Jiang walked back into camp with dried blood on his sleeve, a faint ache in his ribs, and the irritating feeling that he ought to be more pleased with himself than he actually was.

  He’d passed Jin Rou on the road halfway back, babbling thanks and praise and promises of offerings. Jiang had listened just long enough to confirm that the man understood the beast was dead and his village was safe, then waved him off and kept walking. There wasn’t much else to say. The job was done. No point standing around for flowers.

  It wasn’t that he was oblivious to the effects of his actions, or even that he disliked the idea that he had just saved a village, but… well, it just didn’t feel like a big deal. Sure, he’d killed the spirit beast, but it wasn’t like it had been a tough fight for him – so it felt a little weird to accept praise for it.

  The camp was much as he’d left it – small fire, bedrolls, Mistress Bai sitting with her back against a tree, Zhang practising slow sword forms under Li Xuan’s supervision. The only real difference was the way three sets of eyes turned toward him the moment he stepped into view.

  Li Xuan arched an eyebrow. “That was quicker than I expected,” he said mildly. “Did you complete the task?”

  Jiang resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes,” he said, keeping his voice even. “The village is safe. The spirit beast is dead. No loose ends.”

  “Describe it,” Li Xuan said, tilting his head. “The beast, I mean. Shape, behaviour, cultivation level. Anything notable.”

  Of course he wanted a report. Jiang exhaled slowly, pushing down his impatience. “It was a bear, a bit taller than I am at its shoulder. It covered itself with stone – pulled it up from the ground, plated its body with it. It could sort of explode chunks of its armour to launch itself toward me or try to push me back. Cultivation… somewhere around the fifth stage, maybe edging toward sixth. Kind of hard to tell really, because its presence was a bit fuzzier than a human’s.”

  Mistress Bai looked curious. “And how did you get past its armour? Describe how you approached the fight.”

  Jiang scowled, not enjoying the feeling of being interrogated. Why did they care how he did it – it was done, that was what mattered. “Bit of everything,” he said. “Arrows did nothing, as expected. Sword didn’t do much either, not through the stone, so I just had to wait until it revealed weak points, then wear it down. Once it started bleeding, it was just a matter of keeping out of the way until it stopped moving.”

  Technically true. Just… edited. Even as he explained, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was leaving parts out of his story. It wasn’t like he needed to hide his newfound technique of anchoring his shadows directly to his body, but a part of him wanted to keep it a secret anyway.

  For a moment, he thought Li Xuan would press. Then the senior disciple’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and the line of his mouth smoothed into something that wasn’t quite approval but wasn’t entirely displeasure either. “Did you bring back any proof?” he asked.

  Jiang blinked, taken aback. “Proof? No. Why would I need proof? Do you think I’m lying about fighting it?”

  Jiang wasn’t one to get offended easily, but that kind of insinuation would be more than enough to manage it. Seriously, did Li Xuan think he was the sort of person to lie about helping save a village?

  “I believe,” Mistress Bai cut in, “That the disciple is simply curious about why you didn’t bring the core back with you. After all,” she turned to Li Xuan pointedly, “he didn’t ask you to bring back proof, so it would be churlish to demand it now.”

  “…The core?” Jiang asked after a moment.

  She stared at him. “The spirit core,” she said, enunciating each word. “You did take it, didn’t you?”

  Li Xuan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jiang,” he said slowly, “tell me you at least know what a spirit core is.”

  “I know that spirit beasts have them,” Jiang said, feeling defensive without quite knowing why. “The Broker mentioned them, I think, but I was a little preoccupied with trying to figure out how I was going to pay for the information I needed at the time. Forgive me if I haven’t memorised the list of all the ways animal organs can be used.”

  He wasn’t quite sure what kind of response he expected, but Mistress Bai bursting out laughing was not it.

  Not a polite chuckle, but an actual, helpless laugh. She leaned against a tree, one hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. “You… you killed a spirit beast,” she managed after a moment, “and you left the core? You just… walked away from it?”

  “Obviously,” Jiang snapped. “The beast was dead, the village is safe, and I had no particular interest in hacking up its corpse for souvenirs. If that offends your sensibilities, feel free to take it up with the bear.”

  Mistress Bai wheezed out another laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, this is delightful,” she said. “Truly. I haven’t seen this level of waste in years.”

  Jiang turned his glare on Li Xuan. “Alright then,” he said. “Clearly, I’m missing something. What, exactly, is the big deal?”

  Li Xuan let out a slow breath, lowering his hand. “Spirit cores,” he said, as if explaining to a particularly obtuse child, “are condensed, crystallised Qi. They are used in alchemy, forging, cultivation aids, and a dozen other things. Even a low-tier core from a beast around the fifth stage would fetch, conservatively, eight to ten gold. If the Broker was mentioning spirit cores in the context of paying for things, you didn’t think they might be related somehow?”

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  The number hit him harder than the bear’s stone fragments had.

  Jiang stood very still, his mind racing back to the journey to Qinghe, when the caravan had been attacked by the three spirit wolves. They hadn’t been as tough as the bear – though he’d been much weaker back then, so they had arguably been more dangerous – but they had been spirit beasts.

  Three of them.

  He did the math, and his stomach dropped. Even if they were weaker, worth only a fraction of what Li Xuan had just quoted... three cores would have easily equalled the cost of the information he’d needed from the Broker. He stood there, staring at his boots, while the realisation washed over him. Stealing from the merchant, sinking the ship, killing the leader of the Iron Dogs, all of it could have

  been avoided if he’d just taken five minutes to cut open the carcasses he’d left bleeding in the snow.

  And Han.

  Jiang’s jaw tightened. The caravan master had been friendly enough, helpful even, but he was a merchant down to his bones. There was no way Han hadn’t known. The man had probably waited until Jiang was looking the other way, or perhaps just waited until they’d moved on, to send his guards back to harvest them.

  He’d essentially tipped the merchant a small fortune for the privilege of saving his life.

  “I see the realisation setting in,” Mistress Bai noted, her amusement not fading in the slightest. “A painful calculation, isn’t it?”

  Jiang looked up, his expression flat. “I fought three spirit wolves on the road to Qinghe.”

  Li Xuan winced. It was a small, almost sympathetic grimace. “That is… unfortunate. I assume you didn’t retrieve those either?”

  “I didn’t know they were worth anything,” Jiang muttered. “I thought they were just… animals that were harder to kill.”

  “Ignorance is the most expensive tax of all,” Mistress Bai said, pushing herself up from the tree root. She dusted off her robes, still smiling. “Consider it tuition, Jiang Tian. You have paid a high price to learn that knowledge has value. Next time, perhaps you won’t be so quick to walk away from a fortune.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Jiang said, a little darker than he intended.

  “Well,” Li Xuan said, briskly moving the conversation along before Jiang could sulk further. “What’s done is done. The village has the core now, I assume?”

  Jiang nodded, trying to push down the bitterness he felt and wondering if it was worth racing back to collect the core. “Assuming they know about spirit beast cores, then yes. I just left the carcass where it fell.”

  “They know about cores,” Li Xuan assured him in a tone that made it clear everyone probably knew about cores. “Well, if nothing else, you have likely ensured their survival for the next decade, rather than just the winter,” Li Xuan said. “A single core of that quality, sold to a passing merchant or a city magistrate, would buy enough grain to feed a village of that size for years. You have been exceptionally generous.”

  Jiang frowned. Put that way, it didn’t feel quite so bad. He’d wanted to help the village, hadn’t he? Leaving them a fortune was certainly one way to do that. It stung less than the wolves. Those had just been waste, while this, at least, was charity.

  The thought wasn’t quite as convincing as he had hoped.

  “Fine,” Jiang said, pushing the regret aside. He couldn’t change the past, and dwelling on it wouldn’t make him any richer. “The beast is dead. The village is safe. Can we get back to the actual mission now?”

  Li Xuan cleared his throat. “Indeed. Regardless of the wasted core,” he said, “I believe you when you say the spirit beast is dead. You’ve always been… inventive… but not pointlessly boastful. If you say it is dead, it is dead. You put yourself at risk to solve a problem that was not yours. You assisted people you will never see again. And you did so despite the fact that it pulled you away from your personal goal.”

  He held Jiang’s gaze. “That was the point of this test. Not whether you could kill a beast. I already knew you could fight. I needed to know whether you would stand and fight when it wasn’t directly in service of your own interests.”

  “Wonderful,” Jiang snarked, the sting of knowing about all the money he’d walked away from keeping his tone rather curt. “You’ve determined that I occasionally do things that aren’t immediately selfish. Does this mean I’ve passed your little exam?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Li Xuan said. “I will no longer hold you back from the main task. When we move on Greywood, you will be part of the assault rather than confined to support.” He gave a small, wry shrug. “Consider it a sign of trust.”

  Jiang bit back the first response that came to mind – something along the lines of ‘what an honour, being trusted to throw my life away for your Sect’s mistakes’, but outwardly he only inclined his head a fraction.

  “Tomorrow,” Li Xuan announced, his voice cutting through the cold air, “we reach Greywood. Rest. Train lightly if you must, but conserve your strength. We will need it.”

  With that, the camp settled into a familiar rhythm. Zhang moved to a quiet spot to meditate, while Mistress Bai settled by the fire with a small scroll she’d retrieved from her ring. Li Xuan began sharpening his sword with meticulous, rhythmic strokes.

  Jiang found a spot near the edge of the clearing and sat down, crossing his legs. He raised his hand, letting the shadows lengthen and twist beneath him, though he was careful to avoid letting them anchor themselves to his body. Best to keep that technique under wraps for now.

  He watched the darkness writhe, his mind turning over the events of the last few weeks. He thought about the fight with the bear. The fight with the Ironwood disciples. Every significant leap in his power, every technique he’d forged, had come from his own desperate ingenuity. Not from a manual or a lecture. From him.

  Li Xuan and Mistress Bai were helpful, yes. Their knowledge of theory was invaluable. But they hadn’t made him stronger. Necessity had. And now they were dragging him into a war that wasn’t his, chasing a monster the Sects should have dealt with years ago. Why was it his responsibility? Why hadn’t Li Xuan simply called for reinforcements from the Azure Sky Sect? The excuse about laying low felt thin. It felt like politics, like games he didn’t care to play.

  He looked over at Li Xuan, still polishing his blade. The man spoke of duty and sacrifice, of walking a bloody path. But Jiang didn’t want to walk their path. He wanted his family back. That was it. Gao Leng was a threat, yes, but was he Jiang’s threat? Really?

  Oh, certainly, Jiang had a measure of investment in this whole thing.

  He would help them kill Gao Leng, because the man was dangerous and because he needed their help to navigate Biragawa. But he wasn’t their disciple. He wasn’t their asset. The moment their goals diverged, the moment “duty” threatened his real purpose, he would vanish. He would work with them, but never for them.

  And in that moment of quiet, selfish resolve, something inside him clicked.

  A barrier he hadn’t even realised was there shattered. A rush of power, cool and dark and invigorating, flooded his meridians. His Qi surged, denser, sharper, filling him with a sudden, heady sense of strength. The shadows around his hand flared, growing longer, more solid, before he reined them back in.

  Eighth stage.

  He opened his eyes to find three pairs of eyes staring at him.

  “Well,” Li Xuan said, a satisfied smile touching his lips. “Congratulations, Jiang Tian. I knew our conversation would bear fruit. It seems accepting your responsibilities has clarified your heart.”

  Jiang looked at the senior disciple, at the smug certainty on his face. Li Xuan thought he’d broken through because he’d accepted the Sect’s noble burden. Because he’d embraced the “right” path.

  Jiang let a small, faint smile touch his own lips.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”