The sun hung high in the sky, casting its golden warmth over the dusty merchant road. Zhao Ming walked at a steady pace, his scholar’s robes swaying slightly with each step. The sound of his boots crunching against the dry earth was the only company he had, aside from the occasional rustling of leaves carried by the wind.


    It had been hours since he left the village, and he had yet to see another traveler. The road ahead stretched endlessly, flanked by fields and patches of sparse woodland. He adjusted the cloth strap of his satchel, feeling the slight weight of his few belongings—ink, brushes, a few silver taels, and a small pouch of dried fruits he had purchased before leaving.


    “This world is vast,” he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath. “And I’ve barely begun to explore it.”


    As he continued, a soft rumbling in his stomach reminded him that breakfast had long since passed. He looked ahead, hoping to spot a roadside stall or an inn, but all he saw was the road disappearing into the horizon.


    He sighed. "I should’ve brought extra food."


    Then, in the distance, movement caught his eye—a caravan, large and bustling with activity, moving at a steady pace down the road.


    <hr>


    The caravan consisted of multiple carriages, each pulled by sturdy oxen. The goods they carried varied—bundles of silk wrapped in protective cloth, crates of pottery stacked neatly, and sacks of grains piled onto wooden wagons. Guards, armed with swords and spears, rode on horseback, keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings.


    Zhao Ming approached cautiously, making sure to keep his hands visible to avoid suspicion. He could hear the chatter of merchants and laborers as they tended to their cargo.


    Just as he neared the first wagon, a guard stepped forward, blocking his path with a spear. The tip gleamed under the sun, its polished surface reflecting light sharply.


    “Halt. Who are you?” the guard demanded, his eyes narrowing as he took in Zhao Ming’s appearance.


    Zhao Ming stopped, raising his hands slightly to show he meant no harm. “I am but a traveling scholar, heading toward Penglai. I saw your caravan and hoped to ask if I could accompany you for a short distance.”


    The guard studied him for a moment. His gaze trailed over Zhao Ming’s rugged scholar attire—worn but clean—and his simple satchel. “Traveling alone?”


    “Yes,” Zhao Ming replied, nodding. “The roads can be dangerous, so I thought it best to travel with others when possible.”


    The guard glanced toward one of the leading carriages, where a man dressed in finer armor sat atop a horse. After a brief exchange of glances, the armored man gave a slight nod. The guard turned back to Zhao Ming and stepped aside.


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    “You can ride in the last carriage,” he said. “But don’t cause any trouble.”


    Zhao Ming bowed his head slightly in gratitude. “Many thanks.”


    <hr>


    Climbing onto the last carriage, Zhao Ming found himself seated among several young individuals. At first glance, they appeared to be no older than mid-teens, dressed in matching azure robes embroidered with the symbol of a dragon winding through clouds.


    His eyes lingered on the emblem, recognition flashing in his mind.


    “Azure Dragon Sect,” he murmured under his breath.


    One of the disciples, a young man with short black hair, caught his gaze. “You recognize our sect?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of surprise.


    Zhao Ming smiled faintly. “I’ve come across a few disciples before.” He left the details vague, not wanting to mention Murong Xue or his past encounters. “It’s a well-respected name.”


    The young man nodded approvingly. “We don’t often meet scholars who know of us. Usually, it’s mercenaries or officials who recognize the name.”


    Another disciple, a girl with a high ponytail, leaned forward. “What brings you to Penglai?” she asked curiously.


    “I seek knowledge and opportunities,” Zhao Ming answered smoothly. “The world is vast, and I wish to see more of it.”


    The disciples exchanged glances, seemingly intrigued by his answer.


    <hr>


    As the carriage swayed along the bumpy road, the conversation continued.


    “So, are you a wandering scholar, or do you belong to a specific academy?” the ponytailed girl asked.


    “I was once a student in Anxi,” Zhao Ming said carefully, avoiding specifics. “But circumstances led me to travel on my own.”


    A male disciple with a serious expression nodded. “That’s admirable. Most scholars stay within their libraries and never experience the real world.”


    Zhao Ming chuckled. “Books provide knowledge, but experience teaches wisdom.”


    The disciples murmured their agreement, seemingly warming up to him.


    <hr>


    Zhao Ming decided to probe gently. “Are you all heading to Penglai for a mission?”


    The ponytailed girl smirked. “You know a lot for a scholar. Yes, we are, but we can’t share the details.”


    Another girl, who had remained quiet until now, suddenly brightened. “But we’re fortunate this time! Senior Murong is leading the mission.”


    At the mention of the name, Zhao Ming’s expression remained neutral, though his mind immediately recalled Murong Xue.


    The girls exchanged excited looks. “Senior Murong is amazing,” one of them gushed. “She’s beautiful, skilled, and fearless. If I were a man, I’d fall for her in an instant. No—actually, even now, I already have!”


    A male disciple sighed dramatically. “If she weren’t out of our league, I’d try my luck.”


    Laughter filled the carriage, the group lost in their admiration.


    Zhao Ming, keeping up his act, tilted his head slightly. “She seems highly respected.”


    “Of course!” the ponytailed girl said proudly. “She’s one of the most talented disciples of our sect. When she wields her sword, even veteran warriors hesitate.”


    Zhao Ming nodded along, pretending to be impressed while internally amused. He had seen Murong Xue in action before, and there was no doubt she was formidable. But hearing the disciples speak so highly of her added a new perspective.


    <hr>


    As the conversation died down, Zhao Ming leaned back slightly, letting the rhythmic swaying of the carriage lull him into thought.


    He had come far since his arrival in this world—escaping Anxi, crossing paths with Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei, and now heading toward Penglai with a group of Azure Dragon Sect disciples.


    Would his journey always be this unpredictable?


    He sighed, watching the road stretch ahead.


    A sudden shout from the front of the caravan snapped him out of his thoughts.


    “Penglai ahead!”


    Zhao Ming straightened, feeling anticipation build within him. The city loomed in the distance, its stone walls standing tall against the backdrop of rolling hills.


    A new chapter of his journey was about to begin.