Apparently, his skills weren't just for show — Po was every bit as good as he looked.

The soup tasted like proper seafood, briny and rich. The real pleasure of the meal came from the clams themselves, each shell having trapped a generous mouthful of broth that you had to slurp out with satisfying effort. The vegetables were tender, almost sweet, transformed by their time simmering in that savory liquid into something far more interesting than their humble appearance suggested.

He called it clam stew with marshbell onions. My guess was that the onions were the pale, slightly translucent vegetables scattered throughout. They tasted nothing like the onions I was used to — milder, with an almost floral undertone that lingered on the tongue.

The clam stew was the type of dish that made you want to tip the bowl back and drink every last drop. Even the guest was busy savoring theirs, seated on a pile of crates beside the crew members who talked and laughed amongst themselves like a pack of barely-civilized animals.

Some crew worked the mast, others stood near the bow passing a pipe between them. One had taken Derry's place at the helm temporarily. All of them wore different clothes — mismatched, weathered, practical — and collectively looked like a gathering of the most wanted criminals on the waterlands.

'If this is what the crew looks like, what exactly am I going to see in Recimiras?'

The thought sat with me as I scraped the last of my stew.

"Young master." The guest approached with their empty bowl, cupping their hands in a formal gesture. "Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to taste the feeling of the waterlands, once more."

Po shrugged. "You're welcome. At least you will soon be back home and shall have the opportunity to taste your own food."

The person looked at the empty cup in their hands. In the faint lamplight of the deck, I caught a glimpse of their lower face beneath that wide-brimmed hat. Full lips, painted somewhat... lavender?

'A girl?'

I turned the observation over in my mind. Their voice wasn't exactly masculine either, now that I thought about it. Strong, yes. Commanding, even. But also sonorous in a way that felt distinctly feminine. Not that men couldn't have such voices, but this one carried something unmistakably lady-like beneath all that firmness.

"Home? Indeed?" She observed her empty plate with something wistful in her tone. "But can I enjoy things the way I used to? Maybe, this blessing of a dish you have offered to me may count to be more precious than what I shall be opportuned to eat when I return home. Depending on who offers it to me... it may even be my last."

She cupped her hands again, bowing slightly to both Po and myself where I sat perched on another wooden crate.

"You don't have to go if you don't feel safe enough to."

Po shot me a quick glare — the kind that said 'jump off other people's business before it buries you'. But I pretended not to catch the hint.

'I just smelled a quest involving a woman. I'm sorry, but I have to bite the bait.'

"Survival... shouldn't it predate all?" I pressed. "Why would you be willing to walk into somewhere that very well may be your last?"

The lady turned to look at me. Her samurai-like straw hat still shrouded most of her features, and those tattered robes draped around her frame made her look almost like a drifting shadow given human form. But her lower face—what little I could see of it peeking beneath the hat's brim — held my attention.

She laughed softly. The sound only made her voice more apparent, more musical.

"Wise words, young master. Wise words." Her tone shifted, growing contemplative. "But when will it truly be enough? I will continue to pursue the path of strength, and I will never be certain if I was ready to confront these people unless I actually did something."

I nodded slowly, weighing her words. "Hmm, you're not wrong... well, I suppose you should go if you truly think like this. But please — do not pawn your life to chance."

Her lips curved into a smile.

"Caring about someone you've never met before?" She paused. "Kind."

She cupped her hands once more and raised them toward her head as she bowed, deeper this time.

"Thank you... truly."

Then she pulled away. I watched her cloak sway behind her like a ghost drifting across still water as she walked back toward the cabin. Sadly, I couldn't gather any more evidence to confirm she was definitely a woman.

'Kind? All I care about is that you're a woman!'

Plus, she spoke and acted like those jianghu wanderers from the wuxia films — in fact, maybe she was this world's equivalent. The formal speech, the martial bearing, the air of someone who'd walked a hard road. And maybe she was strong, too.

'I would really love to get my hands on some martial arts manuals...'

I could still feel Po's disapproving stare boring into the side of my head even after she'd gone. I turned to face him.

"What?"

Po exhaled with exaggerated weariness.

"Why would you do that?" His ears flattened slightly. "Mr. Cade, if you get into people's business like that, you'll die in theirs before you get a chance to resolve your own!"

'What the...'

Seriously, this guy had no sense of filter whatsoever.

"The point of strength is to be able to help others," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "Imagine if I wasn't helped by you and the boss, and everyone else. You guys had no reason to help me, yet you did anyway. It's simply honoring you by teaching myself to do the same." I shrugged. "And I don't have to wait till I'm stronger. I believe if I can't do it now, I probably won't do it then either."

He stared at me with half-lidded eyes, blinking a few times. One of his ears flickered, chasing away a persistent insect that buzzed just above it. Then he sighed again — deep and resigned.

"Just be very careful, Mr. Cade. Okay?"

I closed one eye and regarded him with the other, deliberately suspicious.

"Is there a reason why you're hostile to her?"

Po looked at me strangely, like I'd said something in a language he didn't speak.

"Hostile?" His brow furrowed. "I'm not hostile to her. She's a wolf-kin — her scent is... uncomfortable. But I'm not hostile. This is just how I am."

"And just to be sure — you're a fox-kin?" I leaned forward slightly. "Do fox-kin and wolf-kin not get along?"

Po rocked his crate back and forth, considering the question.

"Well, in a way, yes... but it goes deeper than just not getting along." His voice dropped, growing more thoughtful. "It's in our culture's nature. We've been their prey for a long time — long enough that our bodies remember it, and hate it. So you might get a hostile response from a fox-kin sometimes, but I really wasn't trying to be."

I nodded slowly, absorbing this.

"I see, I see..."

But it was fascinating to learn she was a wolf-kin. There was no way I would have known with her baggy rags and that wide straw hat obscuring everything. But a wolf-kin who spoke and carried herself like a jianghu wanderer from the old tales?

'Just what are the odds of that?'

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.