The post-station faded behind us, swallowed by heat shimmer and the steady drum of our own feet. No horse now, just the weight of six taels in my pouch and the itch of road dust in my throat. Xiao Lan walked half a step ahead, sleeves rolled, knife handle peeking from her belt like a second opinion.
Midday sun hammered down, turning the path white. My meridians still buzzed from the morning's shift, qi circulating in wider circles than yesterday. Every breath felt longer, like I'd stolen extra air from the sky.
Xiao Lan broke the silence. "You notice how quiet the jade's been?"
I touched it through my shirt. Cool stone, no pulse. "Maybe it's full."
"Nothing stays full." She kicked a pebble; it skittered into the grass. "Or maybe it's learning patience."
We crested a small rise. Below, the road bent around a cluster of boulders and a lone tea stall—canvas awning, three stools, an old man pouring from a dented pot. Steam rose in lazy curls. My mouth watered before I could stop it.
Xiao Lan was already angling toward it. "One cup won't kill us."
The old man looked up as we approached. His eyes lingered on the jade, then on the faint black line at my collar. He didn't smile. "Green leaf tea. One copper each."
We paid. The tea was hot enough to scald, bitter enough to wake the dead. I drank slow, letting it burn down my throat. Qi in the leaves—faint, but the jade noticed, tugging once like a polite reminder.
Two travelers sat at the next stool: a swordsman with a long scar across his knuckles, and a woman in merchant silks patching a tear in her sleeve. The man glanced at us, then away. The woman didn't.
"You're heading south?" she asked. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp.
Xiao Lan nodded. "Mount Hua."
The swordsman snorted. "Whole world's heading there. Bandits on every bend, and that's before the sects start their games."
The woman tied off her stitch. "And after. My brother's a disciple. Says they've doubled the entrance trials this year—something about weeding out the weak."
My stomach tightened. The jade warmed, interested.
Xiao Lan set her cup down. "What's the trial?"
"Three days in the outer peaks," the swordsman said. "No food, no water, no mercy. They watch how you break."
The woman smiled, thin. "Or if you break."
We finished our tea in silence. As we stood to leave, the old man caught my sleeve. His grip was dry, papery. "That stone's old," he whispered. "Older than the mountain. Feed it wrong, and it'll feed on you."
I pulled free, but his words stuck like burrs. We walked on, the road baking under the sun. Sweat traced the black vein down my arm, making it itch.
Behind us, the tea stall shrank, then vanished. Ahead, the path climbed toward blue ridges—Mount Hua, waiting.
Xiao Lan spoke without turning. "You still want this?"
The jade pulsed once, steady as a drum. I flexed my hand, felt the qi shift inside me.
"Yeah," I said. "I think I do."