The rustling of leaves to his left almost made him jump off the branch he was perched on, but he made himself press deeper onto the rough bark.

"It's just the wind," he told himself, but his heart pounded in his chest, and his muscles tensed, ready to spring and run.

The mercenary camp sprawled below about half a li away from him, flickering with firelight and littered with the shadows of men moving between their tents. The rough voices of soldiers carried on the night wind, too faint to catch individual words but loud enough to fray his already fraying nerves. His sharp eyes scanned the camp again, his fingers clenching the bark as he tried to pick out familiar shapes among the hunched figures chained by the central fire.

He couldn’t see Ears or Rabbit.

His throat tightened, his lips pressed into a hard line. Were they here? Or had the mercenaries moved them already? The possibility made his stomach churn, but he couldn’t linger on the thought. He shifted his position slightly, his feet settling on the branch’s uneven surface.

A low growl echoed from his belly. His hand instinctively went to his sleeve, pulling out the last scrap of food he had—a shriveled root he’d chewed on the day before. Shadow bit into it, wincing at the bitterness. For days, he’d been living on scraps stolen from Ashen Hollow and whatever the forest grudgingly offered. The taste of the root made him think of the Eternal Harmony Sect, of the bland rice and pickled radishes they had eaten nearly every day. He’d always complained about it, but now—now he would’ve given anything for just one bowl.

Another growl from his stomach, louder this time. Shadow grimaced and spit out a piece of bark that had flaked off into his mouth. His gaze darted back to the mercenaries below, but none of them seemed to notice. He exhaled slowly, carefully steadying his breath. Jin Wu’s words echoed in his mind:

“People rarely look up, even cultivators,” the old man had once said, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Most fools think danger comes from the front or behind.”

The memory settled him, if only slightly. But the branch he perched on felt narrower by the second, and his aching stomach wasn’t making things easier. He needed to eat. He couldn’t risk collapsing from hunger the moment an opportunity presented itself.

Shadow’s sharp eyes flicked back toward the camp one last time, then toward the dark forest behind him. The mercenaries weren’t going anywhere tonight.

He dropped from the branch silently, landing in a low crouch. The knife he borrowed was in his hand before his feet hit the forest floor. He froze in place, his ears straining for any sound. The crackle of campfires. The murmur of voices. Distant laughter. Nothing closer.

After a moment, Shadow moved into the trees, his steps cautious and deliberate. He had no illusions about his survival skills—in the sect, he was invisible, but here everything was foreign.

After some searching, Shadow’s eyes landed on a small bush nestled beneath the shadow of an old oak. Its branches were heavy with small, red berries that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. They looked ripe—plump and inviting—and his stomach clenched painfully at the sight.

Shadow crouched by the bush, his knife still in hand as he plucked a handful of berries. He turned them over in his fingers, sniffed them once, and then popped one into his mouth. The sweetness was immediate, the juice bursting against his tongue in a way that almost made him groan. He grabbed another handful, ready to devour them.

“They’ll empty your bowels faster than you can scream.”

The voice came out of nowhere.

Shadow froze, his blood turning to ice. The berries tumbled from his fingers to the forest floor. He spun around, his knife flashing in the dim light, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes darted between the shadows, but there was nothing—no movement, no figures, no glowing eyes.

His ears strained for the faintest rustle. Left? No. Too much undergrowth. Right, then. He bolted.

His heart pounded as he sprinted through the faint game trail. A trap? No, the mercenaries would be louder. More direct.

Whoever it was, they were good—too good. His mind raced, cataloging possibilities. A hunter? Or… something worse?

A sharp, high, birdlike chuckle broke the silence ahead of him. He ran left, willing his legs to go faster.

The knife stayed in his hand as he tore through the underbrush, branches whipping against his arms and face. The chuckle followed him, soft and fleeting, like a breeze weaving through the trees. Shadow’s breath came in short, sharp bursts as he ducked and weaved, his mind screaming to keep moving.

The forest seemed to close in around him, the trees twisting into unfamiliar shapes. Shadow risked a glance behind him—nothing. No movement, no glowing eyes, no shadowy figure. Just the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

But the feeling of being watched lingered.

He slowed after what felt like an eternity, his legs trembling and his lungs burning. Shadow pressed his back against a tree, crouching low as he tried to steady his breathing. His knife glinted faintly in the moonlight, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped it.

Silence.

For a moment, Shadow thought he had lost whoever—or whatever—had been following him. He forced himself to stay still, his eyes scanning the darkness for any movement. But the forest was quiet. Too quiet.

Shadow’s stomach churned, and he cursed himself for being so reckless.

The chuckle came again, softer this time, closer. Shadow’s breath hitched. He crouched lower, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his knife, and prepared for a fight.

“They're toying with me,” he thought as a silhouette appeared, its steps soundless against the forest floor.

----------------------------------------

The tree-lined road was silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the wind and the occasional creaking of a wagon wheel.

Xu Bei moved like a shadow, his steps as light as falling petals, his figure blending seamlessly into the trees. The waning sunlight melted into his black robes. He had been trailing the old man for nearly fifty li, the thrill of the hunt keeping his senses sharp and his Qi tightly compressed.

This old man was too trusting. Even if he wasn't hunting him, there were bandits everywhere.

He looked at the deep wagon tracks that spoke of a rich bounty. The old man wasn’t bothering to hide anything—foolish. Xu Bei’s thin lips curved into a faint smirk beneath the mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Old fool,” he murmured under his breath.

Ahead, he spotted a broken branch hanging at an awkward angle, as if someone had brushed past it carelessly. Then another—a clear scuff in the dirt beside the path where the fool turned. It was almost insulting how easy the man was making this.

How was it that no one had found this old man before? It wasn’t the first time he’d been tasked with eliminating an inconvenient target, but this was too easy. He had a reputation to maintain.

And yet, a faint unease lingered at the edge of his mind, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He had learned to trust his itches—they had saved him more than once. So he held back, watching and waiting, his sharp eyes dissecting every careless step and turn the old man made.

Xu Bei rose silently, his hand brushing the hilt of his dagger. The old man was just ahead—he could sense him now, faintly, the faint aura of a mortal and an animal barely noticeable amidst the background hum of the forest. It was weak, fragile, like an ember on the verge of snuffing out. But it was there.

Seems like he's setting up camp, he thought.

Xu Bei moved forward, his movements fluid, every step calculated. He kept to the shadows, his aura tightly compressed, masking his presence. The trail curved sharply, leading into a small clearing bathed in the faint orange glow of firelight.

There he was.

The old man sat by a modest campfire, his wide-brimmed straw hat set to one side. His wagon rested beneath a gnarled tree, the mule tied off and dozing with its head low. The fire crackled softly, casting shifting shadows across the old man’s face. He looked… ordinary. Worn robes, lined face, slow movements. The kind of man you wouldn’t glance at twice in a crowd.

And yet, something about him gnawed at Xu Bei’s instincts.

The old man poured tea from a simple clay pot, the steam curling upward like a lazy ghost. He didn’t so much as glance toward the shadows where Xu Bei lingered. His hand moved to lift the cup, his movements steady and deliberate, as if entirely unbothered by the presence stalking him.

“Do you always stare from the trees?”

The voice was calm, conversational, and it froze Xu Bei in place.

The old man hadn’t turned. He hadn’t moved. And yet, Xu Bei knew immediately—he’d been seen. No, not seen. He’d been felt.

The smirk vanished from Xu Bei’s face. He tightened his grip on his dagger but remained where he was, his breathing steady.

“You noticed me,” he said, his voice low and smooth, a predator’s voice. “That’s rare.”

“Rare?” the old man replied, finally turning his head. His eyes caught the firelight, gleaming faintly as he regarded Xu Bei with quiet amusement. “If you made any more noise, they'd hear you all the way to Ashen Hollow.”

Xu Bei stepped into the clearing, his movements slow and deliberate. The fire cast long shadows over his face, but the old man didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.

“You’re either very confident or very stupid,” Xu Bei said, his tone cool. “Do you know who sent me?”

The old man tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “No,” he said simply. “But I suppose you’ll tell me, eventually.”

Xu Bei’s hand shifted to his dagger, his Qi uncoiling faintly around him, sharp and cold as a winter wind. “I’m here to kill you, old man. And you’ve made it very easy.”

“Have I?”

The question hung in the air, soft and unassuming, but it made Xu Bei hesitate.

The old man didn’t look frightened. He didn’t look like a man staring death in the face. Instead, he looked… amused.

Xu Bei frowned, his instincts prickling again. Something was wrong.

“You talk too much,” he said sharply, stepping closer. The firelight danced along the edge of his blade as he drew it, its cold gleam promising death. “I’ll make it quick.”

“Quick?” The old man’s smile widened. “Oh, no, boy. This won’t be quick.”

With a flick of his wrist, the old man traced a sigil in the air, his movements so casual they could’ve been mistaken for an idle gesture. And yet, the moment his fingers finished, a wave of energy rippled outward, unseen but undeniable.

Xu Bei staggered, his Qi unraveling in an instant as though it were being sucked into a void. His dagger felt heavy, impossibly so, dragging his arm downward. His knees buckled as the force pressed down on him, pinning him to the ground with invisible weight.

“What—what is this?” he gasped, his voice strangled. His Qi surged instinctively, trying to push back against the force, but it was like fighting a tide that swallowed him whole.

The old man stood, the cane in his hand disappearing. He no longer moved like a frail old peddler. His posture was straight, his gaze sharp, and the ripple of energy around him was anything but weak.

The old man shouldn’t have been able to do this. He was a mortal. His Qi signature was faint, practically nonexistent. This—this wasn’t possible.

“Ah,” the old man said, his tone light, almost conversational. “That must be disorienting. Don’t worry, boy. It’ll only get worse.”

Xu Bei’s breath came in short, panicked bursts. He clawed at the ground, his mind racing for a way out, but his limbs refused to obey.

“Come now,” the old man said, his tone still maddeningly calm, “tell me all about who sent you.”