A Great Cry

"Here to see a friend."

Pan Yun took Miao He by the hand and slowly approached. Only then did the two guards realize they were wearing Daoist robes.

Miao He said, "We're here to see Wang Xiaojing."

"Who are you?"

Miao He said, "We're Daoists from Mount Sanqing. Wang Xiaojing knows us. Just tell him Miao He is here, and my junior martial uncle wants to see him."

The two guards felt that Miao He was far too rude, but they were Daoists from Mount Sanqing.

They too believed in Mount Sanqing's mountain god, so they lowered their blades a little, and their tone improved somewhat. Yet they still blocked the way. "Wait. Someone has already gone to report."

Pan Yun said, "Wouldn't sending another make it faster?"

"No. What if the two of you gang up on the two of us?"

Pan Yun raised a hand, and with a bang, a ball of fire appeared in her palm, startling the two men into taking two steps back.

In the firelight, Pan Yun smiled at them. "See? Even if both of you stayed here, you still couldn't beat us. Hurry and report."

The two exchanged a glance. One of them sheathed his blade, turned, and ran.

Only then did Pan Yun press her palms together, extinguishing the fireball in her hand.

Late at night, most people were asleep. Wang Xiaojing hurried over with the guard from the road. The moment they met, both sides paused, silently looking at one another without speaking.

Wang Xiaojing was clearly still a teenager, yet he had grown far more weathered. His face bore the marks of wind and frost, his eyes were filled with grief, and even the youthful spirit that belonged to a boy his age had vanished.

Miao He had originally been