The Bloodrock Battlefield stretched before them like a wound on the earth.
Red stone. Sparse trees. A sky the color of bruised flesh. In the distance, something howled—long and hungry and wrong.
Xiao Long stepped off the wagon and felt the ground crunch beneath his feet. Not dirt. Not gravel. Something that might have been bone fragments mixed with stone.
Charming.
Wei Chen pointed toward a small structure nestled against a rocky outcropping. A hunter's hut, maybe. Abandoned, by the look of it.
"That's where you'll stay. Assuming no one's claimed it."
Xiao Long walked toward the hut. The door hung slightly open. He pushed it—
Empty.
But the air smelled like tea. Fresh tea. Like someone had brewed a pot minutes ago and vanished.
Wei Chen glanced around, hand on his sword. "Strange. We should—"
He stopped. Listened.
Nothing.
"...Strange," he repeated. "Let's get you settled."
---
The first day passed in preparation.
While Xiao Long sat inside the hut reading—"Surviving the Bloodrock: A Practical Guide" by someone who clearly hadn't—Wei Chen worked.
He cut trees. Dragged them around the hut. Arranged them in patterns Xiao Long didn't recognize.
Then came the powders. Sprinkled in circles. Sprinkled along paths. Sprinkled in ways that made the air smell sharp and chemical.
Wei Chen's hands never stopped moving.
Finally, as dusk fell, he sat by the door and began sharpening blades. Three knives. A short sword. Something that looked like a small axe.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
Xiao Long watched him from inside. "What are you preparing for?"
Wei Chen didn't look up. "Everything."
---
WEI CHEN'S INNATE TALENT: BEAST SENSE
Wei Chen awakened his talent late—age nineteen, after most had already given up on him. Beast Sense allows him to perceive the emotional state of any living creature within a certain radius. Fear. Hunger. Rage. Contentment. He can feel them like colors in the air.
It's not combat-oriented. It won't help him win fights.
But it's kept him alive for fifteen years.
On the Bloodrock, where beasts hunt by instinct and men hunt by desperation, Wei Chen's talent is worth more than any flame fist or blade technique.
---
Night fell.
The howling started.
Distant at first. Then closer. Then all around, echoing off the rocks, bouncing between the trees, making it impossible to tell where one ended and another began.
Wei Chen stood outside the hut, motionless, eyes closed.
His talent fed him information.
Hunger. Lots of hunger. Confusion—the powders are working. Caution. They smell something wrong. They're circling. Waiting. Testing.
He opened his eyes.
Nothing attacked.
Not tonight.
---
Morning came cold and grey.
Xiao Long woke before dawn. Wei Chen was already gone—his bedroll empty, his weapons missing, the door slightly ajar.
Beast blood outside. Fresh.
Xiao Long stepped over it and found a patch of clear ground. He sat. Crossed his legs. Closed his eyes.
Meditate.
He'd read about it a thousand times. The first step. The foundation. Empty your mind. Feel the Qi. Let it flow.
Thirty minutes passed.
Nothing.
His Datian sat silent. Empty. Refusing to respond.
Thirty more minutes.
Still nothing.
"You'll never get anywhere like that."
Xiao Long's eyes snapped open.
An old man stood three feet away.
White hair. Wrinkled face. Twinkling eyes that held centuries of mischief. He wore simple robes and carried a walking stick that looked older than the Xiao Clan itself.
Xiao Long scrambled backward. "Who—how—?"
"Oh, me?" The old man grinned. "I'm the owner of the house you're squatting in. But never mind that." He waved dismissively. "Tell me, kid—what's your innate talent?"
Xiao Long stared at him, heart pounding.
This man had appeared out of nowhere. No footsteps. No warning. Wei Chen's Beast Sense should have detected him from miles away.
"I don't have one."
The old man blinked.
Then he burst out laughing.
"Don't have one! He says he doesn't have one!" He slapped his knee, tears forming in his eyes. "Oh, that's rich. That's precious."
Xiao Long's hands curled into fists. "What's so funny?"
The old man's laughter cut off instantly. His eyes sharpened—still twinkling, but focused now. Piercing.
"You don't have a talent, kid. But I see something in you. Something greater than anything I've seen in five thousand years."
Xiao Long's breath caught.
Five thousand years?
"Sit." The old man raised his palm. "Meditation position. Now."
Something in that voice—something ancient and undeniable—made Xiao Long obey. He sat. Crossed his legs. Closed his eyes.
The old man's palm slammed into his back.
QI EXPLODED THROUGH HIM.
Not gentle. Not controlled. A flood—a raging river of pure energy forced directly into his meridians. Xiao Long's body screamed. His veins burned. His muscles tore and reknit and tore again. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but feel as the old man's Qi ravaged him from the inside.
But his Datian—
His Datian was drinking it.
Greedily. Desperately. Like a man dying of thirst in a desert.
The old man's eyes widened. "Well, now. I've never felt anything quite like this."
More Qi. More tearing. More rebuilding. Xiao Long's body drew and drew and drew, absorbing power that should have killed anyone else ten times over.
Minutes passed.
Or hours.
Xiao Long couldn't tell.
Then—darkness.
---
He woke face-down on the ground.
Everything hurt. Everything also felt... different. Stronger. More present.
The old man was gone.
But beside Xiao Long's face, resting on the red stone, lay a small pill. Pale blue. Faintly glowing. Warm to the touch.
Xiao Long's hand closed around it.
What just happened?
The hut door creaked.
Wei Chen stepped out, covered in blood and gore. In his hand, dragging behind him, was the massive head of a beast the size of a horse.
Its eyes were still open. Still hungry. Still wrong.
Wei Chen dropped the head and stared at Xiao Long on the ground.
"What happened to you?"
Xiao Long opened his mouth to answer—
And realized he had no idea what to say.