The steaming bowl of rich ox-bone broth sat upon the storm-cedar table, its surface glistening with emerald flecks of fresh scallions and aromatic sesame oil. Beside it lay a plate of roasted mountain sweet potatoes, their skins blistered and split to reveal steaming, golden-amber flesh dripping with caramelized honey.
Patriarch Lu Feng, wrapped tightly in a thick wool blanket with a fine china bowl clutched between his shivering hands, took a hesitant sip.
A deep, healing medicine warmth flooded his hollow stomach. The chill that had settled deep into his marrow over eighteen hundred li of panicked flight began to melt away. He swallowed two mouthfuls of broth, bit into the scalding sweetness of a roasted potato, and nearly sobbed aloud at the sheer, comforting simplicity of the flavor.
Yet the moment he looked across the table, the knot of terror seized his throat once more.
“Sect Master Lin,” Lu Feng whispered. He pointed a trembling, broth-slicked finger at the spread of troop movements on the silk map. “I understand your thanks, but you must look at these deployment vectors. This isn’t an ordinary frontier skirmish! It’s five major traditional sects running with unified military coordination! Look at the Crimson Flame Pavilion’s positioning—they have deployed twenty core-fire giant crossbows! A single salvo from those siege engines can level an entire mountain ridge!”
Lu Feng leaned forward, his voice cracking with urgency. “And the Azure Cloud Sect’s gale vanguards! Six thousand students trained in wind-blade bombardment, capable of cutting off every aerial escape route! If you wait until dawn, their twelve dreadnoughts will blockade the outer valleys! You’ll be trapped like fish in a dried puddle! There’s still time! If we pack the high-grade spirit stones, load the young beast cubs onto the shadow wolves, and burn the outer granaries, you can lead your people into the ancient western karst mountains where their flying ships can’t navigate!”
The room was silent save for the crackle of the hearth fire.
Su Ling’er sat gracefully on a silk mat, her nine snowy tails gathered neatly beside her, her crimson eyes resting on the map with calm, analytical care. Tie Shan rested his huge, calloused hands on the timber table, his iron-gray beard twitching as his single sharp eye tracked the siege positions. At the back of the room, Sword Saint Gu Qingfeng leaned his shoulder against a polished cedar column, casually carving a slender piece of pear-wood with his thumb knife, his stance so relaxed he might have been watching grass grow.
Lin Xiao, still resting as an azure slime upon his cushion, gave a gentle wobble.
Then, with a shimmering ripple of sky light, his fluid mass swelled, stretched, and condensed. Within two heartbeats, the round blue blob was gone. In its place stood an eighteen-year-old youth of calm, immortal grace. His silky raven hair fell loosely to his shoulders, tied with a simple silver ribbon. His eyes were deep pools of sparkling sapphire light, calm and clear. And his slender frame was draped in clean azure linen scholar robes woven with subtle threads of spirit-silk.
Lin Xiao stretched his mortal arms, rotating his wrists with a soft, satisfied smile.
“Flee?” Lin Xiao asked, picking up a clay teapot and pouring Lu Feng another cup of pale-green tea. “Patriarch Lu, why on earth should we flee our own home?”
Lu Feng stared at him, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. “Why? Because thirty thousand fighters are coming to slaughter you!”
Lin Xiao shook his head gently, setting the teapot back on its trivet with a quiet click.
“This valley wasn’t handed to us by the heavens, Patriarch Lu,” Lin Xiao said, his voice soft, steady, and filled with quiet warmth. “When I first rolled out of that mossy stone basin by the tea pavilion, there was nothing here but poisonous poacher traps, dried mud, and rockslides. Old Man Tie hammered every single iron beam in those town buildings with his own hands. Ling’er spent four moons organizing the irrigation channels so the mortal refugees could grow three hundred acres of spirit rice without breaking their backs. Our children planted those peach orchards. Our bees made the honey on that potato you’re eating.”
Lin Xiao looked toward the dark window. There, the peaceful dark shape of the safe hall’s rooftops slept under the moonlight.
“And besides,” Lin Xiao added with a small chuckle, “we have twenty-four barrels of peach wine currently in their backup fermentation cellar. If we run off into the western mountains, who’s going to stir the mash every twelve hours? It would turn into sour vinegar, and that would be a terrible waste of good peaches.”
Lu Feng’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Sect Master... You’re worried about... Vinegar?!”
“A craftsman respects his materials, Patriarch Lu,” Lin Xiao replied with a calm smile. “And more importantly, I respect the people who built this place. We didn’t steal this land. We didn’t murder anyone to take it. We built a home where humans and beasts can live together in peace, eat hot meals, and sleep without fearing a blade in the night. If thirty thousand noisy neighbors decide to show up at our doorstep waving swords and shouting about heresies, the correct response isn’t to abandon everything we love and run away into the mud.”
Tie Shan let out a low, rumbling chuckle that rattled the fine china teacups on the table. The massive bear smith slammed his star-iron hammer onto the floor with a dull, ringing thud. “Well said, Sect Master! This old bear ran from the southern clans two hundred years ago because I was tired of running. I’m not running another step. If those high-and-mighty sect masters want to tear down the homes I built for our cubs, they’ll have to break their teeth on my anvil first!”
Xiao Hei lifted his head from beneath the table. That let out a sharp, ringing bark of agreement, his black tail thumping heavily against the floorboards.
“However,” Lin Xiao raised a hand, looking around the council with a firm, unambiguous gaze. “I have one total, non-negotiable rule for this engagement. Zero casualties.”
The room went still again.
Lu Feng blinked, convinced his frostbitten ears were failing him. “Zero... Casualties? For us?”
“For anyone,” Lin Xiao said clearly.
The merchant stared in total disbelief. “Sect Master... They’re thirty thousand hostile invaders marching with siege giant crossbows! They intend to burn you alive! How can you fight thirty thousand soldiers without killing them?!”
Lin Xiao leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together.
“Those thirty thousand fighters aren’t demons, Patriarch Lu,” Lin Xiao said, his sapphire eyes bright with pragmatic wisdom. “Most of them are eighteen- or nineteen-year-old kids. Students who grew up hearing sermons from greedy old men like Xuan Ji, believing that anyone who looks different or lives differently is an evil monster. If we slaughter them, what does that prove? It only proves Xuan Ji’s lies were right.”
Lin Xiao’s lips curved into a confident, mischievous smirk.
“We’ll not slaughter them. We’ll defend our borders. We’ll dismantle their siege engines, catch their flying swords, pin them to the grass with Tie Shan’s sticky nets, and put them in comfortable wooden holding pens. And once they’re stuck and can’t wave their swords anymore, we’ll serve them hot bone broth, fresh dumplings, and sweet tea until they look around, rub their eyes, and realize that nobody here wants to eat their souls.”
Gu Qingfeng let out a sharp, delighted bark of laughter from the shadows, tossing his carved pear-wood figurine onto the table. The Sword Saint took a long, noisy swig from his wine gourd. It wiped his lips with the frayed sleeve of his robe.
“Hah! Catch them like crickets and feed them dumplings!” Gu Qingfeng chuckled, his eyes dancing with wicked amusement. “Little Sect Master, in three hundred years of walking the mortal realms, I have met bloodthirsty tyrants, hypocritical saints, and mad demon lords. But you... You’re truly the most terrifying creature in the nine heavens. You intend to defeat thirty thousand righteous swords with pure hospitality.”
“It’s not terrifying, Old Gu,” Lin Xiao said mildly. He took a sip of his own tea. “It’s just good community management. When neighbors throw a tantrum on your lawn, you don’t burn down their houses. You build a sturdy fence, offer them a snack, and wait for them to calm down.”
Lu Feng looked between Lin Xiao, the laughing Sword Saint, and the grinning bear smith. He looked down at the empty bowl of bone broth in his hands.
For the first time in eighteen hundred li, the icy knot of terror in his chest began to loosen. Replaced by an absurd, blooming sense of wonder.
Thirty thousand fighters against an azure slime who fights with dumplings and sticky nets, Lu Feng thought, a faint, frantic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Heaven help the Heavenly Sword Manor. They have no idea what kind of monster they’re marching against.