Of Hunters and Immortals

The icy winter air did little to cool the rage burning in Jiang's chest. He didn't bother with subtlety, nor did he take to the rooftops to avoid the crowds – this time, they got out of his way.

It might have had something to do with the way every shadow bent towards him as he stalked through the streets.

The one silver lining of this situation was that he didn't need to track down the Iron Dogs – he still remembered the location of their headquarters from when he'd killed Hou Jin. Dimly, Jiang was aware that he should probably be approaching this more cautiously. As his recent tussle with Zhang aptly demonstrated, he was far from unbeatable, and considering that his favoured tactic of keeping his distance and shooting his enemies as they approached wouldn't work in the close confines of a building, he might be in trouble.

And yet, he didn't slow down. It wasn't just the anger he felt at another person getting dragged away by criminals that was fueling him – it was the guilt he felt. Lin had begged him to reconsider taking the contract on Hou Jin, clearly knowing what sort of response would follow.

Jiang hadn't cared. He'd been confident in handling the consequences of his actions, not even thinking about how they might fall on others instead. Hell, right after he'd killed Hou Jin, he'd left the city – of course he was fine.

He rounded the final corner, and the Iron Dog's headquarters came into view. Two men were standing outside the front entryway, half-armed and half-awake, leaning on spears they didn't look ready to use.

The guards' bored expressions faltered as they noticed him – and the way every shadow in the street stretched toward his feet like dark water drawn uphill. One straightened, knuckles whitening on his spear; the other muttered something under his breath, eyes flicking to the nearest escape.

Jiang broke into a run.

— — —

Lin sat slumped against the damp stone wall, one eye nearly swollen shut. The room was small, windowless, and smelled of stale blood and cheap liquor. Somewhere outside, boots clattered on wooden floors, a door slammed, then silence again. Time was a blur down here – she'd stopped trying to count the hours, but it had probably only been a day or so since they'd jumped her.

She spat a coppery taste onto the floor and grimaced. The Iron Dogs had stopped asking questions for now, but they'd be back. She'd told them everything the first time they asked – Jiang's name, what he'd done, how fast it had happened. She wasn't loyal enough to Jiang to die for him, and she wasn't stupid enough to think lying would save her. Besides, he was the cultivator – of the two of them, Jiang would have a much better chance of defending himself against a gang than she had.

But they hadn't believed her. Who would? A nobody street rat claiming a single rogue cultivator walked in, killed their leader, and walked out? It sounded like a bad tavern story.

A bruise on her ribs throbbed when she shifted. At least they hadn't done worse. That fear had gnawed at her since the moment they dragged her here. Living on the streets, you learned what gangs were capable of. Maybe her scrawny frame or boyish face had spared her so far, but she didn't trust luck to last forever. She'd thought once or twice about… going on her own terms. Biting her tongue hard enough to choke or smashing her head against the wall, something along those lines. Better than waiting.

But even that small act of defiance felt too big. Her courage was already in short supply.

A faint murmur rose somewhere above her. Shouts followed—sharp, panicked. She tensed, head lifting, breath caught in her throat. More noise: a crash, a strangled scream. A rival gang making a move, maybe? Some of the smaller groups had been poking around the edges of the Iron Dog's territory after Hou Jin had died, searching for weaknesses.

But the sounds were wrong. The screams were too one-sided, the shouts too filled with pure terror. Then a single, panicked cry cut through the din, clear enough to make out: "Cultivator!"

Her heart hammered. The footsteps above her were no longer steady; they were frantic, scrambling. Someone screamed again, the sound ragged and short-lived. She stared at the door to her cell, hardly daring to breathe. It couldn't be. It was too much to hope for. But the word "cultivator" echoed again, closer this time, followed by another voice shouting for everyone to run.

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Lin's hands clenched into fists against the filthy floor. Maybe it wasn't Jiang. Maybe it was someone worse. But as another scream tore through the halls, a wild, desperate spark flared in her chest despite herself.

Please, she thought, her throat tight. Please let it be him.

The noise above died to a distant shuffle, then nothing. The silence pressed in, thicker than the stone walls. Lin's stomach twisted. Maybe she'd imagined it—

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, slow, deliberate. A nervous voice babbled, closer with each step. The door shuddered, then splintered inward under a sudden, violent kick. Shadows surged through the jagged frame, writhing across the floor like smoke given weight.

Jiang stepped out of them, one hand clamped on the collar of a trembling Iron Dog who stumbled ahead of him. She vaguely recognised him as being one of the ones in charge. The man's words tumbled out in a rush: "S-she's here! She's alive! Please, don't kill me—"

If someone had told her a few weeks ago that her reaction to the sight of an angry cultivator would be anything other than terror, she would have kicked them off a roof.

As it was, anger flickered briefly through her mind. This was his fault, after all – if he hadn't killed Hou Jin, she wouldn't be chained to a wall. But the anger was a tiny thing against the wave of relief breaking over her.

She had thought she understood what Jiang was – a bit of a stupid kid who could nudge shadows and run faster than most. But this… this was something else entirely. The way the darkness curled protectively around him wasn't just tricks with light. He wasn't just faster or stronger. He was other.

Jiang crossed the room in three strides, snapping the rusty chain that bound her to the wall like it was twine. He steadied her when her knees nearly gave out. "Can you stand?"

"Barely," she rasped, her throat raw.

His gaze swept over her bruises, and his jaw tightened. Something heavy settled over the room – like the air itself had thickened. Lin felt it wrap around her like a blanket, oddly comforting despite the way her pulse jumped. The sensation was clearly much less comforting to the Iron Dog in the room, who went rigid as his breath came in short, panicked gasps.

"How did they find you?" Jiang asked her, his voice flat and deadly.

Lin shrugged weakly. By the sounds of it, he already had some suspicions, which was better than what she had. "I was just walking. They jumped me."

Jiang's dark eyes shifted to the gang lieutenant. "You. Explain."

The man's words tumbled out, desperate: "It was the Broker! He's—he's an information Broker. Can sell information on anyone. Said a girl had ties to the one who killed Hou Jin. We just… we just wanted answers!"

Jiang swore under his breath, low and vicious. "That bastard. Playing both sides." He shoved the man against the wall hard enough to rattle the dangling remnants of her chains.

Honestly, Lin wasn't surprised in the least – she didn't want to get involved with people like that precisely because they would sell you out at the drop of a hat.

The lieutenant's eyes darted around the cell. "Y—Yeah, he can't be trusted," the man said uncertainly, clearly prepared to agree with anything Jiang said. "We worked with him for years before the boss died, and then the next thing we know is that he just cuts all contact."

Jiang frowned. "If you were working with the Broker, why would he pay me to kill Hou Jin?"

The lieutenant's eyes went wide. "You killed Hou Jin?" For a heartbeat, shock and outrage flared on his bruised face. But then his gaze flicked to the shifting shadows curling at Jiang's feet, and whatever pride he'd held onto drained away. His shoulders slumped. "We… we handled shipments for him," he stammered. "Ran slaves through the back roads, moved goods he didn't want traced. He told us who to grab, who to sell. He's been using us for years."

Jiang's hands curled into fists. His shadows stirred, crawling over the floor like restless animals. Lin knew what he must be feeling – the Broker had known everything Jiang wanted to know, and yet had sent him on a bunch of ridiculous detours. As she saw the expression on his face, Lin was struck with the notion that the Broker had just made his final enemy.

Then his gaze flicked to her, and she saw the calculation behind his eyes. She was barely standing. "Damn it," he muttered. "You need Old Nan first."

Well, he wasn't wrong.

He slipped her arm over his shoulder and guided her toward the cell door. Her legs wobbled, each step a small agony, but she gritted her teeth.

Behind them, the lieutenant swallowed hard. "W-what… what are you going to do to me?"

Jiang paused mid-step, clearly having forgotten the man even existed. He glanced back, expression unreadable. Then he shrugged. "Your choice," he said to Lin.

Lin studied the man for a brief moment. His eyes darted between her and Jiang, wide with desperate hope. She remembered the way he'd watched from the doorway as she was beaten, his ugly smirk, the casual way he'd spat on the floor when she'd begged them to stop.

She didn't speak. She simply reached down, slid the dagger from Jiang's belt, and drove it up beneath the man's ribs. His mouth opened soundlessly. She stepped back as he crumpled to the floor, the blade still in her hand.

Jiang didn't comment. He just adjusted his grip on her and nodded toward the corridor.

"Let's go."

Lin followed his lead, limping beside him, the dagger still clenched in her shaking fingers. As they made their way through the building, she took in the crumpled forms that filled the hallways. A few of them – not many, but a few – had arrows sticking out of them. The rest seemed to have been killed with a blade, but she couldn't see a matching weapon on Jiang's belt. If it weren't for the pain, she probably would have felt more curious, but it was taking all of her energy to put up a strong front right now.

One thing was for sure, though.

However he'd managed it, Jiang had very clearly shown why mortals had no place in cultivator business.