Two hours passed on the mountain road.
The sun climbed higher, light pressing down from above and burning away the last traces of mist. Heat settled into stone and dust, and the wind that had rushed through the pass earlier thinned into something sluggish and dry.
Someone groaned.
Then another.
Eyes opened slowly. Hands moved first, groping for weapons, for balance, for something familiar. One by one, people pushed themselves upright, confusion giving way to sharp, delayed fear as memory caught up.
"What—"
"Where are they?"
A guard lurched to his feet, blade half-raised, eyes darting along the road and up the slopes. Another staggered back, nearly losing his footing as he turned too quickly.
Then they saw them.
Bodies lay scattered across the mountain path.
Eleven of them.
Headless.
Blood had dried dark against the stone, the edges of it already stiffening in the heat. Masks lay discarded nearby, cloth soaked through, weapons fallen from slack hands. No one moved among them.
Breaths were drawn in sharply.
Someone swallowed hard. Another turned away, retching dryly.
"They're… dead," a voice said, thin and disbelieving.
People began shaking their companions awake, urgency replacing shock as the scene sank in. Weapons were gathered. The road was scanned again and again, as if expecting something to rise from the rocks.
Zhou Kang groaned as he forced himself upright.
He reached for his spear, fingers tightening around the shaft as he steadied his stance. His gaze swept the road once, then stopped.
A young man sat on a rock a short distance away.
He held a wine gourd loosely in one hand, head tilted back slightly as he drank. Dried splashes of blood marked his robe, dark and irregular against the fabric. He lowered the gourd and glanced over, his expression unchanged as more people struggled to their feet.
Chen Ming.
The sight drew attention like a pull.
One by one, others noticed him. Conversations faltered. Questions formed and died before reaching lips. Eyes widened, then narrowed, uncertainty written plainly across faces that had only just escaped death.
Gu Han stepped forward.
He stopped a few paces away and looked at Chen Ming steadily.
"Did you do this?" he asked.
Chen Ming rose from the rock.
He did not answer yes or no. He did not look at the bodies again.
"It's already late," he said. "Let's go."
Before anyone could speak, a sharp knock cut through the murmurs.
It came from one of the carriages.
The sound was abrupt, deliberate, striking against wood that had remained closed through the entire chaos. Conversations faltered at once. Several heads turned instinctively toward it.
Tian Qiao was already awake.
He stood still for a breath, eyes fixed on the carriage, as if listening for something beyond the knock itself. The sound came again, firmer this time, the wood rattling faintly with the impact.
Then a voice spoke from within.
"Let's go."
It was calm. Unhurried. Unaffected by the bodies on the road or the blood drying beneath the sun.
For a moment, Tian Qiao did not move.
Then his shoulders loosened.
He released a slow breath through his nose, one he had clearly been holding for far longer than the last few moments, and straightened his robe with a quick, practiced motion. The tension that had been drawn tight across his back finally eased.
He laughed.
The sound rang out louder than necessary in the narrow mountain pass, sharp against the stone walls, carrying farther than the murmurs had.
"Well then," he said, voice bright as he turned toward the others. "You heard it. Let's move."
He clapped his hands together once, brisk and decisive.
"Let's leave this inauspicious place behind. Quickly."
Only then did the caravan truly begin to move.
Relief rippled through the group.
"We're alive…"
"I thought we were done for."
"How did we even survive that?"
"Let's just leave. Quickly."
People moved at once. Horses were gathered. Weapons were reclaimed with shaking hands. No one lingered near the bodies longer than necessary.
Zhou Kang did not move.
He planted the butt of his spear against the stone and looked at Tian Qiao, his expression cold and unsoftened by relief.
"Don't you think," he said evenly, "that you have something to tell us, Brother Tian?"
The caravan rolled forward only a short distance before Gu Han raised his hand and brought it to a stop.
The five members of the Iron Fang Gang gathered near the edge of the mountain road, away from the wagons and the scattered bodies that had already been pushed aside. Tian Qiao joined them without hesitation, his hands folded neatly behind his back, his expression unchanged.
Zhou Kang turned his head.
"Chen Ming," he called. "Come here."
Chen Ming was standing a short distance away, leaning lightly against a rock, the wine gourd still in his hand. He looked over, then pushed himself upright and walked toward them at an unhurried pace.
When he arrived, he stopped just short of the loose circle.
Apart from him, every gaze was fixed on Tian Qiao.
There was no attempt to hide it. Gu Han's expression was hard. Zhou Kang's eyes were cold and sharp. Wu Zhen's jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle twitched at his temple. Even Li Sen and Qiao Wen stood rigid, hands hovering near their weapons as if habit alone restrained them.
Tian Qiao only smiled.
Zhou Kang spoke first. "What was it?" he asked bluntly. "What were they after?"
Gu Han followed immediately. "Did you just put all our lives in danger?" His voice was steady, but there was pressure beneath it. "Isn't it your responsibility to tell us everything we need to know before we take a job like this?"
Wu Zhen took a step forward. "And who," he said, eyes flicking briefly toward the carriage with the horizontal strips, "is in that wagon?"
The smile never left Tian Qiao's face.
He did not answer.
Instead, his gaze shifted—slowly, deliberately—until it rested on Chen Ming.
"It seems," Tian Qiao said mildly, "that you anticipated all of this, younger brother Chen Ming." He tilted his head slightly. "If so, why didn't you discuss it with your brothers? Or ask us any questions before we set out?"
The air tightened.
Every head turned.
Even Gu Han and Zhou Kang looked at Chen Ming now, the same question written plainly on their faces. Wu Zhen stared at him outright, confusion and disbelief tangled together.
Chen Ming met none of their eyes at first.
He looked at Tian Qiao.
"Some things," he said calmly, "are better not said or discussed." His gaze sharpened slightly. "Otherwise, you won't even know how you lost your head."
The words settled heavily.
Tian Qiao's eyes lit up, a faint gleam flashing through them as he studied the young man anew. Interest, undisguised now, replaced the easy merchant's mirth.
The others inhaled sharply.
Wu Zhen exhaled through his nose. Li Sen swallowed. Qiao Wen's fingers tightened around the strap of his spear.
Chen Ming turned away from Tian Qiao and looked at Gu Han instead.
"There were too many Blood Refinement experts," he said. "Far too many for a simple caravan escort." His tone remained even, as if listing obvious facts. "Then there was the change in route. And the sudden increase in payment."
He paused.
He did not elaborate.
Tian Qiao laughed softly, clearly pleased. "Sharp," he said. "Very sharp."
He spread his hands. "How about this? I'll add five more silver coins per person, and we put this matter behind us. We move forward from here and reach Yunhe City safely."
Wu Zhen opened his mouth. "That's not—"
Gu Han raised a hand.
Wu Zhen stopped.
Gu Han looked at Tian Qiao for a long moment, then nodded once. "As you say, Brother Tian."
The decision was made.
The tension did not vanish, but it shifted, compressed, set aside rather than resolved. The group began to disperse slowly, each of them carrying unanswered questions with them as they returned to their positions.
Chen Ming stepped away without another word.
Behind him, Tian Qiao watched his retreating back, the smile on his face lingering longer than it should have.
The caravan moved again.
Wheels rolled forward along the mountain road, iron-rimmed and steady, the sound carrying farther now that the fighting had ended. The slope began to ease, the road tilting downward as stone gave way to packed earth.
The atmosphere had changed.
Guards rode and walked in silence, their attention no longer fixed only on the road or the tree line. More than once, a glance slipped toward the middle of the formation, lingered for a fraction of a breath, and then pulled away.
Chen Ming noticed none of it.
He rode with his gaze forward, posture unchanged, hands resting lightly near his weapon. The wind moved past him and on, stirring dust and loose gravel, brushing against robes and banners alike.
Wu Zhen rode beside him.
He shifted once in his saddle, then again, mouth parting as if to speak. His eyes flicked toward Chen Ming, hesitation clear in the way his grip tightened on the reins. After a moment, he looked away and said nothing, jaw setting as he faced the road ahead.
No one pressed closer.
No one drifted farther.
The descent continued.
The mountains pulled back gradually, the road widening as the slope lessened. The air grew warmer, the wind softer, carrying with it the distant sound of movement not born of forest or stone.
Ahead, beyond the last curve, the land opened.
Walls rose from the earth in long, uninterrupted lines of stone, thick and high, banners hanging motionless from their towers. Massive gates stood set into the wall, iron-bound and dark, their scale dwarfing the road that led toward them.
Yunhe City.
The sight drew a visible change from the caravan. Shoulders loosened. Hands dropped fully from weapon hilts. The pace quickened without instruction, wheels rolling faster as the road flattened beneath them.
Tian Qiao stepped down from his carriage.
He moved ahead of the caravan with renewed energy, his earlier tension gone. As they neared the gates, he reached into his robe and produced an emblem, dark metal catching the light as he lifted it without ceremony.
The guards at the gate noticed at once.
Postures straightened. Spears were drawn back into formal alignment. One of the gate officers stepped forward, eyes flicking briefly over the emblem before he inclined his head.
The gates began to open.
Wood and iron shifted with a deep, rolling sound, the city beyond coming into view in widening measure. Movement flowed through the opening ,people, carts, voices layered together into a low, constant hum.
"Welcome to Yunhe City," the guard called out.
The caravan passed through.
Stone walls closed behind them, and the mountain road was left behind without farewell.