Night wrapped around the Ironwood Forest like a thick, damp blanket. Moonlight seeped through the canopy in thin, silver streaks—barely enough to see the next step. Crickets chirped so loud they drowned out the wind, and somewhere far off, an owl hooted, its call sharp and lonely.
Tong's men stumbled through the underbrush, their boots crunching over dry leaves and sticks. They'd been walking for hours, their black coats caked in mud, their faces drawn with exhaustion. No sign of Tan Kai. No hint of Tai Chu's cave. Just thorns that tore at their sleeves, mosquitoes that bit until their arms were red, and the constant, gnawing fear that they'd never find what they were looking for.
"Boss, can we stop?" a young man panted, slowing to a hobble. He was the newest member of the group—scrawny, with a patchy beard and eyes that darted around like he expected trouble. "My feet… they're blistering. I think I stepped on a thorn an hour ago, and it's still stuck."
Another man—short, with a belly that strained his coat—nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Tong! We've been walking in circles. This forest all looks the same—trees, trees, and more trees. I swear, if I see one more mango sapling, I'm gonna scream."
Tong turned, his jaw tight. The darkness hid most of his scowl, but his voice was sharp enough to make the men flinch. "Quit your whining. Master didn't send us here to complain about blisters. He wants that golden lotus, and we're not going back empty-handed. You think he'll care about your feet when we tell him we found nothing? He'll feed us to his pet snakes before sunrise."
The men fell silent. They all knew it was true. Tong's Master—an old, shadowy figure no one had seen up close—didn't tolerate failure. Last time a group came back without results, they'd been forced to guard a snake pit for a month. No one wanted to repeat that.
They tramped on, the underbrush growing thicker. Vines tangled around their ankles, and every step kicked up clouds of dirt. Then—suddenly—a low, angry snort rumbled from the bushes ahead.
Everyone froze.
The crickets stopped chirping. The wind died down. Even the fireflies that had been flickering between trees seemed to hold their glow. Then another snort, louder this time—deep, guttural, like something big was breathing right behind the bushes.
"Boss… what is that?" the young man whispered, his voice shaking so hard his teeth chattered. He reached for the knife at his waist, but his hand slipped—nerves making his palms sweat.
Tong squinted into the dark. He could see movement—bushes rustling, branches creaking. Then he saw it: two eyes, bright as embers, staring right at him. And above those eyes—two long, curved tusks, glinting in the moonlight, sharp enough to pierce wood.
"A boar," Tong breathed. "And it's mad."
Before anyone could react, the bush exploded.
The boar charged out—huge, its brown fur matted with mud and leaves, its mane standing straight up. Saliva dripped from its jaws, and it let out a roar so loud it made the trees shake. And behind it, peeking from the bush, were three tiny piglets—pink, wobbly, huddled together in the grass.
A mother boar. They'd wandered right into her den.
"RUN!" Tong yelled, spinning on his heel.
Chaos erupted.
The young man screamed, his legs moving so fast he nearly ran into a tree. He bounced off the trunk, fell face-first into the mud, then scrambled up again—his nose bleeding, his coat covered in dirt. The short man tripped over a root, sending his knife flying into the bushes. "My knife! That's my best one!" he yelled, diving after it before remembering the boar was right behind him.
Another man—thin, with a scar across his cheek—dropped the net he'd been carrying (the one they planned to use to catch Tan Kai) and it tangled around his leg. He fell, the net wrapping tighter, and he kicked and yelled, "Get this thing off me! It's gonna drag me to the boar!"
Tong didn't fare much better. He'd grabbed a thick branch to swing at the boar, but it snapped in his hand the second it hit the beast's back. The boar turned, snorting, and Tong yelped—diving out of the way just as its tusks dug into the dirt where he'd been standing. His silver scorpion robe caught on a branch, ripping a long slit down the back, and he cursed, yanking it free as he ran. He could feel the boar's hot breath on his neck, and he ran faster, his lungs burning.
But after a minute, the boar slowed. It wasn't chasing to kill—just to drive them away from its piglets. Soon, it stopped altogether, snorting once more to warn them off before turning and lumbering back into the bushes.
The men collapsed by a cluster of mango trees, gasping for breath. Their chests heaved, their clothes were caked in mud, and no one spoke for a minute—just the sound of ragged breathing and the occasional cough.
Finally, the thin man sat up, pulling the net off his ankle. The skin there was red and raw, and he stared at it, muttering. "We… we almost got eaten by a boar," he said, his voice still shaky. "This is ridiculous. We're supposed to be hunting a celestial hermit and a kid with a magic lotus—not running from pigs in the dark!"
The old man in the group—gray-bearded, his coat frayed at the cuffs—leaned against a tree trunk, closing his eyes. "He's right, Tong. When is this gonna end? We've searched every inch of this forest. Tai Chu's cave is like a ghost—we can't see it, can't sense it. My feet are bleeding through my boots, and I haven't slept more than two hours a night since we got here."
Mumbles of agreement rippled through the group. "Yeah, Boss—this is hopeless!" "What if Master replaces us with someone else?" "I'd rather guard the snake pit than do this!"
Tong ran a hand through his messy hair, his jaw tight. He patted his belt—then froze. His wine gourd was gone. The one he'd had for years, carved with a tiny scorpion, filled with his favorite rice wine. He'd lost it during the chase.
"Dammit," he growled, kicking a stone.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Complaining wouldn't help. They needed a plan.
"Tai Chu must've put up a barrier," he said, his voice lower than usual. He stared at the dark forest, thinking. "A magic one. Something that hides his cave from people he doesn't want to find it. We're searching blindly—we could walk right past it and never know."
The young man looked up, his nose still red. "What do we do then? We can't break a magic barrier with knives and nets."
Tong sighed. There was only one option—even if it scared him. "We go to Master. He has magic tools—ones that can see through illusions, break barriers. If we ask him for one… maybe then we can find Tai Chu's cave."
The old man's eyes flew open. "Are you crazy? Master hates being bothered! Last time someone went to him with a 'favor' without being told to, he turned their hair white overnight. Remember Xiao Li? He's still walking around with a head full of white hair, and he only asked for a new knife!"
"I know," Tong said, his voice tight. "But what other choice do we have? Chase boars and walk in circles until we starve? Or go ask Master for help and hope he doesn't turn our hair white?" He paused, looking at each man. "I'll take the blame if he gets mad. But we're not leaving this forest empty-handed."
The men exchanged glances. No one liked the idea—but it was better than the alternative. The short man nodded first. "Fine. But if my hair turns white, I'm never talking to you again."
The others chuckled, the tension easing a little. Someone pulled out a canvas bag and dumped its contents on the ground: a handful of dried mangoes (hard as rocks), a loaf of bread with a greenish spot (mold, but no one mentioned it), and a canteen of water that tasted like metal.
They passed the food around. The dried mangoes crunched when they bit into them, and the bread was so hard it hurt their teeth, but it was better than nothing. The young man tried to soak his bread in water to soften it, but the water just made it soggy and gross.
"This is worse than prison food," he muttered.
Tong didn't eat much. He was too busy thinking about Master—what he'd say, how he'd react. Would he get angry? Would he give them the tool? Or would he punish them for failing so far?
When they'd finished, Tong stood up, brushing crumbs off his torn robe. "Let's get to the big tent. Rest up—we leave at dawn. The faster we get to Master, the faster we can come back and grab that lotus."
The men nodded, dragging themselves to their feet. They trundled toward the cluster of tents they'd set up that afternoon—small, made of rough gray cloth, held up by bamboo poles. The largest tent was in the middle, where Tong slept, and they filed inside one by one.
Inside, the tent smelled like mud and sweat. A few small oil lamps cast a faint, yellow light, and straw mats covered the ground. The short man fell asleep instantly, snoring so loud it shook the tent poles. The young man curled up in a corner, still dabbing at his nose. The old man sat cross-legged, staring at the tent wall, his face worried.
Tong sat alone in the corner, his eyes closed. He thought about his lost wine gourd, about the boar, about Master's cold, quiet voice. He didn't want to face the old man—but he had to. For the lotus. For his own skin.
Tomorrow, they'd find Master. Tomorrow, they'd get the tool.
And tomorrow, Tai Chu's cave wouldn't stay hidden for long.
That night, as the camp sank into uneasy silence, Tong drifted into a shallow sleep. In his dream, a pair of cold, pale eyes watched him from behind a curtain of mist—eyes that felt older than the forest itself.
For a moment, he couldn't tell if it was Master…
…or something else entirely.
Unbeknownst to them, far beyond the glow of their flickering lanterns, a lone figure stood among the trees—silent, unmoving.
Watching.