It was nearly half the day gone when they finally emerged from the woods. The sun hung high above, its light slipping through thick clouds in broken strands. Warmth and chill mingled in the air, leaving the breeze cool against the skin. The cart rattled on as the land gradually flattened, and before long, the low murmur of voices drifted toward them, carried softly on the wind.
"This is as far as I can take you," the merchant said as the cart rolled down onto the open ground. Before them stretched a vast inland waterway, wide and quiet, its surface swallowing the horizon.
"Lian City is just across," he added, nudging his chin toward a cluster of wooden skiffs resting along the shore. "You can ride one of those."
Dai An stared out at the water. A heavy fog clung to its surface, dense enough to swallow the far bank entirely. The land beyond might as well not have existed. His lips curled faintly before he jumped down from the cart.
"Thanks, old man," Dai An said, tossing him a few coins.
The merchant broke into a delighted grin. "Pleasure doing business with you, young man."
Dai An scoffed, though a smile tugged at his mouth. "Don't get used to it."
He waved once before walking off.
The shoreline was far from deserted—if anything, it thrummed with quiet life. People gathered along the water's edge, spread thin across its length: travelers, merchants, locals. Each waited beside a small boat, coming and going from countless points along the bank, crossing the water as part of a rhythm so familiar no one spared it a second thought.
It didn't take long before Dai An boarded one of the narrow skiffs, built for still waters rather than speed. As it pushed away from the shore, the fog closed in around him, damp and cold, blurring everything beyond a few arm-lengths. Pale silhouettes of other boats drifted in and out of sight. For a time, there was nothing but the soft creak of wood and the gentle lap of water against the hull.
Bored, Dai An let his gaze sink into the water below—clean, dark, and seemingly bottomless.
"How deep is it?" he asked, curiosity pricking at him as he wondered if he could simply swim across.
"Deep enough for a small child like you to drown," the ferryman replied, his tone lightly teasing.
Dai An rolled his eyes. "Very funny," he said, unable to hide the irritation in his voice.
"I bet I'm a better swimmer than you," he added, crossing his arms with open confidence.
The ferryman only shook his head at Dai An's cheekiness.
Not long after, the fog began to thin.
Voices drifted through the clearing air, first faint, then growing louder as shapes emerged. The pale emptiness gave way to a dense gathering of boats, drifting slow and heavy with cargo. Merchants leaned between vessels, passing crates and baskets by hand. Shouts rang out—prices called, deals struck, laughter and complaints blending into a steady roar.
Dai An watched with unhidden awe.
It was the first time he had ever seen a marketplace built upon water.
The ferryman threaded his way through the clustered boats with practiced ease, guiding the skiff forward until it nudged softly against a wooden jetty. Dai An tossed him the last of his remaining coins before leaping onto the planks.
As his feet met solid ground, a faint, uncomfortable chill crept up his back. The air here felt cooler than the road he had left behind, though the sun still hung high overhead. He paused only briefly before moving on, weaving through the waterside market, past merchants and travelers, until the crowd thinned and Lian City's gate rose before him.
It was grand and finely crafted, yet not ostentatious like the gates of larger cities he had seen. The gates stood open, unobstructed—no guards, no inspections—as though welcoming anyone who wished to enter.
Yet as he stepped inside, the noise of the market fell away, and the warmth he had expected did not quite follow.
For a city of its size, Lian was quiet. People spoke softly. Children kept their laughter low, and even the vendors—usually the loudest—conducted their business in calm, measured tones. The city moved as though it drifted, slow and steady, much like the thin mist lingering between its streets. No rush. No hurry.
Dai An considered asking someone for directions to the Xu Clan, but each time the thought surfaced, it faded again. The expressions he passed—tired, subdued, visible even beneath polite smiles—gave him pause.
As he rounded a corner, his heart nearly leapt from his chest.
A group of pale figures in white robes moved through the crowd, their steps aligned, their presence oddly seamless. For a brief, foolish moment, Dai An thought he was staring at spirits—something he didn't even believe in—until one of them spoke calmly to a nearby townsfolk.
He let out a slow breath. People, he told himself. Of course they're people.
"Why am I acting so jumpy," he muttered under his breath, huffing quietly.
From the corner of his eye, he watched them pass. Their faces were far paler than anyone he had ever seen, their robes identical in cut and color. Even their long black hair was styled the same way, tied neatly at the center, as though copied from a single mold.
It felt less like a group and more like a single figure reflected over and over again.
Townsfolk bowed slightly as they passed. Then Dai An caught a glimpse of it—a Jingzhe token dangling at their waist, half hidden beneath white fabric.
His nose scrunched without him meaning to. The sight unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite explain, and he turned his gaze forward, continuing down the main road.
*****
He didn't know when he first noticed her, but somewhere along the busy road, Dai An caught sight of a girl standing off to the side. She looked a little older than him, her arms filled with thick stacks of flyers. A bright smile was fixed on her face as she greeted passersby cheerfully, offering the flyers with one hand.
Unfortunately, not a single person seemed to pay her any mind. They didn't even spare her a glance, moving past as if she weren't there at all.
A faint pang settled in Dai An's chest as he watched.
"Our shop's noodles are the best in town! Come and try them!" the girl called brightly, holding out another flyer.
Someone brushed past her shoulder. Another passed without slowing, nearly knocking her aside. Again and again, she was ignored—completely, deliberately.
Dai An clenched his fist without realizing it. There was no need to be that rude. Even if she was just a shop girl, that didn't mean she deserved to be treated like air.
Yet the girl didn't seem affected in the slightest. As though nothing had happened, she lifted her head again, her smile unchanged, and turned to offer a flyer to the next townsfolk with the same excitment.
Dai An huffed.
So this was Lian City—polite on the surface, yet arrogant underneath. If they weren't interested, the least they could do was acknowledge her. Ignoring someone as if they didn't matter left a bitter taste in his mouth.
His irritation simmered as he continued down the road.
When he finally walked past her, their eyes met briefly. Dai An paused just long enough to give her a small nod and a polite smile.
He didn't have the money to visit her shop, but his mother had always told him that even a smile could count for something.
The reaction was immediate.
The girl's eyes widened like a plump, lighting up as if she'd just spotted treasure. Her smile somehow grew brigther, if thats even possible, as she grabbed Dai An's wrist and shoved a flyer into his hand.
"Young master! Come visit our shop! I guarantee you won't regret it!" she said, beaming like summer sunlight as she tugged him away from the main road and toward a nearby storefront.
"W–wait, I don't—" Dai An stammered, completely caught off guard by the sudden enthusiasm.
"My grandfather makes the noodles!" She said excitedly as she pushed the shop door open.
"Sister, I don't have money!" he insisted, digging in his heels, but the girl kept pulling him along with surprising strength.
"And I'm telling you, he's the best noodle maker in all of Lian! Even I can't get enough!" she continued cheerfully, rattling on as if she hadn't heard a single word he said.
"Stop it! I told you I have no money!" Dai An tried again, but she only kept talking to herself, ignoring him.
She's really not listening, he realized, a faint sense of dread creeping in.
Before he could do more, he was already seated at a table.
"I'm sor—"
"One bowl of noodles!" the girl called out happily, cutting him off as she darted toward the kitchen.
Dai An nearly cursed.
***
Since the girl had been talking without pause, spilling her words one after another like a water fountain, Dai An hadn't spared the shop a single glance. It was only after she slipped away into the kitchen that the quiet began to press in around him.
He looked around.
The place was completely empty, not a single customer in sight. A thin layer of dust rested along parts of the shelves and windowsills, faint but noticeable. The furniture didn't appear especially old, yet the edges of the tables were darkened with scorch marks, as though they had seen years of heavy use before ending up here—perhaps bought secondhand.
Dai An's fingers twitched at his side, a tightness forming in his chest.
He was familiar with this feeling—the sense of trying to keep something alive, of putting in effort day after day only to watch things slip through one's grasp again and again.
His fists slowly clenched. If only he had enough money—enough to ease the burden on people like this. But no matter how much he wanted to help, he didn't even have a single coin to his name. Compared to this quiet, struggling shop, his own situation felt no better.
With a muted sigh, Dai An pushed himself to his feet. He needed to make the girl listen to him.
"I'm sorry about my granddaughter," a voice suddenly came from right behind him.
Dai An nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around so fast he felt his thoughts slosh inside his head like soup in a bowl.
Standing there was an old woman, smiling gently at him.
He bit the inside of his cheek. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed her approach at all.
"Uh… I'm sorry. I didn't see you there," Dai An said, a touch of guilt and embarrassment slipping into his voice.
The old woman didn't seem offended in the slightest. She smiled warmly at him, her expression calm and unhurried. There was a quiet serenity in her eyes—one that settled over Dai An before he realized it, easing the tightness in his chest.
"It's been a while since we've had any customers," the grandmother said as she took a seat at the round table. "I suppose she became a little too eager when she saw you," she added with a faint smile.
Dai An glanced toward the kitchen.
It wasn't fully separated from the dining area—only a waist-high wooden counter divided the space. Beyond it, steam rose steadily from a large pot set over a low flame, drifting upward before thinning into the rafters.
An old man stood behind the counter.
His back was slightly bent, his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. His movements were unhurried but practiced, as though he had been doing this his entire life. A ladle dipped into the simmering broth, lifted, then tilted. The liquid streamed back into the pot in a soft arc. Beside him, pale strands of noodles rested on a floured board, waiting.
The girl stood at his side, continuing her never-ending chatter. The old man didn't respond, yet he didn't seem bothered by it either. A gentle smile lingered on his face as he gathered the noodles with careful fingers and lowered them into the boiling water. The surface rippled quietly.
The fire crackled. The pot murmured.
Dai An found himself watching longer than he intended. On a nearby counter sat several prepared bowls of noodles, untouched—perhaps cold by now. His gaze softened. He wished, however faintly, that he could help them.
He turned back to the grandmother. "I'm really sorry, but I truly don't have any money," Dai An said.
He wasn't embarrassed by his empty pocket anymore. He only felt regret.
The old grandmother looked slightly taken aback.
Dai An would rather walk out on his own before they had the chance to chase him away. But just as he shifted his weight to leave, his stomach rumbled loudly.
He closed his eyes.
What timing.
The grandmother's smile returned. "You seem rather hungry. Why don't you sit back down and try our food?"
Dai An let out a heavy sigh, a hint of impatience slipping through. "I told you, I don't have any money on me."
"It's fine," the grandmother said gently. "Just having someone eat our food is enough for us."
Dai An blinked several times. He almost thought he had misheard.
"Wh–what?" he stammered.
The offer was strange—yet painfully tempting, especially as his stomach growled again, louder this time. Still, he knew better than to take advantage of someone else's hardship. They hadn't sold a single bowl all day, and now they were offering one for free. He couldn't bring himself to accept that so easily.
The grandmother seemed to notice his hesitation. "You don't have to worry. We truly don't mind."
When she saw that he still hesitated, her expression dimmed just slightly. "Of course… you don't have to if you don't want to."
Hearing the faint note of disappointment in her voice, Dai An quickly shook his head. "No, it's not that I don't want to. It's just… I don't want to eat for free," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.
The grandmother tilted her head slightly, as if understanding at once what troubled him. "If it bothers you so much, you can pay once you have the money," she said.
Dai An looked up at her. "I–is that really okay?"
She nodded, offering him a reassuring smile.
"Come, sit down," she said, gesturing to the seat across from her. "You look like you've traveled a long way. You must be starving."
Dai An shifted awkwardly before sitting down, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.
Not long after, the girl returned with a bowl of noodles, placing it happily in front of Dai An before hurrying back outside—likely to continue handing out flyers. The old man, meanwhile, had already returned to making another batch of noodles as though it was his only purpose—even without a single other customer in sight.
Dai An lowered his gaze to the steaming bowl before him and for a moment he forgot to breathe.
It looks amazing.
The broth was clear yet rich in color, a deep amber that caught the light. Thin ribbons of oil shimmered on the surface. Nestled within were pale strands of noodles, smooth and slightly translucent, coiled neatly beneath slices of tender meat. A handful of chopped scallions floated on top, bright against the warm hues, and the scent rising from the bowl was gentle but full—savory, comforting, with a depth that made his stomach tighten.
As if in response, his stomach rumbled again, louder than before, urging him to stop staring and simply eat.
Dai An glanced up at the grandmother, silently seeking permission. She met his gaze and nodded with a gentle smile, motioning for him to begin.
He didnt wait any longer.
Picking up his chopsticks, Dai An lifted a portion of noodles and brought them to his mouth.
The flavor spread across his tongue the moment he tasted it.
The broth was deep and layered, warm without being heavy. There was a subtle sweetness beneath the savoriness, something slow-cooked and patient. The noodles were perfectly firm, springy between his teeth, holding just enough of the broth to carry its richness with every bite. Even the simplest garnish seemed to brighten the whole bowl.
He stilled for half a heartbeat, it was the best thing he had ever tasted. He hadn't known food could taste like this, its almost surreal.
"This is really good!" he said, unable to hide the grin tugging at his lips.
He bent over the bowl again without hesitation, noodles disappearing quickly between his chopsticks.
"No—really, this is very good!" he insisted, as if he hadn't made himself clear enough.
The grandmother chuckled softly at his reaction. "Slow down, child, or you'll choke," she said kindly.
Whatever came out of Dai An's mouth in response was little more than incoherent mumbling, his words lost between hurried bites as he continued devouring the noodles without pause.
The grandmother watched him with a tender, almost proud smile, as though simply seeing him eat was enough to satisfy her.
"Where did you come from, child?" she asked after a moment. "I don't recall seeing you around this city before."
Dai An swallowed his mouthful before answering. "I'm not from here. I came from Beiyue," he said, scratching lightly at his cheek. "Got dropped off not too far from the waterway."
The grandmother nodded slowly, as if that explained more than it should have.
"And what would a young boy like you be doing so far from home?" she asked, her curiosity gentle rather than prying. After a brief pause, she added, "Could you be a Jingzhe?"
Dai An nearly choked.
He cleared his throat, shaking his head. "No, no," he said. "I came here to… learn to be one, I guess. So—not yet a Jingzhe."
"I see," the grandmother said, her expression softening with a quiet understanding. "We've had many young boys and girls pass through here over the years. All hoping to become one."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, thoughtful. "I think you'll make a fine Jingzhe one day."
This time, Dai An actually choked on the broth.
The grandmother quickly poured him a glass of water and pushed it toward him. Dai An grabbed it gratefully, drinking in quick gulps before setting it down with a small thud.
He let out a disbelieving laugh, waving a hand as if to brush the idea away. "That's impossible. Spirits don't even ex—"
He stopped.
The words died in his throat.
It was one thing to say that back home. Saying it here—in Lian City, where the Xu Clan resided—was something else entirely.
Dai An glanced up at the grandmother, a flicker of unease crossing his face, unsure if he had overstepped.
The grandmother's eyes widened slightly, as though turning his words over in her mind. Then, to his surprise, she let out a small, amused laugh.
"You don't believe spirits exist?" she asked.
Dai An immediately waved his hands, a little too quickly. "No—that's not what I meant. I just… haven't seen anything myself," he said, trying to piece his words back together. "I didn't mean any disrespect."
The grandmother looked at him for a long moment, her gaze gentle, though something quieter—something knowing—rested beneath it.
"Still," she said at last, "regardless of what you believe… I think you would make a good Jingzhe."
Dai An scratched the back of his head, offering a sheepish smile, like a child caught reaching into a jar he shouldn't have.
"Thank you," he said after a moment. "I just… want to be of help to people who need it."
This time, his voice carried more sincerity than he expected.
It didn't take long afterwards before the bowl was completely empty.
Dai An let out a small, satisfied sound as he set his chopsticks down.
The grandmother looked at him fondly, as though he were one of her own grandchildren. "Would you like some more, child?" she asked gently.
Heat rose to Dai An's cheeks. Truthfully, he wanted more. One bowl of something this good hardly felt like enough.
"N–no, that's enough," he said, though the embarrassment in his voice betrayed him.
The grandmother chuckled. "Don't be shy. Besides, my husband made plenty." She pushed herself up slowly, one hand braced against the table as she turned toward the counter.
"I'll get it myself," Dai An said quickly, standing at once. Her steps were small and slightly unsteady; he didn't have the heart to make her walk.
She gave him a grateful smile and sat back down. "I'm sorry about that."
"No, no, it's fine. I should be the one thanking you," Dai An replied.
He approached the counter, and as if already expecting him, the old man had another steaming bowl ready.
"Thank you, sir," Dai An said as he picked it up carefully.
The old man didn't answer. He was focused on lowering another bundle of noodles into the boiling water. His movements were steady, almost gentle, as though each motion mattered. The faint smile on his face wasn't forced or distracted—it was quiet, content. There was something in the way he worked, in the patience of it, that made it clear he wasn't simply cooking out of necessity.
He loved this.
Dai An paused, watching him for a moment. Warmth stirred faintly in his chest at the sight of it—someone doing something with such simple, unwavering devotion.
With a small smile of his own, he turned away, not wanting to interrupt.
Cradling the bowl, he walked back to the table.
***
They continued to chat as Dai An devoured his bowl. The grandmother spoke at length about Nanyang, her voice carrying a quiet nostalgia, which Dai An understood very well—elders often spoke like that, as if gently tracing the past with their words, reminiscing about the good old times. It reminded him of the elders in his own village.
By the time they finished, Dai An was already on his third bowl. Even he knew he couldn't keep accepting their kindness like this.
The grandmother kept talking as she walked him toward the front of the shop. Dai An instinctively slowed his pace for her, though she didn't seem to need it, keeping up with him more easily than he expected.
"Where's your granddaughter?" Dai An suddenly asked, glancing around. The doorway was empty now—no sign of the girl who had been standing there earlier, shouting brightly and handing out flyers.
"She's somewhere about," the grandmother replied. "Why do you ask?" she added, not hiding her curiosity.
"Ah, it's nothing," Dai An said, scratching the back of his head, a little flustered. "I just wanted to thank her… for dragging me in here. I mean—" he let out a small, awkward laugh, "I got free food out of it."
"But!" he quickly added, straightening his back, "I'll come back and repay it!"
"…once I start earning money, of course," he finished more quietly, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.
The grandmother chuckled warmly. "Don't worry about that," she said, her expression soft and maternal. "Just focus on your studies. I'm sure you'll become more than just a spirit hunter."
Dai An tilted his head. "More than a spirit hunter?" he repeated, turning the words over slowly. Then his eyes brightened like little stars. "You mean I could be something else?!"
The words slipped out more eagerly than he had intended.
If there was another path—other than pretending to chase spirits—then maybe he could make a living without tricking oblivious people.
The thought excited him more than it should.
The grandmother only smiled, calm and knowing. "When the time comes, I'm sure you'll figure it out yourself."
Dai An tilted his head the other way, then let out a small breath.
If she wanted to be mysterious, then so be it.
"Ah—right!" he suddenly said, tapping his forehead as something came back to him. "Do you know where the Xu Clan is? I haven't been able to ask anyone."
"The Xu Clan…" the grandmother repeated, pausing as if digging into old memories. "They're on the northern side of Lian. Keep walking until you find a large bridge. Once you cross it, you should come across their guards. I'm sure they'll guide you from there."
"The guards, huh…" Dai An muttered under his breath.
Somehow, that didn't sound very comforting.
He shook his head lightly, brushing the thought aside, then bowed deeply to the grandmother.
"Thank you very much for your kindness!"
He straightened, then flashed her a bright smile. "I promise I'll repay it tenfold!"
The grandmother let out a soft laugh at his earnestness.