The Flood Dragon Wave carried the mule and wagon forward like the steady current of a mountain stream, silent yet unyielding. The world passed in a blur, softened by the shrouding effects of the Flow Jin Wu maintained around them. The old mule had protested at first but quickly became accustomed to moving without moving.
Jin Wu squinted at the horizon as the faint outlines of a town came into view. The energy of the mercenaries’ passing lingered faintly along the tracks of the road he followed, like ripples in a pond long after the stone had been thrown. It was here, he thought, that the path converged with human habitations.
He descended from the wave and dissipated the flow—to an outsider, it would have looked like he had appeared on the road from nowhere.
The wagon creaked as it halted on the dirt road, the autumn breeze brushing over the fields. He patted Granny Xiu on the neck, her coat damp but unbothered.
“No need to draw attention now,” he murmured.
The road ahead bore signs of heavy traffic. Deep wagon ruts and dozens of boot prints pressed into the dirt, some still fresh enough to crumble beneath his fingers as he crouched for a closer look. He traced one print, his brow furrowing slightly. Too small for a mercenary boot—more likely a child’s bare foot.
He stood slowly, the image of the Ferrets flashing in his mind.
“It must be them,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of quiet resolve.
The town itself was a modest cluster of squat, wooden buildings, their tiled roofs sagging from years of weathering. Smoke curled from chimneys. Jin Wu flicked the reins lightly, guiding Granny Xiu. His wagon rattled over the cobblestone streets, drawing a few curious glances from townsfolk who stood outside their homes.
He stopped the wagon in the center square beside a vegetable stand.
“A spot as fine as yours must bring good fortune,” he said to the old woman seated there. “Mind if an old traveler borrows some of it?”
The woman barely stirred, her sun-darkened face unmoved. With a half-hearted shrug, she hunched her shoulders in an implied I don’t care what you do.
By dusk, Jin Wu had earned himself eight silver taels. A young man had been persuaded that a lover’s charm was exactly what he needed to win a fair maiden’s heart. A farmer, weary of crows and bad harvests, bought a talisman to protect his fields. And finally, an alchemist left with a bundle of dried herbs after Jin Wu muttered something about how well they complemented rarer ingredients.
As he made his way across cobblestone streets, the scent of steamed buns and roasted chestnuts drew him.
He stopped outside a busy noodle shop, its red-and-gold sign swinging gently in the breeze. The aroma of broth and scallions wafted through the open windows, mingling with the laughter and chatter of patrons inside. Granny Xiu brayed softly as Jin Wu tethered her to a post, muttering, “Chew the post, and I’ll have to sell talismans just to cover it!”
Inside, the shop was warm and bustling. Tables were packed with travelers and locals alike, bowls of steaming noodles and plates of dumplings scattered between them. Jin Wu shuffled in, his back hunched and his cane tapping against the wooden floor, drawing a few curious glances. He didn’t meet their eyes, instead adopting the air of a harmless old man who’d seen too many miles and needed a good meal.
He approached the counter, where the proprietor—a portly man with a thin mustache—was busy shouting orders to the kitchen staff. Jin Wu waited until the man’s attention shifted to him, then gave a polite bow.
“Honored keeper,” Jin Wu rasped, his voice soft but steady. “A bowl of your fine noodles, if you’d be so kind. Extra broth for these weary bones.”
The proprietor’s gaze flicked to Jin Wu’s patched robes and dusty sleeves. His lips twitched with faint amusement, but he gave a polite nod. “Extra broth, eh? That’s another coin, old sir.”
Jin Wu chuckled softly, pulling a small pouch from his belt. As he placed three copper coins on the counter, his hand lingered briefly, leaving behind a simple paper talisman. The charm’s inked markings were subtle but deliberate, their strokes imbued with faint precision.
“For the prosperity of your kitchen,” Jin Wu said, bowing slightly.
The proprietor paused, his brow lifting as he picked up the talisman. Turning it over in his hand, he squinted at the markings. “You’re a talisman master?”
“A humble peddler,” Jin Wu replied, bowing his head slightly as though embarrassed by his own smallness. “Nothing grand, but these small charms bring comfort to travelers and merchants alike. They say a little luck goes a long way, don’t you think?”
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The man chuckled, tucking the talisman into his apron.
“Please sit. Your noodles will be ready shortly,” the man said after bowing.
Jin Wu shuffled to a corner table, settling in with a contented sigh. As he waited for his meal, he let his gaze wander across the room, his ears catching snippets of conversation. A group of farmers complained about the rising price of rice. A pair of scholars debated the merits of poetry versus prose. And at a nearby table, three traders spoke in hushed tones.
“…passed this way five days back,” one of the traders said, his voice low amid the clatter of bowls. “A whole company of them—mercenaries, by the look of it.”
The proprietor arrived with his noodles, setting the steaming bowl down with a grunt. Jin Wu nodded his thanks, pulling the bowl closer as the traders continued their conversation.
“They had slaves with them,” another muttered, his tone tinged with discomfort. “The little ones—looked like they’d drop with the next step.”
Jin Wu’s chopsticks paused mid-air as he listened, his expression remaining carefully neutral.
“North,” the third added, glancing around as though to ensure no one was eavesdropping. “Toward the hills.”
The conversation drifted on to other topics, but Jin Wu had heard enough. He finished his noodles in silence, the warmth of the broth settling his thoughts. The mercenaries were close but not close enough. He’d have to move quickly to catch up.
There was no inn in this town, he learned, so Jin Wu left the noodle shop without fanfare, adjusting the straps on his wagon and untethering Granny Xiu. The night air was cool and still, the road stretching into the darkness beyond the town. He climbed onto the wagon, his hand resting lightly on the reins.
Just outside of town, he readied to ride the wave again. He used his Portent Art to ensure no one was around, but the Shen stirred faintly, a ripple of unease brushing against his senses. Jin Wu’s gaze sharpened beneath the brim of his straw hat, and he smirked.
The first attack struck.
A wind spear hurtled toward the wagon, the air shimmering in the moonlight as it sped toward him. With a flick of his fingers, Jin Wu traced a sigil in the air, the Flow twisting around him like a protective barrier. The spear shattered harmlessly against the shield, scattering into harmless wisps.
Three figures emerged from the trees, their faces obscured by masks. One wielded a flaming staff, the second carried a blade wreathed in lightning, and the third hovered above the ground, surrounded by swirling wind.
“Are you certain it’s him?” the one with the staff asked, his voice sharp and distrustful.
The swordsman snorted, his blade crackling as he swung it lazily through the air. “Does it matter? He’s alone, and the reward is more than worth it.”
The third cultivator hovered forward, his wind-wreathed form twisting in the moonlight. “Fortune smiles on us. Let’s finish this quickly.”
Jin Wu sighed, his grip tightening on the reins. “And misfortune smirks,” he said wryly, then added with a faint smile, “Quickly it will be.”
The three cultivators didn’t wait for further banter. They attacked in unison, fire, lightning, and wind converging on the wagon in a brilliant display of power. But Jin Wu was already moving.
Another sigil and three invisible Dragonflame blades of Shen sliced through the cultivators’ attacks with deadly precision. The fire dissipated, the lightning dispersed, and the wind scattered into harmless gusts.
One of the cultivators fell instantly, clutching his side as an invisible sword struck true. The second screamed as a blade slashed his arm, sending his weapon clattering to the ground. The third hesitated, sensing energy shifting around him like a predator circling its prey.
The survivors fled into the night without a backward glance, leaving their fallen comrade behind. Jin Wu stepped down from the wagon, his cane tapping lightly against the ground as he approached the injured man.
“We’re going to have a little chat,” he said, his tone soft but unyielding. “And you’re going to tell me everything you know.”
The man whimpered, clutching his wound. Jin Wu crouched beside him, his expression calm. “Let’s start with who hired you?” he said.
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The chamber was brightly lit, with multiple lanterns swaying from the ceiling, erasing all shadows from the lacquered wooden walls. Scrolls lined the shelves, their faded ink whispering of histories long past, but the room was heavy with the weight of the present. Two figures sat across a low table—a young man whose eyes burned with quiet ambition and an elder whose weathered face betrayed none of his thoughts.
Nian Ru poured tea with deliberate precision, his movements graceful but sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft trickle of tea into porcelain cups.
“They haven’t found him,” the elder said finally, his voice low but firm, like the rumble of distant thunder. “Even the First Elder of the Darkmoon Sect combed Tianshi Lake City but found nothing.”
“How could the old caretaker survive?” Nian Ru asked, incredulity creeping into his tone.
“Not only survived,” the elder replied, his tone darkening, “but he may hold the list.”
Nian Ru’s lips tightened, but he kept his gaze steady. “Ying Yue was careless. She should have dealt with him.”
The elder’s sharp eyes bore into his. “I advised against using people who chase only rewards.”
“She’s ambitious,” Nian Ru replied, his tone calm, as if discussing the weather. “But she hasn’t betrayed us. If she had, the immortal would know.”
The elder grunted, leaning back as he picked up his cup. “Perhaps. But her failure is your burden, not hers. You recommended her for this task. You claimed she would be useful.”
“And she has been,” Nian Ru said, his voice calm but insistent. “We need eyes inside the Celestial Serenity Sect, and her greed ensures her loyalty—for now.”
The elder sipped his tea, his eyes never leaving Nian Ru’s. “If that list falls into their Sect Master’s hands, it will be your head.”
“The caretaker didn’t share it with anyone. Of that, Yue is certain. He must still have it,” Nian Ru said, setting his cup down with a quiet clink.
“But she let him slip away,” the elder said, his tone carrying the weight of accusation.
Nian Ru inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the rebuke.
The elder tapped his finger on the table, the sound sharp and deliberate. “The immortal has grown impatient. His patience with subtlety has ended. The next sect will fall in two days.”
Nian Ru’s expression flickered ever so slightly. “Two days? That is far bolder than before.”
“Indeed,” the elder said, his gaze narrowing. “The possibility of exposure forced his hand. We cannot afford hesitation, and the Celestial Serenity Sect cannot be allowed to intervene.”
The elder’s gaze hardened further, the flickering lantern casting sharp shadows across his face. “If the caretaker surfaces again, it will be your responsibility to eliminate him. I will not see the Nian name tarnished by failure.”
Nian Ru met his stare without flinching. “We can use the disciples to draw him out.”
The elder’s tapping stopped. “You’re certain he’ll come for them?”
“Absolutely,” he said, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. “His connection to them is undeniable. If they’re in danger, he won’t stay hidden.”
The elder considered this, his expression unreadable. “And the girl? Will she find the last token?”
“She will,” Nian Ru replied confidently. “Her ambition ensures her cooperation.”
The elder set his cup down with a quiet finality, the sound echoing in the stillness of the chamber. “Make sure she does. Failure is not an option.”
Nian Ru bowed his head slightly, his smile hidden as he rose. “I understand, Second Elder. Jin Wu will surface. And when he does, he won’t escape again.”
As he turned to leave, the elder’s voice stopped him at the door.
“And Nian Ru,” he said, his tone carrying an edge of warning, “do not mistake the immortal’s patience for mercy. Your usefulness is the only thing keeping you alive.”
Nian Ru paused, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his face before he concealed it behind a mask of calm. Without turning, he replied, “Of course, Second Elder.”
The door slid shut behind him, leaving the elder alone in the opulent room. For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint rustle of the lantern swaying above. The elder stared into his tea, his thoughts heavy with the weight of the immortal’s orders.