The Wanderer (Xianxia)

Jon drifted in waves of consciousness. Sometimes there was nothing but darkness. Other times, half-formed images floated past—Han fighting overhead, Bai Feng's face twisted in rage, a tiger's dying eyes. None of it made sense.

Pain anchored him to reality. His shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat. His ribs felt like they'd been crushed in a vise. His knee pulsed with a dull, persistent ache.

Voices filtered through occasionally. Unfamiliar ones, speaking too quietly to understand. Sometimes he thought he heard Big Dawg's concerned whine.

Slowly, other sensations registered. The hard surface beneath him—not a bed, more like stone covered with something thin. A musty, earthy smell mixed with herbal scents he didn't recognize—pungent and medicinal. Cold air against his face contrasting with warmth across his body.

His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. His eyelids weighed a ton each.

Something cool and damp pressed against his forehead. The relief was immediate, and Jon instinctively turned toward it.

"I think he's waking up!" A child's voice, high-pitched and excited. "Should I get more water?"

Jon forced his eyes open. The effort was monumental. At first, everything was a blur of shadows and dim, flickering light. He blinked slowly, each movement sending fresh pain through his skull.

A face came into focus. A young boy, very young. Round cheeks, wide eyes filled with curiosity, red hair.

Bao.

"You're alive!" Bao said, grinning. "Father said you would be, but you looked really dead."

Jon tried to speak, but his throat refused to cooperate. A dry croak emerged instead.

"Oh! Water!" Bao scrambled away, returning moments later with a crude wooden cup. "Here, Master Han showed me how to help you drink."

The boy's small hand slipped behind Jon's neck, supporting his head with surprising gentleness. The water tasted like heaven despite a metallic undertone. Jon drank greedily until Bao pulled the cup away.

"Not too fast, Master Han said. You'll throw up."

Jon finally found his voice. "What... where am I?" Each word scraped his throat raw.

"In the cave behind Old Wu's farm," Bao answered, as if that explained everything. "Father brought you here three nights ago, after the fighting."

Three nights. Jon tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Pain erupted across his chest, and his vision swam. He fell back with a groan.

"You shouldn't move yet," Bao said. "Master Han said your inside parts are still healing."

Jon's hand drifted to his ribs. Rough bandages wrapped his torso, stiff with some kind of paste that smelled of herbs and pine. Similar bandages covered his right shoulder and left knee.

"Why are you here, Bao?" Jon asked, his voice still raspy.

The boy beamed with pride, reaching behind him. "I brought food! Father couldn't come today—imperial soldiers are searching all the farms. But I know the secret ways."

He produced a small bundle wrapped in leaves, opening it to reveal steamed rice balls and what looked like dried fish.

"My mother made it fresh this morning. She put medicine inside too—the bitter stuff that helps with pain."

Jon tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. "That's... very brave of you."

"Not really," Bao shrugged. "I'm small. No one notices me. And Master Han said I'm very good at sneaking."

"Tch." A familiar gruff voice sounded from deeper in the cave. "I said you're adequate at sneaking. Good would mean I didn't hear you coming from fifty paces away."

Footsteps approached, and Jon felt a surge of relief. "Old man!" he called out, his voice cracking with the effort. His throat was so dry it felt like he'd swallowed sand.

Han moved into view, a flask in his hand. "About time you rejoined the land of the living, disciple. Thought I'd wasted all those medicines for nothing."

Jon's relief turned to horror as Han turned fully toward him. The right side of the old cultivator's body was intact, but where his left arm should have been was nothing—just an empty sleeve, pinned up at the shoulder.

"Your arm..." Jon whispered.

Han made an irritated clicking sound with his tongue. "Tch. I've severed limbs from dozens of opponents in my time. This is the natural outcome of battle." He gestured dismissively at the empty sleeve. "Haven't fought someone of that caliber in decades. Was bound to happen."

"The woman..." Jon's voice was barely audible.

"A draw," Han replied curtly. "Eat and drink first. Questions later."

Han turned his attention to Bao, who was watching Jon with wide eyes. "And you. What were you thinking, coming here alone? Imperial patrols are everywhere."

"But they needed food!" Bao protested, straightening his small shoulders. "And I was careful! I used the dry creek bed like Father showed me, and I watched for—"

"We can survive for years without food if necessary," Han cut him off. "True cultivators can extract essence from the air itself. Your risk was unnecessary."

Bao's eyes slid to Jon, who was already devouring the rice balls with single-minded focus. The boy raised his eyebrows pointedly at Han.

Jon barely registered their argument. The hunger that hit him was primal, overwhelming. The plain rice tasted better than any five-star meal he'd ever had on Earth. The dried fish, tough and slightly salty, was heavenly. He couldn't get it into his mouth fast enough.

"See?" Bao said triumphantly. "He likes it!"

Han sighed, his expression softening slightly. "His body is working overtime to repair substantial internal and external damage. The energy has to come from somewhere." He took a rice ball for himself, chewing it thoughtfully. "So yes, the food is... appreciated. But your safety is more important."

A familiar bark echoed through the cave. Big Dawg came bounding toward them, his entire rear end wiggling with excitement when he saw Jon awake. The Shiba Inu skidded to a stop beside the makeshift bed, whining and trying to lick Jon's face.

"Hey buddy," Jon said, his voice stronger now. He reached out with his good arm, burying his fingers in Big Dawg's fur. The dog's warm presence was immediately comforting. "Thanks for having my back."

Big Dawg's tail wagged even harder. Jon broke off a piece of fish and offered it to the dog, who took it with surprising gentleness. "If you hadn't distracted that tiger, I'd be dead."

"Your mongrel has more natural talent for combat than you do," Han observed, but there was a hint of approval in his voice. "At least he attacks without hesitation."

Jon scratched behind Big Dawg's ears, smiling as the dog leaned into the touch. For a moment, the pain in his body receded, overtaken by the simple joy of reuniting with his companion.

The moment was short-lived. Han set down his empty cup and fixed Jon with a serious look.

"Now that you're awake, we need to leave. Soon."

Jon set down the empty leaf wrapper, his hunger finally dulled enough to think clearly. "What exactly is going on?"

Han glanced at Bao, who was sitting cross-legged with Big Dawg's head in his lap. "Boy, go check the entrance. Make sure no one followed you."

Bao looked ready to protest but thought better of it. He gave Big Dawg one last pat and scampered deeper into the cave.

When he was out of earshot, Han lowered his voice. "The night of our fights, imperial executives arrived." His face hardened. "They brought cultivators. Orthodox Faction representatives from three major sects, supposedly to 'maintain order.' And they're not alone."

"The Unorthodox Faction sent people too?"

Han nodded grimly. "Bai Feng was more important than you realized. His spirit beast was rare, powerful. They're calling it theft of sect treasures. Murder. They want your head. At least, that is their reason for seeking revenge."

Jon's stomach dropped. His first reflex was to tell Han how they were attacked first, and just defended themselves, but, would it change anything?

"And you? Why are they after you?"

"Interfering with imperial justice, apparently." Han made a dismissive gesture with his remaining hand. "Plus, I embarrassed their princess."

Jon tried to process this. "So we're fugitives."

"Worse than that." Han reached for his flask and took a long swallow. "They've begun setting up a Heaven's Net Formation around the region."

"A what?"

"A massive detection array. It covers hundreds of li in every direction, anchored by formation stones placed at key nodes." Han's expression was deadly serious now. "Once activated, it will detect any cultivator's qi signature trying to enter or leave the area. We'd be trapped."

Jon stared at the cave ceiling, letting the implications sink in. "How long do we have?"

"Two days, maybe three before the formation is complete." Han studied Jon's bandaged body with a critical eye. "You need to recuperate fast. We can't wait for full healing—just enough that you can travel without reopening internal wounds."

"I don't understand," Jon said. "Why were they after us in the first place? Before all this happened?"

Han gave him an incredulous look. "Are you an idiot or are you doing this on purpose?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't say it was because I'm from another world," Jon admitted quietly.

Han scoffed. "Well, you won't hear that from my mouth." He glanced toward the cave entrance.

"What about the princess?" Jon asked.

Te old man's expression darkened. "She's... still alive."

Before Jon could ask more questions, Bao returned, slightly out of breath. "All clear! But I saw smoke signals from the village. That means soldiers are moving."

Han nodded. "It's starting. They're setting perimeter checks." He turned back to Jon. "Rest today. Tomorrow I'll help you start moving again. We leave at dusk tomorrow, whether you're ready or not."

Jon pushed himself up to sitting position, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs. "I'll be ready."

He wasn't sure if it was true, but he didn't have much choice. The thought of imperial soldiers and angry cultivators hunting them down was motivation enough.

"Good," Han said, standing up. "Because if they catch us, death will be the kindest option they offer."

*****

Jon woke from his meditation, his internal sense of time telling him it was nearly dusk. The past twelve hours had been spent cross-legged on his makeshift bedding, cycling qi through his meridians the way Han had taught him. The difference was remarkable—his fractured ribs no longer screamed with every breath, settling instead into a dull ache. The gash in his shoulder had closed enough that he could rotate his arm without reopening the wound.

The cave was quieter now. Bao and Big Dawg were gone—Han had sent them away that morning after a stern lecture that left the boy fighting back tears.

"If they catch you coming here, they won't care that you're a child," Han had told him, his voice unusually gentle despite the harsh words. "Stay home. Keep your family safe. Forget you ever met us."

Bao had nodded solemnly, but still managed to slip Jon a small cloth pouch when Han wasn't looking. "Medicine from my late uncle's old supply," he'd whispered. "For the journey."

Big Dawg had gone with the boy to ensure he made it home safely. Jon had watched them leave with a knot in his stomach, hoping the loyal dog would find its way back before they departed.

Now, in the dimming light of the cave, Jon tested his limbs one by one. Everything hurt, but nothing seemed broken beyond function. He pushed himself up from the stone floor, wincing as his weight settled onto his injured knee.

Han appeared from the shadows at the back of the cave, a small pack over his good shoulder. His critical eyes assessed Jon's stance.

"Well?" the old cultivator asked. "Can you move?"

Jon took a careful step, then another. He straightened his back, ignoring the protest from his ribs.

"I'm ready," he said.

They moved through the forest like ghosts. Han led, navigating by stars and landmarks only he could recognize. Jon followed, each step a careful negotiation between speed and pain. Big Dawg had returned just as they were leaving, appearing silently at Jon's side as if he'd never left.

The night air was cool against Jon's skin. The forest smelled of pine and damp earth. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called.

"Stay low," Han whispered, dropping to a crouch. "Imperial checkpoint ahead."

Jon mimicked the position, wincing as his ribs protested. They'd been traveling for hours, keeping to ravines and thick undergrowth. His clothes were torn, his bandages damp with sweat and blood.

Through the trees, Jon could make out a wooden structure—a hastily constructed guard post. Torches illuminated a small clearing where two soldiers stood beside a brazier, looking bored.

"Perimeter guards," Han said, his voice so low Jon had to strain to hear it. "Not cultivators. Just eyes and ears for those who matter."

"How do we get past?"

Han pointed to a depression in the ground that curved around the clearing. "We go underneath them. There's a stream bed. Dry this time of year."

They backtracked fifty yards and found the shallow ravine. It was barely deep enough to hide in, but by crawling on their bellies, they managed to stay below the sight line of the guards.

Jon's breath caught when they passed directly beneath the checkpoint. Voices drifted down clearly.

"—saying it's an old man and some foreign devil," one guard was saying.

"And a tiger?" the second laughed.

"No, you idiot. They killed the tiger. That's why all this fuss—"

The voices faded as they crawled past. Jon released his breath slowly.

They continued for another hour, the terrain gradually becoming steeper. Jon's muscles burned with fatigue. His knee throbbed. Just when he thought he couldn't take another step, Han raised his hand for a halt.

"Listen," the old man whispered.

Jon strained his ears. At first, he heard nothing but the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then—footsteps. Multiple sets. Moving quickly through the forest behind them.

"Cultivators," Han said grimly. "They've picked up our trail."

"How many?"

"At least three." Han's voice was eerily calm. "We can't outrun them."

"So what do we—"

"We fight." Han drew a short sword from his belt—Jon hadn't even noticed he was carrying it. "You take the one on the left. I'll handle the other two."

"Are you insane? Your arm—"

"Is not my sword arm." Han's eyes glinted in the darkness. "Stay alive, disciple. That's all I ask."

He was one to talk. Han was weak right now. Much more than he would admit.

The first cultivator burst through the trees without warning—a young woman in green robes, a jade hairpin glowing with spiritual energy. She spotted them and shouted, "Here!"

Han moved like lightning, crossing the distance between them before she could finish the word. His blade flashed once. The woman's eyes widened in shock as her head toppled from her shoulders.

Two more cultivators appeared—men in matching dark blue robes, each carrying a long spear that hummed with energy.

"Iron Vine Sect," Han spat. "Second-rate cultivators with third-rate techniques."

The men split apart, circling to flank them. The taller one pointed his spear at Han. "Cripple. Surrender now and your death will be merciful."

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Han's laugh was chilling. "You wasted your one chance to run."

He launched himself at the speaker, his blade trailing azure light. The cultivator raised his spear to block, but Han wasn't aiming for him directly. His sword cut through the air in a complex pattern, and suddenly the forest floor beneath the man erupted in a mass of writhing roots that wrapped around his ankles.

While Han engaged, the second cultivator charged toward Jon. His spear point gleamed with sickly yellow light.

Jon reached for his qi, channeling it through his body the way Han had taught him. Everything seemed to slow down. He could see each twitch of the man's muscles, predicting the path of the spear.

It thrust toward his chest. Jon sidestepped, grabbing the shaft as it passed. The wood burned his palm, but he held on, yanking hard. The cultivator stumbled forward, off-balance.

Jon's fist connected with the man's temple. Bone cracked. The cultivator collapsed, his spear clattering to the ground.

A scream made Jon turn. Han had the first cultivator pinned against a tree, his sword buried to the hilt in the man's chest. The roots that had entangled him were now snaking up his body, dark with blood.

"Behind you!" Han shouted.

Jon spun. A fourth cultivator stood at the edge of the clearing—a woman with a face half-covered in ritual scars. She held a burning talisman between her fingers.

"Heaven's Net has been activated," she announced coldly. "You cannot escape."

The talisman flared. Jon felt a pressure descend around them, like the air itself was congealing.

Han cursed, ripping his sword free from the dead cultivator. "Formation master. Jon, take her down now!"

Jon charged, ignoring the pain screaming through his body. The woman's hands blurred, forming seals in rapid succession. The ground beneath Jon's feet began to glow with arcane symbols.

He leaped, clearing the formation circle just as it erupted in blue flame. Landing on his injured knee sent a spike of agony up his leg, but he pushed through it, closing the distance.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise. Clearly, she hadn't expected him to evade her trap. She backpedaled, drawing a short dagger from her sleeve.

Jon feinted left, then drove forward with a right hook that connected with her jaw. Her head snapped back, but she recovered quickly, slashing with her dagger. The blade opened a shallow cut across Jon's chest.

He grabbed her wrist, twisting until bones cracked. The dagger fell. With his other hand, he delivered a palm strike to her sternum. The impact sent her flying backward into a tree trunk. She slumped to the ground, motionless.

"The talisman," Han called. "Destroy it!"

Jon spotted the glowing paper where it had fallen. He stomped on it, grinding it into the dirt with his heel. The pressure in the air immediately lessened.

Han appeared at his side, his breathing labored. "More will come. We need to move."

"But you said the Heaven's Net—"

"Is still being established. That was just one node. We have a small window before the entire formation activates." Han gestured toward a ridge to the east. "There's a pass there. If we can cross it before dawn, we have a chance."

They ran. Jon's body was on fire, every muscle screaming for rest, but fear drove him forward. Big Dawg loped alongside, occasionally disappearing into the underbrush only to reappear minutes later.

The terrain grew steeper. They scrambled up rocky inclines, using trees and roots for handholds. Jon's bandages were soaked through with fresh blood, but he didn't dare stop.

Dawn was breaking when they reached the pass—a narrow gap between two sheer cliff faces. Below them stretched a vast forest, misty in the early morning light.

"We made it," Jon gasped.

Han's expression remained grim. "Not yet. Look."

Jon followed his gaze. Coming up the trail behind them were at least a dozen cultivators, their robes identifying them as members of various sects. At their head was a familiar figure—a man with elegant features and burning hatred in his eyes.

"Bai Feng," Jon whispered.

"He brought friends," Han noted dryly.

"What do we do?"

Han drew his sword. "What cultivators always do. We fight until we can't."

The first wave came at them like a storm—five cultivators with weapons drawn and talismans burning between their fingers. Jon recognized the techniques from his training with Han—Wind Step, Earth Fist, Fire Palm.

"Back to back!" Han shouted, positioning himself at the narrowest part of the pass. "Don't let them surround us!"

Jon took his place, facing the second group of attackers. Big Dawg growled at his side, hackles raised.

A lanky cultivator with twin daggers reached them first. He moved with inhuman speed, his blades a blur of deadly steel. Jon absorbed the first strike with his forearm, wincing as the blade cut through cloth to graze his skin. The second dagger aimed for his throat.

Jon ducked, then surged upward with a palm strike to the man's chin. He felt jaw bone shatter. The cultivator staggered back, but two more immediately took his place—a heavily muscled man with brass knuckles and a younger woman wielding a whip that crackled with lightning.

Behind him, he could hear Han engaged in his own battle—the clash of metal on metal, grunts of exertion, and an occasional cry of pain that wasn't Han's.

The woman's whip lashed out. Jon sidestepped, but the lightning arced toward him anyway, striking his shoulder. Pain exploded through his body, his muscles seizing temporarily. The man with brass knuckles took advantage, landing a solid blow to Jon's ribs.

The impact sent him sprawling. His vision blurred. Something warm and wet spread across his side—one of his wounds had reopened.

Big Dawg leaped at the muscled cultivator, teeth finding purchase in the man's forearm. The cultivator howled, trying to shake the dog loose.

Jon forced himself to his feet. The woman with the whip was preparing another strike. He charged forward, ignoring the threat of the lightning. Her eyes widened in surprise as he closed the distance.

His fist connected with her solar plexus. The breath left her body in a rush. Before she could recover, Jon grabbed her whip arm and twisted, using her momentum to throw her into her companion. They collided just as Big Dawg released his grip on the man's arm.

Jon pressed his advantage, launching a flurry of strikes. His fists found vulnerable points—throat, temple, kidney. The muscled cultivator went down, blood pouring from his mouth.

The woman recovered faster, her whip snapping toward Jon's face. He caught it mid-strike, ignoring the electricity that coursed through his arm. With a sharp pull, he yanked her off balance and delivered a roundhouse kick to her head. She dropped like a stone.

A momentary lull in the fighting allowed Jon to check on Han. The old cultivator had dispatched three of his attackers—their bodies lay broken at the edge of the pass. The remaining two were circling cautiously, clearly reassessing their opponent.

"Old man! Are you—"

"Focus on your own fight!" Han snapped. "More coming!"

Four new cultivators approached Jon, moving in perfect unison. They wore identical green robes with silver trim—members of the same sect, trained to fight as a unit.

They spread out, cutting off any avenue of escape. Jon shifted his stance, centering his weight. His injuries screamed for attention, but he pushed the pain aside, focusing on the flow of qi through his body.

The four attacked simultaneously, each using a different elemental technique. Earth erupted beneath Jon's feet. Wind blades sliced through the air. Water formed into ice spears. Fire roared in a consuming wave.

Jon leaped straight up, higher than he'd thought possible. The elements collided beneath him, canceling each other out in a chaotic explosion. He landed in the middle of the group, immediately spinning into a sweeping kick that took two of the cultivators off their feet.

The third tried to form a hand seal, but Jon was faster. His elbow connected with the man's nose, driving bone fragments into his brain. The fourth managed to land a palm strike to Jon's back, sending a pulse of destructive qi through his system.

Jon's internal organs felt like they'd been hit with a sledgehammer. He staggered, coughing blood. The cultivator pressed his advantage, hands forming seals for another attack.

Big Dawg intervened, leaping onto the cultivator's back and sinking his teeth into the man's neck. The seal sequence interrupted, the cultivator's qi went wild, backfiring through his meridians. He collapsed, convulsing.

Jon wiped blood from his mouth and turned to face the next threat. But instead of more foot soldiers, he found himself staring at Bai Feng.

The cultivator stood ten paces away, his robes pristine, his face a mask of cold fury. The scar where his tiger had been connected to him was an angry red welt across his chest, visible through his partially open robe.

"Outlander," Bai Feng said, his voice deceptively soft. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble."

Jon spat blood. "You started it."

Bai Feng's smile was razor-thin. "And I will finish it." He raised his hand, and a curved blade of pure energy formed above his palm. "No beast to save you this time."

The energy blade shot toward Jon with blinding speed. He managed to deflect it with a hastily formed qi shield, but the impact drove him back several steps. His reserves were dangerously low, his body running on little more than willpower.

"Han!" Jon called. "I could use some help here!"

But Han was engaged with three elite cultivators, his single arm a blur as he fought to keep them at bay. Blood stained his right side, evidence that not all of their attacks had missed.

Bai Feng formed another energy blade, larger than the first. "Your master can't help you now."

The blade flew. Jon dodged, but it curved in mid-air, tracking him. He rolled, feeling it slice across his back as it passed. The wound burned like acid.

Bai Feng wasn't waiting.

A third blade formed, then a fourth. They hovered around him like obedient pets, waiting for his command.

"I will take my time with you," Bai Feng promised. "First your limbs. Then your eyes. Your tongue. Your very core will be extracted while you still live."

Jon's mind raced. He couldn't match Bai Feng's power or technique. But maybe he didn't have to. Han had taught him that cultivation battles weren't always won by the strongest.

He reached into his pocket, feeling for the small pouch Bao had given him. His fingers closed around something round and hard—a pill of some kind. Without hesitation, he popped it into his mouth and bit down.

Bitter flavor flooded his tongue, followed immediately by a rush of raw energy. His meridians flared painfully as qi surged through his system. The world sharpened into crystal clarity.

Bai Feng must have sensed the change. His eyes narrowed. "A Heaven's Core Pill? Interesting. But it won't save you."

Why do they always have to talk so much at times like this...

All four energy blades shot forward simultaneously. Jon didn't try to dodge. Instead, he charged directly at Bai Feng, straight into the path of the blades.

At the last possible moment, he channeled qi to his feet and leaped. The blades missed him by inches, continuing on their trajectory. Bai Feng's eyes widened in surprise as his own weapons curved back toward him. He dispelled them with a wave of his hand, but the momentary distraction was all Jon needed.

He landed directly in front of Bai Feng, his fist already in motion. Qi gathered around his knuckles, condensing into a solid sheath of energy.

The punch connected with Bai Feng's chest, directly over the scar where his tiger had been connected. The impact created a shockwave that rippled through the air.

Bai Feng's expression shifted from surprise to horror as he felt something shatter inside him. Jon's qi had targeted his cultivation base, disrupting the carefully constructed foundation of his power.

Blood spurted from Bai Feng's mouth. He staggered backward, clutching his chest. "What... what have you done?"

Jon stood his ground, though the effort of remaining upright was nearly beyond him. The pill's energy was already fading, leaving him drained and shaking.

"I did what I had to do," he said simply.

Bai Feng fell to his knees, his face contorted with rage and pain. "You... you've destroyed my core. My cultivation..." His voice broke. "Three hundred years of work... gone."

Around them, the fighting had stopped. Cultivators on both sides stared in shock at the fallen Nascent Soul master.

"Impossible," someone whispered.

Han appeared at Jon's side, his sword dripping with fresh blood. "Not impossible," he said. "Just improbable. My disciple has always been full of surprises."

Bai Feng's eyes burned with hatred as he looked up at Jon. "This isn't over, outlander. I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. I will—"

Without a word, Han interrupted. His sword flashed once, impossibly fast. Bai Feng's head toppled from his shoulders, blood fountaining from the stump of his neck. The cultivator's body slumped forward, twitching.

Han flicked the blood from his blade with a practiced motion. "Now it's over."

The gathered cultivators stood frozen in shock. One moment stretched into two. Then chaos erupted.

"Kill them!" someone screamed. "Avenge Young Master Bai!"

Jon grabbed Han's sleeve. "We need to go!"

Han nodded grimly. "East ridge. Run!"

They bolted toward the narrowest part of the pass, Big Dawg sprinting ahead. Behind them, a wave of enraged cultivators gave chase, talismans flaring to life in their hands.

A barrage of energy bolts streaked toward them. Jon ducked, feeling heat sear across his back as one passed too close. Han deflected another with his sword, the metal glowing red-hot from the impact.

"Keep moving!" Han shouted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood leaked from a wound in his side, staining his robe dark crimson.

The path ahead narrowed further, squeezing between two massive boulders. Big Dawg slipped through easily. Jon had to turn sideways to fit. Han followed, his lean frame barely making it through the gap.

On the other side, the trail dropped away sharply—a steep descent down a scree-covered slope. No time for caution. Jon half-ran, half-slid down the loose rocks, fighting for balance with every step. Stones gave way beneath his feet, triggering small avalanches. Han stayed close behind, occasionally glancing back at their pursuers.

The first cultivator squeezed through the gap above them. He raised his hand, a fireball forming at his fingertips.

Han flicked his wrist. Three small objects—throwing needles—embedded themselves in the man's throat. The fireball fizzled out as he clutched at his neck, gurgling, before toppling forward and tumbling down the slope.

More cultivators poured through the gap. Jon counted at least fifteen, with more on the way.

"They're herding us," Han said between labored breaths. "Trying to funnel us toward the main formation."

"Is there another way?"

Han pointed to where the ridge curved. "Through that ravine. It's not on their maps."

They veered left, leaving the established trail. The terrain became treacherous—loose shale giving way to jagged rocks that tore at Jon's already damaged boots. Every impact jarred his injured knee. Blood soaked through his bandages, but he pushed on.

The ravine opened before them—a deep gash in the mountainside, its bottom lost in shadow. A makeshift rope bridge spanned the gap, swaying in the morning breeze.

"That doesn't look safe," Jon said.

"It's not." Han was already moving toward it. "But neither is staying here."

A shout from behind. The cultivators had spotted them again. Energy bolts tore through the air.

Han reached the bridge first. "Go!" he yelled, pushing Jon forward.

The bridge swayed alarmingly as Jon stepped onto it. Rotted planks creaked beneath his weight. He moved as quickly as he dared, testing each board before committing his weight. Big Dawg whined nervously but followed, his claws scrabbling for purchase on the smooth wood.

Halfway across, Jon felt rather than heard something heavy impact the bridge. He looked back to see a spear embedded in one of the support posts, its shaft vibrating with the force of the throw. Han was right behind him, his face grim with concentration.

More projectiles followed—knives, darts, energy bolts. Most missed, but one sliced through one of the support ropes. The bridge lurched sickeningly to one side.

"Move!" Han shouted.

Jon scrambled forward, abandoning caution. Planks broke beneath his feet. He leaped over gaps, his focus narrowed to the far side of the ravine. Ten more steps. Five. Three.

He leaped onto solid ground just as another rope snapped. Big Dawg landed beside him with a yelp. Han was still on the bridge, only a few paces from safety.

The bridge gave way.

Jon lunged forward, grabbing Han's wrist as the old cultivator began to fall. For a terrifying moment, he thought they would both go over. Then Big Dawg bit down on Jon's belt, anchoring him. Together, they hauled Han onto solid ground.

They had no time to rest. The cultivators had reached the other side of the ravine. Some were already looking for another way across.

"This way," Han gasped, pointing down a barely visible game trail that skirted the edge of the ravine.

They ran. The path wound through thick undergrowth, occasionally doubling back on itself as it descended the mountainside. The sounds of pursuit grew fainter.

"Are we losing them?" Jon asked, his breath coming in painful gasps.

"Temporarily." Han glanced up at the sky. "The sun works against us. They'll have aerial scouts soon."

As if summoned by his words, a shadow passed overhead. Jon looked up to see a massive bird—no, not a bird. A spirit beast, with scales instead of feathers and a cultivator mounted on its back.

"Damn," Han muttered. "Scout from the Azure Wing Sect. They've spotted us."

The beast circled once, then flew back toward the main pursuit group.

"How much farther to the edge of the formation?" Jon asked.

"Three li, maybe four." Han's expression was grim. "But they'll catch us before then if we stay on this path."

He veered suddenly off the trail, pushing through dense undergrowth. Jon followed, trying to stay low. Branches whipped at his face, opening fresh cuts. His clothes caught on thorns, tearing further.

They emerged at the edge of a cliff. Below them, a river churned through a narrow gorge, its waters white with foam.

"We jump," Han said simply.

Jon stared at him. "You can't be serious."

"The current is strong enough to carry us beyond the formation boundary. If we survive."

"That's a big if."

Han's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. "Better odds than facing those cultivators."

A crashing sound from the brush behind them. Their pursuers were close.

Jon looked down at the raging river, then at Big Dawg. "What about him?"

"He's a dog. Dogs swim."

"Not in that they don't!"

Han knelt, pulling something from his robe—a talisman with complex symbols drawn in what looked like blood. He pressed it against Big Dawg's forehead. The paper flared with golden light, then seemed to sink into the dog's fur.

"Buoyancy talisman," Han explained. "Last one I had. Works better on animals than humans."

Big Dawg sneezed, looking confused.

The undergrowth behind them parted. A cultivator in crimson robes stepped through, a curved blade in each hand. His eyes widened when he saw them.

"Now!" Han shouted, grabbing Jon's arm.

They jumped.

The fall seemed to last forever. Wind rushed past Jon's ears. His stomach lurched into his throat. Then impact—cold, shocking, violent. The river swallowed him whole.

Currents grabbed him immediately, tumbling him like a rag doll. He fought to the surface, gasping for air. The water was freezing, numbing his limbs almost instantly. He caught a glimpse of Han a few yards away, his head bobbing above the white foam, before the current dragged him under again.

Jon fought against panic, forcing his limbs to move in the swimming motions he'd learned as a child. The river was having none of it. It slammed him against a submerged rock, driving what little air remained from his lungs. Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision.

A furry body bumped against him. Big Dawg, somehow managing to stay afloat, nudged him upward. Jon grabbed the dog's scruff, using him as a buoy to pull himself to the surface.

Air filled his lungs. He coughed violently, trying to orient himself. The current had carried them far from the jump point already. The cliffs on either side were a blur of gray stone.

"Han!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the water.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. Han appeared beside him, his face pale but determined. "Keep your feet up!" he yelled. "Rapids ahead!"

The river narrowed, accelerating their pace. Jon caught glimpses of jagged rocks jutting from the foam. He tucked his legs up, trying to protect them from impact. The current bounced them from one side of the gorge to the other.

A deafening roar grew ahead of them. Jon's stomach dropped as he realized what it meant.

"Waterfall!" he shouted.

Han nodded grimly. "Hold on to your dog!"

The river simply vanished beneath them. One moment they were being swept along; the next, they were falling through open air. Jon clutched Big Dawg tightly, bracing for impact.

They hit with enough force to drive the breath from Jon's body. He sank deep, disoriented, unsure which way was up. Bubbles streamed from his mouth as the last of his air escaped. His lungs burned.

Something tugged at his collar. Big Dawg, pulling him upward. The talisman's magic was still working, keeping the dog buoyant despite the churning waters.

They broke the surface. Jon gasped, drawing precious air into his starved lungs. The current here was gentler, the river widening into a broader stretch. He looked around frantically for Han.

The old cultivator was floating nearby, face down in the water.

Jon's heart seized. He struck out with tired arms, fighting the current to reach Han. Grabbing the back of his robe, he flipped him over. Han's face was ashen, his lips blue.

"No, no, no," Jon muttered. He pulled Han's head against his chest, using one arm to keep them both afloat as he kicked toward the nearest shore.

Big Dawg swam ahead of them, reaching the bank first. Jon followed, dragging Han's limp form through the shallows until they reached solid ground. He collapsed on the rocky shore, his entire body trembling with exhaustion and cold.

Han wasn't breathing.

Jon rolled him onto his back and began chest compressions, the way he'd learned in a first aid class that now seemed a lifetime ago. "Come on," he grunted. "Don't you dare die on me, old man."

Water trickled from Han's mouth. No response.

Jon continued the compressions, counting under his breath. After thirty, he tilted Han's head back, pinched his nose, and gave two rescue breaths. Then back to compressions.

"You said we'd both make it," Jon growled. "You promised me answers, old man. You don't get to bail now."

Big Dawg whined, pacing anxiously around them.

Jon was on his third cycle of compressions when Han suddenly convulsed, coughing violently. Water spewed from his mouth. Jon quickly turned him onto his side, relief washing through him as the old cultivator drew a ragged breath.

Han's eyes fluttered open. "Did we..." he croaked.

Jon glanced around. They were in a broad valley, the river meandering peacefully through meadows dotted with wildflowers. No sign of pursuit.

"I think we're out," he said. "Past the formation."

Han struggled to sit up. "Help me stand."

Jon supported him, pulling Han's good arm across his shoulders. Together, they shuffled to a nearby rock where Han could sit more comfortably.

The old cultivator closed his eyes, concentrating. After a moment, he nodded. "The pressure is gone. We're beyond the Heaven's Net."

Jon slumped down beside him, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. "So we're safe?"

Han's laugh was hollow. "No. We've merely bought ourselves time."

"How much time?"

"Depends on how badly they want us." Han winced, pressing a hand to his side where fresh blood seeped through his robe. "The Heaven's Net was just for this region. They'll send word to neighboring provinces. Put a bounty on our heads."

Jon looked down at his own battered body. His clothes were in tatters. Blood and river water had washed away most of his bandages. He could feel at least two broken ribs grinding with each breath.

"So what now?" he asked.

Han gazed out over the peaceful valley. "Now we become wanderers. Keep moving. Trust no one. Learn to survive on the edges of civilization."

"For how long?"

"Until they forget about us." Han's expression hardened. "Or until we become strong enough that they fear to pursue us."

Jon thought about everything he'd lost. His old life. His arm. Any chance at a normal existence in this world.

"And if I want to go home?" he asked quietly.

Han was silent for a long moment. "There might be a way," he finally said. "But the knowledge is held by people who would kill you on sight right now."

"Great," Jon muttered.

Big Dawg padded over, dripping wet but seemingly unfazed by their ordeal. He rested his head on Jon's knee. Jon scratched behind the dog's ears, drawing comfort from the simple connection.

"Get some rest," Han said. "We move at nightfall."

Jon nodded, too exhausted to argue. He leaned back against the rock, tilting his face up to the sun. Its warmth felt good on his cold skin.

"Hey, Han," he said after a while.

"Mm?"

"Thanks for saving my life. Again."

Han snorted. "Who saved whom in that river? I think we're even now, disciple."

Jon smiled faintly. "Does this mean you're still going to train me?"

"Obviously." Han closed his eyes. "Someone has to teach you how not to lose your other arm."

They fell into companionable silence, the only sounds the gentle flow of the river and Big Dawg's contented sighs. Above them, clouds drifted across the blue sky, casting shifting shadows on the valley floor.

Jon knew they couldn't stay here. Soon they would have to move on, always looking over their shoulders, always one step ahead of those who hunted them.

"So we're fugitives now, huh?" Jon said, breaking the silence.

Han opened one eye. "I prefer the term 'wanderers.'"

Jon chuckled despite the pain in his ribs. "The wanderers," he repeated, tasting the word. "I like that too."