Ji Xuanxuan stood by, biting her lip, her face clouded with gloom. After a long pause, she dropped the fawning smile she’d worn for Axel, pouting defiantly. “I’m not selling! No matter the price, I’m not selling!”

  Axel blinked, puzzled. “Why not?”

  “No reason—I just won’t sell! Give me back the tract!” She thrust out her hand, resolute. Axel frowned. “Are you worried I won’t pay?”

  “If it’s for you, I’d give him away free,” Ji Xuanxuan said, her eyes reddening, tears welling up. “But I know you’re buying him to please her!”

  Axel froze, his stern face softening into a mix of helplessness and veiled pain. “She’s leaving this pce forever—do you still hate her so much?” he murmured.

  Ji Xuanxuan’s resentful, aggrieved gre wavered, though she kept her lips cmped shut.

  The two stood locked in a silent standoff, the square falling quiet.

  Xia Feng, after his initial fury, frustration, and despair, calmed down, his usual nont nature resurfag. He grieasing, “Hey, you two—I’ll butt in. Since you’re both fighting over me, how about hearing my opinio me pick my own master?”

  “No room for you to talk!” Ji Xuanxuan’s whip shed out, but just before it struck his face, Axel snatched the tip, gring at her. “Xuanxuan, he’s my sve now—you’ve nht to whip him! Eastern Market rules: once bidding starts, the owner ’t retract!”

  “You haven’t paid yet!” she retorted, grasping at straws. Axel hesitated, then unhooked his sword from his waist and ha over. “This Cicada Wing Bde’s worth at least seven hundred gold—call it colteral for the two hundred!”

  “For her, you’d even give away your prized sword?” Her eyes brimmed, tears threatening to spill.

  Suddenly, distant gongs and drums sounded, followed by panicked shouts: “Winged Folk! The Winged Folk are here! Hide!”

  Axel and Ji Xuanxuan spun toward the noise, faces paling with dread. Almost in unison, they asked, “Where’s the city guard’s Artillery Corps?”

  Curious, Xia Feng followed their gaze. In the eastern sky, a flock of white birds appeared, diving toward Eastern Market like giant swans. As they neared, he gaped—they weren’t birds, but people with white wings!

  Nearly naked save for beast-skin loincloths, they wielded bows and carried quivers at their waists. A quarter smaller than humans, their bat-like wings—bare of feathers, just fleshy membraretched lohan their bodies.

  Pale as snow, their long hair shimmered gold in the su.

  On the ground, people fled in terror while the Winged Folk glided leisurely overhead, their sea-blue eyes glinting with the calm of a cat toying with mice.

  At Western Market, far from Eastern Market’s screams, haggling tinued over petty profits.

  Uhe sve trade there, this market dealt in livestock—mules, horses, cows, sheep.

  The air reeked of animal stend coarse sweat. Buyers were mostly filthy livestock traders, servants of wealthy households, and a few farmers.

  Amid these rough folk, a gaunt figure in a bck robe stood out, his cloak shrouding him entirely, even his head capped with a dark hood. His exposed face was so pale it seemed translut, bones and veins faintly visible beh.

  That pallor made his dark eyes—deep, light-dev wells—stand out, lending an eerie edge to his otherwise handsome features.

  He roamed the crowded market aimlessly, her pig livestoor seeking anyone, until he stopped at a remote horse stall. In a voice cold as ice, he told the vendor, “I want your Mao horse.”

  The vendawked, gng back at his securely shut stall—nothing visible from outside. Scratg his head, he asked, “How’d you know I’ve got a Mao horse?”

  The bck-robed man didn’t answer. About to refuse, the vendor caught his gaze and flinched, f a smile. “Truth is, I’ve got one, but it’s for Lord Aberd—not for sale. Plus, it’s untamed, unfit to ride. Look, there’s plenty of good horses outside—pie, I’ll cut you a deal.”

  “I want only that Mao horse!” The man’s eyes flickered faintly. The vendor’s heart raced, principles crumbling. “Fine, fi it’s got no bridle or saddle. You ’t ma alone.” He opehe stall door.

  Inside, a cage of thick logs held a striking horse—tall, snow-white, with long manes on its baeck, and hooves, and a tail sweeping the ground. Nothing else stood out.

  At their entry, the hnced indifferently through the bars, then resumed grazing, docile and tame.

  “Open the cage,” the bck-robed man ordered coldly. The vendor waved his hands frantically. “No way! It looks calm now, but Mao horses are smart—they py tame when trapped. Given a ce, it’ll bolt like mad. O runs, no horse alive catch it!”

  “Open it!” His tone sharpehe vendor shuddered, fumbling with the lock, hesitating but ultimately yielding to some unseen force.

  The cage swung open, and the Mao horse leapt out without pause—only to freeze mid-escape, blocked by an invisible wall.

  “Beast! Down!” The man’s left hand spyed, fingers log onto the horse’s head from afar. It thrashed and whinnied, uo break free. Sweat beaded on the man’s brow as the horse kicked a in pce.

  Abruptly, he dropped his hand. Freed, the horse charged him. He sidestepped its head, grabbed its mah his left hand, and vaulted onto its back amid a flutter of robes.

  The horse bucked wildly, swinging side to side. g his legs around its belly, he clutched the mah one hand while the other formed a strange gesture—middle finger bent—striking the air above its head. Each blow made the horse tremble in agony.

  Soon, it stilled, pawing the ground unwillingly but no longer resisting.

  The vendor stared, jaw dropped, muttering, “Mother of—first time I’ve seen someoame a Mao horse barehanded! What’s your name, sir?”

  The man grinned, a chilling smirk that startled the vendor. “Might as well tell you—you’re dead soon anyway. I’m Yin Han.”

  Just then, chaos erupted from the east—frantic cries echoed. Turning, he saw white Winged Folk swooping toward them under a blood-red su. He smirked. “Perfect timing—saves me some hassle.”

  The Winged Folk dove into Western Market Square like giant birds, snatg up stragglers with agile, ape-like feet. Despite their small frames, they easily hoisted people aloft, looting valuables midair before dropping them like sacks.

  Resista swift arrows.

  From above, they domihe unarmed crowd below could only flee.

  The vendor, petrified, scrambled toward his stall—only to be yanked back by a sudden force.

  Gng ba horror, he saw the bck-robed rider, fingers spread, gripping him from afar. Struggling futilely, he silently begged: Why?

  As if reading his mind, Yin Han smiled faintly. “First, I ’t afford this horse. Sed, you shouldn’t have asked my name.”

  Before the words settled, the vendor flew upward, caught by a Winged Folk who stripped him . Released, he plummeted, screaming and filing, smashing into the ground with a bang, a bloody mess.

  A Winged Folk swooped at Yin Han like an eagle after a rabbit. Nearing his back, a blue fsh bli, followed by a chill pierg from head to toe.

  Sensing doom, it fpped desperately upward—only to split in half midair at a few doze, raining blood and guts below.

  “Kill him!” Several Winged Folk shrieked, loosing arrows. But the shafts slid aside heir target, deflected by an invisible spherical barrier, harmless.

  One Winged Folk paled, shouting, “Trouble! He’s a dark mage! Don’t mess with him!”