Guiying leaned back against a stolen crate, the warmth of the campfire licking at his face as raucous laughter filled the night. Around him, the Zuzu Gorge bandits reveled in their latest victory—a merchant caravan, plundered without mercy. The spoils were rich: bolts of fine silk, casks of spiced wine, and chests clinking with silver. The bodies left behind were already forgotten, their blood drying in the dirt. Only one prisoner remained—some young administrator, bound and gagged near the supply carts. A potential ransom. Or, if nothing else, entertainment for later.

  “Another round!” one of the bandits bellowed, sloshing wine onto the fire. The flames hissed in protest, sending up a spiral of embers.

  Guiying grinned, tilting his cup to his lips and draining it in one long, satisfied gulp. “Gaaah!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the liquor burning pleasantly in his chest. Life was good. No, life was perfect.

  A drunken chorus of off-key singing rose around him, some of the men already pawing through their shares, arguing over who got the jeweled dagger or the perfumed oils. Guiying didn’t care. He had coin enough to drown in, and the night was young.

  Then—movement.

  At the edge of the firelight, a figure drifted between the tents.

  Guiying’s gaze sharpened.

  A woman—no, something more—glided through the camp untouched, her presence unnoticed by the others. She was ethereal, draped in sheer pink silks that clung to her like mist, revealing more than they concealed. Her skin was flawless, luminous in the moonlight, and her face was the kind of beauty that wars were fought over.

  Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile—just for him.

  Then, with a single, delicate crook of her finger, she beckoned.

  Guiying’s pulse quickened. His wine-addled mind saw no danger, only opportunity. With a lazy smirk, he pushed himself up, swaying slightly as he followed her into the shadows.

  The forest swallowed them whole.

  Branches whispered against each other as if sharing secrets, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something sweet—like rotting fruit and honey. The fairy moved ahead of him, her bare feet never touching the ground, her silks fluttering as though stirred by an unfelt breeze.

  At last, they stepped into a moonlit clearing.

  And there, resting atop a bed of crushed petals, was a golden throne, its surface shimmering like liquid sunlight.

  The fairy turned, her eyes gleaming.

  “Come closer,” she murmured, her voice like wind chimes and poison.

  Guiying obeyed.

  The fairy’s voice curled through the clearing like perfumed smoke, sweet and cloying. "Oh, dear Guiying," she murmured, her lips brushing the words as if they were a lover’s secret. "We have searched so very long for the one worthy to sit upon the throne of the fairies—and here you are, at last. Our king. Our sovereign."

  Her delicate hand swept toward the golden throne, its surface rippling like molten sunlight. "Will you take your rightful place? Rule over us, and we shall adore you without end. Feast upon ambrosia, drink wines that steal centuries from your mind, and revel in pleasures no mortal has ever known."

  Guiying’s drunken laughter boomed through the trees, raw and unguarded. "Ha! Finally—someone with sense enough to see what I’m worth!" He swayed on his feet, the wine still thick in his veins, his grin wide and reckless. "A throne? A kingdom? Should’ve known a man like me was meant for more than skulking in the dirt with common thieves."

  The fairy’s smile deepened, her eyes glinting like shards of ice in the moonlight. "Then come, glorious one," she coaxed, stepping aside with a flourish. "Claim what is yours."

  The other fairies emerged then—silent, radiant, their forms all beautiful. They circled him, their fingers trailing over his arms, his shoulders, their laughter like wind chimes in a storm. One pressed a goblet into his hand, the liquid inside shimmering with an unnatural, honeyed glow.

  "Drink," the first fairy whispered, her breath cool against his ear. "And be transformed."

  Guiying barely hesitated. Why would he? The world had always owed him more than it gave. He raised the cup in a mocking toast—to bandits, to fools, to the life he was leaving behind—and drank deep.

  The taste was exquisite. Like sunlight and sin.

  With a chorus of delighted laughter, the radiant fairies, with their delicate hands grasped his arms and guided him toward the shimmering throne. The seat, carved from otherworld metal and adorned with blossoms that never wilted, seemed to hum with ancient power. Guiying could only watch in amusement as they crowned him with a circlet of woven moonbeams, its glow casting an ethereal light upon his features.

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  "Behold," one of the fairies declared, her voice like chimes in the wind, "our new king!"

  The others cheered. Though he had never sought such a title, their joy was infectious, and soon, even Guiying found himself laughing as they draped him in a cloak spun from starlight.

  The fairies erupted in glee, and as music swelled from unseen instruments, the glade transformed into a realm of celebration—where, for that fleeting moment, a mortal man became a whimsical king of otherworldly beings.

  ??????????????????

  In the middle of the day—Guiying—the notorious leader of the Zuzu Gorge bandits, lay sprawled in the dirt, utterly lost in slumber. His chest rose and fell in slow, heavy breaths, a thick trail of drool glistening down his stubbled chin as he was unceremoniously dragged across the ground. Gin, his grip tight around the bandit chief’s arms, grunted with effort, his boots kicking up dust as he hauled the dead weight toward one of the rusted iron cages scattered around the camp.

  Around them, the once-rowdy bandit stronghold had fallen into eerie silence. Bodies littered the ground like discarded puppets—some slumped against barrels, others face-down in the dirt—all lost in unnatural oblivion. A few still clutched half-drawn swords or spilled tankards of liquor, their fingers slack around the handles.

  Gin wiped his brow with his sleeve, glancing around in disbelief. "I can’t believe that actually worked," he muttered, shaking his head.

  His gaze then shifted to the trio standing at the heart of the camp—the unlikely architects of this silent takeover.

  Yinying, the shadow fox, lingered near the edge of the camp, her dark fur blending seamlessly with nearby shadows. She had been the unseen blade in the darkness, melting through the bandits’ defenses like smoke, her mastery of the yin element sapping their mental defensive before they even sensed danger.

  Beside her, Zi, the illusion cat, flicked her tail, a satisfied smirk playing on her muzzle. Her illusions had been the perfect distraction—conjuring phantoms and bending reality just enough to leave the bandits disoriented and vulnerable.

  And then there was the most important spirit beast, Soma, the dream rabbit, her silver eyes glowing faintly as she surveyed her handiwork. With a mere touch or a whispered lullaby, she had woven blissful dreams so deep and sweet that not a single bandit had stirred—nor would they for days.

  "If you’ve got time to complain, you’ve got time to move bodies," Kai grunted, hauling another unconscious bandit by the ankles like a sack of grain. The man’s face scraped against the dirt, leaving a faint trail in the dust as Kai dragged him toward the row of iron cages with all the care of a butcher tossing meat onto a slab.

  Gin frowned, adjusting his grip on the bandit he was carrying—at least trying to keep the man’s head from bouncing off every rock. "I’m not complaining," he shot back. "I’m just surprised. And you should be more gentle. What if they wake up?"

  Kai didn’t even glance back. "They’re not waking up." To prove his point, he yanked a bandit upright by the collar, studied his slack, drooling face for half a second, then slapped him three times—hard. The sharp crack-crack-crack of palm on flesh echoed through the camp, leaving the man’s cheek swollen and blotchy red. He didn’t so much as twitch.

  "See?" Kai said, dropping the bandit like a broken doll. "Once a dream rabbit’s abilities knocks you out, you’re staying down ‘til it wears off—or someone pumps you full of enough stimulants to kill a horse." With that, he grabbed the bandit’s ankle again and flung him into a nearby cage, the iron bars rattling as the body crumpled inside.

  Gin winced. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

  Kai dusted his hands off. "Nah. If I was enjoying it, I’d be kicking them for fun."

  When Kai and his group first caught wind of the bandit camp ahead, the obvious solution had been to simply skirt around it. With their beastkin companions, avoiding detection would have been child’s play—a minor detour, nothing more. But the moment the word "bandits" left Kai’s lips, he saw it: the molten fury simmering in Lu Bu’s eyes.

  It wasn’t just anger. It was something deeper, something gnawing and unresolved. Lu Bu’s parents had been slaughtered by bandits, and though he rarely spoke of it, the wound had never truly closed. Kai knew the signs. If left unchecked, that kind of rage could fester, twist a man into something relentless—a Faceless Judge, a specter of law and vengeance who’d roam the land butchering every lawbreaker without mercy. The last thing Kai wanted was to see Lu Bu choose that path.

  This burning hatred in Lu Bu’s heart was something Kai would have to help him work through, and it would be harder for him to do that if they left the bandits here without doing anything.

  And, if he was honest with himself, Kai wasn’t exactly impartial either. Banditry wasn’t just a nuisance; it was a rot that ruined lives. He’d seen villages stripped bare, families left starving in the wake of marauders. Letting these brigands go unchecked would mean more victims, more suffering. That wasn’t something he could ignore.

  But there was a line.

  Kai had been trying—really trying—to embrace a more peaceful path since arriving in Zan. It would have been easy to unleash the beastkin. A single command, and the bandits would have been reduced to bloody smears in the dirt, their camp erased before they even knew death had come for them. Mortals stood no chance against such power.

  Yet that wasn’t the answer. Not this time.

  Instead, he’d sent in the "Troublesome Trio"—Yinying, Zi, and Soma, the three most mischievous of the beastkin. Each wielded powers that bent the mind: shadows, illusions, and dreams. Together, they were a perfect storm of non-lethal subjugation. A bloodless solution.

  And it worked flawlessly.

  Kai heaved the last unconscious bandit nearby into a cage, the iron bars clanging shut with a satisfying finality. He straightened, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension, and allowed himself a small, satisfied exhale.

  No corpses. No widows or orphans made today.

  The thought brought him a quiet sense of relief. The bandits would wake up days from now—disoriented, aching, and undoubtedly humiliated—but alive. That was what mattered. Justice didn’t always have to be bloody. They would head towards Biragawa and inform the local authorities about the bandits here, letting Biragawa collect them, and the law would decide their fate. It was a cleaner solution.

  Kai dusted off his hands and turned to survey their work. The camp was eerily silent now where they were, save for the occasional groan of a sleeping outlaw.

  "Hey,” Gin’s voice cut through the stillness, his tone laced with mild concern. “Where’s Lu Bu, by the way?”

  Kai frowned, scanning the area. The boy had been nearby just moments ago. But now, he was nowhere in sight. Only a handful of stray bandits remained, still sprawled in the dirt, waiting to be secured.

  A flicker of unease prickled at the back of Kai’s neck.

  Then—

  “Uncle Kai! Over here!”