The Core Disciples currently residing in the capitol sat arrayed before the First Prince. The air in the room reverberated with Huang Jin’s words. The sound died away quickly in the misty courtroom; the qi in this room was nearly as suffocating as the air in the Ancestor’s chamber.

  The Great Dragon Emperor presided over the gathering, Elder Fu on his right and Chronicler Yong Qi on his left; other members of the family were seated on cushions in a semicircle centered around the three. It was a gathering of some of the most powerful individuals on the entire continent, and the prince had just made a completely ludicrous proposal- apparently. No voice rose in murmur, but he could feel discussions taking place through the medium of power; minds reaching out to minds within the ritual haze. A hint of real sadness, mixed with incredulity.

  The Emperor himself spoke. “These words cannot be unsaid.” The words cut through the room’s solemnity like a sword. Silent discussions ceased, that indescribable feeling of power elevated to an unbearable peak. The absolute voice continued, “In three days you shall depart. For five years, you will seek the Dao. Bring honor to this house. Bring glory to the Empire.” That was the end of it.

  Judgement passed, the nonverbal discussion returned, now in utter chaos. Huang Jin struggled to rise from his kowtow position onto his knees; he fought upwards as if immersed in water. He didn’t know if he should wait for them to finish. He didn’t know if they ever would. But the words came, a vital part of the ceremony: “Thank you, Great and Mighty Emperor.”

  According to traditions he’d read up on, the petitioner would now be allowed to stand up straight with eyes open, turn around, and walk out of the room. As he did so, he took in the faces of his close relatives. Shock, for the most part, and worry, and one of his aunts held her hand clenched on her knee with her face twisted and eyes closed. It looked like she wanted to slap someone or something. He didn’t understand, but… this was the right thing to do.

  He had permission to leave. Encouragement, even; the Emperor had not needed to think for one minute about the decision. His words implied that he wanted to prevent Huang Jin from backing out of the resolution, too. He hadn’t actually said ‘good riddance’ but that is exactly what the child heard. The chamber door made a solid ‘chunk’ sound as it closed behind the prince, signifying the final end of this chapter of his life.

  The Dao Journey was not some vague, nebulous thing for the royal family. Protocols were well established, and when big life events happened to members of the Imperial Household, everybody knew about them. The three days before his departure would be time to prepare, not only for himself, but for the city and the organizers, for this was to be an event.

  Huang Jin did not spend the night before departure in his room. For the last time, he was sure, he decided to sneak into the Imperial Army headquarters, just down the slope of the mountain from the palace grounds. So many people in his life deserved a good-bye, and he did his best to see all of them in that three-day window of time. He wouldn’t neglect Mantian.

  Huang Jin reached the inner depths of the barracks, where the more relevant personnel were housed. “Young Master!” a man in green and blue robes exclaimed. He was an Outer Disciple, one of the cultivators related to the Imperial Household by marriage and not yet by blood. “Came one last time to say goodbye, eh?” Gaoshu was older, far older, than the guard stationed by the outer wall, but as a cultivator, he looked maybe half of his actual age.

  “I couldn’t go without saying farewell to Mantian!” Huang Jin said. “Or, has she come out of meditation yet?”

  Gaoshu shook his head. “You’ll have to make do with me for now, I’m sorry.”

  There hadn’t been much hope, really, but he had to try. Mantian was fond of closed-door cultivation, and she had been deep within for months now. Huang Jin only sighed, and tried to keep his face smiling. “You’re a fine consolation prize, Gaoshu. Please wish me luck.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a moment; the housing of the Outer Disciples did not share the boisterous air of the outer sections of the barracks, where the mortals trained. The officer bent down to whisper into the prince’s ear. “Are you really going to be alright? I thought it was a nasty rumor at first… you know, both parts.” Presumably his diagnosis, and his leaving the palace.

  Huang Jin took a step back and looked into Gaoshu’s eyes. He was so tall, whispering required him to bend down nearly double. The prince felt truly small at that moment… and everyone had been acting so odd about his leaving. He was missing something, he knew it, but he could no longer alter his course.

  He shook off the pang, saying, “I’ll be fine, surely. You’ve heard that I’ve already Awakened, haven’t you?”

  Gaoshu’s worried expression did not change. “Stage one of the first Realm. Young Master, you’ll be without attendants- unguarded. Spirit beasts, bandits, traitors, and worse… I hope you don’t think the world is safe, having seen so little of it.”

  “I know it isn’t.” The prince looked down at his feet before going on, but the older man continued before he could.

  “If you’ll take my advice, it would be wisest to stay near the capitol for some time. Try to hunt a few lesser spirit beasts alongside the army near the border of the Wooded Heart. Stay close enough that the Empress can contact you when she gets back-”

  “No.” The word snapped out before Huang Jin could stop it. It came out raw, and he hated the sound. He went on in a more controlled tone. “Thank you. Thank you, for worrying about me. I hope that I can see you again.” As Gaoshu straightened, Huang Jin reached out and took his hand for a moment, as he had with Quanshui only a month ago.

  The man let the moment stretch for a few seconds, then gently withdrew. “Young Master, may the gods bless you on your journey. Please, be careful.”

  With his goodbyes said, the prince had the rest of the night to prepare for his departure.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the actual ceremony.

  -

  Huang Jin knelt before Chronicler Yong Qi, and more people than he believed to exist in the entire world waited behind him. His ancient great uncle’s words were familiar, but the atmosphere churned like a brewing storm on a summer’s day. He listed ancestors and feats, he praised the Honored Ancestor and the Empire, and he laid the same burden on the boy that his father had in the courtroom: “May you bring honor upon your line, and bring prosperity to the Jade Dragon Empire!”

  The crowd erupted into cheers, but the Chronicler did not let Huang Jin turn to meet them. Before releasing him, he whispered fiercely into the prince’s ear, “Take no risks. Come back as soon as the five years are up, to the day. You must return.” It was not spoken as a friendly warning, or a warm farewell as with Gaoshu. This was a command… seemingly given in fear.

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  But then the time came to pass through the crowd. The seething ocean of people split to allow him passage; a great procession passed through the crowd and into the main thoroughfare of the city. Two stone lions flanked the prince as he walked, with soldiers and musicians and all kinds of exotic beasts and displays coming up behind. Particles of colored paper and a glittery substance filled the air, along with the smell of firepowder.

  “Gold-in-Jade! Peace between East and West! Honor and peace!” cheered the crowd, deafeningly loud and coming from all directions. This great procession followed the prince all the way to the Eastern Gate, stopping only when the hollowed-out hill swallowed the road. Then, thundering fireworks, dancing, shouting, cheering from behind- and Huang Jin set off on his adventure. He prepared to face the world with only the hempen traveling clothes on his back, a humble cloak, a plain iron shortsword, and a small pouch of coins suitable to a commoner’s traveling expenses. The lone, ascetic cultivator, striving for the heavens.

  Then, at the earliest opportunity, he circled around the hill, rolled in some dirt, pulled down his cloak, and snuck back into the city by mingling with the seething crowd. He actually needed to head North, and it would take a very long time to circle back that way along the Eastern road. This way, he might prove less easy to track. Or so he hoped; he’d read about something like this in an old folktale.

  The better part of the day he spent wandering through crowded streets, trying to keep the lowest possible profile. He couldn’t help catching snippets of conversations as he picked his way through.

  A man asked a vendor, “Did you make it to the parade?”

  “Feh, had prep work all day. You know what happens to tourists when they’re exposed to fireworks? Play it off right, and a man won’t have to work for weeks.”

  Another man jabbered to his friend over a steaming cup of tea, “The Clans are watchin’ I tell ya… no good’ll come of this.”

  “Keep it down, oaf, the palace has ears on every wall…” and so on and so forth.

  Not everyone took part in the festive atmosphere. Throughout the Capitol, the ever-flowing river of trade continued unabated. Merchants packed the queue to the Northern Gate’s checkpoint. After far too long waiting in line, Huang Jin approached the booth only to hear the sounds of a brewing argument.

  A straggler, bringing up the rear of a merchant caravan that had already been waved through, gestured wildly at the customs officer. Peering past his hood, Huang Jin recognized the soldier. This was Zao Zhang, of the Imperial Army, one of those hopefuls who had transferred to the Army from one of the Sects. A mighty cultivator, by the standards of a transferee; he was in the ninth stage of the Realm of Masters. It spoke volumes about his character that the mortal before him was still alive; perhaps the merchant had never done business in the capitol before. The people waiting behind began to whisper nervously.

  “But I have the tax stamp right here!” the merchant explained, pointing to a scrap of paper. Even the little prince’s eyes, far less keen than a Master’s, could tell that the slip wasn't regulation dimensions. He spent enough time in the Hall of Missives to know how the Empire prepared its official documents.

  “This is a forgery,” Zhang said. “I'm already doing you a favor by assuming you've fallen victim to a fraud. No goods leave the city without paying the export tax. You can get a legitimate stamp at this booth.” His tone did not waver.

  “But, but I already paid for it, I have nothing left! I spent all of my coin on goods!” His wagon creaked and clinked, full of glassware.

  “Then you'll have to turn back and make other arrangements,” Zhang concluded, irritation edging into his voice. A sea of departing merchants and travelers lay behind; it wasn't the kind of crowd that one could easily maneuver a loaded wagon through.

  “But the rest of the caravan has gone through already, I'll never catch up!” The man whined, then his face shifted. “Don't tell me you were in on-”

  Huang Jin sprang to motion before the sentence could reach its conclusion. Army trained or from the Sects, no cultivator would accept that kind of disrespect from any mortal. He tore his hood down and poured qi into his voice. The word “Hold!” reverberated through the crowded passage.

  It was a sloppy technique, not even worth naming, just another thing he’d heard of. His voice rang out like a bell, a little higher pitched than he'd wanted. But it had the desired effect: Zhang froze. Approaching the booth, the prince noted that Zhang had already pulled his hand back for a blow that would have caved in the merchant’s skull like a paper lantern. Huang Jin took a position in front of the merchant, standing on tiptoe in front of the check station.

  Both parties stood stock still and stared down at him. The entire queue had gone silent.

  Huang Jin took the opportunity afforded by the pause to speak. As soon as he opened his mouth, however, he realized he didn't have a satisfactory way to resolve the situation. He couldn’t very well ask Zhang to just let the merchant go. Well, he could, but he wouldn’t. On the Dao Journey, one was supposed to act as a wandering cultivator, supposedly free from their connections. He’d dishonor himself, making demands of the Army.

  His roving eyes spotted a price guide for export taxes hanging on the booth. There was a hole in his prep work: now that he’d come to think of it, he’d never actually used money before, had he? He had a little pouch of seed coins for the road, but he didn’t know how much they were worth in real terms.

  Panicking, he just plopped his whole coin purse onto the counter. The thudding, jingling sound was uncomfortably noticeable in the pocket of silence. “Is this enough?” he asked.

  Shaking himself out of the shock, Zhang managed to count the money. “Er, not quite, Young Master,” he said at last, as if these words required his entire reserve of mental energy.

  The merchant came through, apparently counting the money even as the cultivator did, and producing the exact difference on the spot. “Just enough!” he said, suddenly much brighter.

  Zhang gave the man a suspicious look, but he retrieved the proper paper, put the necessary stamp on it, and waved the merchant through… and Huang Jin, at the same time. Just like that, the prince had managed to lose his entire stock of funds for the journey.

  Once free of the great city, he fell in step with the glass merchant as the latter tried to catch up to the rest of his caravan. The ox did not seem in the least perturbed by the whole situation, and kept its own pace effortlessly.

  The prince hesitated as the merchant said nothing. “I don’t suppose you would have room for a passenger?” he said at last.

  The man’s face wrinkled, then he lifted his shoulders as high as they would go. “Don’t mistake me, I appreciate the help and all. I just have so little to spare…”

  Huang Jin bit his lip. “Well, you see, that was all the money I had back there.”

  “Oh.”

  Awkward silence dragged on, deafening above the sound of wooden wheels on cobblestone. No supplies, no money, and no real survival training- but he wasn’t entirely empty-handed. “Maybe you can’t afford a passenger, but could the caravan use an extra guard? I may not look it, but I am a cultivator!”

  Slowing his pace, the merchant turned a bewildered gaze on the child next to him. The prince met his eyes with the brightest smile he could muster, flipping his cloak to reveal his shortsword.

  As if he were working something out in his head, the merchant turned his eyes upward. “The man at the gate called you ‘Young Master.’” He displayed no signs of fear, only calculation. “A real cultivator, as a guard… forget me, that’s out of our budget altogether!”

  “I’ll work for room and board!”

  “Will you? I can talk to the leadsman about it, at least,” the merchant decided.

  Thus, the son of the Emperor got his first-ever actual job. He strongly suspected that the caravan folk thought it was a joke; a nine-year-old marching around the carts and carriages with a cute little sword at his side. Playing pretend. But for all that, they gave him food, shelter, and company for the long northward road.

  Until, of course, they couldn’t.