His attention was focused entirely on the small, unassuming wooden door set into the massive stone wall of the Ninefold Jade Sect’s outer compound. Every time it creaked open to admit a delivery cart or let out a worker, his heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of hope and terror that left him feeling lightheaded.
He shifted his weight, adjusting the heavy strap digging into his shoulder.
His new Ironheart Oak bow was a solid, reassuring weight against his back, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realised he needed until he’d strapped it on that morning. For months now, ever since his strength had outgrown mortal bows, he had felt naked—exposed in a way that carrying a sword couldn’t fix. He was a hunter. A sword was a tool of last resort, a desperation weapon; a bow was an extension of his will. Having it there, feeling the rough texture of the unpolished wood against his cloak, made him feel like himself again.
Of course, it was also more than a little nerve-wracking to be carrying something so valuable. Even knowing – intellectually – that forty-five gold was a mere fraction compared to what he might soon be dealing with, the number still felt unreal. Hell, it was more expensive than everything else he’d ever owned combined. He had half-debated leaving it at the inn, hidden under the loose floorboard beneath his bed, but the thought of leaving something worth more than his entire village unattended in a cheap room had made him physically ill. It was safer on his back, even if bringing a weapon this close to the Sect compound made it feel like he was asking for things to go wrong.
Fortunately, the few guards patrolling the perimeter seemed uninterested in him. To them, he was likely just another wandering hunter gawking at the walls of their Sect. For once, his outfit was working in his favour.
Deeper in the city, the clear, resonant toll of the first morning bell shattered the silence.
Jiang straightened, his eyes locked on the door. People began to stream out—kitchen staff, cleaners, labourers starting their day—but there was no sign of Mai.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle at the back of his neck. He told himself – firmly – that Mai being late didn’t mean anything.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Just as Jiang was beginning to consider doing something stupid, like trying to sneak through the gate, a familiar figure slipped through the crowd, moving with a hurried, flustered energy. Relief hit him hard enough that he had to consciously unclench his shoulders.
Mai spotted him a moment later and waved, quick and apologetic, before hurrying over.
“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as she was close enough, breath a little short but not panicked. “I lost track of time. Mistress Zhou decided today was the perfect day to reorganise the western stores, and once she starts on that sort of thing it’s…” She made a vague, helpless gesture. “Difficult to interrupt.”
“That’s fine, I just got here,” he lied. His voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. “Did you… were you able to—?”
“I wasn’t able to speak to your sister,” she said apologetically, and Jiang’s heart clenched — but before dread could take root, she continued, “Apparently, Elder Ye has been keeping her very occupied. She barely leaves her lessons, and, well… I’m just a servant. Don’t exactly have much reason to be trying to speak to a cultivator, even just a prospective one.”
Jiang swallowed hard. That sounded right. “And… and my mother?”
“She’s well,” Mai said, her voice softening slightly. “Working in the outer kitchens. She wrote a message for you, asked me to pass it on.”
Mai produced a folded sheet of paper. Jiang took it. The paper was rough, low-quality parchment that felt gritty against his thumb, folded into a tight square. It felt heavy. He closed his fist around it, holding it tight enough to crumple the edges, terrified that if he let go it might dissolve into smoke.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick. “Mai, I… thank you.”
“It’s fine,” she said, offering him a quick smile. “If I were in this situation, I’d want someone to help.” She paused for a moment, a flash of awkwardness crossing her face. “Uh, that said… well, I was thinking if you have any other messages to pass on, you could try using the city couriers? They deliver messages to the Sect sometimes, and while they’re a bit expensive, everyone knows they’re reliable. I’m pretty busy most days, and…”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
She trailed off, but Jiang got the message.
“That’s fine, you’ve already done more than I could have hoped for,” he assured her. Money wasn’t much of a concern for him anymore, and even if the cost was measured in gold, he would pay it in a heartbeat if it meant a consistent line of communication with his mother.
“I’m happy I could help!” Mai said brightly, perking up a little once she saw he wasn’t bothered. She checked the position of the sun and winced. “I have to go – if I’m gone too long, the laundry will pile up and I’ll never hear the end of it. Good luck!”
She turned and hurried back toward the gate, disappearing into the flow of workers before Jiang could say anything else.
He stood there for a moment, holding the note tightly. The urge to read it was a physical itch, but not here. Not out in the open, where the wind could snatch it away, or a passerby could bump into him. It was an irrational fear – it was just a scrap of paper, meaningless to anyone else – but he couldn’t shake it.
He turned on his heel and headed back toward the inn at a pace that very quickly stopped pretending to be a walk.
He didn’t slow until the door was shut behind him, the bolt slid home, and the world narrowed down to the small, quiet room he’d rented. Only then did he sink onto the edge of the bed, bow propped carefully against the wall, and finally allow himself to unfold the note with trembling hands.
The characters were neat but a little cramped, as if she had been trying to fit too much into too little space.
Jiang, my son,
When the girl told me your name, I thought my heart had stopped. For a moment, I could not speak at all. I had told myself many stories about where you might be, and I have prayed that you were alive, but hearing that you were here… I am still shaking now, and my hand is clumsy, so forgive me if this is ugly.
First, I must say this clearly: I am well, and Xiaoyu is well. Remember that when you read the rest of this, and do not let your thoughts run wild. You have always been too quick to blame yourself for things that are not your fault.
After the bandits came to Liǔxī and took us, they kept us in the forest for a little while. I will not tell you much about that part. It is over, and I do not wish to drag you into those shadows. You know enough of what such men are like. Just remember that Xiaoyu and I were together, and that we looked after each other as best we could.
Jiang realised he was gripping the paper too tightly and forced his fingers to relax. He suddenly felt very glad that he’d taken the time to go after Gao Leng, that the man would never hurt anyone ever again.
We were taken to Qinghe, though we were not there for long before a man purchased us and brought us to Biragawa.
In the market, an Elder from the Ninefold Jade Sect noticed Xiaoyu. I do not pretend to understand the details, but the short of it is this: he felt the Qi in her and decided she might become a cultivator one day.
The Sect purchased us both. I was very afraid at first, but it has not been like the stories people tell in the village. They have given me work as a servant, and I have a bed of my own and three meals a day. I wash clothes and carry water and help in the kitchens. It is hard work, but I have done hard work all my life.
The Elders treat their servants fairly, or at least as fairly as such important people know how. They are strict, and there are many rules, but there is also order.
As for Xiaoyu, they are teaching her letters and numbers and the Sect rules. She complains about copying texts until her wrist aches, but her eyes are bright when she speaks of it. The Elder who found her says she has talent. I cannot pretend I understand what that means in detail, but I can see that she is learning quickly.
When the girl from the kitchens told me you were in the city, I did not know whether to laugh or cry. You stubborn boy. Of course you would cross half the province after us. I am proud of you, do you understand? Very proud. You have always been more determined than was good for you. It seems that determination has carried you further than I ever imagined.
But, my son, I must ask one thing of you, since I have the chance.
The writing here was a little darker, the strokes pressed harder into the paper.
Do not feel that you must come here and chain yourself to us. We are safe enough for now. We have roofs over our heads and food in our bellies. That is already more than I expected to see again. Xiaoyu has a path in front of her that might lead her to places we never dreamed of. As for me, I know how to bow my head when I must. This life is not so bad.
You, however, have always been meant for more than scraping by in the dirt. You learned the bow faster than any boy in the village. You know the wilds better than most hunters twice your age. You have already crossed mountains for our sakes. I will not have you spending the rest of your years as a servant at the edge of someone else’s hall because you feel guilty leaving us behind.
Jiang realised his eyes were burning. He blinked hard, but the words blurred anyway.
If there is a way for you to build a life of your own, you should take it. Find honest work that uses that sharp head of yours. Write if you can, or send word through that kind girl again. Tell me only as much as is safe for you. I will sleep easier just knowing you still walk under the same sky.
Eat well. Rest when you can. And do not forget to be kind to yourself, foolish boy. You have always given away everything and kept nothing.
With all a mother’s love,
Tian Xieren
Jiang set the note down on the table as carefully as if it were made of glass, then bowed his head and pressed his palms over his eyes.
Relief warred with a sharp, aching tenderness that made it hard to breathe. The knot of terror that had lived in his chest ever since he’d seen Liǔxī burning – the cold, unspoken fear that he would arrive too late, or find only ghosts – finally began to unravel.
They were alive. They were safe.
Jiang let out a shaky, wet laugh into his hands. The road ahead was still long, and the corruption in his veins was still a ticking clock, but for the first time he could look to the future and feel optimistic.
He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, drew a slow, steadying breath, and read the letter again from the beginning.