Chapter 4: The First Blood and the Last Laugh

The morning fog clung to Su Yun's robes like a second skin.

Three days had passed since the tournament began. Three days of watching stronger contestants parade past his camp with captured beasts—xiao yaoguai that chittered in bamboo cages, feathered serpents coiled around their masters' arms. Three days of eating cold rice and watching Qiongqi grow weaker.

The cub hadn't eaten in two days.

Su Yun sat cross-legged on the damp grass, the Shan Hai Jing scroll spread across his knees. The ancient text spoke of Qiongqi's nature—"a beast that feeds on conflict, that grows strong on the blood of battle, that bonds only with those who have stared into the abyss and refused to blink."

He looked at the cub. It looked back with those mismatched eyes—one gold, one silver—and yawned, revealing needle-sharp fangs.

"You're not helping," Su Yun muttered.

Something rustled in the bamboo grove to his left.

He was on his feet before his mind caught up, the rope coiled in his hand. The cub tensed beside him, a low growl building in its throat.

"Easy," he whispered. "We don't know what it is."

The bamboo parted.

A boy stepped out—maybe fourteen, maybe younger, with the kind of soft hands that had never held a rope before. His robes were silk, embroidered with the golden crane of the Celestial Harmony Sect. Behind him, a crimson serpent slithered, its scales catching the morning light like polished rubies.

"Found you," the boy said, smiling. "I'm Lin Wei. Third disciple of Master Zhao." He tilted his head. "You're the stable boy, right? The one with the crippled beast?"

Su Yun's jaw tightened. "She's not crippled."

"She's starving." Lin Wei's smile widened. "I've been watching you. Three days, and you haven't caught a single creature. You haven't even tried." He stepped closer, the serpent rising behind him. "The tournament only lasts a month. At this rate, you'll be eliminated before the first week ends."

Su Yun said nothing. His hand found the rope's end, felt its familiar weight.

"I'm offering you a deal," Lin Wei continued. "Give me that Qiongqi. It's useless to you anyway. But to the Celestial Harmony Sect—well, we have resources. We can find a use for it. In exchange, I'll give you a lesser beast. Something you can actually bond with." He snapped his fingers, and the serpent hissed. "Maybe even a Jiao. They're common, but they can carry you through the first round."

The cub pressed against Su Yun's leg. He could feel it trembling—not from fear, but from hunger. From rage.

"No."

Lin Wei's smile flickered. "I'm trying to help you."

"I didn't ask for help."

"You're embarrassing yourself." The boy's voice sharpened. "Everyone's talking about it. The stable boy who thinks he's a tamer. The cripple with the crippled beast." He gestured at the cub. "That thing should have been put down at birth. It's an aberration. A mistake."

Something cold settled in Su Yun's chest.

"You don't know anything about her."

"I know she's going to die." Lin Wei's voice was flat now. "Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. But she's going to die, and you're going to watch, and then you're going to go back to your village and spend the rest of your life feeding horses." He turned away, the serpent following. "Think about my offer. It won't stand forever."

He walked into the bamboo, and the forest swallowed him whole.

Su Yun stood there for a long moment, breathing hard. The cub whined, nudging his hand.

"I know," he said quietly. "I know."

---

That night, Su Yun made a decision.

The tournament grounds stretched for miles—a patchwork of forests, rivers, and mountains, each zone seeded with beasts from the Shan Hai Jing. The deeper you went, the more dangerous they became. And the more valuable.

Most contestants stayed in the outer zones, capturing lesser beasts for points. But the real prizes—the legendary beasts that could change a tamer's fate—lived in the heart of the tournament grounds. In the place they called the Crimson Valley.

No one had ever come back from the Crimson Valley.

Su Yun packed his rope, his scroll, and his empty rice pouch. The cub watched him with those mismatched eyes, a question in their depths.

"We're going in," he told her. "Deep."

She tilted her head.

"I know it's dangerous. I know we might not make it." He knelt, meeting her gaze. "But we're going to die out here anyway. Either from hunger, or from someone like Lin Wei, or from the shame of going home with nothing." He touched her head, felt the warmth of her fur. "I'd rather die trying."

The cub licked his hand. Then she stood, tail high, and walked toward the treeline.

She stopped. Looked back.

Waiting for him.

Su Yun laughed—a broken, desperate sound—and followed.

---

They walked through the night.

The outer zones gave way to denser forest, where the trees grew so thick that moonlight barely touched the ground. Strange sounds echoed through the darkness—calls that might have been birds, might have been something else. The cub moved ahead of him, her nose to the ground, her ears swiveling at every sound.

She was hunting.

Su Yun followed, trusting her instincts. She was a Qiongqi. Even starving, even weak, she was still a Qiongqi. And Qiongqi were apex predators.

At dawn, she found something.

A clearing, bathed in pale light. In the center, a pool of water so clear it looked like glass. And drinking from it, a creature Su Yun had only seen in the scrolls.

The Xiāo was beautiful in the way a knife was beautiful. Its body was like a snow leopard, but larger, its fur white with black rosettes. Its face was human-like—almost—with intelligent eyes that watched them both with cold calculation. A single horn curved from its forehead, spiraling like a unicorn's.

It was a fourth-rank beast. Su Yun knew that from Master Han's lessons. Fourth-rank meant it could kill a dozen armed men without breaking a sweat.

The Xiāo lifted its head, water dripping from its muzzle.

It looked at the cub. The cub looked back.

For a long moment, nothing moved.

Then the Xiāo spoke, its voice like wind through bamboo. "You bring a starving thing to my pool. Is this a challenge?"

Su Yun's blood went cold.

The cub stepped forward. She didn't growl. Didn't bare her teeth. She just walked toward the Xiāo, her gait steady, her eyes locked on its face.

"You are bold," the Xiāo said. "Or foolish."

The cub kept walking.

"The difference is often small."

Ten feet away, the cub stopped. She sat down. And she waited.

Su Yun held his breath.

The Xiāo watched her for a long time. Then, slowly, it lowered its head and took another drink.

"You may share my pool," it said. "For now."

The cub dipped her head and drank.

Su Yun's legs gave out. He sat down hard on the grass, his heart pounding, his hands shaking. He had just watched his half-starved cub stare down a fourth-rank beast and win.

Not with strength. With something else.

He didn't know what. But he knew it mattered.

---

Three hours later, Su Yun caught his first beast.

It wasn't the Xiāo—that one left after drinking, disappearing into the forest like smoke. But while the cub slept by the pool, a lesser beast wandered into the clearing: a Hǔ, a small tiger-like creature with stripes that shifted like shadows.

Su Yun didn't think. He moved.

The rope flew from his hand, looping around the Hǔ's hind leg. It snarled, twisting, but Su Yun held fast, pulling, using the tree behind him for leverage. The cub woke, saw what was happening, and padded over to stand beside him.

The Hǔ saw the cub. It stopped struggling.

Su Yun felt something click in his chest—a connection, like a lock turning. The beast's resistance melted, and he knew, with a certainty that surprised him, that it had accepted him as its tamer.

He had done it.

He had caught his first beast.

Su Yun knelt, breathing hard, and looked at the Hǔ. It looked back with amber eyes, its stripes rippling like liquid shadow.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Su Yun."

The Hǔ blinked. Then it padded over and rubbed against his leg.

Su Yun laughed. Laughed until his ribs ached, until tears streamed down his face. The cub watched him with what might have been amusement, her tail flicking.

For the first time in three days, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could do this.

---

The celebration didn't last.

A roar split the forest—deep, primal, shaking the very ground. The cub's ears flattened. The Hǔ fled, disappearing into the undergrowth.

Su Yun turned.

The Xiāo stumbled into the clearing, its beautiful white coat streaked with blood. One of its legs was broken, bent at an impossible angle. Its horn was cracked, splintered.

It looked at Su Yun with those intelligent eyes, and for the first time, he saw something he hadn't expected.

Fear.

"Run," it said, its voice a whisper. "The Celestial Harmony Sect. They've found the Crimson Valley's heart."

"What—"

"They're coming for the Beasts of the Nine Realms." The Xiāo coughed, blood bubbling from its mouth. "And they're killing everything in their path."

It collapsed.

And in the distance, Su Yun heard it—the sound of drums. The sound of a sect marching to war.

The cub pressed against his leg, growling.

Su Yun looked at the fallen Xiāo. Looked at the cub. Looked at the forest that was suddenly, terrifyingly, no longer empty.

He had come here to catch beasts.

But the beasts were the least dangerous things in these woods.