bad. With free food.

  “Sounds like trouble." Ning Xue hummed noncommittally, picking up her chopsticks. She didn’t look up, more intent on her porridge than entertaining any wistful notions about weddings.

  Ah—what?

  Zhen’s train of thought tumbled, derailing entirely. He had expected at least some kind of reaction — mild curiosity, maybe a bit of teasing, even a quiet blush. But… nothing? Just that detached, almost clinical response?

  Didn’t girls like this kind of thing?

  For a fleeting second, he considered pressing the topic — teasing her into giving him more — but the door to the inn creaked open.

  Zhen's instincts sharpened instantly, the spiritual presense of a strong cultivator washing over him. He casually looked toward the entrance — and immediately regretted it.

  Xu Mian.

  Ink-black hair fell across his forehead in loose strands, partially veiling a pale scar curving beneath his left eye. He moved with a lazy, unhurried gait that belied the razor-wire alertness in his eyes.

  For a moment... Zhen almost mistook it for the entrance of a hero — the way the door let in sunlight just so, how Xu Mian's silhouette stepped in like he owned the world, all effortless grace. Then he saw it — the gleam in those fox-eyes, that damned smirk already curling like smoke on his lips.

  Zhen exhaled slowly through his nose.

  Yeah. No hero here. Most definitely... the villain. The kind who compliments your sword just before sticking a poisoned needle in your ribs.

  Ning Xue’s looked up from her delicious meal and her chopsticks paused mid-motion. Her posture had already shifted, just slightly—a fraction of weight moved toward the edge of her chair, her free hand brushing the hem of her sleeve.

  Xu Mian’s eyes swept across the room, slow and casual. He looked like a man idly browsing a market stall, pretending to care little for what he saw—until his gaze found them.

  For a heartbeat, he stopped.

  And then, the change. That lazy smirk sharpened just enough to show teeth. His spine straightened a hair, the air around him tightening imperceptibly.

  That smile—Zhen knew it.

  "Is that bastard tracking us?" Zhen muttered under his breath.

  Ning Xue didn’t look up. “Doesn’t look like it. But you can never be sure…”

  “Right.” Zhen shifted slightly in his seat, the qi moving through the stars.

  Without waiting for an invitation, Xu Mian strode toward their table. As he passed a serving girl, he flicked a silver coin into the air with a snap of his fingers. "Hot tea. And whatever passes for decent breakfast here."

  And just like that, Xu Mian was beside them.

  The chair scraped loudly as Xu Mian dragged it from a nearby table and sat, casual as sin. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, but the way his body sank into the seat told Zhen he was already making himself at home.

  "You two always this quiet?"

  After a look, Ning Xue continued eating her breakfast.

  "Rude. It must be hard," Xu Mian continued, voice smooth as oiled silk. "Dragging a burden around like her. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, isn’t she?"

  What is he playing at? Zhen thought. Trying to dig a wedge between us? Stir up a crack, just wide enough for doubt to slip through?

  "Tch," Zhen said, the sound barely audible. "Say what you came to say. Or fight if you want to."

  Xu Mian tilted his head, then his gaze slid to Ning Xue.

  "Little girl, you’re really putting your brother in quite a spot. Why don’t you agree? Maybe I could arrange for you to be taken in under Velvetbliss."

  Ning Xue blinked. "Velvet…bliss?"

  Xu Mian smiled like he the fish had taken a hook. "Best place for the Water Spirit Roots in Abyssal Harmony Sect. Complete Heaven Grade Techniques."

  That attracted Ning Xue's attention, but Zhen quickly pulled her back. "It’s… popular. For certain kinds of cultivators."

  A pause. The understanding clicked.

  Thud. Ning Xue set her chopsticks down. Hard. "Pah," she snapped. "Who wants to be a painted flower in a garden?"

  Xu Mian laughed, tapping a finger against his scar. "Touchy. But I hear the accommodations are quite luxurious."

  Before Ning Xue could pull her sword from wherever it was hidden — the door creaked again.

  Now what? Zhen already going through the possibilities.