Xiang Xian straightened A Huang’s feathers as he curled by the stone, finding a fallen one. He pocketed it for later use. Seeing Xiao Kun notice, he offered a Golden-Red Bird Feather to him.
“And now?”
“Much better now,” Xiao Kun said. “It’s necessary. After all, I need to know the world I must protect.”
Xiang Xian suddenly thought of something. “Once we get the Heart Lamp, then what?”
Xiao Kun pondered. “The Heart Lamp will seek a host, as we discussed.”
Xiang Xian: “Who becomes the Heart Lamp’s host?”
Xiao Kun: “Me, of course. As we agreed. Forgot? Or is there someone better?”
Xiang Xian: “Do you know how to draw the Heart Lamp into your body?”
“Touch it,” Xiao Kun said. “When the Heart Lamp’s successor was undecided and the Magic Treasure was unclaimed, that’s how it entered its host.”
Xiang Xian thought differently—they sought the Heart Lamp, but might enemies want to destroy it? No demons had appeared along the way, which was unusual. They should have been tailed.
But perhaps the Heart Lamp restrained demons, so the Demon Race instinctively feared it?
“How do you know it’ll choose you?” Xiang Xian asked Xiao Kun.
“Don’t I seem acknowledged by it?” Xiao Kun said candidly. “Don’t laugh, but despite my flaws, I’ve always held myself strictly to guard my true heart… What’s that look?”
Xiang Xian laughed. “You’ve not only guarded your heart—you’re stubborn too!”
Xiao Kun: “Yes, I am stubborn.”
Xiang Xian’s heart stirred. Indeed. He’d wondered why Xiao Kun attracted him so—was it looks? No, likely his resilient, responsible character. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, Xiang Xian admired him.
When Xiao Kun erred, he apologized proactively and self-reflected; he cherished bonds and fates with all; he repaid kindness, pitied the weak, bowed to no power; he saw slaying the Heavenly Demon as his duty, never shirking; he shunned gluttony, lived upright and frugally, unmoved by externals… The so-called “filial and incorrupt” was just this.
Had they met young, Xiao Kun would be the paragon admired by Jiangnan youths. Xiang Xian couldn’t fathom what family forged such character—perhaps “innate” explained it.
Xiao Kun added, “Besides, we have no better choice than me.”
“Fine,” Xiang Xian said. “I think you can do it. But if it doesn’t…”
“Don’t jinx it.” Xiao Kun frowned.
Xiang Xian always bit off more than he could chew—the Wisdom Sword unused well, now craving the Heart Lamp. No one minded being too strong. If Xiao Kun got it, he’d accept it.
The situation remained murky, but Xiao Kun’s plan was simple: find the Heart Lamp and claim it. Then, with Xiang Xian’s Wisdom Sword, track the Demon King, defeat his minions, and purify the lurking foe.
The next morning dawned gray, winds rising.
“Bad weather,” Wu Yingzong said.
“We must hurry,” Xiao Kun decided. “Find Gobi shelter along the way. It might be a sandstorm—too dangerous in the open.”
Though new to the Western Regions, Xiao Kun knew of frontier climes. Sure enough, soon after departing, the sandstorm hit.
Xiao Kun and Xiang Xian dismounted to scout, leaving Chaosheng inside as Wu Yingzong drove.
The storm blotted sky and sun. Xiang Xian covered his mouth and nose with cloth and shouted, “Gobi ahead! It’ll block the wind! Follow me!”
“Xiang Xian! Xiang Xian!”
Yellow sands swirled everywhere, darkening heaven and earth with raging grit and gales. Xiang Xian led them toward the Gobi rocks, but Xiao Kun anxiously called his name.
A hand seized his wrist. Xiang Xian spun around to find Xiao Kun.
Xiao Kun snapped, “Where do you think you’re going head down like that! Too far!”
When Xiang Xian turned back again, he realized he could no longer see the carriage. Xiao Kun gripped him tightly, and they retraced their steps by memory to find it. Moments later, he drew his blade with his other hand, and it glowed blue amid the sandstorm. They heard the horses neighing and followed the sound to the carriage.
Xiang Xian leaned close to Xiao Kun’s ear and shouted, “There are people ahead!”
In the middle of the Gobi Cluster stood several houses with their doors flung open in the gale. A man rushed toward them, shouting in Uyghur, urging them to hurry inside. Wu Yingzong pushed the carriage into the Gobi, transformed back into human form, and Xiang Xian and Xiao Kun entered the fenced area outside the house, where the wind died down considerably. Once the man led them inside and slammed the door shut with a bang, the world finally fell quiet.
A young man and an old woman, mother and son, lived in this Gobi Cluster. The young man smiled and said something in Uyghur, but his features did not resemble those of a Uyghur.
The lamplight was dim, and outside, the mad sands howled.
Chaosheng saw the power of nature for the first time and brimmed with curiosity. He pressed close to the window to feel it, but the young man pulled him back and made him sit properly in a chair, handing him a cup of water.
“Thank you.” Xiang Xian and Xiao Kun were utterly disheveled, covered head to toe in sand, and they exchanged a smile.
They could not communicate with the stranger mother and son, but through gestures, they roughly understood each other. The young man said a lot—undoubtedly something like, “This hellish weather is no good for traveling”—and ended with a few questions.
“Song,” Xiang Xian said, pointing outside. “We’re from Kaifeng of Great Song.”
“Song!” The young man understood and nodded.
The old mother rose, bowed, and went down to the cellar to fetch food. Xiao Kun immediately said, “No need to trouble yourself. We’ll leave once the sandstorm passes.”
Wu Yingzong entered last, bumping his head on the low doorframe.
“The horses got spooked and ran off,” Wu Yingzong said. “We need to find them.”
“We’ll deal with it later. Let A Huang go look,” Xiang Xian said. “Everyone rest first.”
A Huang: “Me again?”
Xiang Xian: “I’m not asking you to go right now.”
