Of Hunters and Immortals

Jiang pushed open the warped door, the smell of resin and cut wood greeting him before the warmth of the brazier did. The little shop was cramped – half a dozen bows hung on the back wall, most of them plain hunting pieces, their strings slackened for the season. A barrel near the counter held loose arrows, the fletching a mix of goose and crow feathers by the looks of things.

Honestly, it was a bit of a surprise that a town this small even had a dedicated bowyer's shop at all. Jiang had half expected to have to track down a hunter and barter for his spare arrows.

The man behind the counter looked up from tying a bundle of shafts. "What're you after, traveller? Not many come in looking for bows this time of year."

"Arrows," Jiang said, stepping closer. "Two dozen, if you've got them, sized for this," he leaned his bow against the counter, brushing snow from the curve of it.

The man gave a short chuckle, moving over to the barrel of loose arrows. "Two dozen, eh? What, did you leave your quiver too close to the fire or something?"

Jiang allowed himself the faintest smile. "Something like that. Figured I'd take the opportunity to stock up for a good while."

"Good thinking, that," the man said idly, pulling arrows out one by one, eyeing the shafts for straightness. "Worst time to realise you need more arrows is after you've already run out. You'll not find the best stock in winter, mind, but these'll fly straight enough. Goose feather, ash shafts. Six coppers a dozen."

Jiang nodded. "That'll do."

The man bundled the arrows together with twine. "Need anything for your bow?" he asked hopefully. "Spare string, oil or beeswax for the wood? Looks sound enough, but the cold can crack the wood if there's any moisture on it. Worse if you're out in the wilds. Nothing worse than a string snapping and no spare to hand."

Clearly the man hadn't been lying about the lack of customers this time of year. Jiang couldn't fault him for searching for a sale – and really, the man had a point. Who knew when he'd have the chance to pass by another bowyer?

Jiang's fingers brushed the worn grip of his bow. Then again, he wasn't the type of person to spend money on things he didn't need. His current bow was serving him just fine.

Which, now that he thought about it, was a little odd. His first bow had shattered in his hands when he'd tried to use it after becoming a cultivator. This one was unmarred, despite the fact that he was now significantly stronger than he'd been the first time. He recalled the feeling of Qi seeping into the bow, back when he'd hunted Huo Jin. Had he been reinforcing the bow without realising it?

"I'll keep it in mind, but I think I'll be fine for now," he said, idly making a note to experiment with pushing his Qi into his bow later. Actually… maybe with someone else's bow first. The bandits he was hunting wouldn't be needing theirs soon, after all.

The man squinted at him, clearly feeling the sale slip away from him. "What about a new coat, then? You'll freeze to death out there dressed like that – surprised your lips aren't already turning blue. I've furs, good ones. Not cheap, but cheaper than a coffin."

"I don't feel the cold much," Jiang replied dryly.

That earned him a snort. "Everyone feels the cold. Pride doesn't keep the frost off."

Jiang didn't bother answering.

The man finished tying off the arrows and pushed them across the counter. "Fair enough then, can't blame a man for trying," he grumbled. "There you go. Anything else?"

Jiang shook his head. He counted out the coins, setting them down neatly. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to him, he asked, "Actually, now that I think of it, any news on the roads south? I heard there's some bandits nearby."

The fletcher's hands froze over the money. His expression tightened, just for a moment. "Roads are safe enough, so long as you don't wander too far."

"Really?" Jiang pressed. "I passed a caravan a day or so back, and they said there was a group called the Dead River Gang that was causing trouble."

The man's jaw worked. "You'd do well not to ask after that lot. Magistrate's handling it. That's what we pay taxes for."

"Trust me, I've no interest in them," Jiang replied, lifting the bundle of arrows onto his shoulder. "But I'd like to know where not to go. If they're south, I'll head east."

The fletcher hesitated. His eyes flicked to Jiang's bow again, then to Jiang himself. He lowered his voice. "Out in the riverlands. South road heading out of town, there's a section where the road gets real narrow, two, three days away. That's where folk say they've been seen. Don't linger there. And if you've sense, you'll steer wide."

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Jiang inclined his head, masking his satisfaction. "I appreciate the warning."

The man grunted. "Warnings won't help if you don't listen. Leave the gangs to soldiers and magistrates. Common folk sticking their nose in – well, they end up bones in a ditch."

"I'll remember."

He turned, tucking the arrows under his arm as he stepped back out into the snow. The cold air bit at his face, sharp and clean. He adjusted the weight of the bundle on his shoulder. Five arrows left in the quiver, twenty-four more now in hand.

The Dead River Gang wouldn't know what hit them.

— — —

The frigid wind cut through Jiang's cloak as he followed the road south. As a mortal hunter, it was the sort of weather that would have had him calling off a hunt. As a cultivator, it was ignored.

Jiang grimaced and hunched a little, tucking his fingers under his armpits.

Well. Mostly ignored, anyway.

The trees here were bare, branches black against the pale sky, shadows stretched long and thin across the frozen ground. As the terrain shifted from dense forest to the marshy swamps the area was known for – frozen under thick sheets of ice, now – Jiang was able to see further and further across the landscape. It wasn't the kind of environment he was most comfortable in, but he could appreciate the stark beauty of it nonetheless.

The downside of this kind of environment was that there was nothing to block the wind, which swept across the open spaces in great gusts. The upside was that at least he didn't have to worry about accidentally wandering into a bandit ambush.

Which meant it was perfect for practice.

He slowed, exhaling as he reached for the flicker of Qi that bent the shadows when he willed it. Using it on the move instead of while meditating was more difficult, but he somewhat doubted his foes would give him the opportunity to sit down and concentrate in the middle of a fight either.

The darkness at his feet stirred, twisting like smoke. He raised a hand, and it followed, stretching unnaturally across the ground in front of him, pooling where no light should have allowed it. The sight was feeling increasingly normal to him.

A square first. That was simple enough. He pushed, willing the edges straight. The shadow quivered, corners sagging like wet paper. With effort, it held – more or less.

"Better than last time," he muttered.

He let the square collapse, then tried for a circle. That was still harder, for some reason; the edges wanted to slip into angles, the shape warping into an egg before it snapped back to nothing. It was almost like… like the more natural the shape, the harder it was to hold – despite how backwards that sounded. Nature didn't really have perfect corners, so the more structured shape of the square was easier to maintain than the more organic curves.

Or something, anyway – for all Jiang knew, the real reason was that the Raven just didn't like circles.

He focused, tried again.

Oval, then lopsided wheel, then – finally – something close to round. It shivered, insubstantial, before melting back into the dirt.

Progress, at least.

He pressed on, steps steady, eyes half on the road, half on the shadows dancing with each flick of his will. When he tried to raise them higher, into more than flat shapes, they wavered like mist in a breeze. A cube lasted only a heartbeat before the edges bled away, as if the shadow itself refused to hold weight.

Honestly, it had taken a few tries before he had even been sure it was working at all – a solid black shadow didn't exactly have much variation in shade or texture, so it was surprisingly tough to know if something was three-dimensional or two.

The real problem was that even when he did manage to make something more solid, it wasn't, well, solid.

Which made sense. They were shadows. Even when forced into a three-dimensional shape, they didn't inherently have any substance. He wasn't giving up yet – far from it – but he was beginning to think that even if it was possible, it needed some… trick or technique or something that would actually make it worthwhile. Right now, the only use he could imagine for it was intimidation or distraction.

Far from useless, but also not quite practical yet either. After all, a tossed stone could work as a distraction, with the added benefit of not revealing the presence of a cultivation. A little irritatingly, his newfound instincts didn't provide much in the way of help. It felt like he was doing everything right, but it just wasn't working.

Despite that, the progress he'd made in the last few days was… almost frightening. The ease of it unsettled him. Yesterday, he could barely manage to stretch shadows into unnatural lines; now the shapes he made were getting rapidly more solid and defined.

Jiang flexed his hand, watching the darkness slither away between his fingers. Until he understood exactly the value of what the Raven was getting out of this Pact, he would be wary. For now, it felt like he was receiving something he hadn't paid for, and didn't fully know the value of, which was never a good situation to be in.

He exhaled slowly, pushing the disquieting thoughts from his mind. For now, there was nothing he could do about it anyway, and he needed every advantage he could get.

As it was, with only twenty-nine arrows the Dead River Gang could quickly get… complicated. Even the Crimson Blades had almost twenty members, and if a portion of them hadn't fled he may well have run out of arrows even facing that many. If the Dead River Gang had more members – which everyone agreed it did – then he was in danger of running low on arrows before he ran low on opponents.

He would have to be strategic about this, then. If nothing else, the bandits would have archers of their own – maybe he could pilfer some of their stock somehow?

Buying more wouldn't have helped any – his quiver was only designed to hold twenty-four arrows, so it was full to bursting already. Carrying a spare quiver might work, but it wasn't something he was used to, and was more likely to get in the way at a crucial time.

Still, if he'd thought of it earlier, he may have purchased one anyway. It wasn't like he was particularly low on funds anyway, as strange as it was to say. Really, by most standards, he was actually shockingly wealthy, which felt… vaguely wrong, somehow.

He tugged his cloak tighter and started walking a little faster to warm himself up. The marsh stretched out endless and pale before him. At the end of the day, he would stick to the methods that had worked so far – taking each problem as it came. If there were more bandits than expected, he would simply have to take a little more time to plan his attack.

But one way or the other, they wouldn't be causing trouble ever again.