The afternoon sun hung low and heavy, baking the Ironwood Forest's edge until the air shimmered like a sheet of hot glass. Dust kicked up by scuffed leather boots clung to sweat-stained sleeves, and the fire pit Tong's men had built crackled uselessly—no one leaned in for warmth, not when sweat dripped from their chins into the dirt, stinging the small cuts on their hands.
They collapsed in a ragged circle, legs splayed, knives tossed carelessly at their sides. Xiao Hu, the youngest of the group, kicked a smooth river stone so hard it bounced off a mango tree trunk with a thwack. His boot was caked in mud, and he yanked it off to rub his red, swollen ankle—skin raw where the leather had chaffed. "We've been tramping through this damn forest for hours!" he snapped, voice cracking a little. "No sign of the boy, no trace of the hermit—hell, I haven't even seen a ripe mango to steal! My feet feel like they're stuffed with thorns, and my back's killing me."
Ah Qiang, a burly man with a scar across his jaw, nodded so vigorously his ears wiggled. He scratched at a mosquito bite on his neck until it bled, then held up his forearm to show a line of angry red welts. "Tell me about it! These bugs are worse than the ones back in Chiang Mai—bit me through my coat! And Tong? He'll blow a gasket if we come back empty-handed. Remember last month, when Lao Wang missed that opium shipment? Tong made him carry a thirty-pound stone Mountain running （around the mountain) from dawn till dusk for three days. I saw him afterwards—could barely lift his arms!"
Old Chen, the gray-bearded man who'd followed Tong for five years, leaned against a gnarled ironwood tree, his eyes half-closed. He coughed, a dry, rasping sound that made his shoulders shake, and shook his head. "Yelling's the least of our worries. This forest's bigger than we mapped—stretches clear to the Western Hills. One cave? Hidden somewhere in all these trees? It's like looking for a needle in a haystack. Tong's gonna kill us before we even catch a whiff of that golden lotus."
Mumbles rippled through the group—grumbles about sore muscles, empty stomachs, and the growing knot of fear in their chests. They'd combed every path, poked their heads into every damp cave they found, even followed the gurgle of a stream once—only to find it led to a dead end, with nothing but moss and a family of skittish otters. No golden glow, no Tan Kai, no Tai Chu. Just endless trees, buzzing bugs, and the distant roar of a tiger that made their skin prickle.
"Quiet!"
The word cut through the noise like a knife. Tong stood up, his wine gourd swinging from his fingers, and the men froze—all eyes darting to him. His face was flushed, not just from the heat, but from a cold, simmering anger that made his jaw tight enough to see the muscle twitch. He kicked an empty mango peel across the dirt, sending it skittering into the fire, where it curled and burned with a tiny pop.
"You think this is some kind of village picnic?" he snapped, his voice loud enough to make a nearby sparrow flutter off its branch. "You think my Master sent us here to sit around and whine about bug bites? We're after the Lotus Curse—the one thing that can make him stronger than the Heavenly Court itself! Find it, and we'll never have to beg for coin again. We'll own every silk market from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. We'll make the village chiefs bow to us when we walk by. We'll be unstoppable."
Xiao Hu hesitated, then raised his hand like a nervous schoolboy—still rubbing his ankle, eyes darting to the ground. "But… boss? What is the Lotus Curse? Master never told us—we just know we need the boy's golden lotus to get it. Does it… does it do something to people?"
Tong's glare locked onto him, cold enough to make Xiao Hu shrink back into his coat. "You don't need to know. You just need to find the boy. His lotus is the key—without it, the Curse is just a useless chunk of stone. Grab him, grab the lotus, bring 'em to Master. That's all you need to do. Ask one more stupid question, and you'll end up like the last fool who bothered me with 'why's.'"
Xiao Hu paled. Everyone knew what had happened to that fool—he'd been found tied to a tree three days later, half-eaten by wild boars. Tong's Master was a ghost story to them: no one had ever seen him, but Tong talked about him like he was a god—old enough to remember the first lotus blooms, with magic that could wrap a village in black fog and make the rivers run dry. They didn't want to end up on the wrong side of either of them.
Tong took a long sip from his wine gourd, the anger in his face fading a little—though his eyes were still sharp as flint. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, leaving a dark stain. "Now get up. We search until the sun dips below the trees. If you see anything—even a flicker of gold, even a footprint that isn't ours—you tell me first. No mistakes. No slacking. Understand?"
The men scrambled to their feet, grabbing their knives and nets. Their steps were slow, their shoulders slouched, but fear kept them moving—fear of Tong's boot to their ribs, fear of his Master's black fog, fear of ending up as wild boar food. They followed Tong into the forest, the fire pit left to burn itself out, the afternoon sun starting to dip lower, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the mountain, Ne Zha and Erlang Shen stood in a small clearing, staring at the endless sea of ironwood trees. The sun was sinking fast, casting long, thin shadows across the ground, and the wind carried a faint chill from the mountain's peak—sharp enough to make Ne Zha pull his red armor tighter. He kicked a rock so hard sparks flew, his jaw tight with frustration.
"We've searched every inch of this mountain!" he said, gesturing wildly at the trees. "We checked every cave, every valley, even climbed that stupid cliff where the waterfall freezes at dawn! Nothing. It's like Tai Chu cave vanished into thin air. How is that possible? My fire spear can burn through stone—why can't it find a lousy cave?"
Erlang Shen closed his eyes, his third eye—usually hidden beneath his forehead—opening slowly. A soft, bright blue light spilled from it, scanning the forest in a slow arc, cutting through leaves and shadows like they were paper. For a minute, he stood like that, his face calm, then he closed the eye, sighing heavily. The blue glow faded, leaving a faint tiredness in his eyes.
"Tai Chu's concealment spells are older than the Jade Emperor's throne," he said, his voice steady, but there was a hint of frustration underneath. "They're woven into the mountain itself—trees, rocks, even the river that runs through the valley. My Heavenly Eye can see through most magic, but this? It's like the cave doesn't exist. He's hiding it too well… and he knows we're here."
Ne Zha crossed his arms, leaning against a tree. His stomach growled loudly, and he winced. "So what? We just wait here forever? We've been down here for three weeks—the Jade Emperor gave us a month to find Tai Chu and the golden lotus. That's only ten days left! If we don't send word back soon, he'll send the Thunder Gods down. And you know what happens then—we get dragged back to Heaven for the thunder(thunder punishment). I'm not gonna let my father (Li Tianwang) lecture me for a month straight because we couldn't find one hermit."
Erlang Shen nodded, his expression serious. He reached up to adjust the silver armor on his shoulder, his fingers brushing the scratch mark from a boar they'd fought two days ago. "I know. The thunder punishment's the last thing I need—my back still aches from the last time I messed up a mission. But we can't force our way in. Tai Chu's magic is stronger than both of us combined—even with your fire spear and my three eyes, we'd lose. He'd turn our own power against us before we could lift a weapon. And if we make noise, he'll move the cave—we'll be back to square one."
Ne Zha groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Great. So we're stuck waiting for him to come out? What if he never does? What if he trains Tan Kai to use the golden lotus, and by the time we find them, the boy can shoot light from his hands? We'll look like idiots."
Erlang Shen hesitated, then smiled a small, rare smile. He nodded toward the path down the mountain, where the faint smoke from a village's cookfires curled into the sky. "We wait, but we don't starve. I saw a village down there this morning—signs outside the huts said they sell mango sticky rice. The kind with thick coconut sauce and roasted sesame seeds. Remember when we were kids, and the kitchen fairies snuck us bowls after training?"
Ne Zha's eyes lit up, his frustration fading a little. "How could I forget? You ate three bowls and got coconut sauce all over your armor. The Jade Emperor yelled at you for a hour."
Erlang Shen laughed—quiet, but genuine. "I was hungry! Alright. We'll go eat. But we're back before dark. If Tai Chu comes out while we're gone, we'll miss him. And then we will get the thunder punishment."
"He won't," Ne Zha said, already walking toward the path. He kicked a small stone out of his way, his steps lighter. "He's too stubborn to move before he's ready. C'mon—if we hurry, we can get two bowls. And I'm not sharing mine. You ate all the sesame seeds last time."
Erlang Shen shook his head, but he followed Ne Zha, his boots crun