The morning sun painted the path in gold as Tang San walked beside Master, the old man's hands clasped behind his back like a general leading his troops. Ayan, of course, trailed behind them with his usual half-smirk, eyes darting between his two companions as if already scheming.
"So…" Ayan finally broke the silence. "Tang San, you've really become Master's favorite, huh? All that walking shoulder to shoulder… looks like I should start calling you 'Teacher's Pet.'"
Tang San's steps faltered, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. "It's not like that. He's… teaching me important things."
"Oh, I know," Ayan said, drawing out his words with mock seriousness. "He's teaching you so much, I bet you'll be the first disciple in history to polish a teacher's boots and call it cultivation."
Master stopped, turning his head ever so slightly. His sharp eyes narrowed—not in anger, but curiosity. "And you, Ayan… are you just here to make noise?"
"Noise?" Ayan put a hand to his chest in mock offense. "No, Master. I'm here to observe, learn, and—" his grin widened, "—to make sure Tang San doesn't get too full of himself."
Tang San sighed, but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at his lips.
As they continued down the road, Master began explaining spirit ring theory—timing, age, compatibility. Ayan listened quietly at first, his usual smirk fading into thought. But after a few minutes, he interjected.
"So basically, you're saying… if Tang San picks the wrong spirit ring, it could ruin him forever?"
Master gave a curt nod. "Correct."
Ayan whistled low. "No pressure then, Tang San. Just pick right, or spend the rest of your life regretting it. Totally relaxing situation."
Tang San shot him a sideways glance. "You're not helping."
"Oh, I am," Ayan replied, eyes glinting. "If you can focus with me talking, you can focus through anything."
The three of them walked on, Master occasionally tossing Tang San a testing question, while Ayan added his own "helpful" commentary. Somewhere between the teasing and the teaching, the road felt less like a march toward danger and more like an odd little family trip—one with a sarcastic older brother tagging along.