The road to the heart of Emerald Hollow City was quiet beneath the weight of an overcast sky. Clouds drifted low across the heavens, casting soft shadows over the path. The old structure they’d used for privacy lay behind them, hidden among the vines and moss at the forest’s edge.

  Jian walked beside him in silence, his gaze sharp as they followed a narrow footpath toward the city gates. Emerald Hollow City rose ahead, its green painted walls blending with the forest as if the city itself had grown from the earth. The gates loomed, flanked by guards in gleaming armour, and the steady churn of merchants, cultivators, and spirit beasts moved like a current beneath their feet.

  Tao’s eyes scanned the flow of bodies. “We stay quiet. No attention.”

  Jian nodded. “The less we’re seen, the better.”

  Tao walked slightly ahead, his stride steady, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Jian followed at a calm pace, his expression unreadable, but his hand never strayed far from the hilt of the plain sword at his waist.

  By the time the city’s walls came into view, the sky had cleared. Emerald Hollow City’s high green painted walls blended with the forest, its tall gates flanked by guards in polished armour. The traffic outside buzzed with the energy of trade, merchants, cultivators, labourers, and beasts of burden jostled for space beneath the open sky.

  Tao’s gaze lingered on the familiar stonework as they approached. The city hadn’t changed, not in any way that mattered. But he had.

  “Feels the same,” Jian said beside him, voice low. “Though I haven’t set foot here in years.”

  Tao nodded. “Some things don’t change. The walls. The markets. The noise.” He paused. “It’s what’s underneath that we need now.”

  The guards glanced at their robes but didn’t question them. Disciples of the Verdant Dawn Sect weren’t uncommon, and their presence drew little attention. Once through the gates, the city opened around them in a flurry of sound and scent, calls from merchants, sizzling food stalls, incense, spirit beast musk, and the low hum of ambient Qi from passing cultivators.

  They kept to the side streets, moving past familiar landmarks with quiet purpose. Tao led them through a narrow alley tucked between two stone buildings, finally stopping before a modest wooden storefront marked by a hanging scroll painted with a mountain range.

  Inside, the cartographer’s shop smelled of ink and parchment. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with scrolls and jade slips. An elderly cultivator looked up from behind the counter, his eyes sharp beneath heavy brows.

  “We’re looking for a regional map,” Tao said. “Something accurate. With sect borders, if possible.”

  The old man nodded slowly. “You want detail, not decoration. Wait.”

  He disappeared into the back and returned with two items, one scroll wrapped in faded cloth, and another, newer version in green silk.

  “This one,” he said, unrolling the cloth wrapped scroll, “is older. Some of the territory lines may be outdated, but most of the terrain is the same. Main sects are marked: Golden Flame, Stormbreaking Sword Sect, Cloudpiercer Pavilion and a few notes here and there on minor forces.”

  He tapped several faint ink symbols. “No code sheet, but if you know how to read them, you’ll manage.”

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  Tao leaned in. The parchment was worn but legible, clearly annotated by hand rather than array carved. No glamour, but it was real work.

  “How much?” Jian asked.

  “Twenty spirit stones.”

  “And the silk one?” Tao asked, eyeing the newer scroll.

  The man unrolled it across the counter. Mountain ranges stretched across the parchment, rivers like veins cutting through valleys, sect territories marked in clean, subtle script

  “There’s more,” the cartographer said, tapping several faint markings. “Minor sects, rogue cultivator dens, bandit activity. The symbols are coded, explained on the back. But it will cost you forty spirit stones, sixty if you want it as a jade slip.”

  Tao glanced at Jian, who gave a subtle nod towards the older scroll. Tao pulled out a pouch from inside his special ring.”

  “We’ll take the older one.”

  Once outside, Jian rolled the scroll carefully. “This will help. Some of these places aren’t on any sect published map.”

  “Exactly why we needed it,” Tao murmured.

  They continued deeper into the city. The streets narrowed, the crowds thinning. Tao stopped occasionally to ask quiet questions, an artifact restorer with more broken talismans than clients, a stall selling beast cores of dubious origin, a dusty scroll trader who looked like he hadn’t sold anything in a long time. The replies were vague, hesitant. No one spoke openly of the black market.

  Eventually, Tao led them to a street wrapped in quiet. At the far end stood a familiar, weathered sign: Old Master Hu’s Books and Scrolls.

  The bell above the door jingled softly as they entered.

  Master Hu looked up from behind a pile of scrolls. “Tao,” he said with a knowing smile. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

  Tao bowed. “I came across something… delicate. I thought you might point me in the right direction.”

  Hu studied him. “You’re not here for manuals.”

  “No, Senior.”

  The old man didn’t respond right away. He glanced at Jian, then back to Tao. “The city has an undercurrent. Always has. But the black market doesn’t take strangers. They don’t let you in just because you ask.”

  “I understand,” Tao said. “But I need a way in.”

  Hu sighed, then stepped around the counter. “There’s a woman. Ming Yao. She runs a teahouse near the eastern wall. It’s called The Evernight Pavilion. Open all hours, but not to just anyone.”

  Tao frowned. “And what does she do?”

  “She handles introductions,” Hu said. “You want access to the real traders, the ones who don’t ask questions, you need someone to vouch for you. Ming Yao does that. For a price.”

  Jian’s brow furrowed. “What kind of price?”

  “Sometimes it’s coin. Sometimes a task. She might send you to deliver something first, or have you speak a name. But once she’s satisfied, she’ll tell you where to go, who to ask for, and how not to get yourselves killed.”

  He paused, then added, “Just don’t treat her like a merchant. She chooses who to help. If you waste her time, you won’t get a second chance.”

  Hu’s voice took on a sharp tone. “Be careful, Tao. You have to watch your back and stay alert. These aren’t the kind of people who give second chances.”

  Tao bowed again, deeper this time. “Thank you, Master Hu.”

  Outside, the streets were darker. Evening had crept in unnoticed, lanterns flickering to life one by one. Tao and Jian walked in silence, the wrapped map had been stored in Tao’s special ring earlier.

  As they turned a corner near the central square, Tao froze mid step. A group of cultivators in black and red robes passed by across the street, disciples of the Ironwood Tower Sect. Their movements were easy, confident. One of them laughed, the sound echoing off stone.

  Jian didn’t flinch. His pace stayed steady; his posture relaxed. Tao forced himself to do the same.

  The Ironwood disciples didn’t spare them a glance.

  Not this time.

  They turned down another alley, the noise of the main road falling away behind them. Ahead, a soft golden glow spilled from a two story building set apart from its neighbours. A hanging lantern marked its name in curling script: The Evernight Pavilion.

  Tao slowed, eyes on the door.

  “Ready?” Jian asked quietly.

  “Not really,” Tao said. “But let’s go anyway.”

  And together, they stepped inside.