The mountain wind swirled through the gorge. It carried the scent of dry pine needles and the faint, rotten-egg heat streaming from Protectors Wu and Zhao. Behind them, the great four-winged crane rustled its fine china feathers, shifting uncomfortably beneath the gold-trimmed weight of the sandalwood carriage.
Young Master Yan Zixuan stood with his legs spread wide, his vermilion brocade sleeves billowing in the heat updraft. He looked down upon the path with an expression of supreme self-satisfaction, as if the entire Grand Desolate Forest were merely an unkempt flower garden awaiting his royal check.
“Did you hear what Senior Envoy Lu proclaimed, little blue puddle?” Yan Zixuan sneered, tapping the edge of his jade fan against his open palm. “You’re squatting upon lands overseen by the Eastern Orthodox Alliance. In the civilized provinces of the east, wild beasts that show enough wit to speak are needed to prostrate themselves before righteous fighters.”
Perched comfortably between Xiao Hei’s ears, Lin Xiao remained perfectly still. His semi-clear sapphire mantle jiggled slightly with each breath the wolf king took. He took in the motion like a drop of water resting on a polished river stone.
A little blue puddle? Lin Xiao thought, his curved white eyes narrowing into two amused crescents. I have been called many things since waking up in that tea garden—a divine spirit, an azure savior, a living fishbowl—but ‘puddle’ is a new one. This kid really lacks descriptive vocabulary.
Xiao Hei didn’t move a muscle, but the air around his paws grew noticeably colder. Tiny sparks of silver lightning danced across the tips of his midnight fur. It snapped against the autumn fallen leaves.
“State your business, young human,” Lin Xiao replied, his voice calm and melodic. “You landed your carriage on our boundary rocks and rattled our roof tiles with your fireworks. If you need clean spring water or trail rations to continue your journey north, we can provide them. Otherwise, you’re disturbing the peace of our afternoon.”
Envoy Lu Yunzhi let out a sharp, cold scoff from the edge of the limestone ledge.
“Insolent puddle,” Envoy Lu said, his chin held high as his hovering flying sword traced a lazy silver circle behind his head. “You address the third son of Sect Master Yan of the Crimson Flame Pavilion. An envoy of the Heavenly Sword Manor. Do you truly believe a border spirit possesses the standing to offer us trail rations? In the eyes of the alliance, everything within this outer edge—every stalk of spirit bamboo, every beast core, every vein of spring water—belongs to the righteous sects by ancient treaty.”
Yan Zixuan beamed with pride at the envoy’s backing. He snapped his fan shut with a sharp crack that echoed off the granite cliffs.
“Listen well, blob!” Yan Zixuan barked, stepping forward until he stood barely fifteen paces from Xiao Hei’s snarling snout. “Because my twentieth birthday banquet is in four days, I’m in a generous mood. I shall grant this valley clemency from total pacification, on three total conditions!”
Protectors Wu and Zhao stepped into position on either side of the young master, their hand-guards resting on the handles of their crimson dao-sabers. The Mid-stage Core Formation pressure rolled off their shoulders in choking waves, baking the humid forest air dry.
“First!” Yan Zixuan shouted, holding up a manicured finger. “This valley shall right away submit to the Crimson Flame Sect as a vassal domain! You’ll deliver twenty thousand jin of top-grade grain, thirty jars of wild honey, and two hundred bundles of aged spirit herbs to our border outpost before the autumn equinox!”
Lin Xiao listened quietly, extending a small fluid slime arm to rub his chin.
Twenty thousand jin of grain? Lin Xiao thought. We have plenty of rice, but giving it to an arrogant kid who uses fireworks to announce his arrival sounds like a terrible agricultural investment. He probably doesn’t even know how to hold a sickle.
“Second!” Yan Zixuan continued, his eyes gleaming with greedy excitement as he pointed his jade fan directly at Xiao Hei’s throat. “That black beast beneath you! Its coat is extraordinarily glossy. Those silver markings will make an exquisite lining for my celebratory winter cape! Hand over the wolf! My Protectors will skin it cleanly and extract its beast core for my breakthrough fire. As for the rest of the beasts hiding in your valley, any above Tier-1 shall surrender their blood cores to fill my ritual hunting pouch!”
Xiao Hei’s lips peeled back, exposing rows of dagger-like teeth that gleamed with pale-silver frost. A sound like earth-shaking plates grinding together shook through the earth beneath the fighters’ boots.
“Master,” Xiao Hei whispered through the soul circuit, his voice trembling with sheer, bloodthirsty hunger. “He wants my pelt for a winter coat. Permit me to tear his spine out through his gullet. It will take less than half a breath.”
Patience, Xiao Hei, Lin Xiao replied placidly, patting the wolf’s crown. Skinning you for a cape? That’s absurd. First off, your fur sheds constantly on my cedar benches—he’d spend half his birthday picking hairs off his silk robes. Second, nobody touches a single hair on your back while I’m around.
“And third!” Yan Zixuan cried, his voice rising in pitch as an ugly, delighted smirk spread across his face. “The most important condition of all!”
The young master reached into his silk robes. Then he pulled out an object that caught the afternoon light with a greasy, yellow luster.
It was a circular collar crafted from heavy gold-trimmed bronze. Inscribed along its outer rim were jagged, blood-red runes that writhed like trapped centipedes, emitting faint, nauseating pulses of spiritual agony. Hanging from the lower hinge was a thin gold chain connected to a small ivory master-tally.
“A Grade-2 Beast-Binding Slave Collar!” Yan Zixuan announced with dramatic flourish, dangling the collar by its chain. “Brother Lu, observe! This talking blue jelly is the rarest curiosity in the eastern wilderness! At my banquet, the heirs of the five traditional sects will boast of their dragon-steeds and fire-hawks. But none of them will have an elastic blue pudding that serves wine and sings songs at their banquet table!”
Yan Zixuan turned back to Lin Xiao, shaking the collar so the bronze links clinked together.
“You, little blob!” Yan Zixuan commanded, puffing out his narrow chest. “Crawl down from that dog’s head! Slither over here, place this collar around your neck, and swear eternal blood-fealty to me! You shall sit on a silk cushion beside my desk, catch melon seeds in your mouth to amuse my guests, and wobble whenever I tap your forehead! Do this, and I might spare your miserable watery life!”
Envoy Lu stroked his clean-shaven chin, nodding with mild test.
“A sensible acquisition, Junior Brother Yan,” Envoy Lu remarked casually. “Though I advise having Protector Wu brand its spiritual core with a soul-cracking seal first. Wild spirits can be dangerous if they absorb too much yin-energy. A docile desk ornament is entertaining, provided it knows its place beneath human soles.”
Lin Xiao stared at the dangling bronze collar, his mind fully blank for two full seconds.
A desk pet? Lin Xiao thought, genuine confusion rippling through his jelly-like body. He wants me to sit on a cushion, catch melon seeds, and wobble on command? Does he think I’m a carnival novelty toy?
A soft, melodic chime rang in his mind as the Omniscient Dao Spirit processed the scene with its usual cold, calm focus:
“Host,” the Dao Spirit’s calm, female voice echoed in his mind. “Load-bearing analysis of the deployed punishment device confirms it relies on tracheal constriction and neck spine nerve squeezing to administer spiritual torture. As your physical vessel consists of an amorphous ancient chaos fluid lattice devoid of spine bones, throat-pipe, or nervous system, the rig possesses zero clockwork or spiritual efficacy upon your person.”
I noticed, Lin Xiao replied dryly. Even if I wanted to wear it, where would it go? Around my equator? It would just slide right through me like a wedding ring dropped in a glass of water.
“Also,” the Dao Spirit added, her tone dropping into dry irony. “The target single proposes feeding you melon seeds. Your Void Dantian capacity currently exceeds forty thousand cubic meters. Ingestion of melon seeds would provide negligible heat value while occupying calculating cycles with husk separation.”
Good point, Lin Xiao thought. Melon seeds are great while listening to outdoor storytelling. But catching them in mid-air to amuse a spoiled brat sounds like a total waste of an afternoon.
Yan Zixuan, seeing that Lin Xiao had not right away dropped to the earth to prostrate, scowled deeply. His pale forehead creased with irritated veins.
“Well?!” Yan Zixuan barked, flicking his wrist to toss the heavy bronze collar across the gravel.
CLANG!
The slave collar bounced against a mossy boulder, landing three paces in front of Xiao Hei’s front paws. The crimson runes etched into the metal flared with dim, sickly light. It filled the air with the metal stench of dried blood.
“Crawl into it, blob!” Yan Zixuan shouted, his voice cracking with arrogant impatience. “Don’t make me repeat myself! Kowtow three times, bind your soul to my tally, and beg for the honor of being my desk pet! If you hesitate for even one more breath, I’ll have Protectors Wu and Zhao grind you into fish paste!”
Gu Long and the other four scouts stood behind the carriage, snickering loudly as they expected the little creature’s scared submission.
“Look at it, it’s numbed with fear!” one of the younger students whispered gleefully. “It doesn’t even know what a slave collar is! Once the Young Master locks it on, we can kick it around the courtyard for practice!”
Lin Xiao looked down at the collar resting in the dirt.
For weeks, he had worked tirelessly alongside Tie Shan, Su Ling’er. Xiao Hei to clear the brambles, build clean stone cottages, plant fragrant spirit rice, and establish a peaceful haven where wounded animals and weary spirits could sleep without fear of poachers’ traps or slaughter. They had just finished harvesting the sweetest wild lotus roots, and tonight was supposed to be a peaceful evening of tea and roasted chestnuts by the waterwheel.
And here stood a pampered boy in silk robes, demanding grain he never farmed, a wolf pelt he never earned. A soul he could never understand.
Lin Xiao gave a small, elastic wobble. He didn’t raise his voice, nor did he unleash any terrifying demonic roar.
Instead, a fluid slime arm emerged from his right side. It formed a neat, semi-clear five-fingered hand that casually waved dismissively at the collar.
“Young Master Yan,” Lin Xiao said gently, his tone resembling a patient schoolteacher addressing a particularly loud toddler. “I have to decline all three of your requests.”