Chapter 3: The Blood Price of Bonding
~1.8k words · 2026-06-22
The tournament grounds sprawled across three valleys, connected by stone bridges that arched over mist-filled chasms. Su Yun had never seen so many people in one place. Thousands of cultivators crowded the registration platforms, their beasts tethered to bronze posts or coiled around their shoulders like living jewelry.
A woman walked past with a Zouwu draped across her neck—a five-tailed leopard that purred like grinding stones. A man in silk robes carried a juvenile Bifang on his shoulder, the single-legged crane eyeing the crowd with predatory disinterest. Each beast radiated power that made Su Yun’s skin prickle.
He clutched the rope tied around Qiongqi’s neck. The cub had stopped shivering, but its bones still showed through patchy fur. A woman in orange robes pointed at them and laughed. Her companion joined in.
“Did he bring a wild dog?”
“Look at it. That thing’s going to die in the qualifiers.”
Su Yun kept walking. His fingers tightened on the rope until his knuckles went white.
The registration desk stretched across a hundred feet of carved jade. Twenty officials sat behind it, each processing a different tier of competitor. Su Yun found the one marked “Unranked” and joined the shortest line.
An hour passed. Then two.
Qiongqi sat at his feet, watching the other beasts with unnerving stillness. Su Yun had expected it to cower. Instead, the cub studied each creature like a hunter memorizing prey. Its golden eyes tracked every movement, every flick of a tail, every bared fang.
“Next.”
The official didn’t look up from his scroll. He was old, with white hair pulled into a topknot and cultivation robes so plain they might have been peasant clothes. But his hands moved with precision that spoke of decades of practice.
“Name?”
“Su Yun of Crescent Village.”
“Beast?”
“Qiongqi.”
The official’s brush stopped. He looked up for the first time, his eyes scanning the cub with professional assessment. “A Qiongqi. That’s a bold choice for an unranked tamer.”
“I didn’t choose it. It chose me.”
“They always say that.” The official dipped his brush. “You know the rules?”
“No.”
This earned a thin smile. “At least you’re honest. First qualifier is tomorrow at dawn. You’ll be assigned a hunting zone in the Eastern Valleys. Capture a beast of at least Silver rank within three hours, or you’re eliminated.”
“Capture it alive?”
“Capture it however you can. But the beast must survive to be registered. Dead beasts disqualify you.”
Su Yun nodded. He’d never hunted a Silver rank beast. The strongest thing he’d ever faced was a corrupted Iron-rank hare that had been terrorizing his village’s cabbage fields.
“One more thing.” The official leaned forward, his voice dropping. “The tournament has a blood price. Every year, some tamers don’t come back. The beasts here are not civilized. They are not trained pets. They are the children of Shan Hai Jing, and they remember when humans were prey.”
The official handed him a copper token stamped with the character for “Seven.” “Zone Seven. Don’t be late.”
---
Su Yun found a spot against the outer wall of the competitor’s compound. He’d spent his last three copper coins on dried meat and water, and now he sat with his back to cold stone, sharing half his meal with Qiongqi.
The cub ate like it hadn’t seen food in weeks. Which it hadn’t.
“We need a plan,” Su Yun said, tearing a strip of meat with his teeth. “I don’t know anything about Silver rank beasts. I don’t know anything about hunting. I don’t—”
A shadow fell over him.
He looked up to find a young man in forest-green robes, a juvenile Xiezhi at his side—a goat-like beast with a single horn and scales instead of fur. The beast’s silver eyes held an intelligence that made Su Yun’s skin crawl.
“You’re the one with the Qiongqi.”
It wasn’t a question. Su Yun stood slowly, keeping his body between the stranger and his cub.
“I am.”
“Name’s Lin Feng. Third rank disciple of the Heavenly Harmony Sect.” The young man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I wanted to see the fool who thought he could tame a Qiongqi with a piece of rope.”
Qiongqi growled. The sound came from deep in its chest, barely audible but felt in the bones.
“He’s not a thing to be tamed,” Su Yun said. “He’s my partner.”
Lin Feng laughed. The Xiezhi sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring. “Partner. How quaint. Do you know what happened to the last person who tried to bond with a Qiongqi?”
“Tell me.”
“He died. The beast ate his heart while he was still breathing. They found them three days later—the Qiongqi was curled around his corpse, protecting it from scavengers.” Lin Feng’s smile widened. “Qiongqi are death spirits. They don’t bond. They wait.”
Su Yun felt the words like physical blows. He glanced down at the cub, at its ribs showing through patchy fur, at the way it pressed against his leg as if seeking warmth.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? Check your chest, stable boy. Do you have a mark?”
Su Yun’s hand went to his sternum. Beneath his shirt, his fingers found raised flesh—a pattern he’d assumed was a bruise from the fall. But now, touching it, he felt heat. A pulse that matched his heartbeat.
“You have one, don’t you?” Lin Feng’s voice turned cold. “The blood mark. It means the bond is incomplete. The beast hasn’t decided whether to accept you or eat you. The tournament will force that decision.”
He turned to leave, the Xiezhi following at his heel. “I hope you survive, stable boy. It would be a waste to die before the interesting matches.”
---
Su Yun didn’t sleep that night.
He sat in the corner of the compound, Qiongqi curled in his lap, and watched the stars wheel overhead. The cub’s warmth was the only thing that felt real. Everything else—the tournament, the cultivators, Lin Feng’s words—seemed like a dream he couldn’t wake from.
“I don’t know if he was telling the truth,” Su Yun whispered. “But I know one thing. I’m not giving up on you.”
Qiongqi’s ear twitched.
“We’re going to survive tomorrow. We’re going to capture a Silver rank beast. And then we’re going to win this tournament. Not because I’m strong. Because I have nowhere else to go.”
The cub lifted its head. Its golden eyes met his, and for a moment, Su Yun felt something pass between them—a spark of recognition, of understanding.
Then Qiongqi yawned, showing needle-sharp teeth, and went back to sleep.
---
Dawn came cold and grey.
Su Yun reported to Zone Seven with a hundred other competitors. The Eastern Valleys stretched before them, a maze of gorges and caves, thick with mist that swallowed sound and light.
The tournament officials gave brief instructions: stay within the zone boundaries, do not attack other competitors, survive until the bell rings.
Su Yun tightened the rope around Qiongqi’s neck. The cub was alert now, ears pricked forward, muscles tense beneath its patchy fur.
“Ready?” Su Yun asked.
Qiongqi growled. It sounded like agreement.
The bell rang.
Beast tamers surged forward, their creatures howling and screeching, fanning out into the mist. Su Yun held back, watching the chaos unfold around him. He’d learned long ago that charging into danger was a good way to die.
“We go slow,” he told Qiongqi. “We watch. We wait for an opening.”
The cub flicked its tail. Whether it understood or not, it stayed close as Su Yun crept into the valley, following the edge of a cliff where the mist was thinner.
An hour passed. Then two.
He saw tamers fighting beasts, beasts fighting each other, tamers fighting tamers over claiming rights. He saw a man get thrown off a cliff by a rampaging Baize. He saw a woman’s Xun—a six-tailed fox—biting through the spine of a Lesser Yaoguai.
But he didn’t find anything he could capture.
“We’re running out of time,” Su Yun muttered, checking the position of the sun. Two hours left. Maybe less.
Qiongqi suddenly stopped. Its ears flattened. A low rumble built in its chest.
“What is it?”
The cub didn’t answer. It stared into a cave entrance half-hidden by hanging vines. The darkness within seemed to breathe.
Su Yun’s instincts screamed at him to run.
But he had nothing else. No plan, no backup, no other options.
He stepped into the cave.
The smell hit him first—copper and rot, the stench of fresh blood. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light filtering through cracks in the ceiling.
And then he saw it.
A beast the size of a horse, covered in scales that gleamed like polished iron. Its head was feline, but its body was serpentine, with six legs ending in claws that had carved trenches into the stone floor. Its eyes were pits of molten gold.
Su Yun recognized it from the shan hai jing illustrations in his grandmother’s book.
A Zhulong.
A Silver-rank beast that breathed shadows instead of fire. A creature that could swallow light and leave its prey blind before it struck.
The Zhulong turned its head. It had been feeding on something—a corpse that Su Yun couldn’t identify, too torn apart to recognize. Blood dripped from its jaws.
It focused on him.
On Qiongqi.
The cub didn’t flinch. Didn’t retreat. Instead, it stepped forward, placing itself between Su Yun and the predator.
And it growled.
Not the weak, hungry sound from before. This was something else. Something ancient. A vibration that resonated in Su Yun’s chest, that made the air tremble.
The Zhulong hesitated.
For a split second, the larger beast looked uncertain. Its golden eyes flickered between the cub and the shadows gathering around its own body.
Then it lunged.
Su Yun barely had time to throw himself sideways. The Zhulong’s claws raked the air where he’d been standing, carving furrows in the stone floor. He hit the ground hard, scrambling backward, reaching for Qiongqi—
The cub was already moving.
Small and fast, it darted under the Zhulong’s strike, sinking its teeth into the larger beast’s foreleg. The Zhulong roared, thrashing, trying to dislodge the cub. But Qiongqi held on, jaws locked, claws digging into scales.
Blood sprayed.
Su Yun grabbed a rock and threw it. It bounced off the Zhulong’s head, doing nothing. He threw another. And another. Anything to distract it.
The Zhulong turned. Its molten eyes fixed on him.
And behind it, Qiongqi climbed.
The cub scrambled up the Zhulong’s back, using its scales as handholds, ignoring the thrashing and the roaring. It reached the base of the beast’s neck and bit down.
Deep.
The Zhulong screamed. Not a roar—a scream, high-pitched and desperate. It collapsed, legs folding, body going still.
Su Yun
A woman walked past with a Zouwu draped across her neck—a five-tailed leopard that purred like grinding stones. A man in silk robes carried a juvenile Bifang on his shoulder, the single-legged crane eyeing the crowd with predatory disinterest. Each beast radiated power that made Su Yun’s skin prickle.
He clutched the rope tied around Qiongqi’s neck. The cub had stopped shivering, but its bones still showed through patchy fur. A woman in orange robes pointed at them and laughed. Her companion joined in.
“Did he bring a wild dog?”
“Look at it. That thing’s going to die in the qualifiers.”
Su Yun kept walking. His fingers tightened on the rope until his knuckles went white.
The registration desk stretched across a hundred feet of carved jade. Twenty officials sat behind it, each processing a different tier of competitor. Su Yun found the one marked “Unranked” and joined the shortest line.
An hour passed. Then two.
Qiongqi sat at his feet, watching the other beasts with unnerving stillness. Su Yun had expected it to cower. Instead, the cub studied each creature like a hunter memorizing prey. Its golden eyes tracked every movement, every flick of a tail, every bared fang.
“Next.”
The official didn’t look up from his scroll. He was old, with white hair pulled into a topknot and cultivation robes so plain they might have been peasant clothes. But his hands moved with precision that spoke of decades of practice.
“Name?”
“Su Yun of Crescent Village.”
“Beast?”
“Qiongqi.”
The official’s brush stopped. He looked up for the first time, his eyes scanning the cub with professional assessment. “A Qiongqi. That’s a bold choice for an unranked tamer.”
“I didn’t choose it. It chose me.”
“They always say that.” The official dipped his brush. “You know the rules?”
“No.”
This earned a thin smile. “At least you’re honest. First qualifier is tomorrow at dawn. You’ll be assigned a hunting zone in the Eastern Valleys. Capture a beast of at least Silver rank within three hours, or you’re eliminated.”
“Capture it alive?”
“Capture it however you can. But the beast must survive to be registered. Dead beasts disqualify you.”
Su Yun nodded. He’d never hunted a Silver rank beast. The strongest thing he’d ever faced was a corrupted Iron-rank hare that had been terrorizing his village’s cabbage fields.
“One more thing.” The official leaned forward, his voice dropping. “The tournament has a blood price. Every year, some tamers don’t come back. The beasts here are not civilized. They are not trained pets. They are the children of Shan Hai Jing, and they remember when humans were prey.”
The official handed him a copper token stamped with the character for “Seven.” “Zone Seven. Don’t be late.”
---
Su Yun found a spot against the outer wall of the competitor’s compound. He’d spent his last three copper coins on dried meat and water, and now he sat with his back to cold stone, sharing half his meal with Qiongqi.
The cub ate like it hadn’t seen food in weeks. Which it hadn’t.
“We need a plan,” Su Yun said, tearing a strip of meat with his teeth. “I don’t know anything about Silver rank beasts. I don’t know anything about hunting. I don’t—”
A shadow fell over him.
He looked up to find a young man in forest-green robes, a juvenile Xiezhi at his side—a goat-like beast with a single horn and scales instead of fur. The beast’s silver eyes held an intelligence that made Su Yun’s skin crawl.
“You’re the one with the Qiongqi.”
It wasn’t a question. Su Yun stood slowly, keeping his body between the stranger and his cub.
“I am.”
“Name’s Lin Feng. Third rank disciple of the Heavenly Harmony Sect.” The young man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I wanted to see the fool who thought he could tame a Qiongqi with a piece of rope.”
Qiongqi growled. The sound came from deep in its chest, barely audible but felt in the bones.
“He’s not a thing to be tamed,” Su Yun said. “He’s my partner.”
Lin Feng laughed. The Xiezhi sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring. “Partner. How quaint. Do you know what happened to the last person who tried to bond with a Qiongqi?”
“Tell me.”
“He died. The beast ate his heart while he was still breathing. They found them three days later—the Qiongqi was curled around his corpse, protecting it from scavengers.” Lin Feng’s smile widened. “Qiongqi are death spirits. They don’t bond. They wait.”
Su Yun felt the words like physical blows. He glanced down at the cub, at its ribs showing through patchy fur, at the way it pressed against his leg as if seeking warmth.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? Check your chest, stable boy. Do you have a mark?”
Su Yun’s hand went to his sternum. Beneath his shirt, his fingers found raised flesh—a pattern he’d assumed was a bruise from the fall. But now, touching it, he felt heat. A pulse that matched his heartbeat.
“You have one, don’t you?” Lin Feng’s voice turned cold. “The blood mark. It means the bond is incomplete. The beast hasn’t decided whether to accept you or eat you. The tournament will force that decision.”
He turned to leave, the Xiezhi following at his heel. “I hope you survive, stable boy. It would be a waste to die before the interesting matches.”
---
Su Yun didn’t sleep that night.
He sat in the corner of the compound, Qiongqi curled in his lap, and watched the stars wheel overhead. The cub’s warmth was the only thing that felt real. Everything else—the tournament, the cultivators, Lin Feng’s words—seemed like a dream he couldn’t wake from.
“I don’t know if he was telling the truth,” Su Yun whispered. “But I know one thing. I’m not giving up on you.”
Qiongqi’s ear twitched.
“We’re going to survive tomorrow. We’re going to capture a Silver rank beast. And then we’re going to win this tournament. Not because I’m strong. Because I have nowhere else to go.”
The cub lifted its head. Its golden eyes met his, and for a moment, Su Yun felt something pass between them—a spark of recognition, of understanding.
Then Qiongqi yawned, showing needle-sharp teeth, and went back to sleep.
---
Dawn came cold and grey.
Su Yun reported to Zone Seven with a hundred other competitors. The Eastern Valleys stretched before them, a maze of gorges and caves, thick with mist that swallowed sound and light.
The tournament officials gave brief instructions: stay within the zone boundaries, do not attack other competitors, survive until the bell rings.
Su Yun tightened the rope around Qiongqi’s neck. The cub was alert now, ears pricked forward, muscles tense beneath its patchy fur.
“Ready?” Su Yun asked.
Qiongqi growled. It sounded like agreement.
The bell rang.
Beast tamers surged forward, their creatures howling and screeching, fanning out into the mist. Su Yun held back, watching the chaos unfold around him. He’d learned long ago that charging into danger was a good way to die.
“We go slow,” he told Qiongqi. “We watch. We wait for an opening.”
The cub flicked its tail. Whether it understood or not, it stayed close as Su Yun crept into the valley, following the edge of a cliff where the mist was thinner.
An hour passed. Then two.
He saw tamers fighting beasts, beasts fighting each other, tamers fighting tamers over claiming rights. He saw a man get thrown off a cliff by a rampaging Baize. He saw a woman’s Xun—a six-tailed fox—biting through the spine of a Lesser Yaoguai.
But he didn’t find anything he could capture.
“We’re running out of time,” Su Yun muttered, checking the position of the sun. Two hours left. Maybe less.
Qiongqi suddenly stopped. Its ears flattened. A low rumble built in its chest.
“What is it?”
The cub didn’t answer. It stared into a cave entrance half-hidden by hanging vines. The darkness within seemed to breathe.
Su Yun’s instincts screamed at him to run.
But he had nothing else. No plan, no backup, no other options.
He stepped into the cave.
The smell hit him first—copper and rot, the stench of fresh blood. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light filtering through cracks in the ceiling.
And then he saw it.
A beast the size of a horse, covered in scales that gleamed like polished iron. Its head was feline, but its body was serpentine, with six legs ending in claws that had carved trenches into the stone floor. Its eyes were pits of molten gold.
Su Yun recognized it from the shan hai jing illustrations in his grandmother’s book.
A Zhulong.
A Silver-rank beast that breathed shadows instead of fire. A creature that could swallow light and leave its prey blind before it struck.
The Zhulong turned its head. It had been feeding on something—a corpse that Su Yun couldn’t identify, too torn apart to recognize. Blood dripped from its jaws.
It focused on him.
On Qiongqi.
The cub didn’t flinch. Didn’t retreat. Instead, it stepped forward, placing itself between Su Yun and the predator.
And it growled.
Not the weak, hungry sound from before. This was something else. Something ancient. A vibration that resonated in Su Yun’s chest, that made the air tremble.
The Zhulong hesitated.
For a split second, the larger beast looked uncertain. Its golden eyes flickered between the cub and the shadows gathering around its own body.
Then it lunged.
Su Yun barely had time to throw himself sideways. The Zhulong’s claws raked the air where he’d been standing, carving furrows in the stone floor. He hit the ground hard, scrambling backward, reaching for Qiongqi—
The cub was already moving.
Small and fast, it darted under the Zhulong’s strike, sinking its teeth into the larger beast’s foreleg. The Zhulong roared, thrashing, trying to dislodge the cub. But Qiongqi held on, jaws locked, claws digging into scales.
Blood sprayed.
Su Yun grabbed a rock and threw it. It bounced off the Zhulong’s head, doing nothing. He threw another. And another. Anything to distract it.
The Zhulong turned. Its molten eyes fixed on him.
And behind it, Qiongqi climbed.
The cub scrambled up the Zhulong’s back, using its scales as handholds, ignoring the thrashing and the roaring. It reached the base of the beast’s neck and bit down.
Deep.
The Zhulong screamed. Not a roar—a scream, high-pitched and desperate. It collapsed, legs folding, body going still.
Su Yun