Shen Le grumbled unhappily as he flew back. He kept his altitude as low as possible to avoid drawing attention, and before approaching that dockside inn, he quietly landed, wrote a letter, tied it to an arrow, and drew his bow.
Thanks to the armor's memories—and that long stretch of campaigns in the Tang Dynasty's Western Regions within those memories—Shen Le had repeatedly grinded his way through those battles.
Riding, archery, fighting from horseback—such things had basically become muscle memory. He normally paid them no mind, but when it came time to act, his body naturally assumed the proper stance:
He bent his knees slightly, drew in his abdomen, thrust out his chest, and held his upper body straight. His left hand pushed forward while his right drew the bow back and lowered it. With a crisp twang as he released the string, an arrow hastily carved from a branch and set on a crudely made hunting bow flew out, carrying the letter with it. Shen Le watched it fly twenty or thirty meters, nodded, turned, and slipped away:
"Immortal Master!!!"
A shout rang out behind him. Shen Le did not even look back, merely quickening his pace and hurrying off with his head lowered. Before he had taken ten steps, hoofbeats sounded behind him, followed by repeated shouts in hot pursuit:
"Immortal Master! Please wait!"
"...Why did you have to chase after me?"
Shen Le stopped, turned around, and looked helplessly at the man chasing him. With a neigh, Dou Jiande rolled off his saddle and gave him another deep bow:
"Immortal Master! I knew you were compassionate and righteous! You destroyed that band of bandits and saved the disaster victims from their misery—please, have mercy and accompany us once more to help us settle the refugees!"
Standing amid