"What's with that state?!"
"…"
Tang Ayeon's face burned a vivid red, her posture downright provocative in the dim carriage light. Her top lay discarded, and the only barrier across her upper body was a loosely wound bandage clinging precariously to her chest. Her stomach, armpits, and arms stood fully exposed, the wrapping already threatening to unravel with every shallow breath.
"Q-Quick, put some clothes on! This only happened because you called me in, so don't go saying later it's my fault or—"
"Wait, wait! I really need help!"
"Don't reach out! The bandage'll fall!"
I slapped a hand over my eyes, averting the unintended view, and settled in to hear her explanation—or whatever this was.
She'd managed to smear medicine across most wounds on her own, but her back proved impossible to reach solo. With no other women in our ragtag crew, she'd muddled through as best she could—until the bandage tore mid-struggle. Exhausted from the brawl, she lacked the strength to rewrap it properly.
"Even so, calling a random guy—"
"It's fine if it's you."
"…Miss, saying that usually makes people misunderstand."
It slipped out casual as a sigh, but she shot me a look like I'd uttered pure nonsense, her brows knitting in disbelief.
"Wow, I'm hearing that from you…"
"…What have I said before?"
"…AHHHH!!"
I'd bought her exhaustion tale at face value, but that frustrated wail rang full of vigor, sharp enough to pierce the carriage walls.
"Haa… haa… seriously…"
She clutched her head moments later, though, slumping with genuine fatigue—proving the drain ran deeper than her outburst.
"If you don't keep your promise to show me your face, I'll show you what happens when a Tang Clan woman holds a grudge."
"…I said I'd show you eventually. And could you cover up with something other than that bandage?"
I kept my gaze pinned elsewhere, scooping her scattered clothes from the floor to offer some modesty.
"Seriously… I'll make you regret being born a man…"
"What did you just say? I couldn't hear—it was too quiet."
"Hmph, just muttering to myself, so don't mind it."
Probably nothing worth chasing. I let it slide.
"So… I just need to apply the medicine for you?"
"And wrap the bandage too, please."
Bandage, huh.
Come to think of it, this world skipped bras entirely. Back when I'd first shadowed Master, she'd griped about discomfort during drills; I'd floated the idea from my old life. She'd fashioned one from scraps and wore it like second skin, so the gap had faded from mind.
But binding with cloth like this—wouldn't it chafe raw…?
…Was it always this big?
Freed from the wrap's vise, Tang Ayeon's chest commanded attention—impressive swells that rivaled even Master's subtle supremacy. Close, so perilously close. The heft screamed evident, impossible to cup in one grasp.
You could sense the pull just from a glance.
"…Wasn't that uncomfortable?"
The question tumbled out unbidden, drawn by the sheer compression she endured.
"It's uncomfortable, sure," she admitted with a wry huff. "But what can I do? If I don't tie it up like this, it's a nightmare. Training, fighting—it's inconvenient in so many ways… Especially when I sleep on my stomach, I can't breathe…"
Now that she mentioned it, Master never voiced such woes. Her nights…
…
She favored her side or back for repose, so the bind never bit there. The one gasping for air? That was me, caught in the moment's unintended snare.
Tang Ayeon watched him fumble the bandage from behind, a secret smile curving her lips as he worked.
I thought he was such a mysterious guy…
Turns out he's just a shy mess.
She'd once pegged him for a different breed—dropping heart-skewering quips without a flicker, a veiled enigma toying with souls. Maybe a feigned innocence cloaking a cunning fox, all sly intent beneath the shroud.
With that small, delicate, alluring body, hadn't he already savored every vice the world dangled? She'd toyed with the notion before, suspicion simmering.
But—
"Ow."
"Oh, does it hurt?"
"No, it's fine."
Watching his awkward tugs now, so earnest and unpracticed, she saw the truth: genuine naivety, unpolished as fresh jade.
He doesn't seem to have any experience with women either.
She'd layered subtle lures before—teasing glances, lingering brushes—but he'd sailed past oblivious, fueling doubts. Now? Crystal. His fluster ignited swift at the barest spark; prior calm was mere blindness, not guile.
She hadn't schemed the original woman's abrupt exit for this—pure happenstance—but fate's twist gifted an unexpected boon.
If things keep going like this…
It wouldn't take long.
There's plenty of time.
As long as he lingered in Shaanxi, their orbits would tangle endless. A slow erosion, patient as venom's creep, and she'd breach the walls at last…
Lick.
She'd claim him wholly soon enough.
The linchpin? His face.
Just how exquisite—no, devastating—was he, to veil it so fiercely?
He swore it grotesque, but paired with that siren's frame? Ugliness rang false, a mismatch too stark.
Then again, if fate had scarred him plain, it might've spared him cruelties untold.
Uncloaked, that form unveiled in full—a face to match the lure? She wasn't certain she could rein the tide then.
After safely completing the mission and returning to Shaanxi, I started planning my trip bit by bit.
Ideally, I'd head to areas with reputable orthodox factions like the Nine Sects or Five Great Families—safer that way.
Henan… Hubei… Qinghai… Sichuan… Anhui…
Part of me yearned for Mount Kunlun's fabled heights, but that felt too daunting a trek.
Unlike the Huashan Sect, which mingled secular threads, Kunlun brimmed with reclusive Taoists—true mountain hermits who'd likely scorn a charlatan peddling heavenly scraps for coin.
Sure, Huashan's youth sometimes bristled at my trade, but the elders turned blind eyes.
Kunlun? Unforgiving. No quarter for outsiders, let alone profit's shadow.
I couldn't risk such peril just for a vista's thrill.
For similar reasons, I'd steer clear of Wudang too.
Sichuan… or maybe Anhui and Henan…
Since Henan bridged Shaanxi to Anhui, I'd bundle them as one path. Sichuan or the Henan-Anhui loop.
Wait, Sichuan's where the Sichuan Tang Clan is, right?
Tang Ayeon's home turf. Dropping in there could snag her aid—perhaps even shared roads if stars aligned.
In that case, with a foothold already, Sichuan—
…What's this ominous feeling?
The notion crystallized, and dread coiled unbidden—a gut-deep chill, like fate's whisper laced with warning.
I hadn't even cast a reading, but it screamed finality: Sichuan spelled my end.
Gods of heaven and earth, did you just give me a sign?
Of course, our lofty heavens rarely deigned such direct nudges. Never had, in all my glimpses.
So this must just be intuition's murmur…
Hm…
Blind to my own weave, yet steeped in others' threads—didn't that sharpen the inner compass? A fortune teller's hunch carried weight, honed by countless fates.
Right. Henan and Anhui it is.
Sorry to Tang Ayeon, but instinct bayed danger in Sichuan's shadow—I couldn't ignore it.
I'd loop her in later, once paths diverged.