Of Hunters and Immortals

The Broker was reviewing manifests – a tedious but necessary part of his business – when the knock came. He frowned. It was too early for his scheduled appointments, and too late for any urgent morning business. "Enter," he called, his voice smooth and unhurried.

The door opened, and Jiang Tian stepped inside.

Interesting. It had been… what, close to six hours since he'd given the young cultivator the contract? Too soon for an admission of failure, to say nothing of how the boy seemed too stubborn to give up at all, but also too soon for a success.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon," he greeted, curious despite himself. "What can I do for you?"

"Huo Jin is dead."

The Broker blinked behind his mask. That was… unexpected. He felt a flicker of suspicion – Jiang hadn't struck him as the type to lie, especially not about something so easily validated, but then the best liars were always the ones you didn't suspect.

"So soon?" the Broker asked, testing. "Huo Jin was cautious."

"He wasn't cautious enough," Jiang replied.

Unhelpful. It was theoretically possible for Huo Jin to be dead so quickly, but it wasn't likely. Even cultivators had limits – though, admittedly, he wasn't familiar with Jiang's particular skill set. The real problem was that he hadn't received any reports from his network about any happenings coming from the Iron Dogs.

Normally, he would simply refuse to pay until confirmation had been received – but Jiang was not a standard asset. He was a cultivator, and the cost of provoking an impatient – and, assuming he was telling the truth, clearly lethally efficient – cultivator was likely higher than the cost of paying for a potential lie. A lie, after all, could be rectified later. Permanently.

"Excellent work," the Broker said, deciding the risk was acceptable. He retrieved the promised pouch and slid it across the desk. "One gold and fifty silver."

Jiang took the pouch, but only to remove a smaller, clinking handful of coins. He pushed one gold piece back across the desk. "The information on the bandits."

Perfect.

He retrieved a much thicker, sealed parchment from a separate drawer. "This contains everything my network has on the major bandit groups operating in the surrounding area that fit your criteria," he explained, careful to keep his expression steady even behind the mask. One never quite knew what strange senses cultivators had, after all, and it was best not to arouse any suspicions now. Not when everything was going so well. "Known leaders, estimated numbers, typical hunting grounds. You'll find some are more… resilient than others. I've noted which ones are particularly dangerous."

He'd adjusted some of the numbers and facts, of course. Not enough to cause suspicion, but hopefully just enough for the young cultivator to direct his efforts towards some of the gangs that the Broker wanted removed. A little misinformation could go a long way in ensuring a loose end tied itself off.

The Broker pushed the thick parchment across the desk, his movements smooth and unhurried. "The most likely candidates, given the scale of the raid on Liǔxī and the time frame, would be the Crimson Blades or the Dead River Gang," he explained, his voice a calm, professional murmur. "Both are dangerous enough and operate in the southern territories – they would likely have temporarily allied with a few smaller groups to make up the numbers, but I imagine going after those smaller groups would be largely pointless. You'll find their last known locations and estimated strengths noted within."

Even as he spoke, his mind was elsewhere, replaying the elegant simplicity of his own maneuvering. Huo Jin was dead. The last, noisiest link to his more overt criminal enterprises had been severed. It was perfect. The package Han had delivered – the deed and title that would grant him legitimate entry into Qinghe's lower nobility – had made men like Huo Jin obsolete. Dangerous, even. They were relics of a past the Broker was actively erasing, brutes who knew too much and cared too little for subtlety. Cleaning house was a necessary step in his transition from a king of shadows to a lord of commerce, and Huo Jin had been the final, most stubborn stain to remove.

No one in Qinghe would have taken the contract – and it would have likely been dangerous to even offer. The Iron Dogs were too entrenched, too connected, and the fear of reprisal was a currency more powerful than silver.

Enter a young, naive cultivator, driven by a simple motivation that made him the perfect tool. He didn't care about local politics or future consequences. He just pointed himself at a target and fired.

And now, the weapon was being aimed away from the city, sent to shatter itself against the hardened bandit crews of the northern wilds. The Broker felt a deep, clinical satisfaction. With any luck, Jiang would be killed, neatly tying off another loose end. Even if he survived, and by some miracle managed to track down the correct bandit groups, the likelihood of him retrieving any useful information was… slim. Everything was proceeding almost flawlessly.

"…be particularly cautious of the Dead River Gang's leader," he finished, his attention returning to the boy standing before him. "He is said to be a cunning strategist."

Jiang simply took the packet, tucking it away without a word. The Broker suppressed a faint smile beneath his mask. Such a wonderfully predictable tool.

"I wish you luck in your hunt, Cultivator Jiang," he said, a final, pleasant dismissal.

Jiang ignored the pleasantry. He just nodded once and turned to leave. As he moved through the shadows near the door, something strange happened. For a fraction of a second, the boy's sharp outline seemed to blur, to become indistinct, like a reflection on disturbed water. The Broker's eyes, trained to notice every detail, every twitch, every tell, momentarily lost their focus. He was there, and then he simply… wasn't, until the soft click of the door closing announced he was gone.

The Broker sat in the sudden silence, his earlier satisfaction evaporating like mist. He stared at the door, a cold, unfamiliar prickle of unease tracing its way down his spine. He'd somehow forgotten the most annoying things about cultivators – they never had the decency to fit into neat little moulds.

Perhaps he should make sure the young cultivator didn't find anything.

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— — —

Jiang found Lin waiting for him outside the Bar, leaning against the cold stone of the wall with her arms crossed.

He walked up to her and stopped, the awkward silence stretching between them. He'd already told her of his intentions to leave the city once he got the information from the Broker, which meant that… well, that their business was done. He had his information; she had been paid. There was nothing left to say, but it felt wrong to just walk away.

"I guess this is it, then," he said eventually.

"Guess so," she replied, just as awkward. "Won't say I'm not gonna miss the pay, though at least I don't have to worry about you getting me killed."

Jiang winced. "Yeah. Uh, sorry about the whole… you know."

"Not telling me you were a cultivator?" she supplied. "Relax. You don't owe me anything – people have secrets." She shrugged. "Sure, yours was a bit bigger than most, but that doesn't mean I have a right to it. Besides, from what Old Nan was saying, you're better off the fewer people know about it."

Jiang nodded, but didn't say anything. The silence stretched again. Lin shifted, arms still crossed, eyes flicking toward the street like she was trying not to look at him too long.

"You could come with me," Jiang said, the words coming out rougher than he'd intended. He avoided her gaze, staring out at the road beyond the gate. "You're good at… navigating. Could be useful."

He regretted the offer even as he made it. Apparently, he was lonelier than he thought, if he was saying stuff like that. The simple reality of the situation was that Lin wouldn't be able to keep up with him. It wasn't just that he was a cultivator and she wasn't – though that would have been enough on its own – it was that he was explicitly going out to fight his way through bandit gangs. It was going to be very far from safe, and that was taking into consideration all of the advantages he had that she didn't. Still, the offer was out there now.

Lin was quiet for a long moment. He could feel her weighing the offer, weighing the silver she'd earned against the dangerous, unknown path he was walking. He knew from the little she'd told him about her situation that she considered him an opportunity, a way to a life off the streets, a life she could only dream of. But she had seen the shadows that clung to him, felt the coldness of the world he was stepping into.

"And go where?" she asked at last, her voice soft but firm. "Chasing bandits through the woods? Fighting cultivators from your old Sect? That's your world, Jiang, not mine." She clutched the coin pouch tighter. "I know how to survive down here. I know the rules. Out there, with you? I'd just be a liability. Another person for you to protect."

He couldn't argue with that. He knew she was right.

"This," she said, holding up the pouch, "is the best chance I'm ever likely to get. I can find a real place to stay, get myself looking a little more respectable. Enough to get a job, maybe, or an apprenticeship if I'm lucky. It's not a grand adventure, no ancient spirit beasts or whatever it is you're dealing with, but… it's real."

She met his eyes, and for the first time, he saw no trace of her usual sarcasm or cynicism. Just a deep, weary resolve. "You paid me what you promised. Our deal is done."

Jiang nodded, a strange sense of loss settling in his chest. "Stay safe, Lin."

"You too," she said, a faint, wry smile touching her lips. "And try not to get yourself killed. It'd be a waste."

He turned then, without another word, stepping away from her and heading towards the gate he'd entered the city from, only a week or so ago. It was funny how much had changed in such a short amount of time.

How… bittersweet it was, to meet someone he could call a friend, only to leave them behind.

But he didn't look back. He just let the crowd swallow him whole, his gaze already fixed on the road that would lead him out of Qinghe and into the wilds, his expression hardening with every step.

It was time to hunt some bandits.

— — —

Zhang Shuren stood in the quiet, opulent antechamber, his posture perfect, his hands clasped behind his back. The air was thick with the scent of expensive incense, a cloying attempt to mask the tavern's squalor seeping through the floorboards. He had spent three days navigating Qinghe's stifling politics, a tiresome dance of veiled intentions and empty pleasantries he'd been raised for but had never particularly enjoyed. Mistress Bai's feigned neutrality had been the most irritating of all, her refusal to help a clear, if subtle, rebuke to the Sect's authority.

Worse still was the waiting. The mortal behind the door – this "Broker" – was letting the silence stretch, a common and rather pathetic power play. Zhang could feel the presence of the other cultivator in the room beyond, a steady, quiescent pulse of Qi. A hidden guard. How crude.

"You may enter," a smooth voice finally called out from behind the door.

Zhang stepped inside, his eyes taking in the room in a single, dismissive sweep. More dark wood, more scrolls, another map. A man in a bone mask sat behind a desk large enough to serve as a barricade.

"Honoured Disciple of the Azure Sky Sect," the Broker greeted, his voice a warm, cultured purr. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Zhang did not bother with pleasantries. He stopped a precise ten paces from the desk, hands clasped politely behind his back. He didn't bow, not even the slightest inclination of his head. This was merely a mortal, after all. "I am looking for someone," he said, his voice cold and clear. "A rogue disciple who has abandoned his duties. His name is Jiang Tian."

The Broker's posture didn't change, but Zhang, trained from birth to read the subtlest shifts in bearing, saw it. A fractional stiffening of the shoulders – surprise. Followed by a slight relaxation that was almost… satisfaction. Interesting. Clearly, the man recognised the name. The reaction was filed away, a dissonant note in an otherwise simple affair.

"Information is my trade," the Broker replied, recovering his smooth composure instantly. "Details on the movements of a specific individual… would naturally have a price."

Zhang let the silence sit for a moment. He had no time for mortal games. He raised a hand from behind his back, the air in the room growing noticeably warmer. A tiny, brilliant orange spark danced to life on his fingertip, hovering just above his knuckle. It cast a flickering, hungry light on the Broker's bone mask, the heat from it causing the very air to shimmer.

"I think you misunderstand," Zhang said softly. "This is not a request."

The Broker froze. The hidden cultivator's Qi signature sharpened for a heartbeat, then receded. Good. The hidden cultivator was of a higher realm than his own, which meant that if it came to a fight, Zhang likely would have lost. Except, of course, that he wasn't just any random wandering cultivator – he was here as a representative of the Azure Sky Sect. An extension of its authority. Killing him would result in the city being razed by Elder Yan – the insult repaid in blood.

If nothing else, this 'Broker' was a pragmatist, at least. He gave a short, sharp laugh, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone, and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Of course, my apologies, Honoured Disciple. A misunderstanding. There is no charge for assisting the esteemed Azure Sky Sect. Consider it a gesture of goodwill, a foundation for a… productive future relationship."

"The information," Zhang repeated, letting the flame on his fingertip die.

"Yes, of course," the Broker said, his tone all business now. "As it so happens, the boy was here, just this morning. He purchased a dossier on the major bandit crews operating in the northern territories and was last seen heading for the western gate, presumably to begin his hunt."

Zhang processed the information with a curt nod.

"You will provide me with a copy of this information," he said flatly. Fortunately, the Broker didn't waste his time with further protestations or power plays, merely reaching into a drawer and pulling out a large file.

This was a solid lead, more than he'd hoped for. It still left him with an unfortunately large area to search, certainly, but much better than he would have otherwise. He would have his quarry soon enough.

He turned to leave without another word. He wasn't blind to the fact that the Broker was playing games here – but the simple truth of the matter was that he didn't care. Mortal games were amusing, but they always broke against the simple, undeniable reality of a cultivator's power. If this Broker's games interfered with his goals, the man would die.

It was that simple.