The hotel lobby was surprisingly empty as we made our way through. I kept expecting Janice to materialize from behind a potted plant, armed with schedules and disapproving looks. But the elevator ride down was peaceful, and we crossed the marble floor without incident.
Just the three of us.
I glanced down at myself and suppressed a groan. Somehow, between Emma's batting eyelashes and Christine's relentless enthusiasm, they'd convinced me to wear a full bodyguard getup. Black suit, crisp white shirt, sunglasses perched on my nose despite the fact that we were still indoors.
I looked like every cliche action movie extra who gets knocked out in the first five minutes.
"You look so professional," Christine had insisted while adjusting my tie.
Professional. Right. More like ridiculous.
The girls weren't any better. Both wore baseball caps pulled low and surgical masks covering the lower half of their faces, like that wasn't the most obvious disguise in the world. They might as well have worn signs saying "definitely famous, please stare."
Christine's petite frame at least didn't draw much attention. She could pass for any college student trying to avoid pollution or a cold.
Emma, on the other hand.
I stared at her in complete disbelief.
She'd chosen a white sundress that somehow managed to be both casual and attention grabbing. The fabric hugged her curves before flaring out at her hips, the hemline stopping mid-thigh. Delicate straps crossed over her shoulders, and the neckline.
The neckline was a problem.
It wasn't indecent, exactly. Nothing was exposed that shouldn't be. But the dress did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that Emma Sullivan had a very distinctive figure. Her breasts strained against the fabric with each breath, impossible to miss, impossible to ignore. The dress might as well have come with neon arrows pointing at them.
Any fan who'd ever seen a photo of her would recognize that silhouette instantly. The mask and cap were completely pointless.
I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again. What was I supposed to say? Your breasts are too recognizable, please change? That conversation wouldn't end well for anyone.
Emma caught me looking and tilted her head. "What?"
"Nothing." I adjusted my sunglasses, looking away.
Christine grabbed both our arms before either of us could continue that thought, her fingers wrapping around my elbow on one side and Emma's on the other. "Come on! The market district is only a few blocks away. I read about it online, it's supposed to be amazing."
She practically dragged us out of the hotel entrance, her excitement infectious despite my reservations about this whole expedition.
The Hong Kong streets hit us with a wall of humidity and noise. Cars honked in the distance, vendors shouted in Cantonese, and the scent of street food drifted from every direction. Christine navigated with confidence, weaving between pedestrians while maintaining her grip on both of us.
People stared.
Of course they stared.
A petite girl in a mask, a woman with an unmistakable figure, and their suited bodyguard complete with sunglasses. We were about as subtle as a parade.
"This way!" Christine pulled us left down a side street where the buildings pressed closer together and the crowds thickened. Colorful signs in Chinese characters hung overhead, and the smell of cooking meat and spices grew stronger.
Emma's grip on Christine's arm tightened slightly as more people pushed past. I moved closer, using my body to create a buffer between the crowd and the girls.
Professional bodyguard behavior. Even if I looked like an idiot doing it.
My eyes tracked every person who glanced our way, cataloging faces and body language with the precision of someone who'd spent too many hours reading cultivation knowledge about awareness techniques. The disguises weren't helping. If anything, they made us stand out more. Three people in masks and sunglasses wandering through Hong Kong's market district screamed "please pay attention to us."
And people did. Constantly.
An elderly woman selling vegetables stared as we passed. A teenager with his phone out definitely took a photo. Two businessmen in suits paused their conversation to watch Emma walk by, their eyes tracking the sway of her dress.
I resisted the urge to flip them off. Professional. I was being professional.
"Ben, hold this." Christine shoved a bamboo tray of dumplings into my hands without waiting for a response.
I caught it reflexively, adding it to the skewer of grilled meat I was already holding. Emma appeared on my other side, depositing a container of noodles onto my growing collection.
"Just for a second," she promised, her mask shifting as she smiled underneath.
That had been twenty minutes ago.
Now I carried six different trays, three skewers, two bubble teas wedged under my arm, and what I was pretty sure was some kind of egg tart balanced precariously on top of the whole arrangement. The girls circled a vendor selling soup dumplings, already pointing at their next target.
Our cultivation had brought enhanced strength and stamina. Apparently it also brought bottomless stomachs.
"Christine, you already ate an entire tray of those," I pointed out.
"That was ten minutes ago." She waved dismissively, pulling out her identity token to pay the vendor. "I'm cultivating lightning. Do you know how much energy that burns?"
Emma giggled, accepting her own serving before adding it to my pile.
I was starting to look like a walking buffet.
The crowds thinned as we moved deeper into the market. Fewer tourists here, more locals going about their daily business. I relaxed slightly, though my awareness never fully dropped.
That's when I felt it.
Spiritual energy. Three signatures, stronger than most people who'd just started cultivating. Body Tempering third layer, if I wasn't mistaken. My eyes found them immediately, three young men in expensive streetwear approaching from the opposite direction.
Chinese cultivators. But how?
The portals hadn't reached China yet. I'd only established them mostly throughout North America so far, with plans to expand globally still in development. These three must have traveled to America specifically to access the Eastern Region, then returned home.
They spotted Emma at the same moment I spotted them.
One of them pointed, his voice carrying over the market noise. "That's Emma Sullivan. I recognize her from the concert posters."
The other two leaned in, eyes widening. They changed direction, cutting through the crowd toward us with the confidence of people who'd recently discovered they were stronger than everyone around them.
I shifted the food trays, preparing to step between them and the girls.
"Excuse me," the tallest one said in accented English, his smile too wide. "You're Emma Sullivan, right? We're huge fans. We came all the way from Shenzhen to see your concert tomorrow."
Emma's posture stiffened, but she nodded politely. "Thank you for your support."
"How about a photo?" The second cultivator was already moving closer, reaching for Emma's arm. "Just one picture."
"She's off duty," I said, my voice flat.
They ignored me completely.
The third one circled around, blocking Emma's path. "Come on, just one photo. We paid a lot of money to see you perform. The least you can do is—"
"She said no." Christine stepped forward, her small frame positioning itself directly between Emma and the cultivators. "Back off."
The tall one laughed, looking down at Christine like she was a particularly amusing insect. "Little girl, this doesn't concern you. Go play somewhere else."
Christine's eyes narrowed behind her mask.
I knew that look.
"Move," the second cultivator said, his hand reaching past Christine toward Emma.
Christine caught his wrist mid-motion. The cultivator's confident expression flickered, then twisted into surprise as he tried to pull away and found himself completely immobilized.
"I said back off." Christine's voice dropped an octave.
The cultivator yanked harder. Christine didn't budge. Body Tempering sixth layer versus third layer wasn't even a contest.
"Let go, you little—" He raised his other hand.
Christine twisted, using his own momentum against him. The cultivator flipped through the air and crashed into a vegetable cart, scattering bok choy across the cobblestones.
The vegetable cart exploded in a shower of bok choy and startled shouts. While everyone's attention fixed on the cultivator groaning in the wreckage, my hands moved on instinct. The food trays vanished into my storage ring one after another, the bamboo containers and bubble teas disappearing in rapid succession until my arms were completely empty.
"Run!" Christine grabbed my wrist with one hand and Emma's with the other, yanking us both forward.
We bolted down the narrow street, Christine's grip like iron around my arm. Behind us, angry voices shouted in Cantonese, probably the cultivators scrambling to their feet. Or maybe the vegetable vendor demanding payment for his destroyed cart. Hard to tell over the chaos.
Christine dragged us around a corner, her small frame weaving between pedestrians with surprising agility. Emma stumbled slightly in her sandals but recovered, matching our pace.
I wasn't sure running actually helped our situation. If anything, it drew more attention. Three people in masks and sunglasses sprinting through Hong Kong's market district like we'd just robbed a jewelry store. Heads turned. Phones came out. Someone definitely shouted something that sounded like "thieves."
Great. Just great.
But what really distracted me, what completely derailed any coherent thought about escape routes or crowd management, was Emma.
Her sundress bounced with each running step. And her breasts.
They moved.
A lot.
The white fabric strained with each impact of her feet against the cobblestones, her chest rising and falling in an exaggerated rhythm that had absolutely nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with physics. The delicate straps of her dress did nothing to provide support, and the result was a hypnotic, distracting bounce that I couldn't tear my eyes away from.
She ran directly in front of me, giving me a perfect view of the problem.
I tried looking away. Looked at Christine instead, at the buildings, at the street vendors we passed. But my gaze kept drifting back, following the rhythmic motion like a metronome.
This was wrong. Completely inappropriate. I was supposed to be her bodyguard, protecting her, not staring at her chest while we fled through Hong Kong.
But Meridian Opening second layer had enhanced my vision along with everything else, sharpening every detail until I could count the individual threads in her dress fabric. Could see exactly how the material stretched and relaxed with each bounce, how her breathing quickened not from exhaustion but from the sprint.
We burst out of the narrow side street into a wider boulevard lined with shops. Christine finally slowed, her breathing steady despite the sprint. She released our wrists and scanned the area, probably checking for pursuit.
"I think we lost them," she said, pulling her mask back into place.
Emma bent forward slightly, hands on her knees, catching her breath. The motion made her dress shift dangerously low.
I looked at the sky. Very interesting clouds today. Fascinating, really.
"Oh my god, look at that boutique!" Christine's entire demeanor changed in an instant. The fierce cultivator who'd just thrown a grown man into a vegetable cart vanished, replaced by an excited teenager spotting a sale.
She grabbed Emma's arm again, pointing at a clothing store across the street. Designer handbags filled the window display, surrounded by elegant dresses and accessories that probably cost more than my monthly rent back in San Jose.
Emma's eyes lit up behind her mask. "They have the new summer collection!"
And just like that, the scuffle was completely forgotten.
The boutique's air conditioning hit like a blessing after the humid Hong Kong streets. Christine and Emma disappeared into the racks of designer clothing before I could suggest we head back to the hotel.
I became a glorified coat rack again.
Dress after dress appeared over the changing room doors. Emma emerged first in a sleek black number that hugged every curve, the fabric shimmering under the store lights. Her skin looked absolutely flawless, not a single blemish or imperfection visible. Body Tempering fifth layer had refined her complexion to porcelain smoothness.
"What do you think?" She spun, the dress flaring slightly.
"Looks good," I managed.
Christine popped out wearing a midnight blue cocktail dress that made her look older than fifteen. Her own cultivation had worked similar magic, erasing the awkward teenage skin issues most girls her age dealt with. She looked polished, elegant.
"Too formal?" she asked.
The afternoon blurred into a parade of fabric and colors. Sundresses, evening gowns, casual wear that somehow cost more than formal attire. The girls modeled each piece with genuine enthusiasm, comparing notes and giggling over accessories.
I sat on the provided bench, surrounded by shopping bags, watching them enjoy themselves. Their cultivation had given them more than just strength and speed. Every dress seemed to fit perfectly, draping over bodies that had been literally refined to peak physical condition. The store attendants hovered nearby, probably calculating their commission.
By the time the sun started setting, both girls had accumulated enough purchases to fill my storage ring twice over. Emma insisted on paying for half of Christine's selections, which sparked a brief argument that ended with Christine accepting on the condition she could repay the favor someday.
We left the boutique as the streetlights flickered on, the girls chattering about which dress to wear to what occasion.
The hotel lobby appeared deserted when we walked through the entrance. Golden light from the chandeliers reflected off marble floors, creating an illusion of warmth that did nothing to hide the temperature drop in my gut.
Janice stood near the elevators, tablet clutched in both hands, her severe features arranged into an expression that could freeze lava.
Her eyes locked onto us immediately.
"Where," she said, her voice dangerously quiet, "have you three been?"
Emma's grip tightened on her shopping bags. Christine suddenly found the floor fascinating.
I adjusted my sunglasses, still wearing the ridiculous bodyguard outfit.
This was going to be fun.