The stream sang in its constant rhythm when Yù Méi returned from the bank. Cold water still dripped from her hair, falling on her shoulders, running down the folds of the blue tunic her sister had given her. The blood was gone. The smell of iron and wet fur still lingered in her nostrils, but her hands were clean, her fists swollen, her knuckles marked with cuts that were already beginning to heal.
She expected to find the clearing as she had left it. The bear's carcass, that mountain of black flesh and dark blood, stretched in the middle of the camp like a grotesque trophy. Perhaps Zhì Yuǎn would examine it, perhaps her sister would comment on the strength she had shown. Perhaps, finally, they would see her as someone who was not left behind.
The clearing was clean.
Yù Méi stopped. Her eyes swept the packed earth, the dry leaves, the creeping grass. There was no blood. No fur. Nothing to indicate that, minutes before, a beast the size of two men had died there.
Her heart raced. Where…
The cart was parked at the entrance to the clearing, the horses calmly chewing grass. Yù Qíng sat on the driver's seat, legs crossed, a cup of tea balanced between her hands with her usual steadiness. Zhì Yuǎn, beside her, was paying attention to nothing. His eyes were on the sky, following the movement of the clouds as if deciphering an invisible code.
"The carcass," Yù Méi said, her voice coming out rougher than she intended. "Where…"
"It's there," Yù Qíng answered, tilting her chin toward the back of the cart.
Yù Méi circled the vehicle and saw.
The bear's hide was rolled like a carpet, the edges cut with a precision that seemed surgical. Not a single tear, not a single strand of fur out of place. It was as if the beast had been peeled from its own flesh in a continuous, perfect movement. The claws, four from each paw, were aligned on a thick cloth, each polished, each gleaming with an amber reflection that the sunlight made dance.
Yù Méi looked at her sister. Yù Qíng did not have a single drop of blood on her blue robes. Not a scratch, not a fold out of place. As if she had spent the morning drinking tea, not butchering a beast.
"How…" Yù Méi began, but her voice failed.
"Carefully," Yù Qíng answered, and the smile that spread across her lips was the same as always. Calm. Controlled. Divine. "You killed the beast, Méi. I merely collected what it left behind."
Yù Méi did not answer. She knelt beside the cart, touching the hide with her fingertips. It was thick, dense, still warm, as if the beast's Qi still pulsed there. The claws were heavy, heavier than they looked, and when she lifted them, she felt the Yang accumulated in them vibrate against her palm.
She looked at her own hands. Her fists were still swollen, her knuckles bleeding, her fingers trembling. Her sister did not have a mark. Her sister did not have a scratch. And yet, the work that would have taken Yù Méi hours to do, likely ruining the hide, breaking the claws, losing half of what was valuable, her sister had done in minutes. With the precision of one who knows no error.
She is a priestess, Yù Méi thought, as she carefully rolled the hide, as she aligned the claws on the cloth. And he is the god. And I…
She did not finish the thought. She did not know how.
"In this world," Yù Qíng said, as if reading her thoughts, "a true Magical Beast is a rarity. A creature that, like the transcendent cultivators, has condensed its own core. Its own Dantian."
"And the bear?"
"The bear was merely a beast of the deep forest. It absorbed Yang Qi by instinct, over time. Its muscles and bones reached the equivalent of Body Tempering. But there was no core. Nothing the merchants call a 'spiritual treasure.'"
"So it's worth nothing?"
Yù Qíng laughed. It was a low, hoarse laugh that made Yù Méi shiver.
"It's worth a great deal. To those who know what they're selling."
She picked up one of the claws, held it up to the sunlight.
"The hide, saturated with Qi, can be forged into light armor. More resistant than steel. The claws, dense, sharp, can become spear tips. Daggers that never lose their edge." She returned the claw to the cloth. "For the cultivators of this region, who spend their entire lives at Meridian Tempering, Tendon Tempering, Bone Tempering… this is more valuable than gold."
"And you know how to sell it?"
Yù Qíng looked at her husband. Her eyes, which moments before had been ice, warmed. Only a little. Only enough.
"I learned."
---
The stone road stretched before them like a gray river cutting through the ocean of grass. The prairie wind was constant, hot, carrying a smell Yù Méi had never experienced—spices, forge smoke, horse manure, and something more. Money. The city smelled of money.
The walls appeared first. Tall, wide, made of gray stone that gleamed in the morning sun. Watchtowers rose at every corner, and red flags fluttered at their tops, stamped with the symbol of a golden falcon. The gates were open, and a crowd flowed through them like ants in an anthill.
Yù Méi had never seen so many people.
Merchants in carts larger than theirs, their goods covered with colorful tarps. Men on horseback, armor gleaming, swords at their waists. Women in silk robes, their faces covered by veils the wind lifted, revealing jewels glinting in the sun. And cultivators. Men and women with swords on their backs, the posture of those who had never needed to bow, eyes that scanned the crowd with the coldness of those appraising prey.
Yù Méi felt their Qi. Weak. Sparse. Fireflies trying to compete with the sun.
"It is the first city of the Prairies," Zhì Yuǎn said, and his voice, always calm, now held a tone she did not recognize. It was not wonder. It was… hunger. "We will need new clothes."
Yù Qíng laughed.
"And a good bath." Her eyes met her sister's. "You smell of blood, Petal."
Yù Méi looked away. Her cheeks burned. Her hands trembled. And deep inside, in the darkness of her chest, the desire she had been trying to bury since the night before pulsed stronger than ever.
---
They left the cart at a stable near the gates. The owner, a short man with thin mustaches, widened his eyes when Zhì Yuǎn handed over a silver coin without asking for change. His eyes swept over the group's clothes, their posture, the beauty that transcended the human, and he said nothing. He only nodded, repeatedly, until they disappeared into the crowd.
The streets were wide, paved, lined with stone buildings that rose two, three, four stories. Fabric shops, jewelers, teahouses, temples. The sound of conversations was a constant buzz, and the smell of fresh bread, roasted meat, and dried flowers mixed into a cloud that made the eyes water.
Yù Méi walked between the two, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. A woman passed with a straw hat so wide it covered half her body. A man carried a cage with blue birds that sang like bells. Two children ran so close she felt the wind of their clothes.
"They look like…" she began, but did not know how to finish.
"Fish," Yù Qíng completed, and there was something in her tone that was not disdain. It was merely observation. "Fish in an aquarium. They do not know there is an ocean beyond."
Yù Méi looked at her sister. Her eyes were on Zhì Yuǎn, as always. But her words were for her.
"We knew," Yù Méi said, low.
"Yes." Yù Qíng smiled. "Now, let's teach them."
---
The Pavilion of the Golden Falcon was the largest building on the merchants' street. Three stories of polished stone, windows of clear glass (glass! Yù Méi had never seen clear glass), and a door of dark wood so tall that two men standing on each other's shoulders would not reach the lintel.
Inside, the air was heavy. It smelled of leather, of metal, of something Yù Méi could not name but recognized as money. Shelves of dark wood lined the walls, each with an object on top: a stone that glowed with its own light, a dried root that seemed alive, a sword whose edge gleamed like liquid silver.
The shop owner was a thin man, middle‑aged, dressed in blue silk, rings on his fingers. His eyes swept over the two women as they entered, lingered on Yù Qíng's beauty, on Yù Méi's contained strength, and stopped on the bundle they carried.
"Young ladies," he said, his voice smooth, velvety. "How may I help you?"
Yù Qíng did not answer. She simply opened the bundle of thick cloth on the polished wooden counter.
The bear hide unfurled like a black carpet, the fur gleaming under the lamplight. The claws spread beside it, four from each paw, aligned like the fingers of a hand.
The merchant's eyes widened. For an instant, his mask of courtesy slipped. Yù Méi saw the greed that bloomed on his face, the hunger, the quick calculation already appraising, weighing, measuring.
The instant passed. The mask returned.
"Dark bear hide," he said, his voice trying to be casual. "No sword holes. A good kill."
Yù Méi felt pride swell in her chest. She had killed it. She had brought down the beast with her own fists.
"But the claws are rustic," the merchant continued, picking one up, examining it with eyes that already knew what they wanted. "Body Tempering material is useful, yes. But it is not a magic core, young lady. I would give… a few dozen silver coins for everything."
Yù Méi felt her pride wither. A few dozen silver coins? She did not know how much a silver coin was worth, but she knew that hide, those claws, were worth more than what he offered.
She was about to open her mouth. To argue. To demand.
Yù Qíng was faster.
"Do not insult what I bring to market with your ignorance," she said, and her voice was soft. So soft it seemed like silk. But there was a coldness in it that made the merchant step back.
"Young lady, I did not…"
"This hide has no holes because the beast was killed by pure bone‑crushing force." Yù Qíng touched the black leather with her fingertips. "The Qi trapped within is perfectly sealed. Ideal for armor that your city guards would spend a lifetime trying to afford."
The merchant swallowed hard.
She lifted one of the claws. The lamplight reflected off the polished amber, dancing on the shop walls.
"The Yang accumulated in these claws has not dissipated. Forge this into a dagger, and it will cut through the steel sword of any Meridian‑tempering cultivator in this city."
The man did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the claws, on the hide, on the woman offering them. Something about her terrified him. Yù Méi felt it. Her sister's Qi was not contained. It was not hidden. It flowed from her like the tide, like gravity, like the certainty that the world bent before what she represented.
And the killing Qi leaking from Yù Méi, the impatience boiling in her muscles, the brute strength she had not yet learned to hide, completed the picture.
The merchant did not see two rustic huntresses. He saw two entities he could not measure. He saw Yù Qíng's aura, which did not belong to this world. He saw Yù Méi's strength, which did not belong to this body.
"One thousand gold coins," he said, his voice faltering. "And ten spirit stone fragments."
Yù Méi felt her eyes sting. One thousand gold coins. She did not know how much a gold coin was worth, but she knew it was a lot. More than her father had earned in his entire life. More than the whole village was worth.
Yù Qíng showed no emotion. She only nodded, took the pouch the merchant pushed across the counter, and rolled up the hide and claws with the same indifference with which she had brought them.
"Thank you," she said, and the smile that spread across her lips was the same as always. Calm. Controlled. Divine.
The merchant did not answer. He only watched the two leave, the gold pouch swinging in Yù Qíng's hand, Yù Méi's brute strength still vibrating in the air.
When the door closed, he let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his own life.
---
Outside, the afternoon sun painted the streets gold and shadow. Yù Méi walked beside her sister, the gold pouch weighing on her mind more than it would weigh in her hands.
"How did you know?" she asked, her voice low. "How did you know the price?"
Yù Qíng did not answer immediately. Her eyes were on the other side of the street, where Zhì Yuǎn sat in an open teahouse, his eyes fixed on the golden grass swaying beyond the city walls. His fingers traced patterns in the air, following the movement of the wind, deciphering the invisible threads that governed the world.
"It does not matter the place, Méi," she said at last. "The world is made of people trying to take advantage. Who see what you have and want to pay less than it is worth. Who see what you are and want to diminish you to fit what they understand."
She looked at her sister. Her black eyes shone with a light Yù Méi could not name.
"You only need to show them that you are sharper than the knife they try to use on you."
She handed the gold pouch to Yù Méi.
"Here. Carry this. Let's choose the inn where my husband will sleep."
Yù Méi held the pouch. It was heavy. Each coin was a small circle of gold that gleamed in her palm, and she thought of her father, who had spent his whole life counting copper coins. Thought of her mother, who had never asked for anything for herself. Thought of herself, who four years ago had nothing, who was the only one who could not.
And now, she thought, as she followed her sister down the busy street, as the gold weighed in her hands, as the prairie wind tossed her blonde hair, now I have more than they could ever dream. And this is only the beginning.
The smile that spread across her lips was not the smile of the Untouchable Petal. It was the smile of someone who had just discovered that the world was larger than she had imagined. And that she, finally, could reach it.
---