The wooden wheels of Han Ping’s merchant wagon rattled across the rutted dirt tracks as they descended past the outer timber stockades of the mountain border.
Behind them, the high granite peaks of the Azure Cloud Sect faded into the morning fog, replaced by the smell of woodsmoke, wet livestock pens, and river mud rising from the lowlands.
Ye Chen walked beside the mules with his rusted broadsword secured to his shoulders, his gray tunic pulled tight against the damp morning draft.
"We are entering the outskirts of the lower market, Boss Ye," Han Ping said, pulling the leather reins to guide the mules around a deep puddle of muddy runoff. "If we turn west along Miller Creek Road, we can hit the trade route to Riverbend Port by dusk. Why are we cutting through the back alleys of the low
