[POV: Villager]
When I looked at Blue and saw it unable to eat through the rocks, I was certain this cave was filled with black iron deposits. I had seen Blue’s kind tear through flesh, bone, and living trees in a matter of seconds, yet here it only skidded along the wall, searching for any weak point it might pierce. I turned to the stone I leaned against and thumped it with my knuckles. It felt unnaturally tough. I knew little of mining, but these deposits should have been laced with impurities; Blue ought to have been able to chew through them without trouble.
That raised a new problem. Even if the ore proved valuable, how would I carry any of it with me? First, of course, I would have to find a way out.
I returned the guidebook to my pouch. It was time to stop moping and do something.
“I’m getting out of here,” I muttered, more to myself than to the wall-hugger. “I still have a chance. Maybe the test isn’t over. Maybe the elders will accept latecomers. Maybe—”
I took one step forward.
My bare foot came down on something that clicked. The stone beneath me lit up with a circle of pale characters I had never seen before. The air hummed. The little blue creature bounced once in alarm, and then the whole chamber twisted like wet cloth being wrung out. My stomach flipped. The glowing moss, the collapsed rocks, and the damp air? All of it vanished in a rush of pressure and light.
When the world stopped spinning, I stood under a blazing sun. Hot wind slapped my face. Sand stretched in every direction, endless and empty. The sky was a hard, merciless blue without a single cloud. The little blue creature sat in the sand beside my foot, looking somehow even more out of place than I felt. It jiggled once, then tried to bounce, but the heat made it sag like melted candy.
I turned in a slow circle. No trees. No mountains. No caves. Just sand, more sand, and the distant shimmer of heat.
My knees gave out. I sat down hard, scooped a handful of the burning grit, and stared at it. Then the tears came hot, stupid, and completely useless. I wiped my face with the back of a sandy hand and sobbed like a child who had dropped his last steamed bun into a latrine.
“I was going to be a cultivator,” I wailed at the empty desert. “And have lots of jade beauties! Whyyyyy~!?”
The little blue creature gave a sad, sticky bloop and slowly began sinking into the sand.
…
..
.
[POV: Sun Jian]
I woke before dawn, as I always did in the guest room, and the first thing I noticed was the cold seeping through the cracked floorboards of the side chamber our benefactor had given us. Feng Cai slept curled against my chest, one small fist knotted in the front of my worn tunic, her breathing soft and even. She was only two years old, yet she already carried the sharp, watchful intelligence of the late King in her eyes. Blood told true.
She stirred when I carefully eased myself free.
“Dad,” she mumbled, half-asleep, reaching for me again.
I paused, then brushed the dark hair from her forehead. I no longer corrected her. The word had stopped feeling like a wound weeks ago, and I had grown accustomed to hearing it from her little mouth. “Go back to sleep, my lady. I'll be close.”
I had stopped calling her that in her presence while we were on the run, hiding her identity and royal pedigree from those who would hunt her down. It was safer that way. The fewer reminders she had of the life she had lost, the less likely she was to reveal something she shouldn't. At least, that was what I had told myself. Whether a two-year-old could truly understand the importance of keeping her identity secret was another matter entirely.
After making sure she was comfortable, I left the room and headed for the main hall.
Calling this place a palace was an act of generosity. Broken beams jutted from the high ceilings like fractured ribs, and dust lay thick as snow on every surface that did not belong to our benefactor's private bedchamber. Furniture had been reduced to a collection of mismatched parts. Tables stood on three legs, chairs had their seats punched through, and cabinet doors dangled from their hinges as though they were too exhausted to remain attached. Great holes gaped in the walls where something enormous had once forced its way through, allowing the wind to whistle through the palace whenever it pleased.
Still, it was not quite as bad as when we had first arrived. There had definitely been improvements.
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That was something worth appreciating, even if I had no idea what to make of the man responsible for our current circumstances.
Lord Sloth claimed he was not Jin the Golden Dragon. He repeated this with the same lazy, half-lidded amusement whenever the subject arose. I remained unconvinced. A dragon's pride was an ancient and peculiar thing, and I could think of several reasons why one might disguise his identity. Perhaps taking in the last surviving scion of Great Feng and her disgraced Sword General amused him. Perhaps he had some private score to settle with the world and had decided we would make convenient companions. Or perhaps I was simply overthinking the matter.
I had learned not to question good fortune too aggressively.
For now, I cared only that the mountain peaks kept our pursuers at a distance and that the little girl entrusted to my protection could sleep peacefully without fearing that someone would drag her away in the night.
My new role was simple enough. I was no longer a general, nor was I the Sword General of Great Feng, a title that had once commanded the attention of an entire court. Here, I was merely a man who fixed what could be fixed and helped wherever he could. A servant, if one wanted to be unkind about it. A guest repaying his benefactor's hospitality, if one preferred a more flattering description.
Personally, I found the distinction unimportant.
That morning, I began in the great hall, sweeping debris into piles and stacking shattered wood that might still serve as kindling or temporary support for the damaged structures. I had barely made a dent in the mess when a small figure fluttered into view, hovering in the air beside me.
“Oh, you are working so hard!” she exclaimed, her wings beating rapidly as she looked from me to the growing piles of debris. “Aren't you getting tired? You keep waking up so early! The Great Lord won't mind if you don't put all your heart into it, you know? You're making me look bad~!”
I glanced at the tiny fairy before returning my attention to the floor. She was one of Lord Sloth's faithful servants, a peculiar little creature who seemed to possess enough energy to compensate for the entire palace's lack of maintenance.
“I need to do my part, Lady Sprite,” I replied.
At that moment, several slimes began moving toward the debris. Their bodies wobbled as they spread across the floor, gathering smaller fragments and swallowing dust with an efficiency that would have put an entire cleaning crew to shame.
I watched them work for a moment, remembering how effectively they had fought during the defense of the mountains. Their unassuming appearances concealed a frightening degree of usefulness. When I had fought alongside them, I had been surprised by just how much they could accomplish. I was still learning how to interact with the strange beings that inhabited this palace, but I had already come to appreciate their presence.
They were a hundred times more useful than the court officials back home.
That might have been an unfair comparison. Most of those officials had possessed enough sense to avoid personally cleaning a hall, while the slimes probably did not understand the concept of political maneuvering in the first place. Nevertheless, I found it difficult to miss the former when the latter were so readily willing to help.
“Oh, please call me Titania!” the fairy declared, planting her tiny hands on her hips. “It's a name the Great Lord bestowed upon me! You had better remember it!”
I paused, then nodded.
Ah, yes. Something like that had happened about a week ago, if I remembered correctly. Lord Sloth had apparently decided that some of his servants needed new names, and they had accepted them with an enthusiasm that would have made a royal naming ceremony seem dull by comparison.
I had heard of cultivators who named their spiritual beasts to symbolize the bond between them. Such practices were not particularly unusual, especially among those who had spent years cultivating a close relationship with their companions. However, I had never heard of a dragon doing something similar with his servants, much less a dragon who insisted he was not a dragon.
Then again, I had never encountered a lord quite like Sloth.
“I'll remember it, Lady Titania,” I assured her.
“Good!” she chirped, immediately flying toward the opposite wing of the palace. “I'll be over there, doing my part! Don't you dare work harder than me!”
I watched her disappear around the corner before shaking my head and returning to my work.
There were stranger things in the world than an overenthusiastic fairy, I reminded myself. I had survived an entire court full of scheming ministers. Surely, I could manage this.
By midday, dust coated my throat, and the little princess had finally woken up properly. She followed me around with solemn importance, carrying a small broom I had cut down to fit her tiny hands. She swept the same patch of floor three times, then looked up at me as though she had accomplished something worthy of a royal decree.
“Dad cleans. Cai helps.”
I couldn't help smiling.
“That's right. Cai helps.”
The sight filled me with a peculiar mixture of warmth and guilt. She was royalty, after all. The youngest princess of Great Feng, a child who should have been surrounded by attendants and raised in comfort rather than sleeping in a half-ruined chamber on a cold mountain. Instead, she was following a disgraced general around a dilapidated palace, earnestly trying to help him sweep the floor.
I knew that teaching her to survive under our present circumstances was more important than indulging every royal habit she might have inherited, but I still felt that I ought to do more for her.
Perhaps I should accelerate her language lessons.
Then again, Feng Cai spoke remarkably well for a child of her age. She had a peculiar habit of alternating between broken sentences and surprisingly fluent speech, as though she could decide from one moment to the next whether she wanted to sound like an ordinary toddler or a miniature adult. I remembered her carrying on a conversation with Lord Sloth, responding to him with a degree of composure that I could hardly believe belonged to a two-year-old.
Frankly, I was a little jealous.
I had spent years mastering military strategy, swordsmanship, and the art of keeping a straight face in front of insufferable nobles. Yet a child who had barely learned to walk could sometimes express herself more naturally than I could.
Perhaps I should ask Lord Sloth for advice. Considering how easily he spoke with her, he might even be able to teach me a thing or two.
That thought was embarrassing enough that I immediately abandoned it.