#bwn

I've come to realize I really like drawing characters' side view

And also... Here's a shirtless version...

Plus a suspiciously familiar dancer

TEEEEHEHEHEHEHEH GIGGLES KICKS MY FEET OKAY OKAY SO. To the right is Qiji (in Luqiang's body). To the left is... sigh... Syao...

Two demon lords and a mother of 1 (one) on my screen

Chapter 5

“The Shan Yao city walls loomed behind them, great grey stones stacked high and kissed by pale light against the setting of spring morning's slow birth. Overhead, the sky was invigorated with the soft fire of the rising sun, its golden sheen slipping between scatterings of sleepy clouds, painting the world in hues of rose and vermillion.”

“Two figures leading a steed moved along the crumbling path beyond the city's edge, their steps swift but careful, heads kept low. They slipped through a crumbling gap in the brickwork where moss grew as if parasitic, sustaining its growth on the mineral. Beyond the threshold, the world opened — a sprawl of untamed ground.”

“One was clad in robes of deepest black hugging an undershirt of bright fuchsia, embroidered with bold flashes of gold and silver—dragons twisting through smoky veils, thunder splitting heavens. His hair, belting in waves, white as bone marrow, caught the morning light in gleaming strands, whipping about his sharp features. Obscuring the fine details in shadow was a large bamboo hat with a veil of black cloth sewn into , one recently found on his cinematic getaway. Beside him walked another, robed in plain marble-white, the cloth soft and unadorned save for the simple cut of its folds and its collection of clinking trinkets along the belt. His auburn hair framed a face serene, content and unreadable, his black eyes reflecting the waking world like still pools of ink.”

“They crossed fields littered with dew, where thin tendrils of mist clung stubbornly to the blades of grass. The air carried with it the scent of bamboo shoots and fresh blooms. The spring breeze fluttered their sleeves and set the tall grasses whispering. Ahead, the land split open into a gaping ravine, assortments of cliffs jutting like broken teeth toward the sky. As if they were snakes slithering their way up to swallow the sun in a single gulp, thin, steep paths consisting of blocky boulders, molten amber and overgrowths marked the way to climb. Cliffs towered on either side, their jagged faces veiled in creeping ivy and crowned with wind-bent pines. Shadows still pooled in the depths of the gorge, untouched by sunlight. The underside of clouds curled along the stone faces, swirling with the passing wind. Step by step, the city’s voices of anger fell away behind them: no more clatter of carts, no more barking vendors, no more chanting monks. Only the cry of a distant hawk and soft scuff of boots on stone.”

For as long as Yunzhuo could keep himself silent.

“I really didn't mean to cause any trouble when telling the locals about Rascal, I mean it, Daozhang… I might've been a bit worked up at that moment, but I hadn't thought that the old woman would rally the entire town to go hunt you down!” He kept his volume low enough to avoid drawing attention, but it came out in a kind of frantic whisper-shout. “Honestly, Daozhang, I was just a little… flustered. I didn’t think that old granny would get the whole damn town to form a mob and start hunting you down!”

Qiji didn’t respond immediately. His eyes drifted toward the horizon, scanning the overgrown road ahead, as if he were more interested in the half-faded signs that lined the exit from the city than anything Yunzhuo had to say.

“Hm,” he finally intoned. Not so much a reply as it was a vocal shrug.

Yunzhuo grimaced. He wasn’t sure if that meant Qiji didn’t care or if he was just choosing not to. Either way, it didn't make him feel any better. He quickened his step, circling around slightly to catch Qiji’s attention.

“I’m telling you the truth, I mean it! But really, shouldn’t I be the one who’s angry right now?” He gestured at himself in exasperation. “I’m not the one who stole a horse!”

That got a reaction.

Qiji stopped walking, just like that—an abrupt halt that made Yunzhuo nearly trip over his own feet. Slowly, Qiji turned his head, his gaze falling on Yunzhuo with the sharp, unreadable stillness of a predator just before it pounces. His eyes were shadowed beneath the brim of his hat except for a glaring red pupil, and for a moment, Yunzhuo felt a prickle of cold sweat form at the back of his neck.

Their eyes met, and Yunzhuo faltered. Something simmered behind Qiji’s gaze—something not quite anger, but certainly not approval. Yunzhuo quickly looked away, nerves jangling.

What is with this guy? Yunzhuo pondered to himself. He couldn't help but feel morbidly curious about him. He could get over being cheated, but if he'd left him behind in the city, the nagging at the back of his mind would never have quieted down. His cultivation was clearly high, but he couldn't tell if he was on par with a Master or not. He'd bet his money on the fact that they were on equal footing, which didn't bode well for Yunzhuo. There had to be some way to crack him that didn't equate to becoming the victim of a gruesome murder.

“...You said you're a Temple Master.” Qiji figured the title was something akin to a supervisor or manager in work terms, so he didn't feel too out of his element. No matter the time period, hierarchies will always reign supreme, Qiji annotated.

“You remember that?” Yunzhuo exclaimed in surprise. He had been almost fully convinced that his travel companion could not care less for his aimless ramblings. Could it be the case that the truth was not so? Then, what?

“Yes.” Qiji answered simply. You're like a treasure valve of information, and you're not even trying to hide it. Thanks to your blabbermouth, I've already become knowledgeable enough of this place to have a general layout down.

The wind tugged at the edges of his robe as they crested a bend in the path, dust curling up around their boots. The city behind them had nearly vanished into the mountain’s shadow, and the trees lining the old trail thickened, casting long silhouettes in the late afternoon light.

“Well…” Yunzhuo ran a hand through his wind-tousled hair, attempting a modest shrug that came off more sheepish than proud. “That is true. I am the Temple Master of Baifeng Peak.”

Qiji slowed to a near stop, his footsteps deliberately measured. His expression had cooled even further—if that were possible—like the surface of a lake right before it freezes. “Then why are you bothering to deal with me?”

“W–what?” Yunzhuo blinked, thrown off. He stumbled another step before catching up, gaze darting toward Qiji’s face.

“Allow me to rephrase. Why would a renowned cultivating genius spend his precious free time with a stranger of unknown origin?” Qiji's hand hovered over his hip, dangerously close to a hidden sword hilt hidden under his robes. “What do you want from me?”

“I- I only-”

“Cut the horseshit.” As if on cue, Rascal—trotting idly a few paces behind—let out a disgruntled snort, stamping a hoof against the rocky path.

Qiji’s gaze didn’t waver. “Esteemed Lao Yunguang… What is it that you seek from me?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Yunzhuo laughed—a thin, wavering sound, meant to dismiss tension but failing miserably. He lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. “It seems you’re starting to doubt our noble companionship, Daozhang. But I assure you, it’s not what you’re thinking. I sincerely just—”

“What companionship?” Qiji’s interruption was immediate and icy, like a blade sliding from its sheath.

Yunzhuo flinched at the words, then dropped his smile. His brows knitted, and his stance subtly shifted—feet grounding themselves more firmly in the dirt. “...Fine. If that’s how it’s going to be.” Yunzhuo heightened his guard and widened his footing. One palm lowering toward his waist while the other hovered at chest level—classic preparation for a defensive draw. “If you don't believe me, consider it a way to pay me back for stealing my horse.”

“I already did.” Qiji insisted matter-of-factly. His stance hadn’t changed, but his gaze sharpened, glinting with scrutiny.

“For the dastardly action, yes. But you have not repaid your debt of emotional turmoil to me—I was left in disarray, abandoned…”

Qiji made a sound that might have been a laugh or a tsk—it was hard to tell. He looked away, brows pinched faintly.

Yunzhuo tilted his head. Maybe it wasn't going to be as easy as he thought… But then, he got an idea! A gleam of confidence snuck into his expression as he proudly declared, “Daozhang. There’s much you don’t know about our pugilistic world yet, isn’t there?”

Something flickered across Qiji’s face—barely there, but Yunzhuo caught it. A flinch, subtle and involuntary. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

How…? Qiji was unsure how to take that.

Got him, Yunzhuo thought.

“You are still in need of a guide. I can fill that role for you, in exchange for the simple promise of your camaraderie,” he continued, voice gentler now, persuasive. “It's not a bad trade. What do you care for what intentions I harbor? That's not why you're here, right?”

“What you're proposing sounds like a business deal to me.”

“You could call it that,” Yunzhuo said with a grin, shrugging again. “We're both getting something out of it, aren't we?”

Qiji was silent for a moment, gaze sliding toward the horizon, then back to Yunzhuo. The wind picked up again, rustling the branches overhead.

“In that case…” Qiji murmured, his voice low and unreadable.

A soft, mechanical chime pierced the stillness.

Without warning, a translucent panel flickered into existence in front of Qiji, hovering in midair like a summoned spirit. Its edges glowed faintly in a muted gold, casting a faint light across the shadows of the trees. The interface was minimalistic: just a simple line of text and two options displayed beneath it.

[Requirements have been met. Main Quest: GUIDED HAND has been unlocked.]

Would you like to begin?

[YES] — [NO]

The familiar calm voice of the Narrator echoed somewhere between thought and sound, neither entirely external nor internal—its presence as unnervingly natural as breath.

Qiji stared at the prompt for a moment, unmoved. Then, he exhaled softly—less a sigh and more a quiet acknowledgement to him, if he were to be listening, that he recognized he had no choice.

“...Sure,” he said, lips curling into a faint smirk betraying bemusement. “Why not.”

Proving it had taken that as an answer, the [YES] option made a faint clicking noise before the panel disappeared altogether with a gentle flicker. As if it had never been there at all.

Yunzhuo, however, didn’t seem reassured. He peered at Qiji with squinted eyes, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“That’s good and all, but…” He paused, chewing his words like they tasted strange in his mouth. “Something tells me, Daozhang… that your intentions might not be entirely pure.”

Qiji turned his head slowly, the full weight of his gaze settling on Yunzhuo. His expression was as composed as ever, but his eyes… sharp, glinting with something unknowable, something a little too still.

Yunzhuo faltered. “Maybe it’s your eyes,” he muttered. “They’re just so…”

Qiji’s voice dropped, smooth and cold as drawn steel. His eyes widened faintly, enough to warn. “Go on.”

The space between them seemed to tense, like a bow pulled taut. Yunzhuo chuckled nervously and awkwardly raised both hands in a placating gesture. “...Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

Hahaha, please stop looking at me like a piece of meat… he thought, heart picking up speed.

Qiji’s gaze lingered a second longer, then turned away, as though deciding—for now—not to press further. It's been a while since someone commented on my looks like that. I can't believe I almost got mad—that would've been unnecessary. He probably didn't mean anything by it. I can't blame him for being curious. I probably look like something out of a storybook for him.

Anyway, this is for the best. I'm not sure how well I'd do trying to ride on a sword—if that is true, as I'd assumed—so I'll just settle for the second best option. I have no idea where I'll get a horse in the wild, so going with him might actually be good for quicker transportation.

“Ahem… That is to say, Daozhang…” Yunzhuo started.

Oh, here he goes again.

“...There will be a small fee.”

Qiji raised an eyebrow. Without as much as another moment to question him, he'd already begun to reach inside of his sleeve to retrieve his wallet for a second time.

“Ah- nonono, that was not what I was referring to! What I meant was that I'll require a small service from you. I currently have my hands full with something else, so I'll need Daozhang's guarantee that he'll lend me a helping hand in subduing any naughty creatures. You'll escort me back to Baifeng Peak and I'll tell you everything you want to know about both the mortal world and the cultivation world.”

"... Approximately how long is this trip?" Qiji's voice, though calm now, held a hint of weariness. He finally allowed the tension to drain from his body, his shoulders dropping with a soft rustle of fabric as he tucked his arms behind his back.

"Ehhhh… In any other person's shoes," Yunzhuo began, his gaze drifting towards the distant horizon as if calculating the miles, "I might've said about… two days, tops. A straightforward journey, assuming decent roads and fair weather. But…" A wry smile touched his lips, a self-deprecating humor glinting in his eyes. But…" He paused, a light breeze ruffling his hair. "Knowing my bad luck, the kind that attracts every obstacle and delay known to man… at least three."

A dry, unexpected scoff came from Qiji. It was a sound that cut through the quiet air. From the corner of his eye, Yunzhuo saw the subtle movement of Qiji's mouth, the corners twitching upwards as if suppressing a laugh. The sight was unexpected, keeping Yunzhuo’s impression of Qiji in mind.

"Hm?" Yunzhuo turned to face Qiji fully, his expression one of disbelief. What was so amusing about his misfortune?

Qiji's expression was unreadable at first, then a faint, almost sad smile touched his lips. "You have no idea what bad luck is," he stated grimly, "until you've gotten to know me."

The two gentlemen then set off for the mountains, commencing their trek through staggering terrain and past breathtaking views. Qiji, initially forbidden from riding, endured the first half of the trip on foot, finally earning a place on horseback after a welcome respite deep within a valley. In exchange for Qiji's guidance through the unfamiliar territory, there was an unspoken agreement that he would also provide a layer of "protection." Yunzhuo, a capable individual in his own right, didn't truly need Qiji's help in that regard. His primary motivation was to observe Qiji's abilities in a practical setting. He wanted to assess Qiji's capabilities without directly challenging him. Plus, he openly admitted to himself, he simply enjoyed not having to shoulder all the responsibility. He had no shame in "clinging" to others if it meant a less demanding experience, especially when he was confident he could match or even exceed their abilities if the situation demanded it.

"Any thoughts on where we should stay the night once we're out of the mountains?" Yunzhuo inquired, a casual question that led to a very one-sided discussion about potential inns and their amenities. Then, Yunzhuo shifted the topic slightly. "I'll need to send word home to my disciples once we're settled.”

It was during their passage through the farmlands that Qiji showcased a truly unexpected talent. Spotting a few stray goats wandering near their path, he produced a small, intricate contraption. With a flick of his wrist, a ball of crackling, bluish energy – a "plasma bullet" as he later called it – shot out, harmlessly stunning one of the goats. He caught another with similar ease. The invention, he explained after much deliberation and being pressured into it by Yunzhuo, was a recent development. He'd discovered its properties quite by accident, a comical incident involving a small explosion of plasma that had singed his eyebrows and left Yunzhuo momentarily wide-eyed. While the blasts weren't powerful enough to send them tumbling, they were useful in hunting from a distance. I guess firearm experience really does come in handy.

Finally, they reached the outskirts of the village they'd been looking for as the last rays of sunlight faded. Surprisingly enough, there had only been a few slip-ups and minor accidents on the way, none of them resulting in any worrisome injury. The air was filled with the scent of woodsmoke and cooking. They dragged their feet towards a homely looking inn, concluding that was where they’d rest up until morning after a short exchange. They entered between a pair of creaky wooden doors. Inside, the scent of alcohol wafted in the air as well as freshly grilled vegetables. Qiji, ever the responsible one, moved to pay for their lodging at the front counter, reaching for his coin purse inside of his sleeve yet again. "I'll pay," he offered. He had the means, after all.

"Nonsense," Yunzhuo interjected smoothly, stepping forward. "Let me treat you. Consider it a thank you for guiding me." Qiji, never one to turn down a free meal or bed, didn't object. It saved him a bit of money, and that was never something you could get enough of in these kinds of places.

However, a moment later, Yunzhuo returned from his conversation with the innkeeper, a look of mock dismay on his face. "Well," he announced, a suppressed laugh in his voice, "it seems they only had one room left. It appears we'll be getting very well acquainted tonight, Daozhang."

Qiji, who had been anticipating the luxury of his own space, blinked. Sharing a room? This was certainly not in his plan. But seeing the amusement in Yunzhuo's eyes, and feeling the exhaustion in his own limbs, he simply sighed inwardly and accepted their shared fate. He didn’t have the energy to make a scene about it.

The small inn room, sparsely furnished but clean, offered a welcome respite from the day's travel. The single window was latched against the cool night air, leaving the room feeling a touch stuffy, the scent of woodsmoke from the village hearths faintly lingering. The bed, surprisingly large for the room, was neatly made. Yunzhuo stretched, a low groan of relief escaping him at the sight of the white pillows.

"Well," he announced, turning back into the room with a wry smile and a sigh, "it seems fate, in its infinite wisdom, has decided we're to be bedfellows tonight." Yunzhuo gestured to the comfort of the futon mattress with a flourish, a playful glint in his eye. “It’s a done deal. No getting out of it now." He lightly probed Qiji with a jab in the side with his elbow. "So, esteemed and mysterious Daozhang, which side of this magnificent edifice do you deem worthy of your slumber? Left or right? Pick your poison.”

“C'mon,” he urged, entirely indifferent to the inappropriate undertones of the action. He circled around Qiji, a picture of deceiving innocence. Waiting for the inscrutable Qiji to offer a response, perhaps a pithy remark or a dismissive wave of his hand, he made several rounds in mere moments. But Qiji offered nothing, remaining phlegmatic as ever. He remained standing near the foot of the bed, his posture still, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the crackling of the lamps and the distant sounds of the inn.

Unfazed by the lack of immediate engagement, Yunzhuo sauntered over to the bed. With a casual air, he swung his legs up and settled himself onto the left side, the thin padding giving a gentle sigh under his weight. He ran a hand along the smooth fabric of the duvet, appraising and assessing the quality with the gesture, before giving the mattress a firm pat. It yielded with a satisfying softness. He settled back, propping himself up on an elbow. "Surely even a Daozhang on par with your esteemed self needs a place to rest his head.”

Finally, Qiji reacted. In a matter of seconds, a small satchel was pulled out from Qiji's sleeve, as if conjured from thin air. Yunzhuo couldn't help but wonder, though not for the first and surely not the last time, at the seemingly impossible capacity of that simple garment. How much can he possibly fit in there? he mused, a flicker of genuine curiosity crossing his face.

By now, he was growing accustomed to the wondrous and often baffling phenomena that seemed to follow his traveling companion. Even as he watched Qiji retrieve a number of small stones from the satchel and reshape them in his hands, there was only mild amusement etched across his features. Soon, the materials began to overlap. Qiji began to shape the plasma he'd acquired into something like a thin quilt.

Yet, just as the form approached its intended state, a tremor ran through the transforming material. With a sudden, disheartening collapse, it crumpled in on itself, the ethereal substance solidifying into something akin to hardened, unusable clay. Another failure. A soft sigh escaped Qiji's lips.

Without a word, he snatched up one of the plush pillows from the bed. He slammed it down onto the floor under his head with a decisive motion and turned his back to Yunzhuo, facing the opposite side of the room. With a swift, almost petulant movement, he shoved his eyes shut with his arms wrapped around himself. And then, as if the previous events had never occurred, he was still, his breathing evening out almost immediately.

Yunzhuo could not claim that he was shocked at all, yet there was a sense of disappointment that arose from him. That, as well as a smidgen of laughter that rose from his chest.

Ensuring this time that the Daozhang was truly asleep—and not merely feigning slumber as he himself had done the previous night—Yunzhuo remained perfectly still, watching the steady rhythm of the younger man’s breath. He waited until he was absolutely certain, noting the subtle slackening of his features and the faint snore that finally escaped him. Only then did Yunzhuo move, his motion deliberate and silent. With great caution, he extended his hand toward Qiji, his fingers curling like a clawed shadow through the dimly lit room.

Then, in a swift and practiced motion, his wrist jutted forward. Two fingers struck with pinpoint precision, landing squarely on two of Qiji’s acupoints. The Daozhang’s body froze at once—locked in place by the sudden jolt of energy directed into his meridians. A soft exhale left Yunzhuo’s lips, a breath held too long. He straightened up and quietly rose to his feet, careful not to disturb the now-immobile figure beside him.

Turning his attention to the room, Yunzhuo decided it was time to reassess his surroundings. With a gentle motion, he slipped his hand inside the inner pocket of his lapel, fingers brushing against a familiar rolled parchment. Drawing it out, he carefully unrolled the scroll across the surface of the bed. The moonlight spilling through the window cast a silvery sheen across the page, illuminating the blank space that awaited his practiced hand.

Thanks to a measure of foresight, Yunzhuo had prepared for this moment. Earlier that evening, he had approached the innkeeper’s assistant—a kind, sharp-eyed young woman—and asked to borrow a small vial of ink. She had obliged him, offering a modest amount with a shy smile. He had also noticed a low, tray-like wooden table situated near the foot of the bed, likely placed there for meals. With an appreciative glance, he pulled it closer and used it to steady the scroll, ensuring his strokes would be smooth and deliberate.

Now properly equipped, Yunzhuo set to work. His brush moved swiftly, guided by a steady hand and a disciplined mind. The message flowed from his fingers with practiced ease, the characters sharp and clear. In less time than it would take for a single stick of incense to burn, he had completed his report. It contained a summary of his recent discoveries, carefully worded observations, and a proposed date for his return.

Once finished, he set the scroll aside, leaving it open to dry under the pale light of the moon. As the ink settled into the fibers of the paper, he began to tidy up, returning the borrowed items to their proper places and ensuring nothing would betray his activity during the night.

But before he returned to rest, there was one final task to complete.

He placed his thumb firmly against the bottom of the scroll. A faint hiss filled the room—a sound like heated metal meeting cool air—and a glow burst to life beneath his skin, searing bright red. Yet the paper did not burn. Instead of charring, it absorbed the energy, the surface beneath his thumb shimmering briefly. When he withdrew his hand, a sigil remained behind: his personal seal, etched deep into the parchment like an oath made in flame.

Only after everything had been done—each item packed away, the message secured, and the seal marked—did Yunzhuo allow himself to return to the bed. He lay down slowly, easing his body back beneath the covers, and finally, with all tasks complete and his mind at ease, sank once more into the stillness of the night.

Morning arrived in silence, sun hiding behind thin tendrils of clouds stretching across the sky, as if the dawn itself were hesitant to disturb the fragile calm of the room. Pale strands of sunlight filtered through the wooden slats of the inn’s shutters, casting soft, shifting patterns across the rumpled bedding. Yunzhuo stirred beneath the blanket, his consciousness rising slowly, like mist curling off a forest floor. For a brief moment, there was a quiet stillness—no movement, no sound, only the warmth of woven fabric and the faint scent of old wood and ink.

Then, instinct kicked in.

His eyes snapped open, and his gaze swept to the side.

The space where Qiji had lain the night before was empty. Neatly so. No indent in the pillow. No shift in the bedding to suggest a hasty departure. It was as if the Daozhang had never been there at all.

A quiet frown tugged at the corner of Yunzhuo’s mouth.

He rose from the bed with care, his figure similar to that of a leaf swaying as dew weighed it down with gravity. Swiftly, he moved through the practiced motions of dressing and gathering his belongings—belt, outer robes, scroll case, a dried lotus bead tied with string, and lastly, the grueling process of retying his boots. Everything was checked, tucked into place, and fastened with precision. Only once he was fully prepared did he approach the door, placing his hand upon the wooden frame for a moment, listening to conversations on the other side. Thanks to his martial arts, he was blessed with astute hearing.

From outside, a low murmur drifted in. Voices—many of them—gathered in tight proximity. Something was happening.

With a soft sigh, he slid the door open and took a step outside. He shut the door behind him whilst turning to face forward.

The sight that met him was immediate and chaotic. Just a few paces ahead, in the narrow courtyard before the inn, a sizable crowd had gathered, encircling a single figure in loose, rippling waves of motion. They pressed in, hands reaching, voices overlapping in a dissonant chorus of awe and fascination.

At the center of it all stood Qiji.

His expression was tight, mouth drawn into a thin, pale line, eyebrows knitted in a line of discomfort. He said nothing, but it was plain from his stillness that he was enduring the attention rather than engaging with it. Strangers clutched at his robes, ran eager fingers through the long white strands of his hair, whispering fragments of his name as if it were one of the Buddha's. He was hit with a barrage of questions by all kinds of people who clearly had nothing better to do with their time.

Yunzhuo’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained as serene as an unmoved pond.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his presence alone cutting into the crowd like a blade sliding effortlessly through heavy rainfall. “Enough,” he called sharply, attempting to wedge himself between the strangers and Qiji’s clearly unwanted attention. “This here Daozhang appreciates your enthusiasm greatly, but he has a mellow bearing. Please do not take any offense.”

But if anything, his arrival caused the pressure to swell.

“Temple Master Yunguang!”

“It’s the Lord of Baifeng Peak!”

“Esteemed Master, to what do we owe the pleasure of hosting you today?!”

Recognition flickered like sparks among the faces—jaws fell in shock, fingers pointed, excitement reignited as a figure of renown appeared before them. The other, mysterious with silk-like features and snow white hair, like swan feathers, had been revealed to also be the Temple Master's companion. Clearly, someone also of esteemed personage.

Yunzhuo gritted his teeth, about to raise his voice again, when suddenly a faint crackle pierced the air.

Qiji had raised a hand after gathering something inside of his sleeve, fingers twisting and turning, and in the blink of an eye, two glowing shapes formed—clumps that soon shifted into the shape of earplugs, semi-translucent and alive with pulsing lines of plasma. With a steady, deliberate movement, he shoved them into his ears. Finally, his hands stopped shaking at his sides and he felt in control of reality again.

Then he spoke, voice sharp and edged with a clarity that silenced even the loudest among them.

“Move.”

The crowd, startled by the sudden change in tone, hesitated—then parted, a gap forming like a seam torn down the middle of a tapestry or the Yangtze* splitting off into several branches. Qiji walked through it without a second glance. Yunzhuo followed, though not without a final act of practicality: as they passed the low breakfast table still loaded with morning offerings, he deftly snatched two pieces of flatbread as well as a number of other sweet treats for the journey ahead and tucked them into his sleeve with practiced ease. “Thank you, thank you.” He nodded to the waitresses along the way out. “I deeply apologize for all of the trouble.”

Within minutes, they had reached the edge of the inn’s courtyard, where Rascal—yawning and flicking his tail—awaited them. Qiji nigh collapsed right outside of the door threshold. It had been a very long time since anyone had tried to pull at him like that, and yet, the moment it happened, memories surged back to him with startling clarity. He was a child again, small and squirming under the too-curious hands of relatives who never quite knew when to stop. They’d coo and marvel at his hair—its stark white hue, its oddly smooth, wiry texture—and then proceed to run their fingers through it without asking, kneading his scalp in a way that felt more like probing than affection. He’d sit frozen, enduring those so-called "massages," his skin crawling beneath their grasp. Even now, years later, the recollection made him shudder.

Yunzhuo came to a stop, squinting toward a nearby wagon where a pair of traders were offloading sacks of grains and tightly-bound parcels. One of them wore a vest marked with the symbol of the courier guild—a stylized crane in flight.

“Wait here for a moment,” Yunzhuo said, already stepping away. “I need to pass along the report. That man over there—he’s heading toward Bai Twin Peaks. I've seen him around. It’ll save my disciples much worry if it gets there fast.”

Qiji gave a noncommittal nod, eyes drifting as Yunzhuo strode toward the wagon with scroll in hand, exchanging a few polite words with the trader and a quick, practiced bow. The merchant nodded, pocketing the scroll with casual care before returning to his work.

Left in rare solitude, Qiji exhaled slowly and turned his attention back to the state of his own affairs. The mission details on the screen that had flashed by earlier had been written in fine brush script in contrast to the robotic tones he'd seen earlier, formal and bureaucratic in tone. Right as he'd started considering asking his personal “guardian deity” for advice on how to access it, it, a bit too conveniently, reappeared right in front of him.

[Quest: GUIDED HAND]

[Requirements: Be escorted to Location: Baifeng Peak.

Reward: 5 silver taels upon verification. (Equivalent to 500 bronze coins.)

Deadline: Before the third moonrise (3 days from issue).

Failure Penalty: Docked reputation with Yunzhuo (Cast Character). Possible fine for breach of main Quest.]

[Additional Notes:]

[You will be observed.]

Qiji raised both of his eyebrows with clear intrigue. “Observed?”

He gave a short, acerbic huff and tilted his head, letting the wind tousle a few strands of his hair. Then, after a moment of thought, he glanced upward as if looking for someone. He decided not to question it. “Narrator,” he said aloud, dryly. “How do I see the rest of my quests?”

A beat of silence. Then the now-familiar voice drifted into his awareness, smooth and disembodied, yet somehow always slightly amused.

“You think it,” the Narrator replied, tone light and matter-of-fact. “Just like opening a door. No need to speak aloud unless you enjoy sounding strange.”

Qiji narrowed his eyes. “Helpful as ever, I see,” he muttered.

“I do try~”

Still, he gave it a go.

He closed his eyes, letting the world fall quiet around him, and focused inward—his mind brushing against the intangible presence he’d been aware of since his arrival in this realm. Show me my quests.

Almost immediately, a faint shimmer bloomed behind his closed eyelids, and when he opened them again, a translucent panel hovered in front of him, just above his line of sight. The screen was clean and minimal, its text suspended in the air like calligraphy drawn from starlight.

[Active Quests]

1. GUIDED HAND

2. ??? (⅓ Requirements met.)

3. ???

[Tracking Enabled

Auto-Update: ON]

He blinked once. “Huh,” he said flatly. “It actually worked.”

Just then, frolicking steps cavorted over in his direction. Yunzhuo returned, brushing off his sleeves. “All set,” he said, a slight smile touching his cherry pink lips. “He’ll get it there on time. I made sure he understands its priority.”

Qiji gave a small nod but said nothing, letting the screen dissolve as naturally as it had appeared, like the wind lifting away humid morning air. Without a word, he strode forward, falling into step with Yunzhuo’s pace just as the younger man motioned toward the winding path he'd selected to lead them out of town and toward the waiting mountain.

After half a day or so's walk, they reached a small plateau just shy of the final incline, where the dirt path gave way to scattered brush and pale, crumbling stone. The afternoon sun had lifted high into the sky by then, bathing the landscape in warm gold, and the distant cries of cranes circled overhead. Together, they approached the foot of the mountain—its slope rising steep and green ahead of them, the trail cutting a path into mist-wrapped cliffs.

“The real climb starts here.”

Author's notes:

*A li is about half a kilometre.

*The Yangtze is the largest river in China.

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