Of Hunters and Immortals

Zhang Shuren was the first to move. He gave the field of corpses a final, grim look, his expression a mask of cold duty. "I must inform the Sect of this development," he said, his voice clipped and formal. "The use of these forbidden arts is a matter the Elders will not take lightly. They will likely deploy several inner disciples, or maybe even a core disciple, to aid us in this matter."

Jiang grimaced at the thought of more sect disciples, but the practical side of him kept him from complaining. From what he knew of Gao Leng, the man was at least in the second realm – and while he wasn't entirely sure of what that implied, he knew that each realm represented a qualitative increase in power. Considering he couldn't even fight Zhang on an even level, Gao Leng was almost certainly too dangerous to fight with just the two of them.

"How long will it take you to get a message to the Sect?" he asked instead.

"No time at all," Zhang replied, shooting him a puzzled glance. "I was provided with a transmission stone."

Jiang nodded, pretending he knew what that meant. Which, in fairness, it was rather self-explanatory – clearly some way of communicating over a distance. To be honest, he didn't particularly care about the specifics.

Zhang stepped away from the main camp, toward the relative privacy of the treeline, retrieving a smooth, palm-sized stone from a pouch within his robes. Jiang watched him go, then turned his own attention to the grim task at hand. Answers. He needed answers, and sixty dead men weren't going to offer them freely. He wasn't expecting a map pointing directly at Gao Leng's location, of course, but every little bit of information would help.

He started with the leader's tent. It was larger than the others, the canvas thicker, a stolen fur pelt thrown over the entrance. Inside, the air was close, smelling of stale wine and unwashed bodies. A rough-hewn table held a half-empty bottle and a scattered deck of greasy playing cards. Jiang rummaged through a wooden chest at the foot of a bedroll, finding nothing but spare clothes and a few silver coins he tucked into his own pouch more out of habit than anything else.

He checked under the bedroll, behind the crates, in the pockets of a discarded coat. Nothing.

He moved on to the other tents, his frustration growing with each empty search. These men had lived and died here, but they had left behind no hint of who they answered to, no clue as to their purpose beyond simple banditry.

Finally, in a small, locked chest tucked away in what looked like a secondary command tent, he found it. A single, folded piece of parchment, its seal already broken. Jiang's pulse quickened as he unfolded it. The script was crude and hurried, but the message was clear enough.

The master is occupied with a new harvest. Maintain your position in the marshes. Avoid drawing the attention of the magistrate or any wandering cultivators until you receive new orders.

That was it. No name, no location, no date. It was a confirmation of some kind of structure, that Gao Leng was using more than just this bandit group – which was concerning in its own right – but it gave him nothing to act on. Just an order to wait. He crumpled the parchment in his fist, the sour taste of futility sharp in his mouth. Another dead end.

He stepped back out into the cold air just as Zhang was returning, the transmission stone now gone from his hand. The disciple's face was a mask of grim composure.

"The Sect has been informed," Zhang stated, his tone leaving no room for questions. "They will begin their own inquiries, but the distance is great. Apparently, there is a senior disciple close enough to aid us who will be dispatched, but for now, we are on our own." He glanced at the crumpled parchment in Jiang's hand. "Did you find anything of use?"

"Nothing," Jiang said, tossing the paper to the disciple. "Just orders to stay put. So what's the next move? We can't track a ghost through the entire province."

Zhang was silent for a long moment, his eyes sweeping over the carnage of the camp. "No," he said finally. "Hunting blindly is a fool's errand. If we wish to find this Gao Leng, we require better information. Information that cannot be found in a place like this."

He turned his gaze south, in the direction of the city they had both recently left. "Our best and only course of action is to return to Qinghe. The Broker, for all his faults, has a network that reaches into the darkest corners of this province. And the independent cultivators Mistress Bai spoke of… they will have heard whispers. They value the stability of their territory. An unorthodox practitioner of this scale is a threat to them as well. They will not ignore it."

Jiang hated the idea of going back, of once again relying on the whims of others. It felt like, despite all his progress, he was in no better a situation than he was weeks ago. But he knew Zhang was right. He had exhausted his own leads. He needed more.

"Fine," he said, the word tasting like ash. "We go back to Qinghe."

— — —

Travelling with Zhang Shuren was… strange. For his entire life, moving through the wilderness had been a solitary act. He was used to the silence, to the rhythm of his own footsteps, to a world where he was the only point of reference. Even the caravan had been a temporary arrangement, a slow, rumbling affair where he was more an observer than a participant.

This was different. For starters, Zhang could actually keep up with him, even when moving through the forest and not travelling on the roads. They covered ground at a speed that would have been impossible for a mortal, stopping only for brief periods to rest and cultivate. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was far from companionable.

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By the time night fell and they slowed, they had covered almost a third of the distance to Qinghe. As they sat on opposite sides of a small fire, Jiang finally decided to break the silence. Even when the older disciple had offered to 'trade pointers' back at the Azure Sky Sect, Jiang had noticed he didn't seem quite as full of himself as some of the other disciples. "Why did you join the Sect?"

Zhang looked up from the whetstone he was methodically drawing across the edge of his sword, his expression a mask of polite surprise at the personal nature of the question. "It is the duty of those with talent to serve," he said simply. "The Azure Sky Sect is the greatest power in the province. Where else would one go to cultivate?"

The answer was formal, precise, and told Jiang absolutely nothing. "That's not what I asked," Jiang pressed, his tone blunt. "I asked why. You don't seem like the kind of person who just does what they're told."

A flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps, or maybe even faint amusement—crossed Zhang's face before it was smoothed away. He set the whetstone down and rested his hands on his knees, regarding Jiang with a long, analytical look, as if deciding how much of an explanation he was owed.

"My family is of the nobility in the southern provinces," he said finally. "I am the third son. My eldest brother will inherit the title and the lands. My second brother has a commission in the provincial army and will likely have a distinguished career. As the third son, my path was less… defined. There was no inheritance for me, no clear duty to fulfil. My options were to seek a minor position at court, or find my own way to bring honour to our name."

He picked up his sword, testing the edge with his thumb. "Cultivation was that path. It is a source of power and prestige that is earned, not inherited. It was a way to distinguish myself, to ensure that the name Zhang Shuren carried its own weight." He paused, his gaze distant. "It was, at first, a purely logical decision. Then, when I first touched Qi, it became clear that it was also my destiny. I had a talent for it. My affinity was strong, and I progressed faster than my tutors expected. My family, seeing this potential, spared no expense. I had the best instructors, the finest elixirs, access to manuals that most will never see. My entire childhood, from the age of six, was a preparation to join the Azure Sky Sect."

Jiang listened in silence, trying to imagine it. A life of tutors and elixirs, a path laid out for him since he was a child.

He shuddered.

Zhang noticed the reaction, his eyebrow arching in a silent question. "Does the thought of a structured life displease you so much?"

"It's not a life," Jiang said, the words blunter than he'd intended. "It's a cage. Every day planned out, every choice made for you before you're old enough to know what you want. I'd rather be freezing in the woods than living like that." He thought of his own childhood – harsh, certainly, but his own. Every rabbit he snared, every deer he tracked, was a choice he had made, a victory he had earned for himself and for his family. The idea of that being replaced by tutors and pre-ordained duties made his skin crawl.

"Some may view it as such," Zhang conceded. "But it brings with it a certain… clarity of purpose. There is no uncertainty, no wasted effort. It provides a foundation of strength and knowledge that those outside can only dream of." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "Which brings me to a question I have been considering. You speak of preferring the freedom of the wilds, yet your cultivation has advanced at a speed that rivals those with every resource at their disposal. How? Even with a strong affinity, your progress is… remarkable."

Jiang shifted, uncomfortable under the analytical stare. He thought of the raven, of the Pact thrumming under his skin, of the unnatural ease with which his Qi now flowed. These were not secrets he was willing to share, not with Zhang, not with anyone. "I had a strong motivation," he said evasively. "And I found something in the forest, before I reached the Sect. It helped."

Zhang's expression didn't change, but Jiang could feel the weight of his scepticism. The older disciple was smart enough to know it wasn't the whole story, but also polite – or perhaps just patient – enough not to press the matter. For now.

"A fortunate encounter, then," Zhang said smoothly, letting the subject drop. "But fortune can only carry one so far. Raw power is a foundation, nothing more. Without the skill and experience to wield it, it is a blunt, inefficient tool. You fight with a hunter's instinct, but you possess no true techniques. How do you intend to face a cultivator like Gao Leng, who has had decades to hone his arts?"

It was a valid question, which was rather irritating. It was also a rather transparent attempt at highlighting the advantages of returning to the Sect.

"I don't know," Jiang said, his voice tight. "I tried to find some in the Sect's library – looked through everything available to outer disciples. There was nothing. Not a single text on shadow-aligned cultivation. So if I want a technique, it seems I'll have to make one myself."

Zhang looked genuinely unimpressed by the declaration. "You saw a handful of scrolls and concluded the Sect had nothing to offer you?" He let out a sigh that was pure, condescending exasperation.

"The library may not have had a specific, pre-made scroll that fit your rare affinity. But it contains thousands of texts on Qi theory, on the principles of shaping energy, on the very foundations of how techniques are created. The Sect teaches you how to think like a cultivator, how to understand the deep, structural flow of Qi, not just how to copy the motions from a page. That knowledge is more valuable than any single technique. It is what allows a true disciple to master a borrowed art, or, in time, to create their own. What you are attempting is akin to forging a sword without first learning the nature of fire and steel."

Jiang's jaw tightened. He hated that Zhang was making sense. His own fumbling attempts at shaping shadows had already shown him the truth of it; he was grasping at the edges of something he fundamentally did not understand. The instincts granted by the Pact certainly helped patch some of the more glaring holes in his self-created techniques, but that was far from being the same as direct instruction.

Seeing the reluctant concession on Jiang's face, Zhang's tone softened, shifting from a lecture to a more practical instruction. "Your cultivation is still in its infancy. For now, your focus should not be on grand, invented techniques, but on the absolute basics of Qi manipulation. Control, stability, efficiency. Without those, any technique you try to build will be a house with no foundation, ready to collapse the moment you put any real pressure on it."

Jiang remained sceptical. Oh, certainly, Zhang's words made sense – but he didn't have time to spend months on 'theory' when his family's fate was on the line.

Zhang seemed to read his thoughts. "You are unconvinced," he stated. "Very well. Your understanding is lacking. I am far from a master of such things, but I know the fundamentals. As we travel, I can show you some of the basic principles, the exercises every disciple learns in their first year. It will be a more efficient use of your time than stumbling around in the dark on your own."

Jiang grimaced, but was too practical to refuse. At this point, pretty much anything would be useful – and it wasn't like he had anything better to do. "Fine," he sighed, knowing he should be acting grateful but being unable to muster enough motivation to actually do it. "Suppose we may as well."

The way the corner of Zhang's mouth tightened in irritation was more gratifying than it should be.