Two weeks had passed since Bai Feng's clash with the Greenfang Direbear. The sharp pain in his ribs had dulled to the occasional twinge, the deep gashes on his arms now pale scars instead of angry wounds. The medical wing had grown quieter in that time—patients came and went, but he remained, caught in that awkward in-between state of not quite sick but not yet free.
The morning light spilled through the thin paper windows, painting the room in soft amber. A cup of cooling tea sat on the low table beside him, its faint bitter scent mixing with the sharper aroma of dried herbs hanging from the rafters. Across from him sat Mei Ling, her elbows resting casually on her knees, a small cloth pouch in her hands.
She untied the drawstring with a practiced flick and began counting silver coins onto the table, her movements precise. "You were lucky, Bai Feng," she said, her voice a blend of amusement and relief. "The Direbear's hide was thick and in good condition. The claws—well, a blacksmith paid well for them. This," she nudged the pile toward him, "will cover most of what you owe the sect."
Bai Feng picked up the pouch and felt its weight. "Most," he repeated slowly.
She grinned. "Don't get too comfortable. You still owe enough to keep you working hard for at least three months. That's if you take every mission you can and don't spend like an idiot."
He shook his head. "I don't plan on repeating that mistake."
"Good," she said, standing and tightening her cloak. A hint of pine from the outer forests clung to her clothing, a scent she always carried after hunting trips. "I'll keep an ear out for smaller jobs. You're not ready for another Direbear, but there are plenty of easier beasts that still pay decently. Just… try not to get mauled again. It makes my work harder."
Bai Feng chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."
She gave him a quick wave before stepping out, the door sliding shut with a soft thud.
For a while, Bai Feng sat in the quiet room, rolling the pouch of coins in his palm. The weight was reassuring—he was no longer drowning in debt, though he still had a long way to go. With a sigh, he rose to his feet, stretching until his shoulders popped. His muscles no longer felt heavy and unresponsive; instead, there was a strange, almost buoyant lightness to them.
The plain white jade ring on his right hand caught the sunlight, a faint sheen rippling across its surface. It had been there since the day in the forest—he hadn't taken it off once, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Whenever he thought of removing it, a quiet instinct told him not to.
He stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The sky above was a pale, cloudless blue, and the faint chirping of sparrows carried through the gardens. The medicinal wing's courtyard was lined with neat rows of herb beds, each plant marked with a small wooden tag.
Bai Feng took a slow lap around the courtyard, letting his legs remember the rhythm of movement. Near a patch of ginseng, a bent old figure was working, his knotted hands carefully parting the leaves to inspect the roots.
Elder Shan, the sect's senior healer, straightened when he saw him. The man's thin frame belied a sharpness in his eyes that Bai Feng had always found slightly unsettling.
"You heal faster than I expected, boy," Elder Shan said, his tone somewhere between praise and suspicion. "Two weeks, and you're walking around as though the Direbear never laid a claw on you."
"I had good medicine," Bai Feng replied with a respectful bow.
The old man's mouth twitched—half a smile, half a smirk. "Medicine works best on those with the strength to recover. Not every patient makes it out so quickly." He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly. "You're free to leave the medical wing, but don't forget—you still owe the sect for your treatment. The elders are patient, but patience has limits."
Bai Feng inclined his head. "I'll see to it as soon as possible."
"See that you do," Elder Shan said, turning back to his herbs. "And don't overexert yourself too soon. Not all wounds are visible."
Bai Feng lingered for a heartbeat, then walked on, Elder Shan's words echoing faintly in his mind.
His recovery had indeed been unusually quick—almost unnatural. Over the past two weeks, during his daily meditation, he had felt subtle shifts within himself. His qi flowed with less resistance through his meridians, as if unseen blockages had been loosened. His breathing during cultivation exercises had deepened naturally, without the strain he was used to.
And yet… the breakthrough that should have been his two weeks ago had failed. He could still recall the chaotic swirl of power in his dantian, the desperate clash with the Direbear, the sharp sting of fear—and then the cool, almost living touch of the jade ring on his hand.
He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to dwell on mysteries. He had debts to repay and strength to regain.
Returning to his room, Bai Feng gathered his few possessions: a spare set of plain robes, a battered satchel patched at the corners, and his worn leather boots. The space felt even smaller now, as if the air itself was telling him to leave.
The walk to his home in the outer disciples' quarters was short but familiar, the dirt path winding between small, modest huts. A few younger disciples gave him curious glances—news of his fight had spread quickly—but most returned to their tasks without comment.
When he reached his home, the old wooden door creaked in welcome as he pushed it open. The single-room space smelled faintly of dust and dried herbs. He set down his satchel, letting his shoulders relax for the first time that morning.
"Bai Feng!"
Two familiar figures appeared at the doorway. Liu Shan, broad-shouldered and perpetually grinning, strode in first, clapping him on the back with enough force to make him stagger. Behind him came Chen Guo, leaner, quieter, but with the same spark of amusement in his eyes.
"Look at you," Liu Shan said, grinning wide. "Walking around like you didn't just get half your ribs broken."
Chen Guo snorted. "I was starting to think you'd take the injury as an excuse to sleep in until winter."
Bai Feng shook his head. "Not a chance. As soon as the elders clear me for missions, I'm joining you again. Debt doesn't pay itself."
Liu Shan laughed. "That's the spirit. We've got jobs lined up already. Some small hunts, nothing too dangerous. Unless," his grin turned mischievous, "you're itching for another Direbear."
"Not unless you plan on being the bait this time," Bai Feng shot back, and the three of them burst into laughter.
For a while, they talked about the usual things—rumors from the inner sect, a new instructor with a terrible temper, the rising prices at the canteen. It felt good, easy, like slipping back into a comfortable rhythm.
Yet even as he laughed along, Bai Feng's mind drifted. The smoothness of his qi, the strange lightness in his body, and the faint, almost imperceptible warmth from the jade ring—it was all a quiet undercurrent beneath the surface of his life. He didn't know what it meant, but he had the uneasy sense that it would not remain hidden for long.
And as the afternoon light slanted through the door, he knew one thing with certainty: the moment the elders cleared him, his first mission back in the field would be the start of something far more dangerous than a Direbear.