Old Guard Wei's voice dripped with respect. "Young Daoist Lu, may this old man present First Young Mistress Lin Xue and Second Young Mistress Lin Mei."
Lin Xue stepped forward gracefully despite the dirt smudged on her robes. "Young Daoist Lu, this one is eternally grateful. Without your intervention..." She shuddered. Her eyes fixed on his face.
The air got warmer.
Shut up.
Lin Mei bounced forward and grabbed Lu Chen's arm with both hands. "That was amazing! You just—twook! And his face! Did you see his face when you called him—" She dissolved into giggles.
Something soft pressed against Lu Chen's arm.
Don't.
"Lin Mei," Lin Xue chided, fighting a smile.
Lu Chen smiled too. "It was nothing special."
"Nothing special?" Lin Mei's eyes went wide. "You took down seven men! You punched their boss so hard he saw the ancestors! You called him shit face to his face and he just stood there like a—a—"
"Like a stunned fish," Lin Xue offered.
"Yes! Like a stunned fish!" Lin Mei laughed. "Sister, did you see his face when he tried to count his men?"
Lin Xue's lips twitched. "I saw."
I know.
I'm being polite.
---
A guard—wiry, with a broken nose—approached. "Young Daoist," he said, bowing. "This one is called Zhao. This one saw what you did. With the bandits. The big one. The one with the scar—"
"You mean Salt's owner?" Lu Chen asked.
The guard blinked. "Salt?"
"The sword. He named his sword Salt."
Zhao stared. Then he started laughing. "He named his sword Salt!"
Another guard—stocky, with eyebrows like caterpillars—joined in. "He apologized to it! After he dropped it! He said sorry!"
"I heard that!" cried a third guard. "He said 'I'm sorry, Salt' like the sword could hear him!"
"Maybe it could," Zhao said. "Maybe Salt was the true mastermind."
"Salt," the caterpillar-eyebrow guard repeated, shaking his head. "What kind of parent names their child Salt?"
"Maybe he was born during a meal," Zhao offered.
"Or maybe his mother just really liked seasoning."
"Imagine being named Salt. Imagine growing up and becoming a bandit and still being called Salt."
"Imagine your parents could have named you anything and they chose Salt."
"Imagine naming your daughter Biscuit."
"Or your son Ash. As in ash from burnt charcoal."
Lu Chen chimed in. "You know, if you add 'in' to Dust, you'll have a unique name called Dustin."
The guards turned to stare at him.
"Dustin?" the caterpillar-eyebrow guard said slowly. "You mean dusting?"
"No, Dustin. Like Dust but with 'in' at the end."
"So... dusting."
"No, DUSTIN. Like—" Lu Chen paused. "Actually, yeah. It is just dusting."
"Who would name their child dusting?" Zhao asked.
"Someone who really hates their kid."
"Or someone who really likes cleaning."
"Imagine being named Dustin. Imagine introducing yourself. 'Hi, I'm Dustin.' And people just think you're about to clean their house."
"Better than being named Biscuit."
"Is it though?"
"Biscuit is a food. Dustin is a chore."
"I'd rather be neither."
"Then you should've been named Neither."
"Better than Dustin."
"You're both idiots."
The guards dissolved into laughter.
---
Lin Xue approached with a bowl. "You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
She sat beside him anyway. Placed the bowl in his lap. "You fought for us."
Lu Chen sighed and took a bite. They sat in silence.
"You're not from around here," Lin Xue said.
"No."
"Why are you wandering the Bloodvine Forest alone?"
"Training. I need to get stronger."
"Stronger than you already are?"
Lu Chen glanced at her. "Much stronger."
Lin Xue studied his face. "My father always said the strongest cultivators are the ones who know they're weak."
Lu Chen smirked. "Your father sounds wise."
"He's dead."
The fire popped. An owl called.
"I'm sorry," Lu Chen said.
Lin Xue shook her head. "Years ago. But thank you." She paused. "You remind me of him a little."
I take myself very seriously, Lu Chen thought.
Across the fire, Zhao elbowed the caterpillar-eyebrow guard. "Look at that. The young Daoist and the first young mistress. Under the stars."
"The bowl is also there," the guard grunted.
"The bowl isn't part of it."
"The bowl is definitely part of it."
Lin Mei watched them with narrowed eyes. She caught her sister's gaze and wiggled her eyebrows. Then she snorted.
Lin Xue's ears turned pink.
The bowl remained aggressively neutral. Truly shameless.
---
Morning came cold and pale. Lu Chen woke early.
I know.
I know.
I KNOW.
Zhao was already up, poking the fire with a stick. The stick looked tired. The stick deserved a raise.
"Young Daoist!" Zhao called out. "Sleep well? I slept great! Didn't even dream about bandits! Well, I did, but they were small and I was very tall—"
"Zhao," the caterpillar-eyebrow guard said. "It's too early."
"It's never too early for conversation!"
"It's definitely too early for you."
Old Guard Wei approached. "Young Daoist Lu, we are preparing to depart. Might this old man inquire about your destination?"
"The Sky-Reaching Sect."
Wei's eyebrows rose. "What a coincidence. We are traveling toward the Jade Cloud Sect. It lies in the same direction. The young mistresses have been invited to join their ranks." A pause. "If you would permit us to accompany you—safety in numbers—we would be honored."
Lu Chen said nothing.
Jade Cloud Sect.
The sect of Liu Yuxin.
The girl the original Lu Chen had crossed a forbidden region for. Returned broken and bleeding with a spirit herb in his shaking hands.
The girl whose family had accepted the herb. Activated her Ice King Physique. Returned the betrothal token in the same week.
The girl who had watched him get thrown away like something that had served its purpose.
And said nothing.
The least I can do, he thought, is make sure someone answers for what happened to him.
It's fine.
"Young Daoist?" Wei asked carefully. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing." Lu Chen looked at the road ahead. "Let's move."
He walked. The guards fell into formation behind him. Zhao's waterskin sloshed. The tent fluttered one last time. The fire sighed into embers.
---
The clearing fell silent.
A shadow detached from the old oak. It had been there the whole time—still, patient, part of the bark. Watching the humans. Drifting. Searching. Unable to pick out a single person from the group. Too many. Too strong. Too alert.
Then it saw the sword.
Salt.
A faint fragrance drifted from the blade—something warm, savory, almost like food seasoning. The shadow paused. Sniffed. Lingered.
It smelled delicious.
Long limbs uncurled. Too many joints bent in ways that shouldn't work. Hunger that had watched and waited finally found something worth taking.
SCHLURP.
Salt was gone.
[TO BE CONTINUED...]