When Fei stepped out of her room, it was already afternoon. The sun was lowering toward the west, yet its warmth still lingered in the air. She paused on the wooden corridor, blinking against the mellow light, and took in the place where she had woken up to a new life.
The inn was larger than she had imagined. From where she stood on the second floor, she could see that her room lay in a corner of a square-shaped building. Four rooms occupied the corners, with three more between each pair — sixteen rooms in total. Looking down from the railing, she noticed that the center of the ground floor was open, like a courtyard, but furnished as a small restaurant.
Descending the staircase, Fei ran her fingers along the curved railings, their surface carved with delicate clouds and cranes. The air below was warmer — thick with the mingled scents of simmering broth, frying dough, and freshly brewed tea.
A handful of people sat scattered among the wooden tables, each wrapped in their own quiet world. A man in a wide straw hat sipped tea alone by the window; two merchants argued over a rolled-up scroll; an old woman counted her copper coins beside a steaming bowl of noodles. Their clothes — worn, patched, and colored in muted tones — spoke silently of distance and class.
As Fei took in the scene, she felt eyes turning toward her. Conversations faltered. She didn't have to hear the whispers to know what they were about: the girl found unconscious on the roadside.
A faint discomfort prickled along her skin, but she understood. She didn't belong here — not yet.
"Miss Xing Fei? You should be resting."
The familiar voice drew her attention. Madam Wen approached, her expression a practiced mix of concern and restraint.
"Thank you, Madam Wen," Fei said politely. "But I feel well enough now. I only wished to see the village."
Madam Wen studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Xin Yan," she called to a maid clearing a nearby table, "accompany her. She doesn't know the way."
Fei inclined her head gratefully. "Thank you for your kindness."
The maid stepped forward — a girl perhaps Fei's own age, dressed in a coarse brown hemp robe. Her hair was tied in a simple knot, her posture quiet but sure. Despite her plain attire, there was something about her — a soft brightness that made her seem quietly radiant.
"You must be the guest from upstairs," the girl said with a gentle smile. "I'm Xinyan. Madam Wen asked me to accompany you. Would you like to see the main market first?"
Fei hesitated for a moment, torn between caution and curiosity. There were so many questions pressing in her mind, so many blurred edges in her new reality. "The market sounds good," she said at last, returning the smile. "Lead the way."
---
The village unfolded before them — a winding pattern of narrow lanes and vibrant stalls. The air shimmered with color and sound: hawkers calling out their prices, the crackle of frying snacks, the perfume of herbs and incense. Rolls of silk fluttered like captured sunlight. Children darted between the stalls, their laughter mingling with the calls of merchants.
As they walked, Fei's initial stiffness began to fade. Xinyan was a natural storyteller. She pointed out the tea seller whose blends were said to "chase away bad dreams," explained the meanings of charms hung outside homes, and spoke of the shrine where travelers prayed before leaving the village. Her voice carried warmth, and her words painted life into the place.
For the first time since waking, Fei felt a fragile thread of belonging — thin as silk, but real.
After a while, Fei glanced sideways at her companion. "Do you know of the Wandering Cloud Sect?" she asked, trying to sound casual, though her voice trembled slightly. "Do you know where they are?"
Xinyan didn't look surprised. If anything, a faint anticipation flickered in her eyes, as though she had been waiting for this question.
"I know of them," she said softly. "Their home lies deep in the Cloud Mountains, about half a day's walk from here. But the path is guarded. Outsiders can't simply wander in."
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Did you see them yesterday? When they brought you to the inn?"
Fei shook her head. "No. I was senseless."
A shadow of disappointment crossed Xinyan's face. "I wasn't at the inn at that time either," she said quietly. "I wish I could have seen them."
Fei's curiosity deepened. "Do you admire them?"
Xinyan blinked, surprised by the directness of the question, then smiled. "Who doesn't? They perform so gracefully. But they're not just entertainers for nobles — they travel through villages, helping people when times are hard. They bring hope where there's none."
Her words carried both awe and longing. Fei wasn't sure how much was true, but she couldn't deny that the sect had indeed saved her life. "I see," she said softly. "They helped me too. I wish I could thank them in person."
"But no one can go to the Cloud Mountains without an invitation," Xinyan replied. Then her eyes brightened with sudden excitement. "Unless… you join them. They're accepting new disciples — the trial is tomorrow. I'm going."
"You want to join the sect?" Fei asked, taken aback.
"Yes," Xinyan said, her voice light yet burning with conviction.
And there it was — the source of her charm.
It wasn't merely her kindness or her gentle nature. It was her fire — the quiet, unwavering fire of someone who believed in something.
For the first time, Fei saw a glimmer of what she herself had lost — purpose.