The dice rolled as small fires dimmed, and the great fire was refueled. A large mass of people turned to bed, tentatively, of course, checking behind them at each half-step and again when they slipped inside whatever they planned to sleep in.

  Hao slammed down the cup listlessly. He didn’t check his dice; the past nine rounds were his losses, not that giving up brittle reptile teeth, snake meat, and the occasional pebble of Amethyst left him aching. Winning didn’t get him anything good. As long as Qin Shiyin had his fun for the night and got something to snack on, he would talk eventually.

  The old man was smart in that way. If he hadn’t ended up chasing fog-like Immortal dreams, he could have been a wealthy merchant or scholar, with a family and legacy to leave behind. Instead, he was here, playing double-spy and gambling.

  Then again, Shiyin was not a man who could see the patience of others. Shiyin tapped the dice back into the cup with his wrinkled fingers. He smiled with purple lips through the tremble of his jaw.

  “How many more rounds?” Hao asked, looking around the camp. It was nearly clear. Few stayed outside in the cold that was still growing, the subtle snores of those brave, or exhausted enough, to sleep. Others who could not sleep simply sought walls around them. The only ones who remained outside were those who wanted to admire the three moons that told of seasons passing. Dull compared to the terror of the sun’s glow.

  Shiyin shook the dice cup, whispering, “one, two, three…” before slamming the cup down on the stone between them. He silently counted his dice, told his number, then reminded Hao of his score, and stuck out his hand with glowing eyes. “That’s ten rounds in a row, Junior.”

  Hao reached into the chest of his robe and took out a piece of stone glowing purple and yellow in turn. The Amethyst was no larger than a bloated mosquito. Yet Shiyin was eager to take and hold it like a newborn son; his hand came launched and snapped, but Hao closed his hand just before he grabbed it.

  Shiyin gulped, “Junior… haha, I will once I get a chance. You had a lot of people watching just a little while ago…” He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like he was gasping for air, his eyes flicking to Hao’s hand hiding the Amethyst. “I’m just being cautious. A whole group of fairies was staring at you. Either they thought your face was pretty, or they wanted to take something from you…”

  Hao cut Shiyin off with a stare when they made eye contact again. It was sad watching a man who talked with such eloquence and intellect sink down into a bloodshot stupor because of one too many games of dice.

  “Speak. Tell me all of it, slowly, clearly.” There was little warning in the way he spoke. Most of the threat was in his eyes. He learned to control his expressions, squash them, which also taught him how to make them, and more importantly, how to use them.

  Qin Shiyin gave a harsh swallow that made his throat croak like a frog. “Ahahaha, of course, Martial Brother must be tired of watching the fire crackle…” He tried to laugh, but his tongue seemed to retreat down his throat. It popped back up in a different tone when Hao opened his hand. Shiyin’s finger quickly plucked the stone and pulled it up his sleeve, where it disappeared. A smile grew back on the old man’s face as Hao scooped the dice into the hand-carved cup.

  “I don’t know if it’s real or just another rumor.” He paused and counted the dice, took up the cup, and shook it for his round. “If I were a betting man, I would say real. As a general rule, people don’t run to danger and flee away safely, not even Cultivators when their eyes are sagging.” He won the round, sticking out his hand.

  Hao filled the open hand with the tooth of a predator. Cup in hand, he scooped up the dice and began his turn in the round. Shake, shake, slam.

  Shiyin checked the sharpness of the tooth on a small stick that was resting nearby. It shaved the wood clean off. His impression of the tooth made him pout, which muffled a few of his words. “Another general rule, if unconnected people come swearing their lives on the same tale that seemed far-fetched, it’s worth considering…” He put the tooth away in his sleeve and grabbed the cup.

  He didn’t slam down the cup; he kept shaking it and sighed, “Some big names have clashed again.” Shiyin looked up at Hao, then back down at the stone between them. “Factions haven’t split yet, but… it seems inevitable that a few people will feel prideful of the robes they wear. The two big camps like this will be safe. The people who want to stand guard are good and will keep each other in check, but.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Qin Shiyin stopped himself, slamming the cup down. He counted the dice and stuck out his hand with a slight tremble. “How about a little drink for an old man’s nerves?”

  Hao handed over a small jar of wine. He had more than he could ever need or want. It wasn’t his to begin with, and he had no intention of drinking it. “The factions. Drifting Stream and Blue Moons Mountain?”

  The question made Shiyin flinch. His hand, half hidden by his white cloak, trembled as he looked up at the blue sleeve of Hao. The old man took the jar, ripped the top off, and drank from the porcelain itself, not looking around for a cup even though there was one right in front of him.

  “I don’t plan to kill someone I’ve shared a meal with without good reason; an imaginary form of solidarity with people I don’t know won’t drive me to run you through.”

  Hao tried to reassure the Shiyin. It seemed to work to an extent; the pace of his sipping at the pungent cheap wine slowed.

  “I know you won’t, but many would,” he laughed or tried to. “Simply having the same eye color is enough reason to make one person hate another. Just think about the Island dwellers off the southern edges of the world. They have been pushed away for longer than I have been alive.”

  The words urge Hao to flinch. He kept the reflex down, sending it away by reaching for the cup and dice again.

  “Some have already gone off that way,” Shiyin pointed out into the forest of orange trees, “and come back with fear in their eyes. The strong are always surprised when they meet people who could be considered monsters, for one or multiple reasons.” He looked back up at Hao, a flashing look of suspicion in his eyes. He tried to hide it behind his actions, like Hao did, but with much less success, nearly fumbling the cup, and losing one die in the grass.

  Hao saw where the dice rolled off. He reached down and picked it up, helping Shiyin, who was trembling from more than just cold now. Hao dropped it into the old man’s hand.

  “Just today, and yesterday, people drew weapons. Just a little talk can always bring people to the edge of their patience, but groups ambush each other…” Shiyin gripped the die in hand, putting the cup down gently. “Especially when the groups are influential.”

  Hao stopped the man by handing him the rest of the dice, then slid back on his hands, looking up at the empty sky, but the three blue moons. “I don’t have to ask. I’m sure my guess is good. Which groups, who leads them?”

  Shiyin gulped, “Last time they clashed, it was on fair ground. No one reacted; everyone agreed the fight was deserved, a punishment with no deaths. This time… The Drifting Stream Sect’s Mo Bangcai ambushed my—Blue Moon Mountains Sect’s Meng Hongyu, who got the nickname Sun-Touched swordsman after his face…” He paused and gasped for air. The search for breath lasted a little too long, his eyes darting to those who were still awake. “He killed two people at night in a surprise attack and said it was revenge from the Young Patriarch of the Drifting Stream.”

  Hao pushed himself up. His fingers left an imprint on the dirt as he leaned forward. “And now, either everyone is hating the Drifting Stream more than they already did? Do they believe his words?”

  “Well. To an extent, yes, people already partly ostracize people in blue robes, but not for being part of the Sect. But it’s a good excuse to,” he paused, putting the dice and cup away. “... More people looked at you when walking from the mountain today than at all the members of the Drifting Stream lying around the camp.”

  Hao nodded his head. “Mmm. So, it’s more acceptable to kill a member of the Drifting Stream for their loot than it is for other people. Ha! Makes sense…”

  Qin Shiyin nodded in silence.

  When Hao instigated the conflict by killing two members of Mo Bangcai’s group, he was hoping to avoid as much conflict with people not directly connected to Hongyu or Bangcai. This was the last thing he wasn’t expecting.

  Shiyin continued, “As for this Bangcai,” he looked up into Hao’s eyes as he said the name. “I know not a lot of people from your sect support him, some even denounce him, but with the wealth people claim that he has gathered and the title he has proclaimed himself during the attack, many are eager to join the Sun-Touched Swordsman to win riches.”

  Hao watched the last of the dice go up the creased white sleeve of the wrinkled man’s robes.

  As he stood, Shiyin said some words with a shake in his voice. “Martial Brother Li. I really do think it’s best to stay in the camp, gamble, and drink our time away until the Mid-Summer Cave is closed. Winter is almost here in full. It won’t be many days now. All the people who survive this trial will be going home with riches.”

  Hao could almost chuckle. Something warm touched his chest for just a second, that fake name used to address him in a kind, but fearful way. The subtle warmth faded as quickly as it had come.

  “Qin Shiyin, you are probably right. Let’s just say I’m going to hunt a little, or catch some fish, something of that sort.” Hao looked back with a smile. Even to him, the smile felt stiff. “The name Li is fake, by the way. My real name is Hao.” With a slight bow, Hao turned and left. Seven-Colored Steps made him fade into the subtle dark of night.

  The last words of Qin Shiyin echoed behind him as he stood at the treeline to the orange forest: “The young are always eager to kill or get killed. They never learn the joys of a long life.”