Elder Yan had continued to speak.

  Jiang barely noticed.

  There was a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t stop, muffling the voices around him, the flickering candlelight smearing at the edges of his vision. It felt like his body had turned to stone, heavy and unmoving, yet fragile all the same—like if he let himself think too much, he would crack apart entirely.

  He had been right there.

  Close enough to see them. Close enough to—what? What would he have done?

  A hundred bandits, minimum. Their leader, the infamous Gao Leng, a cultivator. He had left because there had been no other choice, but none of that mattered now. None of it changed the fact that he had turned his back, walked away, and now his family was gone.

  “—ou find any indication of where they might have fled to?”

  Elder Yan’s jaw was tight, his expression carved from stone. “No. The snow over the past few days has buried any tracks they may have left. Even my disciples could find nothing.” The man’s frustration bled into his words, though he forced them into an even tone.

  Jiang’s breath came short and shallow.

  Across the table, Elder Yan shifted, his gaze finally turning toward him.

  “And why, exactly, is this mortal boy here?”

  There was something in the way he said it—dismissive, almost irritated. As if Jiang was nothing more than an inconvenience.

  Elder Lu’s voice remained steady. “This is the one who brought the report.”

  Jiang forced himself to listen, forced himself to be present, even as his thoughts threatened to drag him under. Elder Yan’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying him in a way that made something crawl up Jiang’s spine.

  “Tell me then, boy,” Elder Yan asked, voice measured, “Did you see Gao Leng at all, or did you just imagine it was him? Are you even certain the prisoners existed at all? If this is some fevered imagining of yours, speak now, and I will be merciful.”

  Jiang blinked.

  Suddenly, the ringing was gone.

  His grief didn’t vanish, but it moved, folding into something else—something that burned at the edges, a sharp and ugly thing that coiled tight in his ribs. He looked up, the words slipping out before he could think better of them.

  “Oh, I see. I must have imagined my entire village burning down. What a relief.”

  The blow came before Jiang even registered movement.

  One moment, he was sitting. The next, he was hitting the floor, the taste of blood in his mouth, his head ringing in a whole new way.

  He blinked up at the ceiling, mind catching up to what had just happened.

  Footsteps. A voice.

  “Disrespect me like that again,” Elder Yan said, his tone as calm as before, “and I’ll kill you on the spot.”

  Jiang exhaled sharply through his nose, staring at the ceiling for a moment longer before pushing himself upright. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his knuckles. His cheek throbbed, and a few of his teeth felt loose, but none of it mattered.

  A soft sound. The click of porcelain against wood. Lu Heng’s voice broke the silence, quiet, but carrying a weight of its own.

  “Striking a boy to soothe your own failure,” he said smoothly. “How low you’ve fallen, Elder Yan.”

  The air in the room seemed to drop several degrees. The pressure in the air spiked for a moment, and despite the anger still simmering in his veins, Jiang froze. It was the instinctive actions of prey that had caught a predator’s gaze.

  Elder Yan’s expression twitched, his hand flexing at his side. A heartbeat of tense silence stretched between them. But, in the end, he said nothing.

  Elder Lu finally turned back to him, studying him for a moment before quietly saying, “You have my condolences.”

  Jiang swallowed, but it did nothing to dislodge the lump in his throat.

  “Your family is not likely to be killed,” Elder Lu continued, his voice steady. “The Hollow Fangs were too organised to throw away resources like that. They will likely be sold as slaves.”

  Jiang’s stomach twisted.

  Slaves.

  It was meant to be a comfort, he knew. Slaves could be found. Tracked. Freed. It was better than the alternative. But it wasn’t good.

  Elder Lu continued, “If the Heavens are kind, you may yet find them.”

  Jiang exhaled sharply. The anger surged back up, fresh and searing. He clenched his fists, pushing himself fully upright, his body aching, his face throbbing, but his resolve solid.

  “Fuck the Heavens,” he said. His voice was quiet but firm. “I’ll do it myself.”

  “Oh? And what will be different this time?” Elder Lu asked, eyebrow raised. “Have you suddenly discovered the ability to fight off fifty bandits by yourself, including a cultivator at the fourth stage of the Foundation Establishment Realm?”

  Jiang bristled at the words, but he had no answer.

  Because he knew—knew that if he found them right now, it would play out exactly as it had before. He would be too weak, too slow, too helpless to do anything.

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  He gritted his teeth. “I’ll figure something out.”

  Even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. Even if he left this instant, it would take another two days to get back to where the bandits had camped. That meant the tracks would have potentially four whole days to fade – assuming the bandits had left any tracks at all.

  The cultivators might not be hunters like he was, but he doubted they were incompetent. They would have looked for tracks – but considering the camp was next to a large river, it was likely that the bandits had loaded the prisoners onto a boat. Travelling via the river and given four days’ headstart… they could be almost anywhere by now.

  Even if he somehow managed to track them down before his family was sold off, Elder Lu was right – there was nothing he could do. He would need the power of a cultivator to even have a chance, and there was almost no hope of convincing a cultivator to come along with him.

  Unless…

  Jiang’s breath steadied as his mind started to work. He was looking at this the wrong way again, getting his goals mixed up. What use was brute strength when he had no army, no allies? He could learn to fight for a lifetime and still fall in seconds against even a low-level cultivator like Gao Leng. No, what he needed wasn’t overwhelming force—it was skill.

  He had spent half of his life hunting. Watching. Learning how to move unseen, how to follow a trail that others missed. But no matter how sharp his instincts, no matter how steady his hands, there was a wall between him and the world of cultivators. A wall built of strength, of ability, of sheer, overwhelming difference.

  But if he could break that wall—even just a little—then that changed everything.

  A cultivator could move faster than any mortal. Could vanish into the shadows, could bend qi to strengthen their bodies, to move unseen. Even at the lowest level, they could do things beyond mortal reach.

  He didn’t need to become a great cultivator. He didn’t need to reach some lofty realm of power.

  He just needed enough.

  Enough to track them. Enough to act instead of running for help. He wasn’t going to wait again. He wasn’t going to rely on the goodwill of people like these Elders.

  He would do it himself.

  Jiang exhaled slowly, his chest still tight with grief and rage, but his mind was finally clear. He turned sharply to Elder Lu, his voice steady despite everything.

  “What would I need to do to become a cultivator?”

  The Elder held his gaze for a long moment before a smile spread across his face. It wasn’t the condescending amusement Jiang had seen earlier, nor was it the polite indifference he had expected from a man like this. It was something else. Something almost... satisfied.

  “Any mortal of sixteen years of age or above who is at least at the first stage of the Qi Condensation Realm is eligible to apply for entrance into the Azure Sky Sect,” Elder Lu said, his voice light, almost lazy. “Entrance exams are held infrequently and are often quite competitive. Coincidentally… it just so happens that the entrance exams are being held in three weeks’ time. If you can ignite your dantian and reach the first stage before then, you would be eligible.”

  Jiang didn’t know what ‘igniting his dantian’ even meant, but three weeks didn’t sound like a long time to do it. Assuming these entrance exams took place at the Azure Sky Sect, that meant he had to actually get there in the first place, which was a journey of at least two weeks.

  So, effectively, he had a single week to do something he’d never even heard of, something that separated the mortal from the immortal.

  No time to waste, then.

  A sharp scoff interrupted his thoughts.

  “This is ridiculous,” Elder Yan sneered. “He’s a peasant child. Even if, by some miracle, he was able to reach the first stage, he’s very clearly not an adult, which means he’s ineligible anyway.” The man turned to Jiang. “How old are you anyway, boy? I’d wager not a day over fourteen.”

  Jiang inhaled sharply, mind shifting without hesitation to the only possible path forward.

  “I’m sixteen,” he lied.

  One moment, Elder Lu had been seated, tea still in hand. The next, he stood between them, one arm raised in an almost lazy motion to block Elder Yan, his sleeve fluttering as if from a breeze that hadn’t touched the rest of the room.

  Jiang hadn’t even seen him move.

  A heartbeat of silence.

  Elder Yan’s face twisted. “Move.”

  “No,” Elder Lu said pleasantly.

  Elder Yan’s aura flared, sharp and heavy. “I said I’d kill him if he disrespected me again. A bald-faced lie certainly qualifies.”

  “Ah, yes,” Elder Lu said, as if the statement was of little consequence. “I recall. That being said, I didn’t hear a lie.”

  Elder Yan’s entire frame went rigid. “Don’t be absurd. Look at him. That boy is not sixteen.”

  “And yet, I believe him. Unless, of course, you are calling me a liar.”

  Elder Yan’s expression twisted further, but he didn’t speak. Jiang didn’t pretend to understand any of Azure Sky Sect politics, but clearly, making that kind of accusation – no matter how obvious the truth was – wasn’t something Elder Yan could afford to do.

  Elder Lu’s smile curled sarcastically. “Besides,” he added lightly, “would you not be willing to give a fellow Elder some face?”

  There was a beat of silence. Jiang held very still, instincts screaming at him to avoid attracting attention. Elder Yan turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the door, his aura crackling with barely contained fury.

  The door slid shut behind him with a sharp click.

  Elder Lu took a sip of his tea, looking at the closed door with a considering expression. “You know, I probably shouldn’t have done that,” he said conversationally, before turning to Jiang with a smile. “But I’ll admit it was very satisfying.”

  Elder Lu moved back to his seat with an easy grace, setting his teacup down with a soft clink before regarding Jiang with something that might have been amusement or maybe curiosity.

  “Well,” he said lightly, “you’ve certainly made a choice, haven’t you?”

  Jiang didn’t answer.

  Lu Heng didn’t seem to mind. He poured himself more tea, steam curling in the space between them. “Let’s go over what that choice means, shall we? You’ve decided to attempt the path of cultivation. To do that, you must ignite your dantian and step into the first stage of Qi Condensation. Simple in words, but… well.” He gestured vaguely. “Not so simple in practice.”

  Jiang frowned. “How do I do it?”

  Elder Lu smiled faintly. “Ah, that is the question, isn’t it?” He leaned forward slightly, tapping a finger against the table. “But before we get into that, there’s something else you should consider.”

  Jiang waited.

  “You’ve made an enemy tonight.” Elder Lu’s voice was light, but his expression was sharp. “Elder Yan is not a man known for letting go of grudges. He already lost face today, and the fact that I protected you will only make it worse.” His gaze flickered slightly, something thoughtful in his eyes. “I suppose that, in a way, you could say that I made an enemy for you tonight – though you certainly didn’t help matters by lying.”

  He pinned Jiang with a stern look. “And before you go making a habit of that, keep in mind that almost anyone of a higher cultivation than you will know when you lie.”

  Jiang pointedly didn’t apologise. He would do it again in a heartbeat if it got him closer to helping his family.

  Lu Heng chuckled, shaking his head slightly before taking another sip of tea. “Well, you certainly have the attitude for cultivation, at least. That sort of reckless abandon could serve you well – or, most likely, it will get you killed.” He set the cup down again, folding his hands in front of him. “Alas, such is life. Let’s get back to your real concern. Your family.”

  Jiang went still.

  “If you manage to ignite your dantian, pass the entrance exams, and enter the Azure Sky Sect, you will gain time. Power. Resources.” Elder Lu watched him carefully. “And most importantly, you will gain access to information. A sect has eyes and ears in places you never could. If your family is sold, there will be a record of it somewhere. Someone will know where they have gone. You will not be searching blindly.”

  Jiang’s pulse quickened.

  “But,” Elder Lu continued smoothly, “before you get ahead of yourself, you should know this—you have three weeks to achieve what most take years to accomplish. If you fail, you will be left as you are. Mortal. Helpless. With nothing to show for it.” His gaze was steady. “Are you prepared for that?”

  Jiang didn’t hesitate.

  “Yes.”

  Lu Heng exhaled through his nose, something like amusement flickering in his eyes. “Then let’s begin.”