Cloud-Steeped Pilgrim of Qin

"Apologies!" Gu De scratched his head sheepishly. "We should've asked before dismantling your raft, but..."

"Think nothing of!" Liu clapped the panda's meaty shoulder. "Bamboo's meant to be eaten, right?"

Around them, crewmen bowed like courtiers, bamboo stalks clutched in paws that could snap mast timber. Hailun gaped. Since when do Beamon serve humans?

A dry chuckle cut through the clatter. From the shadowed hold emerged a wisp of a man—silk robes fluttering like moth wings, beard trailing like calligraphy ink. His eyes held the weight of centuries.

Liu's breath hitched. Confucius meets Gandalf.

"Honored guests," the sage inclined his head, "I am Fergurson Xu. Your presence graces this humble vessel."

"Blessings of the War God upon you," Hailun curtsied, wary as a fox at hunt.

"May I present," she nudged Liu, "Innate Soul Singer and Dragon-Touched Priest, Li Cha of the Pigmen."

Liu winced inwardly. Dragon-Touched? The lie tasted of Hailun's desperation. Yet old Xu's gaze sharpened, lingering on Liu's scarred knuckles before sliding to the jade rings adorning his own fingers.

"An Innate Singer with... unconventional training," Xu mused. Rings flashed blood-red—dragons entwined in carnelian. "Most intriguing."

Hailun pressed: "How dare you sail here? Human slavers avoid Beamon waters!"

"Ah, but we're no merchants." Xu gestured westward. "My ancestors sought immortality for the Yun-Qin Emperor. Three millennia past, they sailed with 3,000 youths and warriors. Now..." He sighed. "...we wander, bound by ancestral vows."

Liu's gut tightened. Immortality. The word echoed his own cursed existence.

"Even elves don't live forever," Hailun countered.

"Yet vows outlive kings." Xu's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Our guardians—" He nodded at Gu De, crunching bamboo like celery. "—the Panda Pan-Ta. Their javelins pierce steel. Their jaws crack skulls."

As if summoned, the crew snapped to attention. Twenty pandas, each a mountain of muscle and fur, radiated menace sharper than cutlass blades.

"And our other protectors." Xu clapped.

Air rippled. Before Liu stood his mirror image—down to the garlic-bulb nose and stink of stale sweat.

"Sweet mother of—!" Liu recoiled. The doppelgänger mimicked his shock perfectly, even scratching identical dandruff flakes.

From the hold floated a vision: a girl clad in dawn-light, iridescent shells arching from her shoulders like angel wings. Her smile held the chill of deep-sea trenches.

"Meet Moshiao," Xu purred. "Last of the Clam-Shell Illusionists."

Hailun gripped Liu's arm. "Magic..."

"Not magic." The girl's voice chimed like wind through coral. "Smoke and mirrors." She flicked wrist; the fake Liu dissolved into sea spray.

Xu's rings glowed. "We've... persuaded certain sea clans to honor ancient treaties. The rest?" He nodded at Gu De, now sharpening claws on a whetstone. "...meet persuasion of flesh and bone."

Liu's nape prickled. This ship reeked of secrets deeper than dragon hoards. Yet as the Penglai's sails caught wind, he grinned. Chaos, it seemed, had found new playmates.