Chapter 3
Those Who Walk Without Names
Li Yaochen drifted in and out of consciousness.
Each time he surfaced, sensation returned in fragments—heat against his back, the sting of medicine on torn flesh, the rhythmic crackle of firewood. Pain threaded through everything, no longer sharp but deep and exhausting, like a debt being collected slowly.
"Don't move," someone said.
A hand pressed him down when he tried.
The voice belonged to the young woman from the ravine. Up close, she looked older than he had first thought. Not in years, but in the eyes. They were the eyes of someone who had seen outcomes she hadn't liked and lived anyway.
"You're tearing the binding," she added. "If you bleed out after we dragged you here, I'll be annoyed."
Li Yaochen swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper.
"Where…?" he croaked.
"Nowhere worth remembering," the older man replied from across the fire.
Li Yaochen turned his head slightly. Three of them, just as before. The woman crouched beside him, a dagger at her hip. The older man sat with his back to a tree, cloak open, sharpening a short blade with slow, methodical strokes. The third—a thin youth with nervous eyes—kept watch at the edge of the clearing, hand never straying far from the talisman hanging at his neck.
Wanderers.
Not merchants. Not mercenaries. People without banners or sect insignia rarely survived long unless they were either careful… or dangerous.
"Water," Li Yaochen said.
The woman lifted a flask to his lips. He drank too fast, choked, then drank again more carefully. The water tasted faintly bitter, tinged with herbs.
"Slow," she said. "You're injured, not dying. Yet."
That word lingered.
Li Yaochen forced himself to focus. "Why help me?"
The older man snorted. "Straight to the point. I like that."
"She helped you," the youth said quietly. "Not him."
The woman didn't deny it. She capped the flask and studied Li Yaochen's face as if memorizing it.
"You were running from Iron River," she said. "Outer guard, by the look of the wound. That means you stole something or saw something."
"Grain," Li Yaochen replied. "Just grain."
The youth sucked in a breath. "You're mad."
"Hungry," Li Yaochen corrected.
Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the fire.
"Name," the woman said at last.
Li Yaochen hesitated.
Names had power in this world. Even among mortals, a name could be traced, sold, traded for favor or safety. People like him learned early when to hold onto it.
"…Li," he said after a beat. "Li Yaochen."
The older man's blade paused for half a second. Just half. It resumed scraping stone immediately after.
"No clan?" he asked casually.
"No."
"No sect?"
"No."
"No master?" the youth pressed.
Li Yaochen almost laughed. "If I had one, I wouldn't be here."
The woman nodded, as if something had been confirmed. "Figures."
She stood and moved back to the fire, tossing a small packet into the flames. The smoke shifted, turning sharp and metallic.
"What's that?" Li Yaochen asked.
"Insurance," she said. "Keeps beasts away. Confuses tracking techniques."
That sent a chill through him. "You think they'll chase me."
"I think," she replied, "that Iron River doesn't like being embarrassed."
The older man finally looked up. His gaze was heavy, weighing, like a scale that had never favored mercy.
"You should be dead," he said bluntly. "Outer guards don't miss like that. Especially not at that range."
Li Yaochen felt the pressure in his chest stir—not stronger, not active, just present. He kept his face blank.
"He rushed," Li Yaochen said. "Sloppy."
The older man studied him for a long moment, then huffed. "Maybe."
The youth didn't look convinced.
Night crept in slowly, staining the forest with shadow. The fire became the center of the world, everything else retreating beyond its light. Li Yaochen lay still, conserving strength, listening.
The wanderers spoke in low tones when they thought he slept.
"…too close to the city," the youth murmured.
"…Stone Scar draws bad things," the older man replied.
The woman's voice was softer. "So does leaving him."
A pause.
"He's weak," the youth said. "No cultivation. Barely alive."
"Everyone starts weak," the woman said. "Not everyone survives Iron River."
Li Yaochen closed his eyes.
He dreamed of rain freezing in the air.
---
He woke before dawn to the sound of metal leaving leather.
Instinct took over before thought. Li Yaochen rolled to the side just as a blade struck where his neck had been.
Pain screamed through his leg. He cried out, scrambling backward.
The youth stood where he had been lying moments before, dagger in hand, face pale and furious.
"You lied," the youth said. His voice shook. "There's something wrong with you."
The woman was between them in an instant, her own blade leveled at the youth's throat. "Enough."
"He's carrying something," the youth insisted. "I felt it. When I passed him, my talisman—"
"Your talisman reacts to corpses too," the older man cut in coldly. "You planning to stab every dying man you meet?"
The youth hesitated. His grip wavered.
Li Yaochen pressed himself against the ground, heart hammering. The pressure in his chest felt tighter now—not protective, not active—alert.
"I don't know what you felt," Li Yaochen said hoarsely. "But I don't have anything worth killing me for."
The woman didn't look at him. Her gaze stayed locked on the youth. "Put it away."
Slowly, reluctantly, the dagger lowered.
The woman exhaled and sheathed her blade. "We don't kill without certainty. That's the rule."
The older man nodded. "And if we start killing based on feelings, we won't last a month."
The youth stepped back, jaw clenched. "If he brings trouble—"
"Then it's on me," the woman said.
She turned to Li Yaochen.
"You're leaving at sunrise," she said. "We'll give you food and directions. After that, you're not our problem."
Li Yaochen bowed his head as much as his injuries allowed. "Thank you."
"Don't," she replied flatly. "Gratitude makes people stupid."
As the fire burned low and the sky lightened, Li Yaochen stared into the dimness between trees.
Something inside him watched the wanderers with the same silence it watched the world.
He did not know what it was.
But he knew one thing with absolute clarity:
Even among those who walked without names, survival demanded suspicion.
And somewhere, far beyond this small clearing, forces that did not yet know him were already moving.