Feng Jiu stared at the calico cat, Nabi. Its amber eyes, now devoid of any mocking glint, seemed to hold the ancient wisdom of a forgotten oracle. Yet, the absurdity of a cat speaking directly into his mind remained. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. His throat felt like sun-baked clay. “Cat… you speak?” he finally managed, his voice a raspy whisper. Nabi stretched languidly, a delicate arc of its spine, before leaping from the examination table with silent grace. It landed on the tiled floor, swishing its tail. “Only to those who can hear, Grandmaster. And you, it seems, have fallen far enough to finally listen.” Humiliation pricked at Feng Jiu. Grandmaster. The word felt like a brand, a reminder of what he had lost. “I am not fallen. I am… displaced. And my memory is a shroud.” “A convenient shroud,” Nabi purred, rubbing against his leg. The touch, unexpected, sent a faint tremor through him – not just the physical sensation, but a deeper resonance, a connection he hadn’t felt since before the alleyway. “The Grey Fade is strong here, isn’t it? Stronger than you ever imagined from your ivory peaks.” Nabi’s words held no malice, but their weight hit home. The grey blight chewing at the asphalt outside felt heavier than any mountain. Before he could question Nabi further, the clinic’s front door chimed, and Han Sora bustled in, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, a small paper bag in the other. “Morning, Feng Jiu! Slept okay?” she asked, her smile warm. She placed the coffee and bag on the counter. “I brought you some… what was it called? Ah, a ‘hotteok’. It’s a sweet pancake. And this is a smartphone. It’s how people communicate now. I’ll show you later.” Feng Jiu eyed the rectangular slab of glass and metal with suspicion. It vibrated faintly in his hand, a strange heat emanating from it. He almost dropped it. The concept of a device that could transmit voices across vast distances without an inscribed jade tablet was baffling. He managed a curt nod, his pride bristling at his own ignorance. His attempts to make coffee earlier had resulted in an overflowing deluge of dark, bitter liquid, and the toaster had nearly incinerated the bread. Modern contraptions were an erratic mess of plastic switches and inexplicable functions. Sora, oblivious to his internal turmoil, pointed to a stack of folders. “Could you help me with intake today? Just get the patient names and basic info. And try to keep the waiting room clean.” His first task was an elderly Pomeranian named ‘Gyeongja’, yapping incessantly, its tiny body trembling. Its owner, a harried young woman, looked on helplessly. Feng Jiu approached the cage, his movements slow and deliberate. He extended a hand, not to touch, but to offer a silent reassurance. He remembered a simple calming chant, a whisper of old earth-song, often used for young, fractious cloud-hares in the Azure Cloud Peaks. He hummed it now, a low, resonant tone that only he could truly hear. The Pomeranian’s yapping softened, then ceased. It tilted its head, its tail giving a tentative wag. The owner gasped. Sora, observing from the examination room, paused, a brow raised in surprise. Next came a boisterous Beagle puppy, ‘Dalgon’, pulling its leash with enough force to drag its owner, a young man with an exhausted expression. Feng Jiu knelt, a faint, almost forgotten spark of intuition guiding him. He closed his eyes for a moment, sensing the puppy’s boundless, undirected energy. He pictured a flowing stream, guiding the current. Opening his eyes, he met Dalgon’s gaze, extending a finger. The puppy, instead of jumping, nuzzled his hand, then sat, looking up expectantly. The owner blinked, speechless. Sora, now leaning against the doorframe, a genuine smile playing on her lips, watched Feng Jiu with a growing fascination. Later that afternoon, a particularly insufferable client arrived: Mrs. Lee, a woman draped in designer clothes, her voice a grating whine. Her companion was a miniature poodle, ‘Princess Buttercup’, whose sculpted curls defied gravity. The tiny dog snapped at anyone nearby, including her patron, who flinched constantly. “He’s just a simpleton, isn’t he?” Mrs. Lee sniffed, waving a manicured hand at Feng Jiu, who offered the dog a biscuit. “Can’t even use the front desk computer properly. Honestly, Sora, your standards are slipping.” A sharp, prickly heat flared in Feng Jiu's chest. His pride, though wounded and amnesiac, recoiled sharply. He locked eyes with the curled terror. A strange, almost imperceptible thrumming began in his core, a faint echo of forgotten power. He leaned closer to the poodle, his voice dropping to a near inaudible murmur. “Little creature, does your mistress’s disdain truly soothe your spirit? Perhaps… a small reminder of her lack of grace would be in order.” It was not an incantation, merely a thread of raw intent, an echo of his old command over lesser beasts. The dog's eyes shifted, pupils dilating into dark saucers. A low growl rumbled in her chest, not directed at Feng Jiu, but at the air, at the memory of past indignities. With astonishing speed, the creature turned and sank its teeth straight through Mrs. Lee’s silk stockings into her ankle. Mrs. Lee screeched, hopping on one foot as she pointed a trembling finger at Feng Jiu. “My ankle! You little monster! And you—you provoked her, didn't you!” Feng Jiu merely offered a benign, almost imperceptible smile, his eyes sparkling with a familiar, dangerous amusement. Sora rushed forward, torn between concern for the client and a deep suspicion that something extraordinary had just occurred. As the screaming faded down the street, Feng Jiu retreated to the supply alcove. On the lower shelf, a glass pen held a solitary, listless rodent. The little creature’s fur was dull, its ribs hitching in shallow spasms. The Grey Fade was no distant abstraction; it settled into the marrow of even this fragile ball of fluff. He recalled a minor talisman from the peaks, a restorative glyph once etched into the bark of dying spirit-orchids. He possessed neither cinnabar nor mulberry parchment. He pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser, the cheap material crinkling in his hand. Using a ballpoint pen from the counter, its tip surprisingly precise, he began to draw. The lines were intricate, flowing, a complex dance of ancient symbols that looked deceptively like a child’s doodle. He focused his breath, coaxing a thread of dormant qi into the oily ink, guiding each stroke. The pen scratched softly against the napkin, creating a swirling vortex of protective and restorative runes. It felt like trying to channel a river through a straw, but the faint thrum in his chest solidified, responding to his intent. He slipped the folded napkin beneath the wood shavings. He leaned close to watch. Nothing stirred. He sighed, a flicker of disappointment. Perhaps he truly was too weak, too broken. Then, a soft, ethereal light began to emanate from the cage. A faint, golden glow, pulsating gently. The rodent, still as stone moments earlier, twitched its whiskers. Its dull fur seemed to shimmer, its small eyes bright and alert. It stood on its hind legs, sniffing the air, then began to furiously groom itself, its movements swift and energetic, utterly transformed. The glow intensified, a soft halo around the tiny creature, making it shine like a miniature sun. Sora stepped into the back room carrying a metal basin. Her gaze drifted toward the glass enclosure. Her footsteps faltered. The tray clattered to the floor, syringes scattering across the tiles. Her mouth dropped open, staring hard at the radiant ball of fur before slowly looking up to meet Feng Jiu's eyes. Her voice, usually so calm and pragmatic, was a bewildered gasp. “What did you do?”

Talismans and Temp Jobs