Satisfied that he had established himself as the new protector of the Master’s Palace—though mourning his lost beauty and aching with longing for his wife—Bo-Jing finally concluded it was time to return home. He activated the wondrous teleportation chamber deep in the Master’s sanctum, and in a flash of sorcery stepped back into the world beyond Hunza.
He did not travel alone. In addition to his loyal henchmen, Bo-Jing invited two natives of Hunza to join his retinue:
Nagar Ahmar, a clever carpenter whose wits had been sharpened under tyranny, and
Lin Zhou, a strong and earnest young farmer whose parents had emigrated from Zhou-Deng when he was an infant. Entrusted to the Master’s community, Lin Zhou had known nothing but toil, but carried a brave heart and a deep desire to see the world beyond the endless wheat fields. Bo-Jing promised him that he would meet the Khatun—and then accompany the party to the fabled “Island of Angels,” where Bo-Jing hoped to regain the youthful appearance stolen in an instant by the true spirit of Hosadas.
Salt, likewise, welcomed new companions:
Zhak-Shi, once a red-robed enforcer skilled in both sorcery and the blade, and
Wu-Jin-Fen, a young scribe from Zhou-Deng who had studied the Master’s lore and was eager to learn true magic from Salt herself.
Finally, Hu-Fei, veteran resister and friend to Tetsukichi, accepted the latter’s invitation to follow him to the “land of horses.”
Bangqiu and Hyamsam elected to remain in the Master’s Palace, happily experimenting with the bizarre relics Hosadas had hoarded over centuries.
The Homecoming
Bo-Jing’s return should have been triumphant, but the faces of his people were tight with uncertainty as they looked upon him—changed, prematurely aged by forces no mortal should encounter. He read their discomfort clearly, though none voiced it. It was his protégé, Batu, who finally spoke the truth.
The Khatun—despairing of his unexplained absence—had gone to look for him.
For nearly a year she had waited:
• for news of his battle with the Master,
• for his return to name the son she had borne him,
• for a sign that he still lived.
Five weeks earlier, entrusting the infant prince to a nurse, she had taken only Altani the holy man and Nar-Nuteng the warrior woman and set off toward Hunza, determined to discover her husband’s fate.
Bo-Jing wasted no time.
He called for Tse-Hami, his jet-black khimori stallion, and within the hour was airborne, flying hard toward the mountain monastery—the most logical waypoint Narantsetseg would have reached on her road to Hunza.
Into the Wilderness
A storm of icy rain greeted him, lashing across his face and armor as Tse-Hami cut through the night. The monks of the high monastery received him warmly and confirmed that they had sheltered the Khatun. They had begged her to remain where it was safe, but she had refused. In the morning, they showed Bo-Jing the same maps she had studied.
Between the monastery and Hunza lay a hundred leagues of untouched wilderness—no towns, no roads, nothing but pine forests and high meadows. The monks had told the Khatun to ride west until Mt. Baltistan stood centered on her horizon; then, upon reaching the snowpack, to angle southwest toward the Green Pass.
Bo-Jing would follow the same route, but from the air.
The sky was clear. The moon would be full.
He decided to fly at night.
The Night Flight
Crossing the ridge, they drifted into the warmer air of the Hunza valley. Bo-Jing intended to rest before seeking a large settlement, and he chose a steep, boulder-crowned bluff as a secure perch.
Tse-Hami circled to land.
That was when Bo-Jing saw it.
The Red Dragon
An enormous, bright-scarlet reptilian shape uncoiled from the rocks below—a dragon, long-bodied and ancient, its scales gleaming like lacquered flame. Its eyes snapped open. It loosed a torrent of fire.
Tse-Hami plunged into a dive; flame licked his barding but caused no harm. Bo-Jing, already rising in the saddle, shouted for a counterattack. The khimori banked sharply, and Bo-Jing leapt from his back onto the dragon’s spine, driving his sword into its neck.
The beast roared and rolled, clawing at air. Tse-Hami climbed skyward, scorched but living.
Bo-Jing crashed onto the rocks and immediately sprang to his feet, parrying strikes from the dragon’s tail. He leapt again onto its back, running along its spine as it writhed, stabbing deep between the shoulders. The dragon twisted its neck, jaws gaping wide enough to swallow him whole.
Bo-Jing dropped low, then thrust upward with all his strength. His blade pierced its throat. A single savage slash tore open a crimson geyser. The dragon shuddered and collapsed, blood spreading black across the stones.
The dragon hide he would later wear—his famed red armor—began here.
The Bears and the Butchering
Tse-Hami landed beside him, trembling with exertion. Bo-Jing made a rough meal of dried yak meat and mare’s milk, then set about butchering the dragon. He harvested tongue, heart, and what he hoped were the lungs—dragons were strange creatures, and their anatomy obeyed no simple rules.
Then he heard animal voices below.
He tossed them a dragon’s leg. They descended, tearing it apart in a frenzy.
Working quickly, Bo-Jing flayed the hide, packed it, and took to the skies just as the maddened bears began climbing again.
Shelter with the Farmers
Exhausted, both rider and steed sought refuge. Spotting a lone farmhouse, they landed a mile distant. Bo-Jing concealed Tse-Hami’s wings beneath a tarp and approached on foot.
The young farmers who lived there stared without expression. But silver needs no interpreter; they accepted his coin, offered him their woodshed, and brought him water. He slept heavily.
In the morning he awoke to the sound of children’s laughter:
“Bird-Horse! Bird-Horse!”
Three small children climbed all over Tse-Hami, stroking his mane and wings. Their mother alternated between horror and scolding. Their father glowered. Bo-Jing smiled, offered a gold coin, and their hospitality transformed instantly—chickens were slaughtered, a feast prepared, and Bo-Jing slept again through the afternoon before departing at sunset.
Magden and Gilgat
He navigated by the lights of distant farmsteads and eventually reached the town of Magden, which he had visited a year earlier during the quest to defeat the Master. The guards recognized him—first with excitement, then discomfort as he drew close.
They questioned his burden. He questioned them about his wife. Tension flared; red-robed Guardians of Knowledge appeared and demanded to know his “true purpose.” When they dismissed his inquiries about the Khatun, Bo-Jing’s temper rose.
“I do not lie,” he told them coldly. “Last year I came to kill your Master. I have done that. I do not need to do it again.”
He left with no friends, but enough hints to follow Narantsetseg’s trail to Gilgat.
There, hostility greeted him immediately—until a Guardian named Batar intervened.
Batar had met the Khatun. He admired her devotion and had assisted her, though he feared it now.
“She said you had gone to seek the Master’s Palace. She heard there was no way to reach it without the Master’s invitation—except by the Dark Wall. So I told her how to find the Dark Wall.”
Bo-Jing demanded to know the rumors circulating about him.
“That the Master was to choose a successor,” Batar said, “and that you were the one with a face like the morning sun.”
Bo-Jing responded simply:
“No. I killed the Master.”
Batar collapsed in grief. The guards reached for weapons, but he waved them back.
“So, you are not the Chosen One. The clouds are gathering, and the seal will break. But still there is a woman who loves you and I have likely sent her to her death as she is going to the Dark Wall and among the ones who will meet her, there will not be the one whose face is like the morning sun.“Before you release your wrath on me, allow me to give you the same advice I gave her, I can tell you the way to the Dark Wall. Perhaps you will reach her before she reaches the Wall.”
Bo-Jing relented and heard Batar’s directions: “Go now, if you hope to reach her in time. No reason to wait as you are not welcome in Gilgat. If you survive long enough to remember your time, remember me as the one who helped you when no one else would.”
