It all started like a normal day.
Han Yu should've known something was off when the Head Servant gave him a "special assignment" and a knowing smirk. Special assignments never meant promotion or praise—they meant someone needed a warm body to throw under a metaphorical (or sometimes literal) spiritual beast.
This time, the job came with company.
Zhao Qun.
A wiry, sharp-eyed servant with the build of a weasel and the charm of a soggy sandal. He wore the tattered brown robes of the lower servants, but walked like someone who thought himself spiritually enlightened because he once overheard a Foundation Stage cultivator burp in rhythm with the Eight Heavenly Breaths.
Zhao Qun grinned as he handed Han Yu a torn slip of parchment.
"Lost talisman. Some Inner Court disciple dropped it during a sparring session. We're supposed to go find it."
Han Yu squinted at the vaguely talisman-shaped squiggle.
