A full cycle of the moon had passed since Lulu's shocking discovery about the boys' talents - not that Kai could forget, given how often she and Gin reminded Kai about it. Nearly every evening around the campfire, Kai found himself playing audience to their exasperated rants.

  "Kai!" Lulu stormed up to him one evening, waving a half-finished manual like a battle standard. "Lu Bu just mastered the Nine-Petal Lotus Palm after watching me demonstrate it once! Do you understand how many years it took me to learn this? Years!" Her eyes burned with the indignation of a master whose entire cultivation history was being casually invalidated by a pre-teen.

  Gin limped over shortly after, rubbing what would undoubtedly become another spectacular bruise. "Your little monster just landed a Void-Piercing Strike on me," he grumbled, wincing as he prodded his ribs. "You remember that technique? The one you said would take months before they could even attempt it?"

  Kai merely nodded while oiling a new saddle, having long since perfected the art of looking attentive while barely listening. After the twentieth such outburst, he'd assumed they'd grow accustomed to the boys' unnatural progress. Yet here they were, still shocked each time Lu Bu shattered another cultivation milestone or Chen Gong deciphered advanced techniques from fragments of scrolls.

  The journey north continued unabated, their caravan cutting through Zan's rugged terrain like a blade through silk. By day, they traveled. By night, the camp transformed into a frenetic training ground.

  As they pushed farther north, Kai’s group occasionally paused at small settlements—clusters of wooden homes and tilled fields that could barely be called towns. Chen Gong, ever the diplomat, proved invaluable in these interactions. His calm demeanor and measured words eased tensions. There was something about the way he spoke—respectful but firm, knowledgeable without being condescending—that made wary villagers lower their guards.

  "We mean no trouble," Chen Gong would say, his hands open in a gesture of peace. "Just travelers seeking supplies and news of the road ahead."

  More often than not, the gates would creak open.

  Inside, they traded spare furs for what they needed—flour, dried meat, and, most importantly, seeds that Kai could grow in Zan’s climate. Kai wanted to be self-sufficient when they finally got to Northend and found a place to settle down. In pursuit of that, he intended to start a farm and grow his own food.

  But trade wasn’t their only purpose. Each stop was also an opportunity to gather information. The farther north they traveled, the less Chen Gong knew of the land. The maps in his mind, once so precise, grew vague and uncertain.

  "Who governs these lands?" he would ask.

  "What dangers lie ahead?"

  "Are there bandits? Dangerous beasts? Strange weather?"

  The answers varied. Some villages spoke of harsh winters creeping in earlier in recent years. Others muttered about raids from mountain clans or the occasional giant beast wandering too far south from Northend. A few simply shrugged—they kept to themselves, and the world beyond their fields mattered little.

  Kai observed the changes in these settlements with quiet unease. The "cities" they had passed weeks ago—modest as they were—had dwindled into mere hamlets now. Wooden palisades replaced stone walls. Watchtowers stood empty. The people here were tougher, quieter, their gazes lingering just a little too long on Kai and his group before looking away.

  He didn’t like staying in these places for more than a day or two.

  Not just because of the suspicion in the villagers’ eyes.

  But because every moment spent among strangers was a moment he was away from his beastkin. So they moved quickly. Traded what they could. Learned what little there was to learn. Then they left.

  Kai clenched his jaw as he surveyed their progress each evening, frustration simmering beneath his skin. No matter how hard they pushed, the land itself seemed to mock their efforts—stretching endlessly before them, indifferent to their urgency.

  The continent they found themselves on, known as the Xinghua Continent, was monstrous in its scale. To mortals, it was an unconquerable expanse—lifetimes could be spent wandering its breadth without ever glimpsing its farthest edges. Only cultivators aboard soaring airships or riding the winds on blades could hope to traverse it in full. And while Zan was but a fraction of that sprawling landmass, it was still vast enough to swallow years of a man’s life in crossing. Centuries to explore the whole of Zan.

  At a mortal’s pace—under perfect conditions—the journey from Zan’s southern border to the reaches of Northend would take several years, perhaps more. But Kai didn’t have years.

  He had seasons.

  If they didn’t reach Northend before the heart of summer, the window for planting would close. The soil would harden, the frosts would come too soon, and his dream of a self-sufficient farm—a true home, not just another temporary camp—would be delayed yet again.

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  So he pushed.

  Twice a week, the group abandoned the plodding march of mortals and moved at the breakneck speed of cultivators. Kai carried Chen Gong, Lulu hauled Lu Bu, and the strongest of the beastkin bore the rest—Gin clinging for dear life, the slower spirit beasts lashed precariously to Ning’s back. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even safe. Without proper saddles or harnesses, each sprint was a gamble, a teeth-rattling race where a single misstep could send someone tumbling into the wilderness.

  But it was faster.

  And speed was what mattered.

  Kai’s fingers ached from nights spent hunched over leather and rope, crafting the solution that would change everything. Saddles with deep-seated grips for the humans. Reinforced baskets to secure the smaller beastkin. Harnesses that would finally let them ride the largest of their companions—Snow, Ning, and the others—without fear of being thrown loose.

  He was close. So close.

  A few more days of work, and they would no longer be bound to the earth like common travelers. They would move as cultivators did—unhindered, relentless, carving through distance like a hot blade through lard.

  Years journey, condensed into a single month.

  Northend would be theirs before the summer sun reached its zenith.

  Kai's fingers worked diligently over the leather straps of his latest harness, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his work. The scent of oil and cured hide filled the air as he adjusted the fittings, ensuring they would hold under the strain of their coming journey.

  Then—a heavy, furry weight pressed against his side.

  Snow had settled beside him, resting his massive head on Kai's shoulder with an insistent nudge, his blue eyes gleaming with expectation. "Pay attention to me," the wolf's posture seemed to say.

  Kai sighed but paused, reaching up to scratch behind Snow's ear. The wolf's tail thumped against the ground in approval, but the moment Kai returned to his work, Snow huffed and nosed at his ribs, demanding more.

  "Just let me finish this!" Kai muttered, shoving the wolf's muzzle away half-heartedly. "Then I'll give you some attention, you big pooch."

  Snow whined dramatically but finally relented, sprawling out beside Kai with an exaggerated sigh, as if deeply wounded by the neglect.

  Kai shook his head, suppressing a smirk.

  Snow's recovery had been... unusual.

  Kai had assumed it would take the wolf at least a year to fully restore his qi reserves. Zan was a spiritual wasteland, after all—barely enough ambient energy to sustain a common beast, let alone a spirit wolf of Snow's caliber.

  Yet, despite the odds, Snow had already regained over half of his qi in just a month.

  Kai frowned, fingers stilling on the harness.

  He had been sharing his own qi with Snow nightly, but not in quantities that should account for such rapid progress. It didn’t make sense. Unless...

  His gaze drifted to Snow, who was now lazily grooming one of the younger beastkin—a lynx-like spirit beast that had once been too timid to approach the great wolf.

  That was another strange development.

  Snow had always been affectionate with Kai , but he'd never been particularly doting toward the others. Now, though? The wolf was practically a different creature. He played with the younger beasts, groomed them, even let them climb over him like pups. And the effect was spreading—the other beastkin had become more relaxed, more open with one another, as if Snow's sudden warmth had thawed some unseen barrier between them.

  At first, Kai had worried Snow might be sick. Some spirit beasts grew erratic when ill, their behavior shifting unpredictably. But Snow wasn’t erratic—he was happy.

  Then it clicked.

  Snow was deeply attuned to the ice element. And while Zan was qi-starved, it was still a land of frost and biting winds—a place where the ice element thrived.

  Kai's theory solidified: Snow wasn’t just recovering from Kai’s shared qi. The environment itself must be resonating with him, feeding his elemental nature in a way that accelerated his restoration. And that connection... it was making him feel good.

  Better than good.

  It was filling him with a vitality that spilled over into everything he did—his energy, his playfulness, his sudden abundance of affection.

  Kai exhaled, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

  "Guess you're finally in your element, huh?" he murmured, ruffling Snow's fur.

  The wolf responded by licking a stripe up the side of Kai's face, tail wagging.

  The wind shifted—a subtle change, barely noticeable to human senses—but in an instant, Snow's playful demeanor vanished. The massive white wolf stiffened, his ears snapping forward as his golden eyes locked onto the horizon. His tail, which had been lazily thumping against the ground moments before, now stood rigid, his entire body coiled with tension.

  Then, without warning, Snow lunged forward, clamping his jaws onto Kai’s sleeve and tugging sharply.

  "Hey! What are you doing?" Kai dropped the harness he’d been working on, frowning as Snow released him only to growl low in his throat.

  "Woof!" The bark was sharp, commanding—nothing like the playful yips Snow had been making earlier.

  Kai studied the wolf’s posture—the raised hackles, the focused intensity in his gaze. This wasn’t a game. "You smell something on the wind?" he guessed.

  "Woof!" Snow confirmed, jerking his muzzle toward the direction the breeze was coming from—a dense stretch of forest to the northeast.

  Kai exhaled through his nose. "You want me to follow you?"

  Another sharp bark. Yes.

  Kai hesitated only a moment before nodding. Snow wasn’t one to give false alarms. If something had caught his attention, it was worth investigating.

  He quickly secured his unfinished work, then motioned for the others to stay put. Lulu barely glanced up from her manual, while Gin, sprawled near the fire asleep, and Lu bu and Chen Gong focused on their training.

  But the other spirit beasts weren’t so indifferent.

  As Kai fell into step behind Snow, several of the larger, more dangerous beastkin peeled away from the camp to follow—Ning, the massive quake buffalo, lumbering along with earth-shaking steps; Yinying, the shadow fox spirit beast, slipping through the undergrowth like a shadow; and a pair of panther-like hunters with eyes that gleamed in the fading light. They moved without command, falling into a loose formation around Kai, their instincts telling them what he already knew:

  If Snow was this alert, there was a reason.

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