For a heartbeat, panic clawed up my throat—had I overstepped, shattered the easy rhythm we'd built? Cold sweat beaded beneath the mask, threatening to betray me—but then she blinked, shaking off the stupor like dew from a leaf.
"Ahem, y-you shouldn't say stuff like that so casually."
"…Sorry."
"No need to apologize that much… Here."
She pressed the bottle into my palm, her fingers brushing mine in a fleeting warmth, then rose with a fluid grace that scattered the fire's shadows.
"Don't let the others catch you drinking."
"Our little secret?"
"Our little secret."
Maybe it was the firelight's trick, dancing gold across her skin, but her smile—soft, faintly flushed—held an uncommon prettiness that night, lingering in my mind like a half-remembered dream.
The next morning dawned clear and untroubled; I stirred safe in my bedroll, folded the rumpled linens with habitual care, and turned my gaze to the vampire's trail once more. It had wandered a touch—a subtle drift like smoke on the breeze—but clung near its prior haunt. Promising, at least.
But seriously, gods of heaven and earth, is this supposed to work?
I surprised even myself with the clarity of it. Pinpointing a location? That edged beyond the usual veil of vague omens and shadowed warnings. In theory, it aligned—drawing on the heavens' vast energy to skim their endless records—but I'd braced for failure, not this seamless pull.
Thanks to it, I'd pocketed a windfall that gleamed like buried gold, yet the ease gnawed at me. No matter the pleas or rituals, they'd never yield so much as a whisper of my tomorrows—yet tracking a bloodthirsty phantom? Fair game, apparently.
The heavens remained an enigma, capricious as a mountain storm—generous in whims, stingy where it counted.
Clop clop.
Day two's carriage crawl stretched like taffy, the wheels' monotonous dirge lulling the world to a haze. I'd even dredged up that wretched novel in desperation, forcing a few pages before slamming it back into my pack with a curse. No—its drivel soured worse on second taste, a bitter pill I couldn't swallow.
But idling in silence? An itch under the skin, relentless.
"Miss."
"What?"
"Are those warriors decent people? As long as they're not the type to swing fists just for talking to them, I'd be fine."
"…I think I just got a rough idea of what you picture martial artists as in your head."
The caricature she'd sketched probably mirrored my own jumbled fears: unpredictable kegs of powder, fuses lit by a stray spark, liable to erupt anywhere, anytime. Hard to breathe easy beside forces who could snap life like dry twig—one errant swing, and the world's colors drained to gray.
I'd wager most Plain-folk nursed the same wariness toward sword-bearers—eyes darting, voices pitched low. Innkeeps, especially; tales abounded of trembling hands pouring ale for guests who could level a room with a glare.
If I ever chased a side trade, hospitality was off the ledger. Who needed a livelihood reduced to rubble on a whim?
"No way a warrior on a Martial Alliance leash would turn on a teammate like that," Tang Ayeon assured, her tone laced with dry amusement. "Unless you massively insulted them or something."
"…Then is it okay if I chat with them a bit?"
"…Wait, have you been too scared to talk to them this whole time?"
"…"
Couldn't deny it. The chasm yawned wider out here, unmoored from my shop's familiar walls. There, they were patrons—diffident guests in my domain, the incense and star-charts a buffer of control. But on this dusty trail? Raw nerves, the air thick with their unspoken might.
You'd grasp it, boots in my place: wedged beside demigods who could pulp a melon with a flick.
"Ugh, you've got this sneaky weak side." She rubbed her temples, exasperation softening to fondness. "So why weren't you scared of me?"
"Because you're you, Miss."
Truth be told, our first crossing caught me green—her letter a polite veil, and I'd yet to witness a blade's true kiss or feel qi's thunderous pulse. I knew their ilk ran deep, but she radiated no storm's edge, just a quiet current that drew rather than drowned.
"…You're not doing this on purpose, are you?"
"Doing what?"
"Sigh… seriously…"
Tang Ayeon thumped her chest lightly, a gesture caught between laugh and groan—my martial jitters clearly fraying her patience like worn cord.
"It's just that killing time like this is too boring," I pressed, waving off the tension. "I was thinking of reading their fortunes to pass the hours."
"A guy who lived in the mountains can't handle boredom?"
"It's because I've tasted the joys of the secular world that I'm like this. Don't you get bored, Miss?"
"Patience is a basic trait for martial artists."
Fair enough. They meditated through monsoons, perched in lotus torment for days if the path demanded—measuring them by a layman's yardstick was folly, like judging eagles by a sparrow's flight.
"Then should I call them over? Though they seem to be having fun on their own, so they might not come—just so you know."
"Say this when you call them. They'll come, I bet."
"What?"
"That I'll read their love fortunes. For free."
No red-blooded man could steel against that lure, I figured—curiosity's hook baited sweet.
...
...
Sure enough—
"You're really doing it for free? I heard your fees are pretty steep normally."
"I can't charge after offering first," I replied, settling the tablets with a flourish. "Think of it as fate and just listen casually, no pressure."
All three materialized like moths to lantern glow. Two practically vibrated with eagerness, eyes alight; the third loomed skeptical, arms crossed—but even his scowl cracked with a glint of hunger.
The skeptic broke the hush first.
"I've had my fortune read a few times—it's all a scam. Just fancy words to sound convincing."
"Then don't bother, man," one companion ribbed, clapping his shoulder. "We'll get ours read."
"They say this guy's so good his fame's spread to Sichuan," the other chimed, grinning wide. "Normally it's two silver coins a pop—where else do you get a chance like this? Drop the pride and sit down."
"…"
The man sank onto the bench in brooding silence, the fight leaching from his frame.
"Then I'll start with this gentleman," I said, turning to him with a nod. "Could you give me your name and birthplace?"
"Kang Gu-eon. From Jiangxi."
"Alright, let's take a look at Kang's love fortune…"
Swish!
I fanned the eight wooden tablets in a single sweep, their edges whispering against the makeshift table.
Truth? The flourish meant little—just theater for the crowd, a veil of mystique. But it drew them in, eyes widening at the ritual's hum.
"Might as well ask—any past romantic experience?"
"…Does holding hands cou—"
"Got it."
I'd struck bone already, his words clipping short on a wince. Poor soul.
"The heavens are the father, the earth the mother," I intoned, weaving the old patter with deliberate cadence. "Thunder is the eldest son for its speed, and wind the eldest daughter for coming next."
Of course, none of it bound the weave—superfluous chant, a nod to spectacle. If haste called, a few mudras would suffice, energy coiling swift and unseen. But here? Might as well polish the performance; half the fortune's charm lay in the show.
Pop!
"Here we go. The results are in."
I loosed the residual qi in a controlled bloom, a sapphire spark flaring brief and brilliant before dissolving into twilight haze.
"This is a bit delicate to say, but… uh…"
I flicked a glance at Tang Ayeon, waving her off with a subtle gesture; she caught it, nodding as she drifted to a discreet remove.
She'd weather the tale unscathed, no doubt, but voicing such intimacies with her ear near? Awkward as a thorn in silk.
With distance secured, I leaned close, palm half-veiling my mouth.
"You should be careful how you… handle your lower half."
"What…!"
"Haha, is this guy gonna be a playboy?" one companion hooted, envy lacing his laugh. "I'm jealous!"
He'd already tethered to one flame, only to stray into another's bed—leaving her swelling with child, a tangled knot of his making. Rough roads ahead, woven from his own careless threads; the mess he'd sow would reap a bitter harvest. Self-inflicted, every thorn.
If you danced with hearts, own the steps—don't glance sidelong at the next partner mid-waltz.
Ugh, poor woman.
Shaanxi's divinations had shown me every shade of union's unraveling—betrayals sharp as shattered jade—so this one lingered, a quiet ache.
I warned him straight: rein it in, lest folly claim its due. Hoped the words rooted deep.
Oh, come on.
The second fared worse—a slow burn of oblivious waste. A childhood shadow who'd harbored silent flames for years, her gaze a constant, unspoken plea.
"I've never had any luck with women. Any chance things might turn around?"
And he voiced that aloud? Blind as mist-shrouded stone.
"You might find a connection if you look around," I counseled, careful not to shatter the veil. "Take a good look at your surroundings."
He'd need to bridge it himself—that fragile span from friends to fire, kindled by a nudge or bold confession. How many seasons wasted in willful fog?
"Surroundings…?"
He propped his chin, brow furrowing in dawning puzzle. Fingers crossed for clarity's grace.
And the last...
Uh...
Hm...
"…Sorry."
"…I don't believe in fortunes anyway."
"…The future's always uncertain, sir."
"…"
Words failed after that, the air thickening with unspoken weights. The other two shifted, glances awkward as ill-fit armor, but salvation arrived on cue.
"All done?"
"Haha… our turn's over, so we'll head out. Next person's up."
"Y-Yeah, let's go. Get up quick."
"…"
They hauled the third away like a reluctant tide, fleeing the carriage's confines in hasty retreat.
"…What was that? Did I mess up?"
"No, you came at the perfect time."
Despite the sour coda, I'd slain the hours, so I gathered the scattered tablets—then paused, eyes sliding to Tang Ayeon.
"…Interested, Miss?"
Come to think of it, I'd skimmed her threads in passing—career glimpses, shadowed warnings—but never delved love's tangled loom.
Might as well etch hers while the qi hummed fresh.
"M-Me?"
"Yeah. I just realized I've never read your love fortune."
"Uh… um…"
Tang Ayeon's cheeks kindled rose, a bloom as sudden as spring's first thaw.
Maybe these matters struck deeper for women—vulnerable threads, not idly plucked.