Shenzhoyra shone with an otherworldly beauty—a realm both eerie and elegant, its very atmosphere exuding a quiet, almost imperceptible judgment. At least, that's how Feredis had come to see it, a realization that struck him after yet another failed attempt at mastering the fickle art of using chopsticks.
"Okay," he mumbled under his breath, his fingers fumbling with two slender sticks as they struggled to ensnare a slippery, luminescent noodle. "This is clearly a magical trap masquerading as dinner."
Nearby, Hoki continued her meal without missing a beat, her eyes fixed on the bowl. Her long hair, once cropped short for practicality, now flowed past her shoulders, sleek and dark as raven feathers. She no longer wore the oversized, boyish tunics she'd once preferred—instead, her robes were now form-fitting, tailored with confidence and grace. The way they clung to her athletic form drew the eye without invitation, and more than once, Feredis found his gaze drifting her way, lingering just a little too long. He would quickly look away, pretending to refocus on his meal, but his cheeks betrayed him with a telltale flush.
"They're rice noodles," she remarked coolly. "They were, after all, intentionally crafted to be eaten with chopsticks."
Feredis scoffed, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Yes, and I was designed for soup spoons and meat skewers, not for wrestling with wriggling spirit-strings that seem to have a death wish of their own."
Beside him, Miyx—possessing the lithe grace of a feline, the mysterious allure of a bat with large, expressive ears, and the wobbly poise reminiscent of a slightly intoxicated squirrel—devoured his noodles with a speed that bordered on the alarming. In a single, resounding shllluurp, his entire bowl had vanished, leaving nothing but a momentary echo in the air. With a casually smug expression, he regarded Feredis as though inviting silent mockery.
"I'm being judged by a furball," Feredis muttered, his words laced with incredulity.
"Correctly," Hoki replied with a playful smirk.
Elsewhere, Gror had surprisingly adapted to the local cuisine. With a certain pride glinting in his eyes, he hoisted a tangled mass of green-black noodles between his thick fingers. "It's wormy," he declared, "but undeniably tasty."
Across from him, Fror squinted suspiciously at his own soup. "Is that... a fish eye?" he inquired, his voice tinged with disbelief. "It's seeming to have a gaze of its own."
"It winked at me," Feredis added hastily, his tone laced with horror and bemusement.
Later that afternoon, the group was introduced to their language tutor, Master Wen Qingshan—a diminutive yet formidable monk whose thick, heavy eyebrows seemed capable of casting judgments long before his mouth could speak. He wielded a bamboo pointer with an air of quiet menace, as if each measured movement declared that tardiness was an unthinkable sin in his world.
"Repeat after me: Shén huā gōng rén hěn měi," he intoned crisply, each syllable falling like measured drumbeats.
"Shin hua... gone rent... hen... maybe?" Feredis attempted, his voice betraying both his uncertainty and underlying determination.
"That was, 'The flower palace maids are very pretty,' wasn't it?" Hoki inquired with a raised eyebrow, her tone part incredulous, part amused.
Feredis nodded vigorously, clearly brimming with misplaced pride. "I've got to learn the important phrases first."
"You've been staring at them all week," Hoki teased gently.
"It's called cultural immersion," Feredis replied defensively. "It's about understanding the locals."
"Understanding, or is it that you tried to flirt with one using the word 'radish'?" she pressed.
"It was an affectionate root vegetable!" he insisted, cheeks aflame.
Then came the robes—a new chapter in their daily trials.
"I swear this thing is trying to strangle me," Feredis grumbled, tugging anxiously at the high, confining collar of the borrowed dui lian yi training uniform.
"It's designed to instill discipline and perfect breath control," Hoki replied calmly, her own uniform fitting her like a second skin, tailored to perfection.
"For me, it seems to be teaching claustrophobia," Feredis snapped, his discomfort palpable. The robe clung tightly across his chest, layered in a perplexing manner that suggested its tailor might have been under a mischievous curse, and tied with cords that seemed to vanish the moment one dared to divert their gaze. Feredis was almost convinced that his tunic had intricately looped itself around his spine twice, intent on launching an impromptu chokehold.
Martial arts training proved no less chaotic. Under the penetrating, soul-searching gaze of Master Lu Shen, the students were expected to dissolve into their movements—to become one with the flow of energy around them. This proved particularly challenging when Feredis found himself repeatedly kicking his own shins in his enthusiastic yet clumsy attempts to mimic the master's fluidity.
"Be like water," Master Lu Shen advised, drifting past like a delicate leaf borne on the wind. "Be fast as the breeze, soft as the morning mist, and as sharp as fragments of broken glass."
Feredis blinked in confusion. "That's... four different things."
With measured slowness, Master Lu Shen pivoted towards him. "Do you question the mountain?" he inquired, his tone both enigmatic and commanding.
Hesitating ever so briefly, Feredis asked, "Is that a yes or a no?"
Meanwhile, Miyx was wholly determined to embrace the path of a martial artist. He imitated Hoki's every nuanced motion—a careful crouch, a swift spin, deliberate breaths, even an ungraceful fall. At one decisive moment, his flailing limbs sent him careening into a ceremonial gong, the ensuing impact echoing with a dramatic BONG! so resounding that even Master Lu Shen allowed himself a brief, surprised blink.
"The beast understands harmony," the master declared in a tone fraught with both irony and hidden approval.
Miyx, now entangled in a sprawling training mat, let out a triumphant meow as if celebrating a hard-won victory.
"...In motion," Lu Shen amended with a faint smile, clearly unperturbed by the mayhem.
In a corner of the training ground, Gror and Fror had developed their own unconventional approach to combat. Gror wrestled fiercely with a wooden dummy as if it carried a debt owed to him, his muscles straining with every attempt to best his inanimate opponent.
"Balance is a state of mind," the master observed quietly from a distance.
"My mind, however, tells me to throw it," Gror grunted, his frustration mingling with determination.
"And my back clearly disagrees," Fror added wryly, already dabbing at a fresh bruise with a poultice.
Despite the chaos, progress was visible in their endeavors. They began to hold stances that lasted longer than three seconds, and Feredis could comfort himself with the thought that he had sprained only one toe that entire week. Perhaps there was hope after all.
One misty morning, as delicate tendrils of vapor curled around the ancient stone courtyard, Mei-Ling finally stepped forward. With Gui at her side, she carried a scroll sealed in shimmering, divine ink, its very presence promising secrets untold.
"I found something," she announced softly. "The second rune stone—it lies hidden beyond the cascading falls of the Jade Cascades."
Feredis squinted as if trying to discern details in a half-remembered dream. "Guarded by illusions? Riddles? Fire-snakes?"
"An ancient wind spirit," she replied with serene confidence, "one that despises loud noises."
All eyes shifted towards Fror. "What?" he said with an almost casual shrug, "I whisper just fine."
Before they set off on their journey, Mei-Ling disclosed that during their training, she had ventured deep into remote mountain shrines and long-forgotten spirit temples. In hushed tones, she explained that the rune stones were inextricably linked to ley-lines spanning multiple realms—perhaps the sole route back to Zvjezdano Nórland.
****
The group departed the very next morning, packing only the essentials. Fror, ever the sentimental, ensured that his emergency jerky—still faintly glowing and unmistakably cursed—was securely stowed away.
"If that jerky starts chanting any incantations, I'm tossing it off a cliff," Hoki warned, eyes sharp with concern.
"Don't you dare," Fror retorted defensively. "It's been aged in thunder-beast fat. Limited edition, after all."
As they entered the dense, whispering bamboo forests, an eerie silence swallowed the world. It was too quiet—even the wind seemed to tiptoe through the grove with utmost caution.
Miyx's keen ears twitched at a distant rustle, and Gui's eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows.
"We're being followed," Hoki declared softly as her hand instinctively reached for her weapon.
Feredis drew his wand, his voice trembling slightly. "Noodle ghosts?"
"Fenglian's assassins—or perhaps spies," she replied coolly, her tone edged with tension.
Among the swaying bamboo, shadowy figures moved with preternatural silence—sleek, dark forms armed with glistening blades that caught stray beams of light.
"Split up," Mei-Ling commanded firmly. "Lose the trail and regroup at the Jinluan capital."
Gror groaned, his voice heavy with reluctant resignation. "I hate splitting up."
"You also hate sleeves," Fror chimed in, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he adjusted his misbehaving garment. "Yet here we are."
With whispered farewells and directions as varied as the mist itself, the party dissolved into the haze of uncertainty.
Far behind them, atop a windswept cliff overlooking the mutable fog, Master Lu Shen sat serenely, sipping his tea. He watched the swirling mist as if it were an old friend, his eyes gleaming with quiet wisdom.
"Become the fog," he murmured softly, his voice blending with the rustling wind. "Without shape. Without sound. Avoid the probing eye, defy the reaching hand... and always return."
And in that moment, like a silent mountain retreating into legend, he vanished, leaving behind only the echoes of a timeless lesson.