Of Hunters and Immortals

Elder Lu examined Jiang over the rim of his customary cup of tea, hiding his amusement at the boy's disgruntled pout. Really, hoping to learn a technique from a scroll when he'd only been a cultivator for a month, and a disciple for less than a week?

If it were that easy to gain power, he would have ascended centuries ago.

Still, it was hard to fault the boy for trying. At least he'd had the initiative to go look. Half the outer disciples wouldn't know the difference between a technique scroll and a shopping list if you waved one under their nose. Jiang, at least, had that much going for him—too stubborn to quit, too proud to ask for help until it was absolutely necessary. Lu could respect that. He could also find it incredibly annoying.

"You didn't find anything, did you," he said, voice mild, more a statement than a question.

Jiang hesitated just long enough to confirm the answer. "Not… really."

Lu snorted. "Did you expect to find a secret manual titled 'Beginner Shadow Techniques for the Slightly Confused?'"

Jiang looked like he wanted to say yes but knew better. He settled for an unhappy shrug.

Lu set his cup down and leaned back, the old chair creaking under the shift. "Even if you had, it wouldn't help. Learning a technique is like throwing knives. Looks easy until you try it, and then suddenly there's a knife sticking out of your foot."

The boy's stubborn expression didn't change, but at least he was listening.

"Techniques are powerful, true. At the higher levels of combat, techniques are capable of wiping out an army or reshaping the landscape." He sighed. "But there's a reason even the most powerful of cultivators still carry a weapon. In a straight-forward fight between two cultivators of roughly equal advancement, the battle will be decided by strength of arms, not techniques."

Jiang's brow furrowed. "So I shouldn't bother with techniques? They seemed to work well enough against the spirit beasts."

"True," Lu admitted, "but then, the spirit beasts were hardly dangerous opponents, in the grand scheme of things. Dangerous enough to kill, certainly, but they don't use tactics, they don't plan. They fight using nothing but instinct, and against a foe like that, techniques work just fine. Even still, that doesn't make them the smart choice to use in a fight – just good enough."

He rose, crossed the room to the window, and pushed the paper screen open with a knuckle. The wind was cool today, pulling faint smells of pine and distant cooking fires through the crack. Somewhere down in the training fields, someone shouted, followed by a loud splash. He ignored it.

"Tell me, did the inner disciple in charge of the hunt use their blade or a technique?" he asked, mostly rhetorically.

"Neither," Jiang responded. "She just watched."

Elder Lu's gaze sharpened for a moment before he smoothed his expression. "Well, I suppose she judged the outer disciples to have the matter in hand," he lied, "Regardless, the point I'm trying to make is that for you to focus on learning techniques right now would be like trying to put the roof on a house before you've laid the foundation. You'll end up buried under it."

He turned to observe Jiang once again. "That isn't to say that you shouldn't start learning a technique or two right now," he allowed, "but just that it shouldn't be your focus. On that note, I've arranged a teacher for you in the art of combat, a disciple named Li Xuan."

Lu withheld a smile at the sudden interest in Jiang's expression. "He's an inner disciple, and he has been for years. Older than you – not that that is saying much," he remarked ruefully, "but something to keep in mind regardless. Don't be fooled by his looks – and probably don't mention them either. They are a bit of a sore spot for him, and he's well and truly vicious enough to make his displeasure known."

He paused. "In truth, he's a bit of a nightmare to work with, but that's your problem."

Lu turned back to the window, watching the wind tug at the treetops lining the northern edge of the courtyard. From up here, the sect grounds looked peaceful. Neat rows of dormitories. A few scattered disciples heading toward the practice fields. Orderly. Controlled.

False.

He hadn't missed the report on the spirit beast hunt. Hadn't missed Jiang's name listed alongside disciples far above his level. Not the worst assignment he could've been given, not enough to raise an official complaint—but it had been intentional. No second-stage disciple should be sent after a spirit beast, especially when they didn't even know any techniques. That wasn't policy. That wasn't an oversight. That was someone seeing how far they could push without consequence.

Lu Heng exhaled slowly, hands clasped behind his back. He should have seen it sooner. He'd spent too much time wandering, too much time chasing clarity through empty villages and quiet forests. The Sect had been fine when he left. Stable. Complacent, maybe, but not corrupt. Now?

Now there were cracks he hadn't noticed.

And behind those cracks—Yan Zhihao. The man always had a knack for playing the long game. Quiet influence. Harmless suggestions. Just enough misdirection to make things look like coincidence.

Lu would bet a year of meditation that it had been Yan's people who signed off on Jiang's assignment. Maybe to embarrass the boy. Maybe just to see how Elder Lu would respond. Either way, it stank of politics. Quiet ones, sure, but no less dangerous for it.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then waved a hand absently. "Your teacher will meet you at the east training yard tomorrow, second bell after dawn. That should give you enough time to finish your assigned task for the day." And he would be having a word with the disciple responsible for handing out tasks to ensure that Jiang was given assignments that suited his level of advancement. "If he's late, don't complain. If he hits you, don't whine. If he tells you to jump off a roof, don't."

Jiang's brows drew together. "So just… let him do whatever he wants?"

"No. Just understand that he knows more than you do. You can question him when you're strong enough to beat him."

That shut the boy up. For now.

Lu turned back to the table, reclaiming his tea. It had gone cold. "One last thing," he said. "This inner disciple—he owes me a few favours. He's not doing this out of the kindness of his heart, and if you're difficult, he'll drop you faster than I can stop him. You're not here to impress him. You're here to learn."

Stolen story; please report.

He studied Jiang again. The boy had that look—set jaw, eyes sharp, spine straight. Too much pride, not enough sense. That would change. Either through discipline, or bruises.

Probably both.

"You'll either get along far too well with each other," Lu muttered to himself as he drained the last of the tea, "or try to kill each other before the week is out."

— — —

Zhang Shuren sat perfectly upright, spine not touching the backrest, hands folded on one knee. The chair beneath him was cushioned, silk-threaded and stiff with embroidery. The entire room was like that—restrained opulence. Carved screens along the walls. Calligraphy scrolls with clean, forceful brushstrokes. Incense burning in a silver holder shaped like a coiling dragon.

It was the sort of room meant to impress without trying. A place where appearances mattered more than comfort. It was… familiar.

A servant in pale blue robes stood beside the table, pouring tea into a cup that likely hadn't been used – a subtle trap. He hadn't touched it. Not because he didn't want to, but because it hadn't been offered. Cultivators did not help themselves in the waiting rooms of Elders.

He had waited longer than expected. Not long enough to be disrespectful, but just enough to remind him where he stood. It wasn't a message, exactly, but it didn't have to be. Time was a currency like any other.

He didn't fidget. He didn't sigh. He kept his posture still and his focus steady, letting his thoughts settle. This was just another form of cultivation, in its way—refining patience, discipline. Showing control. The body followed the mind. Stillness was strength.

Zhang Shuren had spent his entire life preparing for moments like this.

Fangzhou's noble houses sent gifts to sects year-round. Talented sons were shaped from birth. Tutors in etiquette, posture, script. Private training halls. Rare manuals copied by hand. Elixirs more potent than anything most disciples would ever see. His father had ensured he lacked for nothing.

And in return, Shuren had lived without excuse. He hadn't wasted the resources, hadn't coasted on privilege. Every advantage was a responsibility. Every expectation a weight to carry. Others might flinch from it. He did not.

His hands stayed perfectly still. No trembling. No tension. He'd held a sword since he was five. Learned the etiquette of court at six. Debated legal code before ten. His first duel had been at twelve. No killing blows, of course—his opponent had been a cousin—but the lesson had held.

Strength earned respect. Composure held it.

It had made him the personal disciple of Elder Yan Zhihao, a position of no small importance. It would allow him to repay the investment of his family, and as a cultivator he could watch over and protect them for generations.

As it should be.

He didn't know why Elder Yan had summoned him this morning. On the face of things, it wasn't unusual – personal disciples received more instruction and direct guidance than others. And yet, this was the first time he had been summoned directly. Until now Elder Yan's other personal disciples had been responsible for welcoming him and explaining how things worked.

Hardly shocking – an Elder of the Azure Sky Sect would be far too busy to casually meet with every new disciple, and Elder Yan, in particular, sponsored a great many disciples. So, the question had to be asked… what had changed? Why summon him now?

The servant returned without a sound at some unseen signal, bowing shallowly before stepping aside to open the inner doors. Zhang Shuren, needing no further prompting, rose in a single movement, robe settling cleanly around him. He adjusted the folds of his sleeves and stepped inside.

The room beyond was less ornate than the waiting chamber, but no less calculated. Scrolls lined the walls behind the desk, each marked with tight calligraphy. A low brazier smouldered near the back wall. The scent of sandalwood hung faintly in the air.

Elder Yan Zhihao sat behind the desk, pen in hand, the ink drying on whatever document he had just finished. He didn't look up immediately. Another message—this meeting was important, but not urgent.

Zhang stopped six paces from the desk and bowed deeply, the sleeves of his robe sweeping forward with practised elegance. He did not straighten. Not until the pause stretched, and finally, Elder Yan set the brush aside with a faint tap of ceramic on wood.

"You may rise."

Zhang stood, hands folding once more behind his back and a politely attentive expression on his face. The silence stretched again.

The social games were almost nostalgic. Silence such as this could mean several things. Was Elder Yan leaving him an opportunity to thank the man for his time? To flatter, to request an explanation, to offer his services? Or was it a test of patience instead – unless summoned for a specific purpose, the polite thing was to wait to be told what to do. Elder Yan's time was infinitely more valuable than his own; if the man simply wished to see how long he could stand in place, then that's what he would spend the next few days doing.

Elder Yan studied him with the calm detachment of a man weighing steel at a forge. Not looking for flaws. Measuring potential. After a long moment, he nodded once.

"You have done well since entering the Sect. I have been observing your progress." Yan's tone was light, but it wasn't casual. "You carry yourself well. Disciplined. Reliable. I find those qualities… increasingly rare."

There was no need to respond. Acknowledgment from an Elder was not an invitation to converse – and he had yet to be asked a question. Zhang bowed his head slightly in polite thanks and acknowledgement.

Elder Yan's gaze shifted to a small wooden box resting beside the inkstone. He tapped the lid once, then returned his attention to Shuren.

"There is a matter I would like you to oversee. A minor issue. An outer disciple—new, poorly prepared, unsuited to the path of cultivation. You may have seen him during the entrance exams – Jiang Tian, I believe his name is."

Zhang wasn't fooled by the seeming uncertainty. If an Elder was paying enough attention to a disciple to speak about him with others, it was certain that he knew everything about the disciple in question.

"The boy," Elder Yan almost snarled the word, "is nothing more than a common-born hunter who somehow stumbled his way into Elder Lu's graces. His presence is a mockery of what our Sect holds dear – to our very way of life."

Elder Yan trailed off, almost expectantly. Zhang hesitated for the barest moment before speaking for the first time. "How may I be of service in this matter?"

A slight risk, both in that he was implying he was able to help at all – which could be taken for arrogance – but also because he hadn't been directly given leave to speak. Still, the Heavens favoured the bold.

His actions were vindicated when the hint of a smile crossed the Elder's face. "I believe that it would be… unfortunate if a precedent were to be set in this matter. We are not a charity. The path of cultivation demands more than strength—it requires bearing. Judgement. Composure. I also believe that it would be a fairly simple matter to help the Sect see this – the truth is, as ever, self-evident. But that does not mean we cannot… help it along a little."

Not an order, strictly speaking. Not a request, either. The kind of task given to someone being tested. The sort that came with opportunity attached.

Zhang said nothing. But the implication was clear; Jiang's failure would serve more than one purpose. Personally, he had no opinion on the disciple in question. He'd noticed when Elder Lu had escorted him in late, of course, and had heard some rumours about the disciple being a coward, but he'd never been one to put much stock in rumours. Zhang had seen Jiang accept several duels in public, and while the boy in question lost every time, no one could say he was a coward about it.

But then again, it wasn't his concern. Elder Yan's politics were not his to question. The game was simple—serve well, be rewarded. Question too much, and become the next problem to solve.

"I am honoured by the opportunity to be of use to the Sect, Elder." He said simply, bowing politely.

"Wonderful," the Elder smiled at him before gesturing to the box on the desk. "On an unrelated note, this is for you."

Zhang stepped forward only when beckoned, hands outstretched. The box was light, lacquered wood with a seal carved into the lid. He recognized the emblem—the Yan family crest.

Inside would be a cultivation aid, likely an elixir of some sort. Nothing extravagant – and certainly nothing that could be considered a bribe. Instead, it represented a… promise.

Continue as you have, and the rewards will follow.

He accepted it with a respectful nod, stepped back to his place, and resumed his posture.

"You are dismissed."

Zhang bowed again, deeper this time, before turning and leaving without another word. Outside, the morning sun had risen higher. He walked with measured steps through the sect grounds, the box tucked neatly under one arm, thoughts already moving ahead.

Jiang Tian. An unknown. Untested. Clearly unprepared.

It wouldn't take much. A few public failures, a little social pressure. Nothing overt. Just enough to cast doubt. A shame, really. The boy had no idea what was coming – but then, Zhang Shuren didn't need to hate someone to break them.

He just needed to understand the shape of their weakness.