Kai found himself in the quiet, dusty center of Wonju, a farming hamlet that felt more like a wide spot in the road than a true town. The heart of the community consisted of perhaps two dozen weathered wooden buildings clustered around a central well, with another scattering of homes and barns dotting the surrounding patchwork of fields. It was even smaller than Haebaek, the village that had once neighbored his old hut, and possessed a palpable sense of isolation. The entire commercial enterprise of Wonju seemed to be a single, multi-purpose building that served as a general store, a makeshift inn for the rare traveler, and the social hub for locals. Beyond that, there was little else but hard work and the turning of the seasons.

  He had arrived with Zhang Liao clinging nervously behind him on Snow’s broad back, a journey that had left the young disciple wide-eyed and speechless. Sensibly, Kai had left the magnificent spirit wolf well outside the community, hidden within the trees. The last thing he wanted was to terrify the very people he hoped to understand.

  His plan was to visit the three main communities he’d learned about in Pillarforge. Wonju, the breadbasket, was his first stop. Next, he intended to visit Cloud Port, hoping to trade for salt and fresh fish, assuming he had time after Wonjul.

  Currently, Kai was engaged in amiable barter with the local shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with a sun-weathered face and calloused hands who seemed to possess a genuinely good-natured patience. His shop was a fascinating clutter of necessity: sturdy plows, sharp scythes, and harnesses shared space with bolts of homespun cloth, bags of nails, and jars of hard candy. Most of the higher-quality goods, Kai noted, bore the mark of Pillarforge’s forges. He could easily bypass Wonju for such supplies, especially since Kuro’s conjured city had left him with warehouses full of pristine, untouched farming tools.

  His interest wasn't in tools, but something else. He was intently examining the local produce, a vibrant display of the hamlet’s agricultural crops.

  “And this here,” the shopkeeper said, holding up a strange, pale-green stalk crowned with vibrant purple leaves, “is frost root celery. Tough as old boots, this one. You can bury it in a snowdrift all winter, dig it up in the spring, and it’ll still be crisp.”

  “Fascinating,” Kai murmured, genuinely impressed by the hardy vegetable. It was exactly the kind of resilient specimen he wanted for his own gardens. “I’ll take that as well, for the leathers.”

  Between them on the worn counter lay a large, impressive stack of high-quality furs—pelts from the spirit beasts hunts. They were a fortune in insulation and luxury. The demand was high; the community’s usual hunter had fallen gravely ill, creating a critical shortage of winter pelts just as the first chill of autumn began to whisper on the wind.

  The shopkeeper happily added the frost root celery to a growing pile of other unique local produce—knobbly, sweet earth-potatoes, a strain of barley that grew well in the thin mountain soil, and several varieties of hardy gourds. While Kai was interested in the food itself, his true goal was the potential within. Each vegetable and fruit was a treasure trove of seeds. He planned to extract and carefully cultivate them back at Azure Sky Haven, slowly creating a garden that was not only self-sufficient but also integrated with the very land they now called home. The end of summer was approaching, and the window for planting was closing. This was an investment in next year’s harvest.

  The shopkeeper’s friendly gaze drifted from Kai to where Zhang Liao sat patiently on a worn wooden bench, swinging his legs idly as he waited for his master. A kind, grandfatherly smile touched the man’s lips as he got an idea. Leaning conspiratorially across the counter, he lowered his voice.

  “I also managed to get a special shipment up from the south not long ago,” he said, his eyes twinkling. He reached under the counter and produced a small, clear glass jar filled with colorful, crystalline rock candy that caught the light like gemstones. “Not much call for it here, but I’m sure your boy would appreciate a treat for being so patient.”

  Kai blinked, taking a second to process the man’s assumption. He glanced at Zhang Liao, then back at the jar. A small, warm feeling bloomed in his chest. He wasn’t offended; in a way, the shopkeeper wasn’t entirely wrong. He gave a single, firm nod. “Yes, add it to the pile.”

  After the final exchanges were made, Kai gathered the sacks of seeds and unique produce he had traded for, and the two of them left the store. As they walked through the quiet center of Wonju, heading toward the outskirts where Snow waited, Kai handed the jar of candy to Zhang Liao.

  “Here,” Kai said, his tone gentle. “This is for you.”

  Zhang Liao looked up, confused. “For me, Master Kai?”

  “For being the most well-behaved of my three disciples,” Kai explained, ruffling the boy’s hair.

  It was the truth. Between the three, Lu Bu’s boasting to strangers, and Chen Gong’s relentless, misguided idolization was a constant source of exasperation. But Zhang Liao? He was quiet, diligent, and caused no trouble. He followed instructions, practiced diligently, and possessed a gentle heart that had endured far too much pain. Kai wanted to reward that, to acknowledge the quiet strength the boy showed every day.

  “Really?” Zhang Liao asked, his voice full of wonder as he accepted the jar.

  “Of course.”

  Zhang Liao held the jar up, peering at the glittering contents with a look of pure bewilderment. He turned it over, watching the crystals clink together. “What am I supposed to do with these… crystals, Master Kai?”

  Kai couldn’t help but laugh softly. The innocence of the question was a stark reminder of the austere life Zhang Liao must have lived before. “It’s candy,” he explained patiently. “You put one in your mouth and suck on it. It dissolves and fills your mouth with sweetness. Go ahead, try one.”

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  Hesitantly, Zhang Liao unscrewed the lid, selected a pale yellow crystal, and popped it into his mouth. His eyes went wide, then squinted in delight as the pure, sugary sweetness spread across his tongue. A genuine, unguarded smile—a rare sight—broke out across his face.

  Kai’s own smile was one of pure, unadulterated joy. Seeing Zhang Liao experience such a simple pleasure was a reward in itself. Since the massacre of his tribe, moments of lighthearted happiness for the boy were fleeting treasures. Kai was determined to create as many of them as he could, a small balm for a profound tragedy.

  This desire for connection was one of the main reasons he had brought Zhang Liao along. The boy was always with his “brothers,” and Kai rarely got one-on-one time with him. He wanted to use this trip to bridge that gap.

  “Glad you like it,” Kai said as they continued walking, the jar clutched protectively in Zhang Liao’s hands. “Zhang Liao, I wanted to ask you something. What do you think of our little… weird family? The one you ended up becoming a part of?”

  Zhang Liao was silent for a moment, thoughtfully sucking on his candy. “I like everyone,” he said finally, his voice sincere. “Ms. Lulu is teaching me how to read the big words in her books. She never gets angry, even when I’m very slow. Mr. Gin is funny and strange. He’s not mean, most of the time… but he stinks.” The boy made a dramatic face, pinching his nose shut.

  “That’s probably the booze,” Kai mumbled with a wry shake of his head.

  “And Brother Chen Gong is so smart,” Zhang Liao continued, his admiration clear. “He knows so much about everything.” Then he paused, reconsidering. “Well… maybe not cultivation.” The memory of the cerulean smoke and the blue-stained panic was evidently still fresh. “When it comes to cultivation, I think I’ll still come to you or Ms. Lulu first if I have questions.”

  “That’s probably the wisest thing to do,” Kai agreed, pleased with the boy’s discernment. He then gently prodded further, wanting to understand the dynamic completely. “And what about Lu Bu? What do you think of your big brother?”

  Zhang Liao’s face immediately lit up with pure, unadulterated admiration. “Brother Lu Bu is the greatest,” he declared, his voice brimming with conviction. “He’s always the first to help me with the stances I can’t get right, and he never makes me feel stupid. He’s the strongest warrior I’ve ever met! He told me he’s going to become the greatest warrior in the whole world one day.” The boy puffed out his chest, echoing his brother’s ambition. “And I believe him! I know he can do it!”

  Kai felt a complicated knot of emotions tighten in his chest. On one hand, it was heartwarming to see the fierce loyalty and bond between the two boys; Lu Bu was clearly a protective and encouraging older brother figure. On the other, it was precisely this kind of blind, heroic worship that fed the very arrogance he was trying to temper. Lu Bu’s grand declaration wasn’t just personal ambition anymore; it was a promise made to an impressionable disciple who believed it with his whole heart. The weight of that expectation, and the potential for a devastating fall, felt heavier than ever.

  “He is very strong,” Kai said carefully, choosing his words. “And it’s good that he helps you. But strength isn’t everything. A true warrior also has humility and wisdom. So, just… be sure to help keep your brother in line for me, alright? Help me keep his confidence in check. Even the greatest warriors need someone to remind them to stay grounded.”

  Zhang Liao nodded seriously, absorbing the duty with the gravity of a royal decree. “I will, Master Kai.”

  The boy then looked down, suddenly shy, scuffing his boot in the dirt. “Um, master Kai? I… I also wanted to thank you. For helping me. For taking me in when I had nowhere else to go.” He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I was wondering… if, like Brother Lu Bu… I could also call you ‘Uncle’ Kai?”

  Kai stopped walking and turned to face him fully. For a few seconds, he just looked at the boy, whose expression began to waver, fearing he had overstepped and was in trouble. Then, Kai’s face broke into a warm, genuine smile. He reached out and ruffled Zhang Liao’s hair affectionately.

  “Of course you can,” he said, his voice soft. “You didn’t even need to ask. You’re family.”

  The relief and joy that washed over Zhang Liao’s face was brighter than the sun. A weight seemed to lift from his small shoulders, replaced by a sense of belonging that went deeper than just being a disciple.

  “Okay, Uncle!” he said, his voice clear and happy, testing out the new word and finding it felt just right.

  As they continued their walk, Kai watched the boy skip ahead a few steps, his jar of candy held tight. I’m glad he can still smile like that, Kai thought to himself, a protective warmth settling around his heart. After everything he’s been through, to still have that light inside him… It was a fragile thing, that innocence, and Kai felt a renewed determination to shield it. He vowed to himself then that he would do everything in his power to ensure that smile, born from a hard-won sense of safety and family, would never be extinguished.

  The peaceful atmosphere of their walk shattered in an instant. As Kai and Zhang Liao neared the outskirts of Wonju, where the ordered fields gave way to wilder brush and the towering form of Snow was just waiting patiently somewhere beyond, a movement caught Kai’s eye.

  Under the gnarled branches of an old, lonely oak tree at the edge of a fallow field stood a man. He was muscular but gaunt with a grizzled look, though he now moved with a terrible, leaden slowness. He leaned heavily on a rough-wooden crutch, his leg wrapped in stained and filthy bandages that ended in a horrifying void where his foot should have been. His eyes were hollow pits of despair, fixed on a point somewhere beyond the horizon of his own misery.

  Kai’s steps slowed, his instincts prickling. He watched as the man, with a grim efficiency, threw a coil of coarse rope over a protruding branch. His hands, though calloused and strong, trembled slightly as he began to tie a knot. The actions were not frantic, but methodical—the movements of a man who had already made his peace with a terrible decision.

  It was the specific, deliberate way the man fashioned the final loop that made Kai’s blood run cold. A noose.

  “Liao, stay here,” Kai said, his voice low and urgent, all warmth gone. He didn’t wait for a response.

  The world narrowed to that tree and the man beneath it. The sacks of seeds and produce tumbled from Kai’s grasp, forgotten in the dirt. As the older man lifted the noose, ready to place it over his head, Kai broke into a sprint. He moved with the shocking speed of a cultivator, closing the distance in a heartbeat that felt like an eternity.

  The man, his senses dulled by grief, didn’t seem to hear Kai’s approach. He had just settled the rough hemp around his neck, his hands dropping to his sides in final surrender, when Kai’s arms wrapped around him in a powerful, desperate embrace, yanking him backward and off his feet before the crutch could even clatter to the ground. They landed in a heap on the dry earth, the would-be suicide gasping in shock and sudden, raging despair at the intervention.

  “Let me go!” the man choked out, his voice a raw scrape of anguish, struggling weakly against Kai’s unyielding hold. “It’s done! There’s nothing left! Just let me be done!”

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