Chapter 35

I walked out of the clinic, my sabre by my side and my dagger on my hip. Master Kai had given me a couple of outfits and a side duffle bag that I strapped over my shoulder. Inside, I had some dried meat and a few other little things to get me by.

I took a deep breath. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.

I was about to set out, straight toward where the beast wave had supposedly come from. And I was going alone. Sure, maybe that was for the best. Having someone else along would be nice, but the truth was, anyone who came with me would just get in the way. As I was now, the villagers were too weak to accompany me. Not that they would have. I didn’t really belong here. These weren’t my people.

Maybe Wei Lin would’ve come if I asked. But he was better off following his own path. He had to grow stronger, and joining the sect was the right choice for that. I was sure we’d meet again eventually. But for now, this was something I had to do on my own.

When I first arrived in this world, despite everything I told myself, despite the calm I tried to fake… I’d been scared. It wasn’t just the confusion, or the system suddenly being a part of my head—it was watching everyone I knew die. Of waking up somewhere that defied reason, with no answers and only questions. I’d wanted to figure things out, sure. But more than that, I’d wanted to survive. That first fight with the Duskcreeper had made that fear real. The way it moved, the way it hunted—I’d almost died before I’d even had a chance to understand anything. So when Wei Lin and I went out hunting, we kept things safe. He thought I was cautious. Smart. But really, I was just afraid.

I knew now how stupid that had been. If I’d pushed harder back then, if I hadn’t treated every step forward like it could be my last, I could’ve reached Qi Refinement long before the merchant arrived. I could’ve been ready. Maybe I could’ve done something. Saved more people. Instead, I owed a debt I couldn’t measure and had let half a village die.

That all changed after I became a cultivator.

It was like something inside me had snapped loose, like I’d finally torn off a chain I didn’t even know I’d been carrying. The fear hadn’t vanished—it was still there, like a shadow in the back of my mind but it didn’t hold me the way it used to. That fight against the Spirit Beast… something changed. I’d looked death in the face and pushed through it again. I wasn’t scared of the rift anymore. Not really. Not like before. Now I finally felt ready.

I looked across the street and towards The Crooked Reed. A group of people were already waiting for me. Elder Tian stood tall near the door, arms crossed. Wei Lin was there too, leaning against the wall, his straw hat pulled low, with Master Kai and Madam Shen.

I walked up to them and smiled. “I came to say goodbye,” 

There was a pause. Then Elder Tian stepped forward. He looked at me for a long moment before bowing. When he raised his head, he spoke.

“This village owes you a debt, I don’t think we will ever be able to repay. That being said, I’ve tried my hardest to do just that. The blacksmith’s preparing something from that Spirit Beast you killed,” he said. “Told me to tell you that anything you need—he’ll make it. And obviously we will sell anything not used. When you return, there will be money here waiting for you. Along with anything you want made from any of the beasts.”

I shook my head. “You don’t have t—“

Master Kai cut me off. “Don’t be silly boy. Take the gift and say thank you.”

I nodded, a smile creeping onto my face. I looked down at the dagger at my hip. The handle worn smooth from use. I unhooked it and held it out.

“Then maybe he can fix this,” I said. “I’ve had it a while. But be carful. I don’t know how it works here but only I’m meant to be able to use that dagger. So if he can’t work fix it, don’t try and force anything. Just make something else.”

Elder Tian nodded and took it without question. “He’ll see what he can do.”

I looked to Master Kai. “Thank you,” I said. “For patching me up. More than once. And for helping me out.”

He gave a slight bow. “You’re a hard one to kill. Try to keep it that way.”

I nodded and returned the bow, hoping it was the right thing to do, before turning to Madam Shen. “And thank you. For the advice, with life and with the pill.”

She waved a hand, her expression stern but not unkind. “Just try not to over think things now. And don’t forget us, now your a cultivator. Our doors will always be open to the hero of fallen mist.”

I smiled at that. Me a hero, if only El heard that. And then my eyes found Wei Lin.

He stepped forward, offering a quiet grin. “Guess this is the part where we go our separate ways, huh?”

“Not forever,” I said. “Just for now.”

He nodded, and we clasped wrists, the gesture firm.

“Take care of yourself, Brother Fang. And when I see you again, I’ll be waiting to learn more of your slang.” He laughed. “What was it you said, ‘Come on then, you fucking monkey.’ Ha I love that word.” 

I laughed. “Don’t you worry. There’s still a lot more for me to teach you.”

I tightened my grip on his wrist. “And you too, Brother Wei. Make sure you take care of yourself. And show those cultivator wankers what you’re made of.”

And with that, I turned and made my way toward the front gates. Toward the road that would take me to the Severed Step.

I was nearly at the front gate when something slammed into my back. Small arms wrapped tight around my waist, squeezing hard. I stopped mid-step, surprised but I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“I won’t forget that night,” she said, her voice muffled against my back. “I won’t be the silly little girl I was. I won’t cause trouble. I won’t have to be saved again.”

She squeezed tighter, her words low and fast, like she was afraid of losing the chance to say them. “I won’t let something like that happen ever again. I won’t let people die. Not ever again. I’m going to be like you. I’ll be strong. Brave.”

I turned and knelt down so we were eye level. Her eyes were wide and full of life.

“You don’t need to be like me,” I said gently. “Not in the way you think. Don’t lose that spark in you. Or your sense of adventure. That’s what makes you who you are.”

She sniffed but didn’t break eye contact. So I reached into the side pocket of my bag and pulled out my phone and tangled headphones.

“Here,” I said, placing them in her hands. “Now you’ve got your own piece of magic.”

Her fingers curled around the phone like it might disappear. I tapped the screen and showed her how to cycle through the songs. 

“You keep this safe for me,” I said. “And when I see you again, I want to hear all about your adventures. Every single one.”

She nodded fiercely.

I ruffled her hair, gave her one last look, and stood.

Then I turned and walked through the gates. Into the world that waited beyond the village.

She didn’t say goodbye.

But I didn’t need her to.

———

Something was following me.

I’d been walking through the forest for over an hour now, headed south, deeper toward the cliffs and the Severed Step. The morning sun filtered through the canopy above, catching on dew-damp leaves and painting everything in soft greens and golds. The air smelled fresh, like rain and bark.

But my senses were sharper than ever. And they told me I wasn’t alone.

I stopped, adjusted the strap on my duffle, and let out a sigh.

“Come out, Fi Yan.”

I waited, half-expecting a sheepish voice or a guilty shuffle through the underbrush. But there was nothing.

Then the bush to my right rustled and a small, sleek form leapt out.

It wasn’t Fi Yan. It was a fox. Although now I thought about it, they were two in the same.

It was small, black-furred, eyes bright. It landed lightly on its paws and stood there, tail twitching once. Watching me.

It yipped, a high-pitched squeak.

“You again?” I muttered.

It tilted its head, ears perked.

I let my hand fall away from the hilt of my sabre and crossed my arms. “What do you want? I’ve got no fish. Not that I’d trade with you anyway.”

The fox took a step forward.

I narrowed my eyes.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you tricked me the last time,” I said, pointing at it like a misbehaving dog. “I’m aware of your bad trades now. It won’t happen again. Besides, I’ve had a long few weeks. I’m not in the mood.”

The fox yipped again. Then sat, curling its tail around its feet.

I stared at it for a moment longer, then turned away and started walking again.

“Suit yourself.”

I didn’t hear it move. But ten steps later, I could sense it again, padding along behind me, just out of reach. I glanced over my shoulder and, sure enough, there it was, trotting lightly through the underbrush, moving through the shadows.

I rolled my eyes and kept going.

The forest began to thin, the terrain sloping downward. Roots coiled through the dirt beneath my boots, and a few dead branches snapped underfoot. The air got cooler, drier, and the trees gave way to open sky.

And then, like a curtain being pulled aside, I saw it again.

The cliff.

The Severed Step.

I stepped to the edge slowly, boots scraping against loose stone and packed earth. Wind whipped my hair across my face, and I squinted against the light.

It was the same view as before. The same endless sea of forest below, broken only by the jagged silhouettes of distant mountains rising like broken teeth from the earth. A deep, impossible drop stretched out beneath me.

I let out a slow breath.

It was still beautiful. And the air felt magical.

The fox padded up beside me, sat down, and looked out over the ledge as if it, too, was taking it all in. I glanced at it. “You afraid of heights?”

It snorted and swished its tail.

I stepped back from the edge and began scanning the area, eyes narrowing. There had to be something. A trail, a pass, something.

After a few minutes of searching without any luck, the fox stood up and trotted over to the far side of the cliff, where the forest started once more. It spun in circles, chasing its tail. I decided to walk over and see what was going on.

When I arrived, there was a path, half-concealed behind a wall of overgrowth, leading down in jagged zig-zags along the cliff face. It was narrow. Worn. The stones beneath it looked unstable, and more than a few pieces of the ledge had clearly fallen away over time.

I stood at the top of it, the wind pressing at my back and whispering in my ear.

“Ha, how about that. Guess this is it.”

Behind me, the fox yipped again.

“Yeah, I guess I forgive you.”

I just adjusted the strap on my bag again, reached for the hilt of my sabre, and took the first step downward.