The ascent out of the Western Valley was a journey through layers of memory. Each switchback on the trail, each familiar grove of trees, felt like shedding a skin. The air grew thinner and colder, the vibrant autumn colors of the valley floor giving way to the stark greys and whites of the high passes. This was the same path they had stumbled down as terrified, starving children. Now, they climbed it with the deliberate stride of warriors.
Li led the way, his senses extended. He no longer just saw the rock and ice; he felt its age, its stability, its latent power. The jade was a quiet hum against his chest, a contented purr in the presence of so much raw, unformed stone. Mei followed, her eyes cataloging everything—the scuffmarks on the trail that spoke of recent passage (animal, not human), the shifts in the wind that promised a change in weather, the specific lichen that grew only on the sun-facing side of the rocks. She was mapping their world, as she always had.
They crested the final ridge at midday. The wind whipped around them, sharp and clean, pulling at their clothes. Below, the Western Valley was a perfect, emerald bowl nestled in the arms of the mountains, a secret world他们已经离开. And before them, to the east, stretched the world.
It was not the mythical landscape of Li's childhood stories. It was vast, yes, and beautiful in a rugged, unforgiving way. But it was also… used. The foothills were crisscrossed with roads—real roads, not game trails. In the distance, the serpentine line of the Serpent River widened into a proper trade route, dotted with the square sails of barges. And farther still, hazy on the horizon, lay the first evidence of the empire they had only heard of: a sprawling city of ochre and grey stone, its walls a scar on the landscape, its smoke a smudge against the clear blue sky.
"So that's it," Mei whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. "The 'shining cities' you told me about."
Li didn't answer. He was looking at the roads. He could feel the traffic on them, not as individuals, but as a constant, grinding pressure of thousands of feet and wheels, a vibration of commerce and movement that was alien to the deep, patient pulse of his valley. The world was loud. It was crowded. And somewhere in that cacophony was the man he had to find.
The descent was faster than their first frantic climb, but more cautious. They were no longer just running; they were entering hostile territory. They avoided the main roads, sticking to the high ground and moving under the cover of forest where they could. Lao's training was their bible. They foraged for food, set hidden snares, and never lit a fire after dark.
After three days, they reached the lowlands. The air was thicker, heavier with the smells of turned earth, woodsmoke, and humanity. They approached a small farming village that clung to the bank of a tributary river. It was a cluster of simple, mud-brick houses, a far cry from the wooden lodges of Dragon's End. The people looked… weathered. Not just by sun and labor, but by something else—a kind of resigned weariness.
Li waited in the cover of a copse of trees while Mei approached alone. She had shed her forest-moss cloak for a simple, travel-stained tunic, making herself look like any other poor girl from the hills. She carried an empty basket, the picture of someone coming to trade or beg.
Li watched as she approached an old woman drawing water from a well. He saw Mei's posture change, becoming smaller, more hesitant. He saw her speak, saw the old woman look her up and down, then gesture with her chin towards the village center. Mei bowed her head in thanks and moved on.
She was gone for what felt like an age. When she returned, her face was grim.
"It's as we feared," she said, her voice low. "The Azure Cloud Clan isn't just a story here. They're the law. The Emperor's favor rests with the Dragon Master. They call him Lord Long Wang. His soldiers are everywhere, collecting 'tributes'—food, goods, young men for his army." She glanced back at the village. "They're terrified. They said a contingent of soldiers passed through just yesterday, heading for the regional capital, Blackwater Junction." She pointed towards the haze on the horizon. "That city. They said the Dragon Master's citadel lies three days' journey beyond it, in the volcanic highlands."
Blackwater Junction. The name was a knot in Li's stomach. It was the first concrete step on their hunt.
"Did they say anything else?" Li asked.
Mei's expression darkened. "They said Lord Long Wang is preparing for a 'Great Ascension'. He's gathered artisans and smiths from across the province. They're building something for him at his citadel. A platform, or an altar. The rumors… the rumors say it's to summon a dragon."
The words hung in the air, cold and final. The Dragon Master wasn't just searching for the Heart. He was creating the means to use it. Their time was shorter than they had thought.
They skirted the village and continued east, their pace quickened by the new urgency. The landscape changed again, the fertile river plains giving way to scrubland and then to the outskirts of Blackwater Junction. The air grew thick with the smell of coal smoke, tanneries, and unwashed humanity. The sounds were a constant assault—the clang of hammers, the shouts of merchants, the rumble of carts on cobblestones.
From a hill overlooking the city, they stared at the chaotic sprawl. It was a beast of stone and noise, a world away from the quiet order of the forest.
"We cannot just walk in there," Li said, his instincts recoiling from the density of life, the sheer chaos of it.
"We don't have to," Mei said, her eyes already scanning the patterns below. She pointed to a dusty crossroads just outside the main gate. A large caravan of wagons was forming up, their canvas covers bearing the same coiled dragon sigil they had seen on the soldiers' armor. "We follow the supply line. Where those wagons go, the Dragon Master will be."
The plan was simple. They would shadow the caravan, using the land as their cover. They would learn its routines, its pace. They would let it lead them straight to the heart of their enemy's power.
As dusk settled over the city, painting the smoke a dull orange, Li felt the jade stir against his chest. It wasn't the contented hum of the mountains. It was a low, resonant thrum of warning, of anticipation. It could feel it too—the closing distance, the gathering storm.
He looked at Mei, her face set in determined lines, already calculating the angles of their approach. They were no longer in their world. They were in his. And they were coming for him.