After the emotionally charged encounter, Kai and Zhang Liao helped Jiro transport the staggering bounty of supplies to his modest home on the edge of the hamlet.

  They moved discreetly, avoiding the main paths, and Kai took a moment to speak with Jiro in hushed, serious tones.

  He impressed upon the grateful man the importance of secrecy. "The medicine, your healing… it must remain our secret. If anyone asks, tell them a traveling merchant took pity on you in exchange for a future favor. Do not speak of me, and do not say I was a cultivator." Kai knew that rumors of a mysterious benefactor with miraculous powers could spread like wildfire, attracting attention he wasn't ready to deal with.

  Jiro, who now looked upon Kai with a reverence bordering on the divine, nodded fervently. "Of course, Honorable Master! Your secret is safe with me. I swear it on my life." He viewed the request not as a burden, but as a sacred duty to his savior. Kai also informed him that he would return after the winter to check on his progress and see if the medicine had worked as intended.

  After enduring several more enthusiastic, and deeply uncomfortable, rounds of praise and blessings, Kai finally managed to extract himself. With a final wave, he and Zhang Liao turned and began the walk back toward the tree line where Snow was waiting, the quiet of the countryside a stark contrast to the intensity of the last hour.

  As they walked, Kai glanced up at the sky, gauging the sun's position. It had dipped significantly lower than he’d realized. His initial plan had been to continue on to Cloud Port after Wonju, to trade for salt and perhaps fresh fish. But the intervention with Jiro had taken much longer than anticipated.

  He did a quick mental calculation of the distance. By the time they reached the port, it would be nearing dusk, and conducting any meaningful trade would be impossible. The idea of securing a room at a inn for the night held no appeal, especially when he pictured the scene back home.

  His Beastkin family, particularly Igni and the more dependent younger creatures, would be growing anxious and upset with his prolonged absence. Their routines were built around his presence, and even a single night away would make them restless.

  The decision was easy. "We're heading home, Liao," Kai announced. "Cloud Port will have to wait for another day."

  As he said the words, an unexpected and warm feeling bloomed in his chest. A little giddiness, a sense of eager anticipation. He was going home.

  The realization struck him with its novelty and its power.

  Titan’s Reach and Azure Sky Haven were no longer just a hiding place, a refuge, or a collection of conjured buildings. It had truly become his home. It was a place of messy, chaotic, and unconditional belonging. It was where his family—both human and beast—waited for him. The profound comfort of having a place to return to, a sanctuary that was unequivocally his, was a feeling so deep and fulfilling he struggled to put it into words.

  Kai and Zhang Liao walked only a short way into the dense, welcoming embrace of the forest before a low, familiar rumble greeted them.

  From behind a thicket of ancient, moss-covered pines, Snow revealed himself. The giant wolf had been the picture of patient vigilance, but the moment he saw Kai, his composure melted away into pure, unadulterated joy. His ice-blue eyes lit up, his tail began a joyful, sweeping motion that rustled the ferns around him, and he sauntered forward with a powerful, graceful gait.

  He immediately nuzzled his massive head against Kai’s chest before delivering a long, affectionate lick that swept from Kai’s chin to his forehead, leaving his face damp and his heart full.

  Kai laughed, a sound of genuine happiness that echoed softly in the quiet woods. “I missed you too, boy,” he murmured, his hands coming up to scratch behind Snow’s ears and along the thick, luxurious fur of his neck.

  The wolf leaned into the touch, pushing his head insistently against Kai’s hands, a low, contented rumble vibrating through his entire frame as he demanded more pets.

  Seeing the affectionate reunion, Zhang Liao didn’t hesitate. With a happy cry of “Brother Snow!”, he ran forward and threw his arms around the wolf’s powerful foreleg, burying his face in the soft white fur.

  Snow paused his ministrations to Kai and looked down, his intelligent eyes softening as they fell upon the small boy clinging to him. With infinite gentleness, he lowered his great head and began to nuzzle the top of Zhang Liao’s head, his cold nose tickling the boy’s scalp. The action was so tender it made Zhang Liao giggle uncontrollably.

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  After a moment of this, Snow decided the boy belonged elsewhere. With a precision that belied his size, he gently took hold of the back of Zhang Liao’s tunic with his teeth, lifting the surprised but delighted boy effortlessly into the air and depositing him securely onto the broad, comfortable space between his shoulder blades. In one fluid motion, Kai vaulted up behind him, settling in front of Zhang Liao to ensure the boy’s safety.

  “Alright, everyone secure?” Kai asked, receiving an eager nod from Liao. He leaned forward, his fingers threading through the thick fur at Snow’s scruff. “Let’s go home, boy.”

  “Woof!” Snow barked in deep, enthusiastic agreement, the sound like a small peal of thunder.

  Then, they were off.

  Snow exploded into motion, his powerful muscles coiling and unleashing with breathtaking force.

  The serene forest instantly transformed into a streaking blur of green and brown. The towering trees seemed to bend and warp as they shot past, their trunks melding into a continuous wall. The wind whipped past Kai’s ears, roaring with the speed of their passage, and Zhang Liao let out a thrilled shout of exhilaration, clutching tightly to Kai’s robes.

  It was a breathtaking dash through the landscape.

  As they traveled, Zhang Liao’s small voice cut through the roar of the wind. The question had been brewing in his mind since the encounter in Wonju, trying to reconcile the grand, awe-struck label from the farmer with the kind, humble man he knew.

  “Um, Uncle Kai?” he began, his voice tentative as he leaned forward against Kai’s back to be heard. “Are you really a saint?”

  Kai froze. It was a subtle tensing of his shoulders, a momentary hitch in his breath, but to someone as observant as Zhang Liao, it was unmistakable. He had been dreading this exact line of questioning.

  “No, Liao,” Kai said, his voice firm but gentle, carried back on the wind. “I am most certainly not a saint. That is far, far too great a title for someone like me.”

  “But…” the boy persisted, his logic innocent and unwavering, “don’t the saints help people? You helped that man, Jiro. You gave him medicine and food for his whole family. And you helped me and my brothers when we had no one. You gave us a home. Doesn’t… doesn’t that make you a saint?”

  Kai sighed softly, the sound lost to the rushing air. How could he explain the complexities of virtue to a child?

  “Helping people is what saints do, yes,” Kai conceded, choosing his words carefully. “But it is not all they are. Doing a good deed alone doesn’t make a person a saint.” He paused, searching for an analogy the boy might understand. “It’s like… it’s like saying because you can throw a single punch, you are a grandmaster of the Falcon Smashing Fist. There is a lifetime of discipline, purity of heart, and sacrifice that goes into that title. There is a lot more that goes into being a saint than just helping people. It is a path of perfect virtue, and I… I am still very much on my own path, making plenty of mistakes along the way.”

  He hoped that would be enough to quell the notion, though a nagging worry told him that in the eyes of a grateful child—and a desperate farmer—his actions might always seem larger than life.

  “But does a person with perfect virtue really exist?” Zhang Liao asked, his small voice filled with a genuine, searching curiosity that belied his age.

  The question, so innocent in its delivery, struck Kai. The answer was a labyrinth of ethics, spirituality, and personal belief, far more complex and profound than he could ever hope to explain to a child. Internally, Kai recoiled from the idea of perfection. Even the memory of his past life as Mike, whom he held as a benchmark for a good and virtuous man, was not without his flaws. Mike had been kind and selfless in many ways, but he had also told white lies to spare feelings, had moments of selfish frustration, and made mistakes like any other person. To label a saint as a being of "perfect virtue" felt not only incorrect but also deeply disingenuous.

  He had misspoken. He needed to correct himself and reframe the concept within the context he understood best: the cultivation world.

  “You’re probably right, Liao,” Kai admitted, his tone thoughtful. “It is likely that no one is truly, perfectly virtuous in every single thought and action. But the title of ‘saint’ is often given to those rare individuals who strive for that ideal with every fiber of their being, who get closer to that purity of spirit than anyone else.”

  He shifted, ensuring Zhang Liao had a secure grip as Snow bounded over a small stream. “In the world of cultivation, it is a formal path. To be recognized as a saint means you have meditated for decades, faced countless internal and external trials, and refined your spirit and character to its absolute limit. It is a conscious, lifelong pursuit of enlightenment and benevolence.” Kai thought of the stories he’d heard. “The cultivators who seek this path most devoutly often belong to organization like the Sacred Qilin Order. They are monk-warriors who withdraw from the world to meditate on the fundamental nature of good and evil, and their power comes from their spiritual purity. I,” he stated with definitive clarity, “am no monk. I am not seeking sainthood. My path is… different.”

  There was a moment of quiet, filled only by the rhythm of Snow’s pounding footsteps.

  “Well,” Zhang Liao said finally, his small arms tightening their hold around Kai’s waist in a hug. “I still think you’re amazing.”

  Kai’s heart softened at the child’s unwavering, honest admiration. He reached back and gave the boy’s knee a gentle, affectionate pat.

  “That’s perfectly fine for you to believe that,” he said, his smile evident in his voice. “And I am very grateful you think so. But please understand, that doesn’t make me a saint.”

  He felt a small wave of relief. He had, he hoped, successfully navigated that particular conversational minefield and prevented another disciple from developing a wildly inflated idea of his character.

  Now, if only he could figure out how to convince Chen Gong to stop writing The Great Compendium of Master Kai’s Profound Teachings. One crisis of deification at a time.

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