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[h3][u][color=6ecff6]Xincai, Henan[/color][/u][/h3]
[b][i]Watching One's Step[/i][/b]
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	[@OwO]The young man listened intently as the scholar went on, though he didn’t look at her or engage the same expressions a person commonly made to show they [i]were[/i] listening. Simply because such things were not yet a habit to him. Still, even though the pile of scrolls blocked his sight much like it had for the girl, he never missed a step–and even moved around other passerby on the street before they could bump into him, without seeing them.

	The idea of going to an information broker was one he had not considered–was that naive of him, considering how important information must be in the jianghu? But so far as he knew, the Mountain Ravine Fist was not well known or especially famous–the way his father told the story, the founder had been a rather mundane bodyguard for merchants who developed a personal martial art based on his experiences. It had grown into an art with proper forms and a completed style, but was first and foremost a “school,” rather than a Sect or a Cult. Did that mean information about it would be cheap? Or would the brokers turn him away for wasting their time over a school that never produced any movers or shakers of the Jianghu? 

	“I see…they are too small to be considered part of any great faction, but they do follow the orthodox methods so far as I know. I shall turn my search to the west!” he answered the scholar, as they came to the Golden River Inn. Precariously balancing the scrolls, this time his head did turn. Drifting from the kitchens, and from several still-warm plates at the tables, rich scents filled his nose so thickly he could almost taste the dishes. Steamed dumplings stuffed to bursting with vegetables or meat, fresh white rice so thick it rose out of the bowls like a cloud, crunchy bread with a soft, fluffy interior, and numerous other smells reached his nostrils. His ears felt the thrum of several whispered conversations in various corners of the room–it was somehow a comforting sound, he thought, this reassurance that within this space one was surrounded by other human beings with the same needs for food and rest. 

	But there was another current that he could feel, beneath the homely energy of the Golden River. The slight prickle on his skin, a vibration that lingered with each step. Those who exuded power of many sorts gathered here as well. Hyun-Woo would not say that he could feel “the strength” of those around him–his sense for Qi was not yet that developed, to be able to gauge anyone at a glance–but he could simply feel that they [i]had[/i] some measure of strength. Swords lay balanced against tables, or across laps while their masters dined. Cups of tea were held in hands that bore many callouses across the knuckles. Sharp eyes, ever ready for danger, occasionally darted to and fro. Yes, with every step Yi Hyun-Woo felt he had truly entered “the underworld,” the Jianghu–

	[@Cu Chulainn]And then he almost stepped [i]on[/i] someone. If he hadn’t felt a pebble with the edge of his foot, he wouldn’t have paid enough attention–but the pebble clattered on the floor, and something about the clarity of its sound drew his attention. He stopped, looked down…and saw a young man perhaps some years older than himself simply lying there, face down.

	“...Um…are you alright, sir?” he asked. He looked towards the little scholar to see if she had noticed anything as well, then back to the fellow on the ground. “Do you need some assistance?”