The forest thinned as the caravan pressed on.
Hours passed without further disturbance. No beasts broke from the undergrowth. No shapes moved beyond the trees. The road wound forward in silence broken only by the creak of wheels and the steady rhythm of hooves on damp earth.
At one bend, figures appeared ahead.
Men stepped out from between the trees, weapons held low but ready. Their clothes were mismatched and worn, blades nicked from use rather than neglect. They did not rush forward. They simply blocked the path and waited.
The caravan slowed.
Tian Qiao stepped down from his carriage.
He walked ahead alone, his pace unhurried, hands visible. Words were exchanged quietly, carried just far enough to be heard without revealing detail. After a moment, Tian Qiao reached into his robe and produced a small bag. Coins clinked softly as he placed it into a waiting hand.
The bandits weighed it once, nodded, and stepped aside.
They melted back into the forest as quickly as they had appeared.
The caravan moved on.
Chen Ming watched it all in silence. He exhaled slowly and tightened his grip on the pouch in his hand, the cloth creasing beneath his fingers.
They traveled on.
Once, Chen Ming guided his horse a few steps off the road and leaned down to pluck a cluster of pale leaves growing close to the roots of a tree. Another time, he dismounted briefly to cut a thin-stemmed herb pushing through damp soil near a fallen log. Each time, he returned to position within moments, the caravan never slowing for him.
The light shifted as the day wore on.
By late evening, the trees began to spread apart. The canopy broke, letting broader bands of light reach the ground. The air changed, the scent of old leaves and damp bark thinning as open land appeared ahead.
They emerged from the Blackwood Forest.
The road widened beyond the tree line, the sky opening above them in long, clear stretches. One by one, shoulders loosened. Hands dropped from weapon hilts. Quiet breaths were released without comment.
The caravan rolled on for a short distance more before stopping.
People climbed down from carriages and horses alike. Faces that had been tight for hours eased into visible relief. A few laughed softly. Others stretched, rubbing stiffness from their limbs.
Tian Qiao stepped down last.
He looked around at the open road, then back at the line of wagons. His expression was lighter now, satisfaction settling plainly across his face.
Tian Qiao smiled broadly as he looked over everyone.
For the first time, his gaze settled on Chen Ming with the same expression.
Tents were raised along the edge of the road as the light faded.
Canvas was stretched and secured, fire pits dug and lit. Horses were tethered and fed, the tension of the forest finally loosening from shoulders and hands. The air carried the sound of quiet movement and low voices, unhurried now.
Wu Zhen glanced back and waved. "Chen Ming. Let's go."
Chen Ming followed.
The six members of the Iron Fang Gang gathered near the central fire, joined by Han Yu and Tian Qiao. The mood was noticeably lighter. Tian Qiao moved among them with ease, his steps quicker than before, his expression open.
"You've all worked hard today," he said, raising his voice just enough to carry. "Thanks to you, the most troublesome stretch is behind us."
Wu Zhen laughed and wiped his hands on his trousers. "As long as the extra coins are real, I won't complain."
Tian Qiao chuckled. "They're real. I keep my word."
Even Gu Han's expression softened. Zhou Kang leaned back against a crate, arms folded, listening as the conversation drifted from the forest to the road ahead.
"We'll rest here for the night," Gu Han said. "At dawn, we will take the mountain road. If nothing slows us down, we'll reach Yunhe City on time."
Tian Qiao nodded vigorously. "Good. Very good." He laughed again, the sound unrestrained. "Come, come. Tonight we will eat well and drink. You've earned it."
The group began to disperse, voices rising as they moved toward the fires and tents. Laughter followed them, light and easy.
As Chen Ming turned to leave, Tian Qiao called out.
"Younger brother Chen Ming, could you wait a moment?"
Chen Ming stopped.
He turned back, a faint crease forming between his brows. Around them, the others slowed, glancing over with curiosity before continuing on.
Chen Ming nodded once.
Soon, the tent was quiet again.
The canvas settled as the last of the noise drifted away, leaving only Tian Qiao and Chen Ming standing opposite one another, firelight flickering softly between them.
Tian Qiao poured himself a cup of wine.
He did not offer one across the table. He held it loosely, turning the cup once as the firelight reflected along its rim.
"You're young," he said, smiling. "And capable. Not many at your realm notice what you noticed today."
Chen Ming stood where he was. His posture did not change.
Tian Qiao continued as if the silence were an answer. "Where are you from?" he asked lightly. "Who taught you?"
Chen Ming looked at him.
"We are not close enough for that kind of information," he said. His tone was even, without edge. "If you are done, I will take my leave."
Tian Qiao laughed, the sound warm and easy. He lifted the cup and took a sip before setting it down.
"Straightforward," he said. "I like that." He leaned back slightly. "Then let me be straightforward as well. How about working for the Tian Merchant Company?"
He spread his hands. "The resources we can provide are far better than what the Iron Fang Gang offers. Techniques. Pills. Information. Whatever you need." His smile widened, practiced and smooth. "For someone like you, it would be a better road."
Chen Ming's eyes narrowed.
For a moment, he looked only at Tian Qiao's smile.
Then he turned.
He walked past the table, pushed aside the canvas, and stepped out of the tent without looking back.
The firelight shifted as the opening fell closed.
Tian Qiao remained seated.
His smile lingered for a breath longer, then slowly faded. He let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head.
"Even that didn't budge him," he murmured.
Chen Ming stepped out of the tent.
The night air met him at once, cool and clean after the warmth of the fire. A light breeze moved through the camp, carrying the faint smell of cooked food and damp grass. He paused only briefly before turning away, putting distance between himself and the voices and laughter behind him.
"Tomorrow… tomorrow we're there," someone said, voice thick with drink. "Coins in hand."
"About time," another muttered. "I'm done sleeping on wagons."
A cup clinked. "Good run though… could've been worse."
"Yeah," a voice replied, trailing off. "Way worse."
He walked to where his horse was tethered.
The animal lifted its head as he approached, ears flicking once before settling again. Chen Ming sat down beside it and loosened the cord of the pouch in his hand.
The moment it opened, the scent of herbs spread into the air—sharp, earthy, layered. The horse snorted softly and stamped once. Chen Ming reached out and rubbed a hand along its back, slow and steady, until it calmed.
He tipped the contents of the pouch into his palm.
Under the faint starlight, he examined them one by one. Leaves, thin roots, small dried petals. He selected a single herb, placed it in his mouth, and chewed. The bitterness spread across his tongue, sharp enough to draw a breath through his nose.
He worked without haste.
The remaining herbs were crushed between his fingers and a small stone, ground down carefully until they became a fine powder. He funneled it back into the pouch and tied it closed, testing the weight once before letting his hand fall.
This should be enough.
The horse beside him had lowered its head again, eyes half-closed, breathing slow and even. Chen Ming rested his hand against its neck and rubbed once more.
"You must have been tired," he said quietly.
He stood and walked a short distance away, toward the edge of the camp where the light thinned. He pulled the cork from his water bag and poured water over his hands, washing away the residue of herbs and soil. The water splashed softly against the ground before soaking into the earth.
He shook his hands dry and stood there for a moment longer, the night pressing in around him, stars scattered overhead and the camp sounds muted behind him.
***
Dawn came quietly.
A pale line formed along the horizon, thinning the darkness until shapes returned to the world. The fires were already dying when people began to stir. Bedrolls were folded. Armor was strapped back on. Horses stamped and snorted as reins were gathered and loads secured.
The caravan moved again.
Mist clung low to the ground as they advanced, thinning as the light strengthened. Ahead, the outline of the mountains rose from the earth, dark and uneven against the brightening sky. Their slopes cut upward sharply, stone and scrub breaking through patches of soil.
The road narrowed as it climbed.
Horses leaned forward into their harnesses, muscles shifting beneath skin as they pushed uphill. Wheels groaned against stone. The pace slowed, deliberate and steady, breath and effort visible in every movement.
They entered the mountain road.
Rock pressed close on one side. On the other, the land fell away sharply, the drop swallowed by mist and distance. Wind moved freely there, cold against skin, carrying the dry scent of stone. Loose gravel shifted beneath hooves and wheels as the caravan climbed.
They reached the midpoint—
Something cut through the air.
A sharp whistle tore across the road.
Zhou Kang moved.
His weapon snapped up on instinct. Wood rang against iron as the arrow was struck aside, the force jolting through his arms. The shaft shattered against the rock face, fragments clattering down into the ravine below.
The caravan lurched to a halt.
Horses screamed and reared. Wheels ground hard as drivers hauled back on the reins. Shouts broke out, overlapping, uneven, as weapons were drawn across the line.
Zhou Kang stepped forward and looked up toward the rocks above.
"Who is it?"