Chapter 2
Chapter 2: On the Road
By dusk, the setting sun had turned to molten gold, gilding the official road in warm light.
A post station stood by the roadside, but it had already been claimed by those who arrived first: the convoy from He Dong Commandery. They had several hundred more people than Ping Yang Commandery. The Commandery Governor’s Misses and Young Masters filled every guest room, and the rest of their people set up camp around the station in a wide ring. From a distance, it looked almost like a small army.
If it had been a convoy from some tiny county, their commander could have marched in and seized rooms by force, and no one would have dared argue.
But He Dong Commandery was a major commandery within Chu Kingdom. The Commandery Governor’s Wang Family was powerful. No one wanted that kind of trouble.
The Zhao Family commander ground his teeth and ordered their convoy to camp on an open patch of ground instead of fighting for space.
By the time Zhao Chun and the others climbed down, the tents were already up.
The road had been brutal. Many children were too weak to climb down on their own, legs trembling, hands numb. The martial adepts traveling with them lifted them out and carried them.
Commoners didn’t get that kindness. They were yanked by the collar and dumped to the ground like chicks, crying as they scrambled to set up their own shelters.
Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian seemed to come back to life the moment their feet hit the earth. They chattered nonstop, complaints spilling out like water.
The Royal Capital was clearly taking this summons seriously. Zhao Chun noticed a middle-aged man in a purple robe traveling with them. He stayed close to the Zhao convoy’s commander, and for once that arrogant man was unusually courteous, smiling and speaking with him as if trying to win favor.
Martial training had levels. The first layer was Body Tempering—qi and blood overflowing, strength enough to lift a cauldron. The second was the Subtlety Realm, where technique ripened and the art became complete. The third was when intent was born from skill, when everything fused into something greater. Beyond that lay the legend of grandmasterhood: all methods returning to one, the body itself forged into a divine weapon.
Only after breaking into the second layer could someone be called a true martial warrior.
Instructor Zheng had once found a sliver of opportunity in a moment of life and death. Her qi and blood had ignited and surged through her body, and she’d stepped into the First Martial Layer.
Most people never reached even that. Many spent their entire lives stuck at Body Tempering, unable to climb higher.
And each step grew harder than the last. Zhao Chun’s father, Zhao Jian, had reached the Subtlety Realm in saber technique before he was 30.
Then he’d stagnated for two decades. Unable to push into the third layer, he’d pinned his hopes on his children, determined the Zhao Family wouldn’t decline in his hands.
The commander leading the Zhao convoy was named Pang Zhen. His status within the family was extraordinary. Aside from Zhao Jian, he was the only martial warrior who had reached the second layer. Zhao Jian had taken him as a sworn younger brother, which meant Zhao Chun had to call him Uncle.
Pang Zhen wasn’t a man who bowed easily. The fact that he could be this polite to the purple-robed traveler meant only one thing: the man’s strength was beyond question. Even if the Royal Capital ordered Pang Zhen to show respect, he wouldn’t lower his head unless the other person made him.
Zhao Chun understood. This purple-robed man was likely what Instructor Zheng had once described—a martial Master, someone who had stepped into the Third Martial Layer.
Back on the road earlier, Zhao Chun had glimpsed another man dressed much the same inside the post station, younger than the one traveling with them. He was likely the Royal Capital’s Master assigned to He Dong Commandery.
If every city had one, then Chu Kingdom’s depth was terrifying. Over a hundred cities and strongholds. Masters enough to rival several small states’ entire strength.
Instructor Zheng’s old homeland, Lu State, had only around 20 martial Masters in the entire realm, and that had been enough to carve out territory.
But Lu State had lasted less than a month before Jin State and Wu State—two giants that could stand toe-to-toe with Chu Kingdom—ground it into ruin.
When grandmasters did not appear, the number of martial Masters a kingdom could field was the clearest measure of power. Chu Kingdom’s foundation was deep for a reason.
Zhao Chun was fortunate in her misfortune. Born in a great kingdom, she didn’t suffer the worst of war.
Still, sending so many martial warriors to supervise this summons served two purposes: it showed how important the Royal Capital considered the event, and it warned local powers not to grow bold.
Politics like that felt distant to Zhao Chun. All she wanted was to enter the temple and live in peace.
Holding that hope, even the plain meal tasted good. Zhao Yue complained through every bite, but Zhao Chun ate quickly and finished without fuss.
Afterward, Zhao Chun took her book and retreated into the tent. She’d heard the drivers talking: once they reached the dense mountain forests ahead, bandits would be a real danger. The convoy might stop less and travel through the night, pressing straight on toward the Royal Capital.
She wanted to rest while she could.
Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian had slept well in the carriage. After picking at their food, they ran off to other tents to find friends.
Families with enough status to camp beside the Zhao convoy were all prominent households from Ping Yang Commandery. Their children had met each other at banquets and gatherings. Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian visiting them didn’t look strange.
Several groups sat together, laughing and shouting. Zhao Chun lay down, tried to sleep—and couldn’t.
When night fully settled, the commoners’ camp went quiet. Over there, everyone had collapsed in exhaustion.
Here, the noble camps still buzzed until Pang Zhen roared at them. After that, no one dared keep making noise. Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian returned in the dark, whispering to each other as they crawled into the tent.
Zhao Chun still hadn’t fallen asleep. She listened and caught bits of talk: more convoys had arrived behind them, all from remote small towns—some with a little over 100 people, some with only a few dozen.
The Wang Family of He Dong Commandery even sent wine over, hoping to agree to travel together the next day so they could protect each other along the road.
The next morning, Zhao Chun rose early, washed her face, and practiced two sword routines while the air was still cold.
When the sun climbed higher, someone beat a gong to wake the convoy. Only then did Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian drag themselves upright.
He Dong Commandery did send representatives. A tall, thin man came over—likely the Wang Family’s commander. He spoke bluntly and directly, and Pang Zhen seemed to like him. The two men decided on the spot to merge their convoys into a single long line, four carts abreast. As for the smaller towns, they weren’t considered at all. If those convoys wanted to follow behind, fine. If they wanted to wait until the larger groups moved on, fine. No one cared.
The Wang Family had brought 12 children—twice as many as the Zhao Family. Most were boys. Only two were girls: Wang Chu Yan and Wang Yi Jiao.
The Wang sisters were polite enough and willing to speak with Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian, but their expressions stayed cool, as if warmth was beneath them.
Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian mistook it for shyness and kept asking about He Dong Commandery.
Zhao Chun saw what it was. The Wang sisters looked down on them. They were only talking because the ride was long and silence was worse.
“I’ve never been to the Royal Capital,” Zhao Yue said brightly. “They say it’s the richest place in the kingdom. I wonder how it compares to He Dong Commandery.”
Wang Chu Yan tugged at her handkerchief, lips barely curving. “A remote, poor commandery like yours can’t compare to the Royal Capital.”
She flicked a glance toward her sister. “My sister Belle—Wang Yi Jiao—and I have family in the Royal Capital. We go back every year to pay our respects at the ancestral halls. After you’ve been often enough, it stops feeling special.”
As daughters born to Madam Wang, the Wang sisters carried themselves with effortless pride. The moment Wang Chu Yan finished, she stopped speaking, both girls sitting poised and aloof.
Zhao Mian’s face tightened with humiliation.
But Zhao Yue didn’t seem to notice. Carefree as ever, she only said, “Oh. This is our first time. My mother said the temple is choosing people to become Divine Immortals. I don’t want that. What’s so great about being a Divine Immortal? You’d be shut up in a temple for life and never see anything.”
The instant Zhao Yue voiced her aversion, the Wang sisters exchanged a look—and then, as if setting down an invisible burden, they smiled for the first time since climbing into the carriage.
Zhao Chun had been reading, watching more than speaking. The reaction struck her as strange.
By all accounts, Daoists weren’t popular in this era. Why would the Wang sisters look relieved?
Zhao Chun turned it over in her mind and decided they must want what she wanted: a stable life, safety from the chaos beyond the walls.
Then Wang Chu Yan spoke again, her tone careful. “Everyone has their own fate. The king honors the Daoist path for a reason.”
She refused to say what that reason was.
Zhao Chun’s confusion only deepened. She set the thought aside. Once they reached the Royal Capital, she would find a way to ask around.