Jiang woke to the sound of knuckles rapping sharply against wood. His eyes snapped open, body tense before his mind caught up. A door. Not his door—he wasn’t home. The past two days crashed back into him in an instant, exhaustion weighing heavy on his limbs.

  “Boy—wake up! The honoured Elder has demanded your presence.” The voice was muffled through the door, but clearly impatient. A moment later, it slid open without waiting for permission. A middle-aged servant stepped inside, dressed in crisp brown robes.

  Jiang couldn’t remember his name, but it was the same man who had shown him to this little room after the cultivator had left. He’d been exhausted enough that he hadn’t much cared where he was going beyond the knowledge that it contained a bed.

  Judging by how tired he still felt and the sunlight seeping in from the corridor, he hadn’t slept long. Part of him wanted to snap at the man for disturbing him, roll over, and fall back asleep for the next few days. The rest of him, the part desperate for news of his family, had him rolling to his feet.

  The servant frowned at his wrinkled clothes and unkempt hair. “You’re meeting Elder Lu Heng, not some back-alley peddler,” the man said, already bustling forward. “At least try to look like you belong in polite company.”

  Jiang blinked at him. He’d spent the last two days running through the forest – hardly surprising he didn’t look his best. The cultivator hadn’t seemed to care earlier, why would he care now?

  With a huff, the servant grabbed a nearby basin and thrust it toward him. “Wash your face.”

  Too tired to bother arguing, Jiang took the damp cloth and ran it over his skin, then dropped it back into the basin.

  “Absolutely hopeless. Why do I even try?” the servant sighed. “We don’t have time to make you look presentable – if such a thing is even possible. Very well, if you’re going to look like a vagabond regardless, you can at least make sure the Honoured Elder isn’t waiting for too long. Let’s go.”

  The servant set off at a brisk pace, muttering under his breath about lost causes and improper manners. Jiang followed without comment, his steps steady despite the lingering exhaustion in his limbs. The hallways were cleaner than anywhere he’d ever been—polished wood, silk banners hanging from the walls, the occasional servant passing in quiet efficiency. The magistrate’s estate, then.

  The guards at the gates hadn’t wanted to let him in when he’d first arrived, but he’d made enough of a nuisance of himself that they had eventualy caved, warning him that the Lord Magistrate would toss him in prison if he was wasting time.

  It was by far the biggest building he’d ever been in – so big it seemed mostly pointless. The entirety of his village could probably live comfortably in the building twice over, but besides the magistrate’s family and a dozen or so servants, it seemed like the place was empty.

  The servant stopped before a sliding door, smoothing his robes before stepping inside. Jiang followed.

  The room was large but sparsely furnished. A low table sat at its centre, a tea set arranged neatly on its surface. Cushions lined the floor. Soft afternoon light filtered in from an open window, the scent of incense barely detectable in the air.

  Seated at the table was the cultivator.

  Jiang didn’t hesitate. “Are the bandits dead yet?”

  The servant sucked in a sharp breath, turning so fast he nearly tripped. “You—! That is not—!” He clamped his mouth shut, face rapidly shifting between horror and despair, bowing in desperate apology in the direction of the cultivator.

  Even though he didn’t really know what these people considered polite, Jiang was aware enough to realise he was being rude. In the face of news of his family, though, he just didn’t care.

  Across the table, Lu Heng exhaled a quiet breath—something close to a laugh, though his expression barely shifted. “Direct.”

  The servant let out a sound of pure distress and all but fled, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

  “I am Elder Lu Heng,” the cultivator said after a moment, “Of the Azure Sky Sect. You may call me Elder Lu.”

  Jiang eyed him. “…Jiang Tian,” he said shortly.

  Lu Heng inclined his head. There was something faintly amused in his expression, but he didn’t comment.

  “So?” Jiang pressed. “Are they dead?”

  Lu Heng poured himself a cup of tea. “The Azure Sky Sect dispatched a force to eliminate the Hollow Fangs and rescue the captives. One of our Elders is leading them. I expect them to be finished within the hour.” He sipped his tea. “I assumed you would want to be awake for it.”

  Jiang sagged despite himself. For some reason, he hadn’t expected things to actually work out. “Thank you,” he said belatedly, relaxing enough to sit down at the table. For some reason, the cultivator seemed to find that amusing as well, but then, who knew what those people thought?

  Now that it was no longer a question of whether his family would be saved, Jiang felt the weight of the last two days settle into his bones. Exhaustion had been there from the moment he stumbled into Wúyè, but he had been too tense to acknowledge it. Too much running, too much waiting, too much thinking about what would happen if he had been too slow.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Now, he had to think about what came next.

  The bandits would die. His mother and Xiaoyu would be safe. But Liǔxī was gone. Even if the fires hadn’t burned everything to the ground, it wasn’t as if the survivors could just… go back. A village wasn’t just its buildings. It was the people. And most of them were dead.

  Jiang exhaled through his nose, staring at the patterns carved into the table’s surface.

  Across from him, Elder Lu said nothing.

  The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but present. Eventually, Jiang rolled his shoulders, pushing the worst of his thoughts aside. Thinking about it wouldn’t change anything. It never had before.

  Across from him, Lu Heng studied him for a moment before speaking. “Tell me about yourself.”

  It was phrased as a demand, but the tone made it an invitation.

  Jiang shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. Why do you even care? Cultivators don’t have to do with us common folk.”

  Elder Lu raised an eyebrow. “And you would know, would you?”

  There was faint censure in his tone, and Jiang ducked his head apologetically. He usually didn’t put much stock in social niceties – spending most of his time in the woods tended to wear down what few interpersonal skills he had in the first place, not to mention the only people he really talked to were his family – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t at least aware of how to be polite.

  Elder Lu said nothing, merely watching him with that same calm, unreadable gaze. He didn’t seem offended, nor did he seem particularly interested in reprimanding Jiang further. He simply gave him a moment to collect himself.

  Then, after a measured pause, he spoke again. “Tell me about your family.”

  Jiang glanced up at him, frowning slightly, but this time answered without hesitation. “Not much to tell there, either. My father was a caravan guard. Died when I was seven.”

  Elder Lu nodded, waiting. It wasn’t an uncommon story amongst small villages, and he didn’t waste his time expressing pity or condolences. Jiang preferred it that way.

  “After that, it was just my mother, my sister, and me. Xiaoyu was three. Too young to help with anything, so my mother did most of the work in the beginning. I started hunting when I was eight. At first, it was just traps, rabbits, small game. Took me a few years to get good enough with a bow to bring down anything bigger.”

  Elder Lu studied him. “And your mother?”

  “She’s a seamstress. Mostly worked on repairing clothes, but she could do other things if people were willing to pay. There wasn’t much silver to go around in Liǔxī, though, so we mostly got by on trade.” Jiang shrugged. “Wasn’t bad. We never went hungry.”

  He rolled his shoulders, trying to avoid thinking about their current situation

  Understanding filled the cultivator’s gaze, along with a faint note of pity. “They were captured.”

  It wasn’t a question. Just an observation.

  Jiang’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

  “How did you escape them?” the Elder asked curiously.

  “I wasn’t there,” Jiang responded simply. “Out on a last hunt before the snows make it too risky. Got back to the village a few hours after… after.”

  The Elder tilted his head. “And yet you knew where they were camped. You tracked them?”

  Jiang nodded.

  “And then, seeing you couldn’t fight, travelled two days without stopping,” Elder Lu continued. “Through unfamiliar terrain. In winter.”

  “I know how to navigate,” Jiang said simply. “And I couldn’t afford to be slow.”

  “Most wouldn’t have made it.”

  Jiang shrugged. “Most wouldn’t have had to.”

  Elder Lu huffed quietly, something like amusement flickering in his gaze. Jiang wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t said anything funny.

  The cultivator took another sip of tea before setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Your family is fortunate to have you.”

  Jiang shifted a little uncomfortably. He didn’t quite know what to say to that. It felt… odd to hear something like that from a cultivator. From someone who probably didn’t think about people like him much at all.

  Actually… now that the immediate pressure was gone—now that he wasn’t running, wasn’t waiting, wasn’t tense with the fear that everything might have been for nothing—his mind had space to turn toward other things.

  Like why Elder Lu was still talking to him.

  Cultivators weren’t like normal people. They stood above mortals, moving in their own world of power and sect politics. Some deigned to help, some changed fates on a whim, but most simply ignored those below them.

  If the man had thought of Jiang at all, it would have been enough to send a servant to inform him when the bandits were dead so he could reunite with his family. This personal attention was… very much out of the norm.

  “…Why are you asking me about this?”

  The words were out before he could stop them—too blunt, too direct—but then, Jiang had never been good at talking the way people wanted him to. He hesitated, remembering belatedly that cultivators were supposed to be above him, that there were ways he was meant to speak to them. He made a slight effort to soften it. “I mean… why are you even talking to me?”

  Across the table, Elder Lu’s lips curved faintly. Not quite a smile, but close. “Because you’re slightly interesting,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “And I don’t have much else to do.”

  “… Interesting how? I’m a peasant hunter from a tiny village. The most interesting thing that’s ever happened to me is my home being attacked by bandits, and even then, I’m not the interesting part about it.”

  Elder Lu took another sip of tea and tilted his head slightly. “I very much disagree on that part, young man. Even aside from that, though… tell me, Jiang Tian—are you aware that you’re Qi-sensitive?”

  Jiang raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “This morning, when we first met. You felt me do something, didn’t you? I saw your reaction.” the cultivator said mildly.

  Jiang opened his mouth to argue but stopped before the words could leave his mouth. There had been something, hadn’t there? A strange sensation, just for a moment. It had felt like… he wasn’t sure. Like the moment before an arrow was loosed, when the air held tension that no one else seemed to notice. At the time, he had dismissed it, but now…

  He frowned. “So what does that mean?”

  Elder Lu didn’t answer immediately. He set his cup down, his expression thoughtful, but before he could respond, something shifted in his posture. A small change, barely noticeable—except for the way his gaze sharpened ever so slightly then relaxed.

  “Ah, I believe that is something we can discuss later,” Elder Lu said with a pleased expression. “It appears Elder Yan Zhihao is back, along with the disciples we sent. I imagine you would prefer to reunite with…”

  The Elder trailed off, eyes narrowing slightly.

  Jiang tensed, a bad feeling curdling in his gut. “What?”

  Before Elder Lu could respond, a sudden gust of wind swept through the open window, rattling the tea set. Jiang barely had time to register the movement before a figure appeared in the room as if the air itself had solidified.

  Jiang tensed.

  The sensation was immediate, sharp and instinctive. He definitely felt something from this man – something he couldn’t adequately explain. Now that Elder Lu had pointed it out to him, he paid more attention to the sensation before, focusing on it. It was pressure, the way a storm felt before it broke, restrained but coiled tight.

  Dangerous.

  Elder Lu exhaled, unbothered. “Elder Yan,” he said mildly, “I assume there’s a reason I can’t sense the mortals you were supposed to retrieve?”

  Elder Yan Zhihao was furious. His posture was stiff, his expression taut with barely contained frustration. But he did not lash out. His voice, when he spoke, was sharp and measured. “The camp was there. Most of the bandits were there.” He inhaled sharply. “But Gao Leng wasn’t. Nor were the prisoners.”

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