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Chapter 43 - The Ebbs and Flows of Fate

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The ship rocked gently beneath Zhujiao’s feet as he crept down the corridor towards the stairs, unfamiliar sword clutched in his grasp.

He didn’t know the first thing about fighting, especially not with a sword. Qi might have made him quicker than most, but he wasn’t naive enough to think that alone would be sufficient to put him on par with an experienced fighter.

All the same, he couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. It was, after all, his fault that the ship was being attacked – and while it was hardly his intention for it to happen, he still bore the responsibility.

Of course, sudden surges of heroism were all well and good, but righteous intentions wouldn’t help him fight. If he strode up onto the deck like this, he would be nothing but a liability. The wooden steps creaked beneath Zhujiao’s feet as he neared the top of the stairs, the cool air from the deck brushing against his face.

His heart was already pounding in his chest, adrenaline racing through his veins. The clash of steel and shouts of the crew filled the air, accompanied by the harsh commands of Captain Ahmir as he rallied his sailors. Zhujiao could hear the Red Talons, too—their voices rough and confident as they attempted to board.

He paused just before the top, flattening himself against the wall. From his position, he could make out glimpses of the deck: the crew, pressed close to the gangplank, holding the Talons at bay. So far, the sailors had the upper hand. The narrow gangway worked in their favour, forcing the Talons to come at them one or two at a time, limiting the advantage of numbers. Captain Ahmir had positioned himself near the front, his blade flashing as he parried and struck in quick succession.

Zhujiao gripped the sword tighter, his knuckles white as his mind raced. He couldn’t just charge in—he knew that much. If the Red Talons got past the sailors, though, or if they managed to overwhelm them, he might be able to create a distraction. Just enough to throw off one of the attackers or buy the crew a few precious seconds. His pulse quickened at the thought.

The ship rocked again, a result of the crew’s attempts to cast off and the Talons’ efforts to board. Zhujiao could hear the splash of water and the creak of wood, but the lines securing the ship to the dock hadn’t yet been cut. The crew was fighting a battle on two fronts—trying to fend off the attackers while also readying the ship for departure. He cursed under his breath.

Half an hour, and they would have already been gone, sailing down the river and free from this damn city.

The crew worked with frantic energy, hands flying across the ropes and sails in a desperate attempt to cast off. Several of them, hastily slashing at the remaining lines tying them to the dock, were now forced to shift their attention as the shouts of alarm grew louder.

“Captain!” one of the sailors called out, panic edging into his voice. “They’re trying to come over the side!”

Zhujiao’s breath caught. He shifted slightly to peer through the gap between the wall and the edge of the stairs, catching sight of several Red Talons already halfway up the ship’s hull, gripping the wood with practised ease. The sailors who had been preparing to leave scrambled, abandoning the task of freeing the vessel to fend off the attackers.

The first Talon climbed onto the deck, only to be met with a fierce swipe from a sailor’s blade. He fell back into the river with a splash, but more were climbing, their dark figures swarming up the sides like ants.

“Hold the line!” Captain Ahmir’s voice thundered above the chaos. His presence remained a steadying force amidst the growing tension. The crew closed ranks, some rushing to prevent the Talons from gaining a foothold, while others stayed positioned at the gangplank to continue repelling the main force.

Zhujiao’s grip tightened on the sword, his heart hammering as he watched. He couldn’t tell if the crew had enough fighters left to hold them all back, but for now, they were holding their ground.

Just as he thought they might have a chance, movement caught his eye. At the far end of the docks, a new group of enforcers appeared, racing toward the ship with weapons drawn. The Talons’ reinforcements. At least a dozen of them, their red sashes bright in the dim light, cutting a path through the few bystanders who had remained in the area. Several people screamed and fled as the situation escalated, abandoning any pretence of curiosity about the fight.

The Red Talons swarming the gangplank pulled back a little as their reinforcements arrived, and an uneasy silence settled over the ship.

“Captain Ahmir,” the leader called out, his voice carrying easily over the chaos. “I’ll give you one last chance. Surrender now, and no one else has to die. We both know how this ends if you continue.”

Zhujiao tensed as he pressed himself closer against the stairwell wall, watching the exchange from his hidden vantage point. Captain Ahmir, standing tall at the centre of his crew, faced the Talon leader without flinching, though Zhujiao noticed the subtle tension in his posture.

Ahmir’s voice was calm, but it carried an undercurrent of defiance as he responded. “You think you’ve got me cornered, but I don’t need to beat you. I just need to hold you off long enough for one of two things to happen: either we cast off and leave you standing on the dock, or the city guard arrives and deals with the lot of you.”

The Red Talon leader smirked, though his eyes darkened. “The city guard?” he said mockingly. “You really think those cowards are coming? The city’s a mess. They’ve got bigger things to deal with than a little skirmish at the docks.”

Ahmir didn’t respond immediately, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade. For a moment, the crew stood at the ready, bracing themselves for the next attack. But Zhujiao could see the tension in the Captain’s shoulders, the subtle shift in his stance. Ahmir wasn’t entirely confident. The Talons now had the numbers to storm the ship if they pressed hard enough, and with the crew spread thin between casting off and defending, it was no guarantee they’d hold out.

The leader of the Red Talons chuckled lowly, the sound carrying across the dock as he slowly paced closer. “You’re stalling for time, Captain. We both know it.” He gestured to his men, who stood ready, weapons in hand. “You don’t have the numbers, and you certainly don’t have time.”

Zhujiao swallowed hard, his mind racing. Even as he watched, he saw the faint flicker of doubt cross Ahmir’s face. He was worried—more than he was letting on. And that was enough to send a wave of unease through Zhujiao’s chest.

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Could he… make a run for it? If he burned through his Qi, he could maybe make it past the Red Talons and out of the docks. From there, he could climb onto the rooftops and hide away again…

He clenched a fist in frustration. The thought of going backwards like that when he was so close to finally making it out of the city…

A sudden gust of wind cut through the tension, bringing with it a strange stillness. Zhujiao’s pulse quickened. The Red Talon leader frowned, sensing the shift but not fully comprehending it. His gaze darted toward the gangplank, searching for the source.

There was a woman standing there.

For the crew of the ship and the Red Talons, it may have taken them a moment to notice the expensive flowing robes that denoted a cultivator. Zhujiao knew what she was even before his eyes had the chance to inform his brain what they were seeing. How could he not?

Her presence was overwhelming, as though the very air bent around her, suffused with power. The crew and the Red Talons alike froze. It took them mere seconds to recognise what was standing before them—a Sect Elder, a cultivator of such stature that begging and grovelling were the only appropriate responses.

A beat passed. Then another.

The Red Talon leader’s bravado evaporated. His face drained of colour as he stumbled back, his sword clattering to the ground. “Elder, we didn’t—we weren’t…” His words trailed off into a desperate, strangled plea. It was hopeless.

Everyone knew how Cultivators handled bandits and criminals.

For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustling of Yan Ling’s robes as she stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the pathetic scene at her feet. Her expression remained calm, serene, though Zhujiao could detect the slightest hint of amusement in her eyes. She raised a hand, her fingers drifting lazily through the air.

Without a word, she moved. In a blur of motion too fast for any of them to comprehend, her sword flashed once, twice. Two Red Talons crumpled to the ground before they could even react, their bodies lifeless as their blood pooled beneath them.

Zhujiao’s breath caught in his throat. The others… they didn’t stand a chance.

Yan Ling’s movements were effortless, as though she were simply clearing an obstacle from her path. The Red Talons fell in rapid succession, not one managing more than a desperate cry before they, too, met the same fate. Her sword sliced through the air with a terrible grace, every strike perfectly measured, perfectly lethal. It was over in mere moments. Not a single Talon had survived.

Zhujiao, still crouched by the stairwell, barely dared to breathe. His heart raced as he watched the Elder, his body frozen between awe and terror. She was calm, her face serene as she surveyed her work, stepping over the bodies of the fallen with the same indifference one might reserve for stepping over a puddle.

None of the crew dared move a muscle. Half of them didn’t dare breathe.

Yan Ling took a slow, measured step forward, her robes trailing across the dock as she turned toward the remains of the Red Talons. “You’ve been relieved of a problem,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur. “I expect you will have no further difficulties.”

Ahmir’s relief was palpable, though he remained prostrate on the deck. “Th-thank you, Elder. We are… in your debt.”

Yan Ling’s expression didn’t change. “Indeed.” She then hesitated a flicker before continuing. “They seemed rather interested in your ship, Captain. I don’t suppose you have any idea why?”

Captain Ahmir’s expression barely shifted, but there was a subtle tightening around his eyes. He knew better than to outright lie to a Sect Elder. “I believe it was more to do with my passengers, Elder,” he said carefully, avoiding direct eye contact. “The Red Talons… well, they often use intimidation and extortion to gain control of certain routes. My ship, my passengers—it was all an excuse for them to try and leverage something more.”

Yan Ling arched a brow, though her face remained impassive. “Extortion, you say?” Her voice was as calm as ever, but something in her tone suggested mild curiosity. She glanced toward the stairwell where Zhujiao was hidden.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone from the dock and standing directly in front of him, materialising out of nowhere. Zhujiao’s heart nearly stopped. He stumbled back against the wall, his breath catching in his throat as Yan Ling’s gaze settled on him.

“Your passengers must be very brave to be so ready to fight,” she remarked idly, her eyes scanning his slight frame with casual interest. The way her presence dominated the space made Zhujiao feel even smaller, despite the sword clutched tightly in his trembling hands.

Terrified, he could only stare up at her, praying that she wouldn’t sense the Qi stirring just beneath his skin. His heart pounded in his chest as he fought the urge to burn through what little Qi he had left to run. It would be useless. There was no escaping someone like her.

For a moment, her eyes softened, and then, to his utter shock, she smiled. “How cute,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Then, as if he were nothing more than an amusing distraction, she reached out and patted him gently on the head.

Zhujiao couldn’t breathe, frozen in place as Yan Ling’s hand hovered just long enough for the moment to stretch unbearably. His mind raced, terrified she might sense the truth. And yet, she did nothing. No probing, no sharp look—nothing to suggest she even suspected he was anything more than a scared child.

She turned away just as casually as she had approached, her attention shifting back to Captain Ahmir. “It seems the situation is resolved,” she said lightly, her tone once again as serene as ever. “I will leave you to your voyage, Captain. May your journey be swift.”

Ahmir bowed deeply. “Thank you, Elder Yan. You have my eternal gratitude.”

With that, she stepped away from the ship, her figure fading into the shadows of the docks just as quickly as she had appeared.

Zhujiao stood there, still gripping the sword tightly as his pulse slowly calmed. He could hardly believe what had just happened. Somehow, miraculously, she hadn’t realised what he was. Or… had she? And for some reason, let him be?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Almost immediately, the sailors resumed their frantic efforts to cast off. The remaining lines securing the ship were cut, and with a lurch, the vessel began to pull away from the dock.

Captain Ahmir straightened, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as he looked down at Zhujiao with a mixture of relief and disbelief. “You… you’re lucky, boy,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Luckier than you know.”

Zhujiao nodded absently, eyes locked on where the Elder had left the bodies of the Red Talons as the ship slowly drifted further from the docks. It was difficult to reconcile the woman who patted him on the head and called him cute with the cooling corpses left on the ground.

He stood there, unmoving, for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. The city, its tall, jagged silhouette lit by the dim light of evening, began to shrink as the ship picked up speed on the river’s current. The sounds of the harbour—distant shouts, creaking wood, and the endless chatter of the city streets—faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic splash of water against the hull.

The weight of what had just happened settled over him like a heavy cloak. The scent of blood still lingered in the air, despite the growing distance. Zhujiao’s fingers twitched, still clutching the unfamiliar sword. He finally lowered it, though he didn’t feel any safer now than he had when the Red Talons were clambering over the ship’s sides.

He glanced over his shoulder at the crew. They had resumed their tasks, moving with silent efficiency, though their faces still held the pale strain of fear. Captain Ahmir barked orders with his usual command, but there was a new tightness in his voice, one that hadn’t been there before. No one spoke of what had just transpired. No one dared to.

Zhujiao exhaled slowly and turned his attention back to the city. He watched as the once-towering buildings, the sprawling streets, and the docks all grew smaller with every passing second, shrinking until they seemed like nothing more than a distant memory.

He had arrived in this city with death at his heels. He’d escaped capture, stolen from the Red Talons, and had gotten in over his head more times than he cared to count. Every step of the way, it had been a dance with danger, and somehow, he’d made it through. But now, he was leaving the same way—death in his wake.

The bodies on the dock were a grim reminder. He didn’t have blood on his hands, but it didn’t feel much different. He wasn’t responsible for their deaths—Yan Ling had made sure of that—but it didn’t make the knot in his chest any looser.

Was this just going to be his life now? Skirting the edge of death, moving from one disaster to another? He sighed quietly, leaning against the ship’s rail as the city continued to shrink behind him.

Hopefully it’s not going to become a habit.

But deep down, he knew that hope was a fragile thing in a world like this.

With one final glance at the receding skyline, Zhujiao turned and walked back toward the stairs. The ship rocked gently beneath his feet, the cool wind brushing against his face as he descended, leaving the city—and everything it had taken from him—behind.