Six days passed.
Xiao Long spent them the same way he'd spent the last five years—in his room, with his books, avoiding the world.
But something was different now.
He didn't just read. He studied. Battlefield tactics. Beast anatomy. Poison identification. Survival techniques. Anything that might keep him alive on the Bloodrock.
Mei brought him food. Changed his bandages. Fretted.
He let her.
On the morning of the seventh day, she stood in his doorway with red eyes and a packed bag.
"Young Master... the horses are ready."
Xiao Long closed the book in his hands—"A Field Guide to Northern Predators"—and set it aside. He'd memorized it anyway.
He stood slowly. His ribs still ached, but the healers had done their work. He could walk. Could fight, if he had to.
Hopefully not yet.
Mei had packed everything. Bedroll. Rations. Water skins. Medicine. A change of clothes. A small knife—not a real weapon, but better than nothing.
"I wish I could come with you," she whispered.
"You can't."
"I know." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "But I wish it anyway."
Xiao Long looked at her—this woman who had stayed when everyone else left. Who had fed him and cleaned him and nagged him for five years. Who had run onto that arena platform to save him.
"Mei."
She looked up.
"If I come back..." He struggled with the words. Feelings weren't something he practiced. "...I'll remember this. All of it."
She smiled through her tears. "You better."
He walked out the door.
---
The Xiao Clan's main gate loomed ahead.
A wagon waited—simple, wooden, pulled by two horses. Enough supplies for a week's journey north. After that, Xiao Long would be on his own.
Standing beside the wagon was a man Xiao Long didn't recognize.
Not old—maybe thirty, with the weathered look of someone who'd spent years outdoors. Broad shoulders. Calm eyes. A sword at his hip that looked well-used but well-cared-for. He wore simple traveler's clothes, no clan markings.
He bowed as Xiao Long approached.
"Young Master Xiao Long." His voice was steady, respectful. "This one is named Wei Chen. I will be your personal guard to the Bloodrock Battlefield."
Xiao Long stopped.
"No."
"I'm afraid it's not optional." Wei Chen straightened. "Your father commanded it. I am to escort you to the battlefield and ensure you arrive alive. After that... my duty ends."
Xiao Long's jaw tightened. A guard. A watcher. Another person sent to report on him.
"I don't need—"
"It's already decided, Young Master." Wei Chen's tone was gentle but firm. "Please. Let me do my job."
Before Xiao Long could argue, Wei Chen moved past him. He took the bag from Mei's trembling hands and loaded it onto the wagon with practiced efficiency. Bedroll. Supplies. Everything stowed in moments.
Mei grabbed Xiao Long's sleeve.
"Come back," she whispered. "Please."
He didn't promise. He couldn't.
He just nodded once and climbed into the wagon.
Wei Chen took the driver's seat. The reins snapped. The horses lurched forward.
The Xiao Clan gates opened.
And Xiao Long left the only home he'd ever known.
---
From a high window in the clan head's quarters, Xiao Gwang watched the wagon roll away.
His face revealed nothing.
Beside him, the whispering woman—her name was Elder Yun, though few knew it—studied his profile.
"You could have stopped this," she said quietly.
"No." Xiao Gwang's voice was stone. "I couldn't."
"He's your son."
"He's a variable I can't control." Xiao Gwang's eyes never left the shrinking wagon. "The battlefield will either break him or forge him. Either way, I'll know what he truly is."
Elder Yun said nothing.
But she watched the wagon too—watched until it disappeared over the horizon—and wondered if the clan head had just made the greatest mistake of his life.
---
In another part of the compound, Xiao Wang laughed.
The sound echoed off his quarters' walls, rich with satisfaction.
"He's gone." Xiao Wang grinned at no one. "The little pest is gone."
His son Xiao Lin sat across from him, still bandaged, still bruised, still burning with humiliation. He said nothing.
"The Bloodrock Battlefield." Xiao Wang poured himself wine, still grinning. "Demonic beasts roam there. Desperate men. No rules, no mercy. He won't last a week."
Xiao Lin's hands tightened on his knees.
"And even if—if—he somehow survives, he'll be half-dead. Easy pickings for anyone waiting at the exit." Xiao Wang sipped his wine. "Which I've already arranged."
Xiao Lin looked up. "You—"
"Of course." Xiao Wang waved dismissively. "You think I'd leave this to chance? Your little defeat cost us face, son. Cost you face. The only way to recover is to ensure Xiao Long never comes back."
Xiao Lin's face twisted. Shame. Rage. Something else—something that might have been guilt, crushed before it could surface.
"I could have beaten him," he muttered. "I was caught off guard. If we fought again—"
Xiao Wang's hand moved.
The slap echoed like thunder.
Xiao Lin's head snapped to the side. His cheek flamed red.
"Caught off guard?" Xiao Wang's voice dropped to ice. "He broke your barrier with his bare hands. He threw you like garbage. He stood over you while you begged. That wasn't surprise—that was inferiority."
Xiao Lin's hands shook.
"I didn't—"
"Shut up." Xiao Wang turned away. "Go train. Go get stronger. If—if—Xiao Long somehow crawls out of that battlefield alive, you will be waiting. And you will destroy him. Do you understand?"
Silence.
"I said, do you understand?"
Xiao Lin rose. His body moved stiffly, wounds still healing, pride still bleeding.
"Yes, Father."
He walked out.
---
Xiao Lin stormed through the compound, fists clenched, face burning with more than just the slap. Disciples scattered before him. Servants pressed against walls. Everyone knew better than to get in his way.
He reached the training grounds—the same training grounds where Xiao Long had humiliated him—and stopped.
The platform was empty now. Repaired. Clean.
But he could still feel it. Xiao Long's hand around his throat. Those crimson eyes. The way he'd been lifted like a child.
"You will destroy him."
Xiao Lin's fist slammed into a training post. Wood cracked.
"Even if by luck you survive that battlefield," he growled to the empty air, "you'll die by my hands. I swear it."
He started training.
He didn't stop for hours.
---
The wagon rolled north.
Forest gave way to hills. Hills gave way to rocky plains. The sky grew grey. The air grew cold.
Xiao Long sat in the wagon bed, watching the landscape change, saying nothing.
Wei Chen drove in silence for the first hour. Then two. Then three.
Finally, without turning around, he spoke.
"Young Master."
Xiao Long didn't respond.
"Young Master, I need you to understand something." Wei Chen's voice was calm, steady. "I'm not your enemy. I'm not your friend either. I'm a soldier following orders. But on this road, for these days... I'm the only person between you and death."
Xiao Long's eyes flickered.
"I don't need a guard."
"Maybe not." Wei Chen glanced back—just briefly, just enough to meet Xiao Long's gaze. "But you might need someone who knows what the Bloodrock actually looks like. Someone who's been there. Someone who's seen what survives... and what doesn't."
Silence.
Then, quieter: "I've been there three times, Young Master. Walked in twice. Carried out once. If you want to live through the next six weeks, you'll listen to everything I say between now and the border."
Xiao Long stared at him.
Wei Chen turned back to the road.
The wagon rolled on.