And yet, over at Master Tai Chu's training ground, laughter hadn't stopped at all.
Tan Kai and Bright were locked in a silly tussle—Bright had swiped Tan Kai's practice staff, holding it high above his head and sticking out his tongue, while Tan Kai hopped like a flustered rabbit, boots scuffing the stone as he reached (and missed). "Give it back! Master'll make us do double stances if we mess around!" he yelped, swatting at Bright's waist.
Bright cackled, dancing backward and tripping over his own feet—yet still clinging to the staff like it was treasure. "Catch me first, slowpoke! You wobble worse than a newborn duck in your stances—how're you gonna grab it?!"
Nam leaned against a traveler's palm, tossing mango slices into her mouth and pretending to sigh. "You two are gonna get us in trouble," she said—but her grin gave her away. She flicked a mango pit at Bright's back, hitting him square between the shoulders.
Yara Yu sat on the stone steps nearby, elbows on her knees, watching them with a smile that crinkled her eyes. She'd already stretched, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, but she didn't mind the chaos—this was the quiet, happy mess she'd grown to love since coming to the cave.
"Hey, Yara!" Bright called, still dodging Tan Kai. "You wanna team up? We'll take Tan Kai down—"
He never finished. Yara Yu's gaze drifted past them, toward the path—and her smile dropped.
Down the stone walkway, Master Tai Chu was coming toward them, his blue robe swishing gently, hands tucked behind his back. No longer the squinty smile old man who snuck mangoes after training—his brows were furrowed, jaw set, and the usual twinkle in his eyes was gone.
"Shh!" Yara Yu hissed, scrambling to her feet and waving her hands. "Master's here—now!"
The chaos cut off like a knife through silk.
Bright yelped and dropped the staff, which clattered loudly on the stone. Tan Kai froze mid-jump, then stumbled forward, nearly face-planting. Nam choked on her mango slice, pounding her chest to catch her breath. One second, the air was thick with laughter; the next, it hung heavy, cold, like someone had dumped a bucket of frost over the training ground. Even the birds went quiet.
Master Tai Chu reached them, stopping in the center of the training ground. He stared at each of them in turn—Tan Kai's messy hair, Bright's red cheeks, Nam's still-puffed-out chest—then let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to sink into the stone.
"Master?" Tan Kai stepped forward, voice small. The playful energy was gone, replaced by a tight knot of worry. "Is… is something wrong?"
Master Tai Chu's gaze drifted to the lotus pool, then back to them. "Our cave," he said, slow and quiet, "it won't stay hidden for long."
Bright's eyes blew wide. "Wait—what? How? We've been safe here for weeks!"
Nam nodded frantically, her worry overriding her embarrassment. "Yeah, Master! Everything's been fine! Did… did someone find us?"
Master Tai Chu stroked his beard, his fingers moving slowly over the white strands. For a moment, he looked older—tired, like he was carrying a weight they couldn't see. But when he spoke, his voice was calm, steady. "I did a divination just now. Tong—he's going to his master to get a magic tool. A tool that can see through my barrier… that'll lead him right here."
Tan Kai's jaw tightened. "Tong has a master? Who is he? Do you know what he's capable of?"
The others leaned in, faces tight with curiosity. They'd only ever known Tong as the loud, angry man chasing them—but a master? That meant something far more dangerous.
Master Tai Chu shook his head, his brow furrowing again. "I can't tell. His energy is like a shadow—hidden, slippery. I can't pin it down." He clapped his hands once, sharp and firm, and the tension lifted just a little. "But don't you worry. I'm here. No matter what comes, I won't let anyone hurt you. Now—back to training. Focus on your stances. No more fooling around."
They exchanged confused glances—Tan Kai scratching his neck, Yara Yu biting her lip, Bright still looking like he'd seen a ghost. But they trusted him. Slowly, they picked up their staffs, drifting back to their spots. Their movements were stiff, distracted—eyes darting to Master Tai Chu every few seconds, like they half-expected danger to burst through the trees.
Just as Tan Kai was trying (and failing) to steady his wobbling leg, Master Tai Chu's voice cut through the silence. "Tan Kai. Come here."
Tan Kai froze, then nodded. He handed his staff to Bright—who still looked too stunned to tease—and walked over, his heart thudding in his chest. "Yes, Master?"
Master Tai Chu led him to the edge of the lotus pool, where the water glinted like liquid gold. He turned to Tan Kai, his eyes softening—no longer the worried hermit, just a teacher looking at his student. "You have an immortal's constitution, boy. That's why you pick up skills so fast, why the golden lotus sings to you. It's not luck—it's who you are."
Tan Kai blinked, surprised. He'd never thought of it as anything but "being quick to learn." "I… I didn't know, Master."
Master Tai Chu smiled, a small, warm thing. "Today, I'm gonna teach you to use it. I'll show you how to channel the golden lotus's energy—turn it into a weapon, to protect yourself… and them." He nodded toward the others, who were pretending not to watch.
Tan Kai's eyes lit up—bright, eager, like a kid given a new toy. "Really? I can help? But—am I strong enough?"
"Strong enough for Tong and his men," Master Tai Chu said, his voice turning serious. "Not yet for Heavenly Soldiers like Ne Zha or Erlang Shen. Don't get reckless. Your power's a candle right now—don't try to light a forest with it."
"I won't," Tan Kai promised, leaning in. "I'll practice. I'll be careful."
"Good." Master Tai Chu leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, like he was sharing a secret with the wind. "These are the words—the Lotus Chant. Repeat after me."
He spoke three short, melodic phrases, each vibrating with quiet power. Tan Kai listened, repeating them until they burned in his memory—warm on his tongue, like they'd always belonged there.
"Memorize them," Master Tai Chu said, patting his shoulder. "But remember—basics first. You can chant until your throat's sore, but if your stances are wobbly, you'll fall. Roots first, then branches. Got it?"
"I got it. Thank you, Master." Tan Kai bowed deeply, his chest light with excitement. He turned and hurried back to his spot, already muttering the chant under his breath.
Master Tai Chu watched him go, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Then—when Tan Kai was far enough that he couldn't see—he glanced left, then right, like a kid checking for adults before stealing cookies. With a quick, sneaky movement, he pulled a cloth bag from behind his back.
Inside? A handful of plump mango slices, glistening with juice.
He picked one up, held it carefully away from his beard (because for all his power—for all he could refine thunder and calm storms—he hated mango juice sticky on his whiskers), and popped it into his mouth. His eyes crinkled shut, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel, and all the seriousness melted away—just an old man, savoring his favorite snack.
He didn't notice Yara Yu watching.
She'd paused mid-stance, her staff hovering in the air, when she'd glanced over. At first, she'd been worried—worried about Tan Kai, worried about the tool, worried about Tong's mysterious master. But seeing him there, squinting like he was guarding the best secret in the world, careful not to get juice on his beard? A soft laugh bubbled up in her chest, light and warm.
Silly old man, she thought. He acts like he's carrying the weight of the world… and then he's sneaking mangoes like we're not all just a bunch of kids he's looking after.
Her worry faded, replaced by a quiet relief. Master Tai Chu wasn't just calm—he was confident. He knew he could protect them. She'd been silly to fret.
But as she turned back to her training, her gaze drifted to Tan Kai. He was standing by the pool, eyes closed, muttering the chant, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he opened his eyes, he looked up—and their gazes met. He smiled, bright and eager, and waved.
Her heart skipped a beat.
It was the same flutter she'd felt a hundred times lately—when he helped her steady her stance, when he shared his mango slices, when he laughed at Bright's silly jokes. But this time, it hit her like a wave.
She wasn't just worried about the cave. She wasn't just worried about danger.
She was worried about him.
The thought made her cheeks burn. She quickly looked away, pretending to adjust her sleeve, but the smile wouldn't leave her face. It was soft, sweet—like the first sip of warm tea on a cold morning, like the way moonlight danced on the lotus pool. A feeling she'd never had before, not for anyone. Like finding a piece of something she didn't know was missing. She didn't realize it then—not yet—but this moment, this quiet flutter and his eager smile, would one day make her bury her face in her hands, shy to think how long ago her heart had chosen him. Even the Lotus Chant, now just words to him, would become the sweetest echo of the day she first knew.
Later, when they took a break to drink water, Bright all but tackled Tan Kai. "Dude! What'd Master say? You looked all serious—did he yell at you? Did he give you a secret mission?!"
Nam crowded in, holding out a half-eaten mango slice like a peace offering. "Spill! We've been dying to know!"
Yara Yu leaned against the stone steps, sipping her water, but her eyes were on Tan Kai—warm, curious.
Tan Kai didn't hold back. He told them about the immortal constitution, about the Lotus Chant, about Master's warning to stick to basics. When he leaned in to whisper the chant, Bright's ears perked up like a curious dog—he leaned in too, mouth twitching as he tried to mimic the words under his breath.
"Oi!" Nam smacked his arm lightly, snorting. "Quit eavesdropping! Your voice sounds like a squawking duck—you'll ruin the chant's vibe before Tan Kai even masters it!"
Bright's jaw dropped, rubbing his arm. "Hey! That's rude! I sounded cool!"
"You sounded like a duck with a sore throat," Nam shot back, tossing a mango pit at him.
Tan Kai laughed, shaking his head as the two bickered. "Master said it's only for me, anyway—needs the immortal constitution to work. But I'll practice hard, promise!"
"Good," Nam said, turning to him with a grin. "Just don't trip over your own feet while you're chanting, okay? I don't wanna have to drag you away from danger."
They went back to training, but Yara Yu's mind kept drifting. Every time she glanced at Tan Kai—his hair sticking up from the wind, his face flushed with effort, his smile when he nailed a stance—her heart fluttered.
Whatever was coming—Tong, his master, the magic tool—it didn't matter as much anymore. She had Master Tai Chu, sneaking mangoes and guarding them. She had Bright and Nam, bickering and laughing and standing by her.
And she had him.
The sun climbed higher, warming the stone under their feet. Tan Kai practiced his stances, muttering the chant. Bright tripped over his own staff (again). Nam snuck mango slices when she thought no one was looking. Master Tai Chu sat on the steps, still picking at his fruit, calling out, "Straighten your knee, Bright! You look like a bent bamboo!"
Yara Yu took a deep breath, lifting her staff, and smiled.
This was home. With him. With all of them.
And for now, that was everything.