The Jade Basin Desert was a sea of gold and silence, broken only by the creak of wagon wheels and the plodding steps of the spirit-camels. The heat was a physical weight, and the air shimmered with mirages. To the three outer disciples, it was a hellscape. To Ye Xingliu, it was a new, fascinating rhythm—the slow, deep pulse of the sleeping earth beneath the sand, the skittering life of scorpions and lizards, the dry whisper of the wind.
It was that whisper that changed.
His Life Sensing, stretched wide to drink in the new environment, picked up the dissonance. Thirty-two heartbeats, not of beasts, but of men, pulsing with a greedy, violent intent. They were buried in the sand ahead, their rhythms muted but unmistakable, flanking the caravan's path.
"Ambush," he said, his voice calm but carrying to the caravan master and Shui'er. "Thirty-two. Ahead and to the flanks."
The master paled. "Bandits! Shields up!"
Before the guards could even fully form a defensive line, the desert erupted. Figures clad in dusty, sand-colored robes surged from the dunes, scimitars glinting in the harsh sun. They moved with the practiced ease of predators, their war cries sharp and ugly.
The outer disciples froze, their faces white with terror.
"Shui'er, the flanks! Grunter, the center!" Ye Xingliu commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.
With a whoop, Shui'er shot towards the left flank, her hands weaving. A localized sandstorm erupted among the bandits there, a whirlwind of stinging grains that ruined their charge and sent them stumbling, blinded and choking.
Grunter, with an enthusiastic bellow, lowered his head and charged the center line. Bandits scattered like ninepins before the living battering ram, their attacks bouncing harmlessly off his iron hide.
But the bandit leader, a hulking man with a scarred face, was smarter. He circled, aiming for the seemingly defenseless merchant wagons.
He never saw Ye Xingliu coming.
Ye Xingliu didn't run at him. He moved into the Drunken Meteor, but he adapted it to the terrain. His feet didn't just weave; they kicked and scuffed at the sand with each step. To the bandits, he was a blur, a dizzying, stumbling figure kicking up clouds of dust.
He was creating his own smokescreen.
In three heartbeats, he was amidst the main group of bandits on the right flank. They swiped at him, but he was never where their blades fell. He was a step to the left, a stumble to the right, each movement spraying a fresh cloud of fine, blinding sand into their faces. They coughed and swore, their coordinated attack dissolving into disorganized, flailing strikes.
The bandit leader, trying to see through the chaos, suddenly found Ye Xingliu right in front of him, his clothes dusty, his face smeared with sand, but his star-flecked eyes clear and amused.
"Bad day for an ambush," Ye Xingliu remarked.
The leader roared and swung his heavy scimitar. Ye Xingliu dropped under the swing, his leg sweeping out in a low arc that was pure Drunken Meteor. His foot didn't just trip the man; it kicked a small dune's worth of sand directly into his face and open mouth.
The leader choked, blinded and disoriented. Ye Xingliu stood, plucked the scimitar from his grasp, and tapped him gently on the forehead with the pommel. Bonk. The man's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed into the sand.
With their leader down and their forces scattered by a whirlwind, a boar, and a one-man sandstorm, the remaining bandits lost their nerve and fled back into the dunes.
The fight had lasted less than a minute.
The caravan was safe. The outer disciples looked at Ye Xingliu with a new, profound kind of awe.
Ye Xingliu tossed the scimitar aside and hauled the groggy bandit leader to his feet. "Now," he said, his voice cheerful but leaving no room for argument. "Let's talk. Why us? And don't say 'for the loot.' You were waiting for a sect caravan."
The man spat out sand, his eyes wide with fear. "The... the Cult! The Desert Comet Cult! They pay a bounty for anyone from the Starfall Sect! Said you'd be coming this way, looking for the falling star! They want you... specifically."
Ye Xingliu's grin didn't fade, but it gained a sharp, dangerous edge. So. The road had provided a destination, and it had also provided rivals. A cult that worshipped comets? This was getting more interesting by the second.
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