Cai Zhao set down her bowl the moment she heard his voice. She didn't even turn around.
Qian Xueshen, who had only just sorted out her feelings about "that relationship" over the past two days, felt the color drain from her face.
The entire lobby went still.
Long travel does things to a person. Fatigue unravels the careful. A man who rides a Giant Roc through open sky — like Cai Qianren — arrives with hair blown loose and robes in disarray.
But this young man looked as though he had just stepped out of a riverside study. Every detail immaculate.
The innkeeper moved forward with his practiced smile. "Welcome, honored guest! Will you be dining or staying the night?"
"Staying. My luggage will follow." Mu Qingyan walked past him entirely and headed straight for Cai Zhao's table.
The innkeeper straightened, adjusting his expression. "Your servant failed to greet you at the door — please forgive the discourtesy..."
Mu Qingyan didn't hear him. He sat down beside Cai Zhao. "Zhao Zhao. How rough was the road these past two days?"
Cai Zhao caught the innkeeper's puzzled look and forced a quick smile. "It's a nickname. My courtesy name is Quefeng Xiaohan."
The innkeeper laughed obligingly. "Of course, every esteemed guest has a pet name..."
A scream cut him off.
From outside the inn came the sound of someone stumbling, voice cracking with terror: "Qian Si — all of them — dead — their necks, their necks are broken!"
The innkeeper bolted for the door.
Cai Zhao frowned. "Someone died at the entrance? And who is Qian Si?"
Mu Qingyan picked at a dish. "No idea. Though they did have chopsticks sticking out of their backs. Rather funny."
Cai Zhao paused. Blinked. "What?"
Qian Xueshen stared at Mu Qingyan. "Did you kill them?"
Mu Qingyan glanced at her and said nothing.
The innkeeper and several other guests had rushed outside. Cai Zhao followed and saw three bodies — some crumpled, some flat on the ground — each with a chopstick driven into their back, necks twisted at angles that made the break obvious. Snow-melt and shallow boot prints marked the skin of their necks.
Before anyone could speak, a second cry came from the corner of the inn. Two more men were already down. Same cause of death.
The innkeeper turned slowly and looked at Mu Qingyan.
Mu Qingyan gave a small, apologetic bow. "Forgive me. I stepped on them by accident."
The innkeeper stared. The young man in front of him spoke of dead men the way a person speaks of ants.
Mu Qingyan smiled. "It seems you'll need to find yourself new 'scouting darts.'"
The innkeeper laughed too loudly, too fast. "Ha — haha — of course, of course! Please sit, please sit! I'll have the kitchen send more dishes." He was gone before anyone could respond.
"How could you just kill people!" Cai Zhao slapped the table.
Mu Qingyan tilted his head. "You stuck chopsticks into someone."
"That is not the same. I didn't kill anyone."
"Half an inch deeper in the chest and you would have. The wound says intent. The result says otherwise — barely." He picked up his cup. "All five of them were professionals. 'Scouting darts' — when martial artists don't know what they're walking into, they send someone first. I've never passed through this inn without being tested. Not once in years."
Cai Zhao went rigid. "This is a black-market inn?"
"Half and half. Guests with obvious skill get excellent service. Guests with no backing and nowhere to turn..." He wiped his chopsticks with a handkerchief. "The outcome varies."
"How do you know all this?"
"You were asking about routes to the snow mountains. I asked about the terrain and the locals. This inn opened over a decade ago. Before it, the fur and medicine traders who passed through Xueshan Town traveled separately. Once the inn was built, every single one of them came through here."
Cai Zhao exhaled slowly. "Local snake."
Two store clerks staggered in carrying Mu Qingyan's trunk — a heavy lacquered case half a man's height, inlaid with mother-of-pearl in patterns that caught the firelight. The thing was worth more than most people earned in a year.
The remaining guests in the lobby didn't even look at it.
Where Cai Zhao's talent had made them wary, Mu Qingyan's methods had made them afraid.
Cai Zhao sighed. "Why is it so hard to travel honestly. There are wicked people everywhere, and good people like us can barely set foot outside."
"Exactly." Mu Qingyan transferred a chicken leg into her bowl. "The world is full of dangers. One moment of carelessness and someone's already sizing you up."
The remaining guests looked away quickly. Mu Qingyan scanned the room — slow, pleasant expression, eyes cold and flat.
They scattered. The guests who hadn't already retreated found sudden reasons to return to their rooms. Within minutes the once-crowded lobby held only Cai Zhao's table.
Cai Zhao turned to face him. "What are you doing here? I made it clear when we parted — we're not traveling together. Separate roads."
"What if I said," Mu Qingyan replied, "that I have my own business in the snow mountains?"
Qian Xueshen leaned in, curious.
Mu Qingyan frowned slightly and pressed a pale hand to his chest. "To tell the truth... my old injuries didn't fully heal. There's a medicinal herb in those mountains I need."
Qian Xueshen's expression softened despite herself.
Cai Zhao held firm. "Even if that's true — you climb your mountain, I climb mine. We stay apart. If word gets out that a Luoying Valley disciple was seen traveling with the Demon Cult's young master, that's all the proof anyone needs to call it collusion."
Mu Qingyan straightened. His hand dropped from his chest. The frail act dissolved. "Then you should pay me back first."
Qian Xueshen blinked. "Pay what?"
A flicker of something moved through Cai Zhao's eyes.
"Not counting the hospitality at Green Bamboo — I'll call that a host's generosity." Mu Qingyan's tone was mild. "But the large bag of silver Little Cai Xia has been spending? That came from my arms."
Qian Xueshen slowly turned to look at Cai Zhao. "You left without money?"
Cai Zhao shrugged. "I fight my way through. Heavy silver slows me down. I had four banknotes, but two were lost in a brawl, one was soaked in blood, and the last one got torn right across the seal."
Qian Xueshen could not believe it. "You've been using Shaojun's money this whole journey."
"The jianghu code says everyone shares in good fortune."
"You are using a saying to justify robbery!" Qian Xueshen looked at him with new, horrified eyes — she had thought him so composed, so reliable. She had been wrong.
"What does Little Cai Xia have to say," Mu Qingyan said pleasantly.
Cai Zhao met his gaze. "No. Even if I can't pay you back immediately — even if repaying you means robbing from others, which will take time — I'll manage. I'm grateful, Mu Shaojun. But a Beichen disciple doesn't travel with the Demon Cult's heir. Gratitude and survival aren't the same as alliance."
Something shifted in Mu Qingyan's expression — not anger, but something sharper and slower. "You ate my food, wore my hospitality, spent my silver, and rode my Golden Feather Giant Roc. Then you said thank you and walked away. Now you need the mountain too and you want separate roads. Tell me — which of your sect-brothers would lend you a Giant Roc? I don't enjoy being cheated. If someone wants to walk away owing me, they should know: I collect what's owed."
Qian Xueshen went very still. Even she could hear the thing beneath those words.
Cai Zhao kept her composure. "Whatever you say. I won't agree to travel together."
Mu Qingyan let out a soft breath. He lowered his head. "There's something I've been wanting to say for a while. I held back because I didn't want to cause conflict."
"Say it. I won't change my mind regardless."
Mu Qingyan looked up at her. "My cultivation is above yours."
Qian Xueshen's mouth opened.
Cai Zhao was certain she'd misheard. "What did you just say."
"My cultivation — it surpasses yours." His eyes were perfectly calm, the line of a brushstroke landscape. "There is something on that mountain I need to handle. I will be going up with you. If Little Cai Xia refuses absolutely..." A faint smile. "Then let's test that."
Behind the door curtain, the innkeeper and four of his staff pressed their faces to the gap, staring into the now-empty lobby.
"What are those three even talking about? Can't hear a word."
"You'd need to be at the table to hear anything! Looks like they're arguing — oh — a real fight now, listen to that."
"What do you think the connection is? Between that evil star and the wind girl."
"Siblings?"
"They don't look alike at all."
"Childhood sweethearts?"
"You're out of your mind — that girl with the surname Wan is Feng Xiaohan's fiancee."
"Honestly, the Wan match is beneath her."
"I've figured it out!" One man clapped his hands together. "The wind girl was promised to the new young master, but she fell in love and ran off with this Wan fellow instead!"
The other three turned on him immediately. They expressed, in detail, their opinion of his intelligence. For Wan Daqiang's sake alone they advised him to stop adding scenarios that would personally offend the new evil-star boy sitting twenty feet away — unless Feng Xiaohan had gone completely blind.
The innkeeper's face was stone. "That is enough. In eight lifetimes of bad luck, I've never had a pair like this walk in together — male and female, both catastrophes. From this moment, everyone smiles, everyone serves, no one thinks a single inconvenient thought. If we miss a step..." He looked at them each in turn. "None of us walks out."
The innkeeper led the three of them upstairs himself — deferential, attentive, careful not to ask a single question, not to take a single extra step, not to plant a single thing in the guest room that didn't belong there.
He had met bad men. Bad men had limits, reasons, a price.
This young man had none of those. Qian Si and the others had killed before — seasoned hands, all five of them. Mu Qingyan had crushed them like they were nothing and then made small talk about it.
You didn't haggle with something like that.
When the innkeeper was gone, Qian Xueshen caught Cai Zhao while Mu Qingyan inspected the adjoining room. "Honestly. Can you really not beat him?"
Cai Zhao dropped into a chair. "I don't know his full depth — I'd need a real exchange to know. But even if I held my own, I'd come out badly hurt. We haven't even reached the mountain yet. I haven't seen a single Xue Lin dragon beast hair." She stared at the ceiling. "I'm staying with the Demon Cult young master for now. It's the only sensible thing."
Qian Xueshen stepped closer. "Cai Xia. He argued with you, then showed his fist, and you folded immediately. Do you know what that looks like?"
Cai Zhao said simply: "I bully the weak and fear the strong. So does everyone here. Your own presence at this table isn't a story of righteousness — it's a story of someone who had their neck grabbed."
Qian Xueshen couldn't argue with that. She lowered her voice instead. "Be careful around Mu Shaojun. I've been watching him this whole trip. He's..."
"Zhao Zhao? Zhao Zhao, where are you — come here quickly." Mu Qingyan's voice carried clearly through the wall — warm, unhurried, as inviting as a lamp on a cold night. Nothing like the man who had spoken in the lobby.
Qian Xueshen finished her sentence quietly. "Unstable. Unpredictable. Be careful." They'd been at each other for days, but she knew: in this entire inn, that child was the only decent person.
Cai Zhao sighed. "You think I just found this out."
Her first steps into the jianghu had brought her the Shi brothers — generous and steady — or men like Qi Yunke of Yuanqianlong, who was principled and fair. Her first steps out of Luoying Valley brought her here. Half-mad Que Muqingyan.
Well. That was something to think about later.
They went next door.
The room had been transformed. A clean partition divided the space into two areas. Two large buckets of steaming water stood ready. A silver-thread charcoal brazier burned at the center, throwing even warmth across the floor. On the table sat a small pink porcelain vase with fresh green stamens and yellow plum sprigs.
Mu Qingyan had dismissed all the staff. He waved Cai Zhao over with a smile. "Zhao Zhao, sit. You'll sleep here. Brother Qian gets the room next door."
Qian Xueshen glanced back at the dark, bare room she'd been assigned and said nothing to anyone.
Then a thought arrived. "Where will Mu Shaojun sleep?"
"With Zhao Zhao, in this room."
"That — that — how is that —" Qian Xueshen nearly choked.
Cai Zhao stayed where she was, expression settled, tone matter-of-fact. "It's fine. I was going to share with you anyway. Jianghu life doesn't stand on ceremony for these things. Besides, I have a fiancé — Zhou, young, refined, gentle, property-owning. Mu Shaojun's standing means he observes propriety. He won't cross any lines."
Mu Qingyan glanced at her sideways. "True. Even if Little Cai Xia's red apricot were leaning past the wall, it would be the Zhou family wall — nothing to do with Brother Qian."
Cai Zhao looked at him. Just looked. Mu Qingyan gave a small, not-quite smile. Qian Xueshen said nothing more.
Before sending her out, Mu Qingyan pressed a small vermilion pill into Qian Xueshen's palm.
"Medicine. Take it."
Qian Xueshen went still. "This is..."
Mu Qingyan thought briefly. "Soul-chasing pill? Something in that family. The name escapes me. Take it. Don't make me repeat myself."
"I — this — me —" Her teeth clattered.
Cai Zhao stood up, alarmed.
"I can't monitor you every moment," Mu Qingyan said, voice flat. "Neither of us has the bandwidth. You take one every ten hours. When it's time, you come to me. When this journey ends, I give you the antidote."
The blood left Qian Xueshen's face entirely.
Cai Zhao, quiet: "You — do you actually have an antidote?"
Mu Qingyan's expression turned faintly offended. "Should I take one too, so Xiao Caixia can stop worrying?"
Cai Zhao opened her mouth. Closed it. Sat back down.
Mu Qingyan's cold, level gaze settled on Qian Xueshen. She gritted her teeth, opened her mouth, took the pill — and before she could think about it, Mu Qingyan struck her sharply on the back. The pill dropped down her throat and was gone.
Qian Xueshen coughed until her eyes watered.
After she left, Mu Qingyan closed and latched the door, then checked both windows carefully for drafts.
Cai Zhao watched him. "Mu Shaojun is very particular."
He didn't respond. He began undressing.
Cai Zhao — yes. Undressing.
The heavy outer fur was set aside. Then the elaborate belt. Then the sachet, the medicine pouch, the gold incense ball, the dual-phoenix jade pin, the small gold-and-jade knife, and finally the snow brocade outer robe with its dark armadillo embroidery.
"What are you doing." Cai Zhao was already standing.
Mu Qingyan stopped at the snow-white satin inner coat. He found a long sash, stepped in front of the bronze mirror, and bent slightly to tuck and tie his loose sleeves high. When he heard her question, he turned his head toward her — slow, a half-profile — long brows, deep eyes, skin pale against his mouth's natural red. The sash was still between his teeth.
He took it out just long enough to say: "Easier to work in. And it's warm in here. No need for all of that."
Cai Zhao didn't register a word of it. Her heart did something inconvenient.
He tied off his sleeves and crossed to the large trunk, lifting it onto the bed without effort — a case that took two staff members to carry. As he passed her, she caught a look at his arms: lean and long beneath the fabric, a few faint green veins visible at the surface, upper arms carrying more strength than the sleeves had suggested.
She adjusted her collar. The brazier was too hot in here.
He pulled a small plain bundle from the trunk and pressed it into her hands. "Change of clothes. Wash up now. Once we're on the mountain, there won't be any of this."
Cai Zhao stood holding the bundle and couldn't think of anything to say.
Mu Qingyan steered her toward the hot-water bucket in the corner and unfolded the standing screen to give her cover.
Through the screen's gap, she watched him strip the existing bedding from the bed, set it aside, and take two fresh sets from the trunk — soft and clean — spreading them with care. One for the bed. One for the wooden couch by the window.
Cai Zhao had made beds before. But she needed both hands, sometimes help. Mu Qingyan had the reach and the arms for it. One controlled shake and the quilt fell flat and even, no creasing.
That night, Cai Zhao slept in the bed. Mu Qingyan took the couch.
"Do you do chores at home?" she asked, watching the ceiling.
"Some." His voice was low, a little distant. He was still thinking about a moment ago — the curtain had shifted and he'd glimpsed her pink feet. A fraction of a second. But his mind kept returning to it: soft and fine, delicate ankles, one hand would be more than enough to circle one. Skin with that translucency that looked like pressure might leave a mark.
He was uncomfortably warm. Very uncomfortable.
He loathed the reaction. It made him think of Nie Zhe endlessly sending beautiful maids — Nie Hengcheng's long years of effort to break that particular will. He wasn't his father. And unlike his father, he genuinely wouldn't mind killing someone over it.
"I assumed the Demon Cult ran on servants," Cai Zhao said, still watching the ceiling. "Gold bricks on every floor, jewels in every corner."
"Easy enough to live that way. But my father didn't like crowds or noise. He said the greatest pleasure was wiping down every inch of your house yourself, and putting every book back in order by your own hand." When he spoke of his father, the rest of him settled. "I learned that from him."
Cai Zhao turned on her side, arm under her cheek. "He sounds unhurried."
"Gentle and indifferent to things, mostly. He loved rainy days. Whenever it rained he'd set up a small red clay stove under the corridor, brew tea and wine — well, I ended up brewing most of the wine. When he was drunk he'd lie down in his books and say that he dreamed of texts that comforted him, fairy realms made of words." A pause. "I learned to drink from him. But I wasn't as good at it. After he died I stopped, mostly — can't afford the distraction."
He was quiet a moment.
"He also taught me to raise certain rare beasts. Most of them useless. Even the Golden Feather Giant Roc. He said they belonged to an older time — to Beichen's founding age — and the world had changed so much they could barely reproduce anymore. That they were fated to disappear, one by one, from this earth." Another pause. "We cared for them so their last years had some dignity."
In the dark, a young man's voice carries further than it means to.
Cai Zhao listened until the end. "I think very highly of your father."
She'd been bracing for the discomfort of sharing a room with Mu Qingyan. She hadn't expected the soft warmth of the hour before sleep.
Her eyelids were already heavy.
"Hey," she said, half-asleep, pulling herself back. "You've been talking about your father for a while. What about your mother? Is she still living?"
The room changed.
The warmth was still there but it had become something else — clean, contained, with something unsayable in it.
"She lives well. Servants and maids, everything she wants."
No lamp. Cai Zhao could still hear the edge in it.
She didn't ask again.
She drifted for a while in the half-dark.
Then, quietly, she sighed.
Mu Qingyan heard it. He asked why.
"It's just... even for jianghu folk, sleeping in one room like this, so late at night." She paused. "It doesn't leave much space for Brother Yuqi."
"You're Feng Xiaohan now. You have no connection to the Cai name."
"I know that."
"Then what are you actually asking."
"Next time Lady Min finds fault with me, I'll hold my tongue a few seconds longer than usual."
"Not worth it."
"Next time Min Xinrou and Yuqi meet, I'll look away and stop bothering him about it."
"That works." Warmth moved through the darkness, faint as a thread. "That's reasonable."
"And in the next tournament, I'll lose to Brother Yuqi after a full two hundred moves. As for the question of — he should still have a son, shouldn't he? That's important to a man. Two hundred moves or should I let him have it at a hundred and fifty?" She paused again. "Actually, shouldn't the man himself have a say in the son question —"
Something in the room broke. A sound, muffled against bedding — Mu Qingyan's shoulders moving under the covers, trying to hold back laughter and failing.
Cai Zhao recognized immediately that she'd asked the wrong person for this particular advice. She rolled over, pulled her quilt up, and willed herself to sleep, very annoyed.
Mu Qingyan lay still on his back in the dark. He waited for her breathing to slow and even out — the particular rhythm of a child who had finally let go of the day.
He lay there and felt, without naming it, something very close to peace. The heat and discomfort from before seemed less urgent now. Less consuming.
He thought: if only his father could have met her.
He would have been glad.