The next morning, as the first light of dawn filters through the trees, Lord HuO announces his departure. “I’ll be keeping an ear out for news from the other side of the world,” he says, his voice light and teasing. He glances at Yijun, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes. “I wish you luck,” he adds with a wink.

 Yijun blinks in confusion, opening his mouth to ask what Lord HuO means, but before the words can form, the phoenix transforms. His body shimmers and stretches, feathers unfurling into magnificent wings of scarlet and gold. With a powerful thrust, he ascends into the sky, leaving a trail of fire and light in his wake. The sky seems to blaze with his departure, a streak of flame against the vast expanse of blue.

 Yijun and the dragon watch the fiery trail as it ascends, the colors gradually fading into the distance until it finally disappears. The dragon, silent as ever, turns away first, his gaze shifting to the still waters of the lake.

 “Are you going to rest, my Lord?” Yijun calls out, his voice uncertain in the quiet morning.

 The dragon pauses mid-step, glancing back at Yijun. He nods once, curtly, before continuing his way toward the lake, his movements as fluid and deliberate as always.

 As the dragon begins to wade into the water, Yijun takes a moment to survey their surroundings. The tranquility of the place is almost surreal, a stark contrast to the weight of the conversation from the previous night. But even in this serene setting, the reminder of his dire situation gnaws at him. He raises a sleeve, inspecting the tattered fabric. The seams are unraveling, the cloth frayed and torn in places. There’s nothing he can do to mend them, and the sight only deepens his sense of unease.

 He takes a deep breath, then hurries after the dragon, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. “If I may offer a suggestion…” he begins hesitantly, his voice trembling slightly as it breaks the stillness.

 The dragon halts at the water’s edge, turning back to face Yijun, his expression unreadable.

 Yijun swallows hard, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. “Uh, Lord HuO mentioned you’re hunting the rebels who are causing the disasters, and… and I think I can help. Help you find them.”

 The dragon’s brow furrows ever so slightly, a flicker of curiosity—or perhaps suspicion—crossing his usually impassive face. “How?” he asks, his voice low and measured.

 Yijun feels his hands begin to tremble, and he quickly clasps them together to steady himself. “Well, if the rebels are Enlightened Beasts or Humans, then maybe… maybe humans can help. Some of them might have information about where Enlightened Beasts or other humans are hiding. It might be easier to ask them rather than wandering aimlessly…”

 The words hang in the air between them, and Yijun’s heart races as he realizes just how desperate his proposal sounds. It’s a flimsy plan, born more from his own need to find a human settlement—and perhaps a new set of clothes—than from any real strategy. But it’s all he has.

 The dragon’s eyes narrow, his gaze turning sharp and cold, cutting through Yijun’s bravado like a blade. The intensity of his stare sends a chill down Yijun’s spine, freezing him in place. The seconds stretch on, each one heavier than the last, until Yijun is on the verge of dropping to his knees and begging for forgiveness.

 Finally, the dragon speaks, his voice as cold and unyielding as ice. “Fine.”

 Yijun instinctively flinches as the dragon reaches out to grab him, but he quickly steps out of his grasp. “Please wait, my lord,” Yijun says hastily, raising a hand in a gesture of pause. “I need to prepare some gifts for them.” The realization hits him—he has no money, nothing to trade for clothes or other essentials. If he’s going to barter for things he needs, he’ll need to find something of value first.

 The dragon snorts, clearly irritated, and flicks his sleeve dismissively as he turns away. “Do what you want,” he says, his voice tinged with annoyance as he heads back toward the water, his demeanor suggesting he’s intent on napping again.

 With the dragon’s permission, Yijun turns toward the forest, his confidence growing with each step. He moves past the blackened remains of the tree Lord HuO had set ablaze the previous day, making his way to the edge of the forest. As he enters, the dense canopy of tall trees overhead filters the sunlight into soft, golden beams that dance across the forest floor. The crunch of dried leaves and twigs beneath his worn shoes mixes with the harmonious calls of birds and the occasional rustle of small critters in the underbrush. The air is thick with the scent of earth and greenery, the forest alive with the pulse of nature.

 Yijun follows a narrow trail that winds deeper into the forest, his eyes scanning the surroundings for anything of value. The dragon had chosen this location, and Yijun trusts that it must be rich with resources. His instincts prove right as he comes across patches of wild spinach, clusters of bright red and blue berries, and groups of mushrooms huddled beneath the trees. But despite the abundance, a sense of frustration gnaws at him—none of these treasures hold the value he needs to trade in a village. He moves further up the trail, disappointment settling in.

 Just as he’s about to give up, something catches his eye—a cluster of five-fingered leaves waving at him from a patch between the trees. His heart leaps with excitement, and he dashes toward the discovery, reaching out to hold the leaves up to the light.

 “It’s ginseng!” Yijun exclaims, his heart pounding with elation. He kneels, cradling the leaf to his chest, and lets out a laugh. Dragons are symbols of good luck, and this dragon has certainly not failed him yet concerning food. If he had found this amount of ginseng back in the forests near his old village, he would have been rich. He imagines building his family a house with a walled courtyard, relocating to a prosperous town...

 But the fantasy crumbles as quickly as it forms. His family is gone, and all the wealth in the world won’t bring them back. The joy drains from him, replaced by a hollow ache.

 He forces himself to calm down and begins digging, carefully unearthing ginseng roots one by one until the patch is cleared. His overcoat bulges with the bounty, and he slings it over his shoulder. Just as he’s about to turn back, something glowing catches his eye over a nearby ridge.

 Intrigued, Yijun sets his bundle of ginseng down and walks toward the ridge. As he peers over, he’s greeted by the sight of a blanket of glowing grass covering the hillside, its ethereal light shimmering in the early morning air. As he approaches, he feels a faint, familiar aura emanating from the grass—an aura similar to the dragon’s.

 “Could this be spiritual grass?” Yijun wonders, his thoughts drifting to the possibilities. If this grass holds power, maybe it could give him the strength he lacked when his family needed him most.

 Without thinking, he cuts a leaf from the grass and eats it.

 The effect is immediate and brutal. Power surges through his veins like molten fire, and Yijun collapses to his knees, screaming in agony. His hands claw at his chest as the sensation of a thousand tiny blades slicing through his veins courses through him, each cut burning with the intensity of a thousand suns. He thrashes on the ground, his vision darkening as the searing pain overwhelms him, his bones feeling as if they’re being crushed, his insides scoured raw.

 Just as he’s on the verge of losing consciousness, a cool, calming force washes over him, soothing the fire within. Yijun looks up through tear-blurred eyes to see the dragon standing over him, his wisteria-colored eyes gazing down with an unreadable expression.

 The pain ebbs away, leaving Yijun trembling and weak. The dragon withdraws his hand, his voice as cold and clear as a mountain stream. “What were you doing?” he asks, his tone betraying neither concern nor anger, only a detached curiosity.

 Yijun shakily pushes himself into a sitting position, bowing his head in shame. “I… I ate a herb,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

 The dragon picks up the bitten leaf, examining it with a critical eye. “A spiritual herb, no less. Dangerous for mortals like you, especially those without an aptitude for enlightenment.” He tosses the leaf aside and rises to his feet, his posture relaxed as if Yijun’s brush with death was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “Are you ready to go now?” he asks, his tone casual, almost indifferent.

 Yijun can only nod, his heart still racing from the ordeal. The dragon’s lack of empathy stings, but Yijun knows he has no one to blame but himself. “Yes, my lord,” he replies, forcing away the sulkiness from his voice. “Just let me gather my bundle of ginseng.”

 As he retrieves his harvest, a question lingers in his mind, one that he can’t help but ask. “By the way, how did you know where I was?”

The dragon’s eyes narrow slightly, a hint of annoyance in his gaze. “I could hear you. Your screaming disturbed my sleep.”

Yijun looks over the direction of the lake. He has foraged far away so there is no way anyone from the lake can hear his cries of pain. He gathers his belongings in silence, vowing to tread more carefully in the future.

 As he walks sheepishly behind the dragon, he could not help but take peeks at his back. His feelings are still confused regarding his actions but he can’t help feeling giddy. Maybe he is delusional, but his heart is lit with hope that the dragon cared about him a little to forgo his precious nap and save him, even though he’ll never say it or show it in front of him.