The roads winding toward Heaven Dou were long and ill-maintained, peppered with half-forgotten waystones and overgrown trade paths. Yet Po-Ming and Zhu Zhuqing traveled them in steady silence, one that was never quite peaceful, never quite hostile. The kind of silence shared between two apex predators sniffing each other out before deciding whether to fight or coexist.
Po-Ming enjoyed it.
The girl beside him moved like her namesake—silent, lethal, coiled like a cat ready to strike. Her Hell Civet martial soul shimmered faintly in her footsteps, like a dark flame flickering on the edge of his vision. Each night, she climbed into the highest trees and slept perched on branches, eyes never fully closed. Each morning, she was gone before he woke—only for her to return moments later, silently observing from the shadows.
And yet, she never left.
He didn't speak of it. Neither did she.
Instead, Po-Ming walked at a measured pace, absorbing the rhythm of the continent. This world, so rich in soul power and myth, was a fabric waiting to be torn at the seams. Already, he saw how it breathed—slow, cyclical, predictable.
That predictability was a weakness.
He intended to carve himself into it like a splinter.
---
It was on the fifth day of travel that the first test arrived.
A town.
Not large enough to be marked on maps, but big enough to have a soul master registry, a hunter guild station, and a marketplace. It was called Qinghe Ford, and like most such settlements, it thrived on trade, passing caravans, and the occasional soul master seeking temporary shelter.
Zhu Zhuqing eyed the wooden gates from beneath her hood. "Are we stopping?"
Po-Ming smiled faintly. "We'll need supplies. You're running low on bandages."
Her hand reflexively touched her ribs where a cut still lingered from the ambush days earlier. She scowled but said nothing.
"I'll get herbs and smoked meat. You scout for rumors—anything about spirit beasts, rogue cultivators, or unusual soul activity."
Zhu Zhuqing blinked. "You trust me with that?"
"I trust that you'll be curious enough not to disappoint me."
She stared at him for a moment. "You're annoying."
"And yet you follow."
She vanished into the crowd like smoke.
---
Qinghe Ford stank of sweat, mud, and cheap incense. The marketplace bustled with activity—merchants hawking spirit beast parts, alchemists selling powder cures, and guards half-heartedly maintaining order. Children darted between stalls. A hawk-type martial soul user swooped overhead, delivering a package mid-flight. It all felt… quaint.
Po-Ming moved with disinterest, eyes half-lidded. He didn't belong here.
His presence warped the flow of the market subtly. A woman reaching for a bundle of spirit herbs stumbled into a puddle. A merchant's table collapsed inexplicably. A pickpocket lunged for someone else and tripped into a guard. The Stand behind Po-Ming never appeared—its mere presence twisted probability around him like vines curling around a stone.
He found what he needed quickly: crushed snow lotus for inflammation, dried nightshade for anesthetic brewing, meat strips from a wind-attribute boar beast. He paid with spirit coins he'd taken off the dead bandits, then sat on a stone wall overlooking the river that gave Qinghe its name.
The water churned lazily. Reflections danced.
Wonder of U materialized beside him—tall, regal, and impossibly still.
Po-Ming didn't look at it. "I can feel the second one coming."
No answer, of course.
He tapped his fingers together. His first self-generated soul ring—Golden Experience—had manifested with almost no resistance. But he suspected each subsequent one would require a deeper unlocking of the Stand's nature.
"I wonder which you'll give me next," he murmured. "Will it be Star Platinum's raw force? King Crimson's precognition? Or something subtler… like Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap?"
He grinned to himself.
"That would be delightful."
---
Zhu Zhuqing returned at dusk, face expressionless but breathing faintly faster. He noticed the smudge of dirt on her cloak and the fine scratch on her cheek.
He said nothing.
She sat beside him by the river and tossed a small folded parchment into his lap.
Po-Ming opened it lazily.
A hand-drawn bounty poster. A rogue spirit beast—classified as a mutated Scaled Flame Rat—had been sighted two days south, terrorizing caravans. Estimated at 700-year cultivation. Weak but fast. Fire element. High agility. Its tail was a valuable forging material.
"They're offering thirty gold coins for its core. Fifty if it's captured alive."
Po-Ming glanced sideways. "Tempted?"
Zhu Zhuqing leaned back on her palms. "It's fast. I want to test myself."
He smirked. "And if you fail?"
"I won't."
He stood. "Then we'll leave at dawn."
She didn't smile, but her tail twitched once in satisfaction.
---
The journey south was uneventful, but Po-Ming could sense the world tightening. The rat was a minor beast by local standards, but the emotional ripples left in its wake were potent: scorched earth, frightened travelers, lost goods, and the stench of death. Zhu Zhuqing stalked its scent like a born predator. She was in her element—silent, methodical, cold.
They found it by a burnt-out ravine, feeding on the charred remains of a merchant's horse.
The creature was twice the size of a dog, with crimson scales and a blackened tail tipped with a serrated bone. It hissed upon seeing them, flames trailing from its nostrils.
Zhu Zhuqing stepped forward.
Po-Ming raised a hand. "You fight it. Alone."
She glanced at him. "Why?"
"You said you wanted to test yourself. I'm giving you the arena."
"And if it kills me?"
"It won't."
The words were not reassuring. They were absolute.
She sighed, removed her cloak, and crouched low. Her martial soul flared to life behind her, the Hell Civet wrapping her shadow in flickering black.
Then she was gone.
The fight lasted minutes.
The Flame Rat moved like a firework, streaking through the air and leaving trails of burning energy in its wake. But Zhu Zhuqing was faster. Her claws deflected flame, her steps left almost no impact. She weaved through its attacks, taking glancing blows but landing strikes in return.
A lucky tail whip knocked her back, singeing her arm.
Po-Ming remained motionless.
Then Zhu Zhuqing roared—an actual, guttural growl—and used the momentum to spring forward, raking her claws across the beast's neck. It stumbled. She twisted mid-air, landed behind it, and delivered a clean chop to its skull.
Silence.
Blood dripped.
She panted, bruised but victorious.
Po-Ming approached slowly. "You hesitated before the final strike."
"I wanted to know if it would flee."
"It wouldn't."
She wiped her face. "Then next time, I won't wait."
He nodded.
They took the tail, the core, and left the body to scavengers.
---
That night, by their fireless camp beneath the stars, Zhu Zhuqing sat closer than usual.
Po-Ming lay on his back, staring up at the constellations. Wonder of U hovered beside him, its cloak blending into the shadows.
"You knew it wouldn't flee," she said suddenly.
"Yes."
"How?"
"Because some creatures don't fear death. Only domination."
She went quiet again.
Then: "You're not like other soul masters."
He tilted his head. "Why do you think that?"
"You fight without showing your power. You move without being seen. You talk like you're not part of this world."
He smiled faintly. "I'm not."
She didn't press.
Instead, she said: "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For letting me fight alone."
Po-Ming turned to look at her. Her face was mostly hidden in shadow, but the firelight of her eyes flickered like a distant storm.
"You're not meant to be someone's backup," he said. "You're a Queen in a game that teaches girls to be pawns."
She blinked once.
Then nodded.
---
Over the next two weeks, their routine sharpened. Po-Ming taught her meditation techniques that made no sense—focusing not on absorbing spirit energy, but on rejecting it. He showed her how to "listen" to the flow of fate, to feel tension in the air before misfortune struck. She thought it was nonsense.
Until a falling branch missed her by inches—after he told her to step left.
She never questioned it again.
---
They reached the borders of the Heaven Dou Imperial Province on the nineteenth day.
By now, Zhu Zhuqing no longer kept her distance. They sparred each morning. Ate side by side. Trained under moonlight. Her posture grew lighter, her edge sharper.
And yet Po-Ming saw her fear—buried deep, but alive.
Not of him.
Of failure. Of returning to the cage she'd escaped.
"Dai Mubai will be at Shrek soon," she said once as they stared at a caravan road.
Po-Ming didn't respond.
"I was meant to join him. I was supposed to be there."
He raised an eyebrow. "You regret leaving?"
"No. But… if I don't surpass him, they'll drag me back."
Po-Ming stared at her, voice soft.
"They won't drag back a Queen."
Zhu Zhuqing closed her eyes.
And for once, she smiled.
---
That night, Po-Ming meditated alone, Wonder of U standing behind him like a monolith. The energy in the air rippled. A second soul ring formed in the void.
Not of beast.
Not of this world.
But drawn from his memory, his will, and the cosmic terror of fate.
It settled around his form with a deep violet glow.
[The World]
"Time is mine to carve. Motion is mine to deny."
The Stand's power whispered into his soul, and time itself hesitated.
He opened his eyes.
Golden irises. The color of inevitability.
He was no longer just breaking fate.
He was rewriting its grammar.