We were back in Fallen Mist.

  Wei Lin had once again bartered away our kill—apparently, the beast was called an Armour Boar. Fitting, if a little on the nose. There must’ve been some translation oddity in the name.

  I still let him handle the trade. Bartering wasn’t something I understood yet. I was used to set prices and no negotiations. It didn’t help that this world’s currency felt like stepping back in time. There were no paper notes or credit chips—just coin. Three types, as far as I could tell: copper jian, silver li, and gold yuan. Ten jian made a li. Ten li made a yuan. A single copper seemed enough to feed someone for a day. Wei Lin would used a silver to buy our food for a week and a gold? Well I wasn’t sure. We hadn’t received any. Yet.

  Over the couple of weeks I’d known Wei Lin, I’d come to trust him. He’d saved my life more than once now, and that kind of trust was hard-earned. Leaving him to manage our coin wasn’t a problem—not when I was still figuring out how everything worked at least.

  “—and then, the crazy bastard stands back up like getting thrown five meters into a tree meant nothing!” Wei Lin’s voice carried over the quiet hum of the tavern.

  We were sitting in The Crooked Reed, Fallen Mist’s local and only tavern. It had low tables, smoky lanterns, lighting the room and a haze of old wood and wine in the air. I quite liked it.

  Wei Lin was weaving a tale to two women seated across from us—both in work robes, their hair tied back, cheeks flushed from drink. One of them leaned in, clearly entertained.

  “But you should’ve seen his face,” Wei Lin grinned, tapping his gourd against the table. “He was pale as a ghost. Paler than usual, if you can believe it!”

  He took a long swig and set the gourd down with a satisfied sigh.

  I let him have his fun.

  It wasn’t exactly how things had happened. But it was close enough.

  Wei Lin’s gourd hit the table again, this time with a little more weight behind it. The two women across from us laughed, half-hiding their smiles behind the sleeves of their robes. They were field workers, by the look of their hands. One had a short bob of dark hair, the other wore earrings carved from riverstone—small, polished and chipped at the edges, catching the firelight just right as she brushed her longer dark hair behind her ear.

  “I’m telling you,” Wei Lin said, grinning wide, “the thing had tusks longer than your arm and at least as thick as my thigh. Its eyes glowed red like it had eaten a fire spirit. And when it charged, the ground shook so hard I swear I felt my bones rattle.”

  He imitated the quake by jostling the table. Their laughter spilled out louder this time, unguarded.

  “Then what happened?” one of them asked, already knowing she’d be disappointed if the answer wasn’t dramatic enough.

  Wei Lin leaned forward, dropping his voice to a near-whisper. “I stepped forward. Blade in hand. One breath in. One out. And then—I leapt clean over it.”

  “No!”

  “I did!” he insisted, placing a hand over his chest like he was swearing an oath. “It rushed right under me, tusks missing by this much.” He held two fingers apart, far too wide to be believable. “And as it passed, I twisted midair—like this—” he mimed a clumsy spin that almost knocked his gourd over, “and drove my sabre right into its neck.”

  The second girl gasped like she’d never heard anything more exciting.

  I leaned back, nursing the cup in my hands. The wine was sharp and earthy, poured from a clay jug the size of my head. It left a dry sting on the tongue and a slow warmth in my chest. It wasn’t great, but better than the pond water I’d gotten used to. And it was nice to unwind.

  A few other tables were filled—mostly laborers and old men playing tile games in the corner. Smoke curled from a brazier near the bar, carrying the scent of roasted nuts and sweet root. The innkeeper, an older man with a limp and the eyes of someone who had seen a few too many winters, moved between tables in slow circles, refilling cups.

  Outside, I could hear the wind rustling the eaves and feel the slight shake of the building as it got blown around. It must have been windy out there.

  Wei Lin was still going, which wasn’t too surprising. He had a way with words I never would’ve expected when I first met him.

  “And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Two days later, another one shows up. This one twice the size. Plates thick as mountain stone. I swear to the heavens, it looked me right in the eye and smiled.”

  “Spirits above…” one of the women whispered, wide-eyed.

  I took another sip, listening. What rubbish was he talking?

  “That’s the thing about beasts,” he went on. “They’re not just wild animals. Qi changes them. Makes them smarter, stronger.” He clenched his fists. “They’re good for nothing. Only destruction. They ravage through our villages, killing everything and anything. And we can’t even eat their meat. It’s bullshit.”

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  The girls didn’t respond right away. They were listening now. Not laughing. Just watching him, with a look of knowing in their eyes.

  Wei Lin smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “But don’t worry.” He pointed at me. “Fang Wu and I will kill them all.” He took another drink. “Every last one.” He whispered it, but I just caught it.

  I watched Wei Lin as he took another sip. He looked too serious—until his slightly-too-large nose hit the gourd and made some wine spill onto his chest.

  Me and the two girls let out a chuckle at that.

  Eventually, the conversation turned again. The short-haired girl with freckles across her nose—Lian Mei—asked about rice prices, about the merchant from Lianzhou, which I’d learned was the closest city, who came once a month with salted fish and dried fruit, as well as any other necessities. Wei Lin played along, charming as ever, back to his relaxed self.

  I watched the firelight flicker in his eyes and wondered how much of that story he believed. Obviously, he had some demons of his own. And to be honest, I’d be more than happy to help him out.

  As long as the Qi kept flowing.

  The tavern doors burst open with a crack loud enough to silence the room and break me out of my thoughts. Cold air howled through the gap, carrying leaves, dust, and the sharp bite of cold.

  Two men stumbled in.

  One of them could barely walk—he was being half-dragged by the other. His head hung low, chin tucked to his chest, hair matted to his face in blood-soaked strands. His chest was torn open, deep claw marks slicing through his robes. Red stained the cloth from neck to belt. The man’s face was twisted in pain, every step dragging a groan from between clenched teeth.

  The one supporting him looked around the room in panic. “Is Master Kai in here?” he shouted. “Please—we need help!”

  Chairs scraped back. Cups stopped mid-air. The tavern’s mood, just moments ago warm and filled with laughter, froze.

  In the corner, seated at a worn board game table, an older man looked up. White hair tied back into a neat topknot. His layered robes were the color of pine smoke, and his lined face took in the room with calm detachment.

  I’d heard the name in passing. Wei Lin had mentioned him once, calling him the only person in town who knew anything beyond stuffing herbs into a wound and hoping for the best. He often visited the farm to check on Wei Lin’s mother, though I had never seen him. Or her for that matter.

  Master Kai rose without a word, placing his game piece down gently before striding across the room with a speed that didn’t match his age. The other patrons moved instinctively, parting like water before a boat. Even the innkeeper paused mid-step.

  “Lay him down,” Master Kai said, voice calm and clipped. “Table. Now.”

  The uninjured man half-carried, half-hoisted his companion onto the nearest table. A dull thunk followed, and the wounded man cried out in raw pain.

  Master Kai’s hands moved fast. He tore the robe open without ceremony and bent low to examine the damage.

  “Spirits,” Lian Rui—the sister with long dark hair and deep forest green eyes—muttered from behind me.

  The gashes were deep. A swipe across the chest that had torn through flesh and cracked bone. It looked like his chest had gone through a blender.

  Master Kai didn’t flinch. Unlike the rest of the room—including me. “Wei Lin,” he called over his shoulder.

  Wei Lin had already started moving the moment the name was spoken. “Here!”

  “My kit. It’s under the counter, back at my store. Green lacquered box. Bring it. Now. And be quick.”

  Wei Lin didn’t waste a second. He bolted toward the door, ripping it back open and vanishing down the street.

  Master Kai pressed a hand to the injured man’s neck, checking his pulse. Then he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small clay vial. He popped the cork and poured a few drops of clear liquid into the man’s mouth.

  The wounded hunter coughed weakly. “Don’t—don’t waste your medicine. Save it. I—I’m done.”

  “Shut up,” Master Kai replied flatly. “Talk only if it helps me keep you alive. And you’re being dramatic. You’ll live.”

  I stepped closer, unable to help myself. The tavern had shifted. Lian Mei and Lian Rui had gone quiet. The laughter from earlier now felt like it had happened in another life.

  The uninjured man—tall, lean, still dusted with forest mud—turned to the room. “We were hunting,” he said hoarsely. “South trail. Past the Whispering Ridge. We were tracking a boar.”

  He paused. “We never found it.”

  “What happened?” asked one of the older men Master Kai had been playing the board game with.

  The hunter shook his head. “They came out of nowhere. Not just one. Five. Maybe six. More than I’ve seen together in years.”

  The tavern fell dead silent.

  “It was chaos,” he continued. “They were mad. Foaming at the mouth. No reason or pattern. Just pure aggression.”

  Master Kai narrowed his eyes. “Spit it out, Wu Lee. What attacked?”

  “Dusk Creepers.”

  My stomach twisted.

  I remembered the striped cat. The one that had almost killed me. I’d fought one, barely survived. I couldn’t imagine six of them at once.

  The hunter’s jaw tightened. “We ran. Thought we’d lost them. Then one of them got Lan Hui. I fought it off. But it was too late.”

  He gestured to the man bleeding out on the table.

  “I carried him as far as I could. We need help.”

  “We’re not equipped for this,” someone muttered in the back.

  “The sect should be warned.”

  “What sect?” another voice snapped. “They barely send anyone here as it is.”

  Master Kai ignored them. He turned as Wei Lin burst back in, face pale, holding the lacquered box.

  “You done this before?” Master Kai asked, taking the kit.

  Wei Lin hesitated and glanced at me. I thought I caught a sheepish expression but I must have been imagining. “Once.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him and he had the shame to look away.

  “That’s enough. Hold the wound closed.”

  Wei Lin stepped in without hesitation. His hands were steady despite the blood. I watched as he pressed the skin together, knuckles tight. Master Kai began stitching, fast and precise. The thread was black, maybe silk. Each pull of the needle made the wounded man twitch, but he didn’t lose consciousness.

  “How long ago?” Master Kai asked.

  “An hour,” the hunter said. “Maybe less.”

  The silence stretched.

  Eventually, Master Kai tied off the last stitch, poured something over the wound, and wrapped the chest in clean white bandages.

  “He’ll live,” Master Kai said. “If no infection sets in. If his spirit holds.” He looked up. “But that forest isn’t safe anymore.”

  My stomach was still tight.

  The hunter caught his breath and scanned the room. “You need to be careful. All of you. Something’s happening out there. I don’t know what, but…” His voice cracked. “We’ve hunted that ridge for years. Nothing like this has happened since—”

  Master Kai cut him off with a look. “Then we take it seriously.”

  He turned to the room. “Get the word out. No foraging. No solo trips. No kids near the treeline.”

  He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

  Everyone was listening.

  Everyone understood.

  Wei Lin stepped back from the table, hands still covered in blood. He looked at me.

  And I looked back. We would talk about this. But not tonight.

  I grabbed my gourd and took another swig.

  Tonight I needed to unwind.