The air, for the first time in what felt like weeks, carried a different kind of chill – not the sharp, dry bite of the high mountain passes or the damp, clinging cold of the deep forests, but a softer, more humid coolness that tasted faintly of salt and distant, unseen waters. Qinghe, Han had announced with a weary sort of pride earlier that morning, was finally close.

A small part of Jiang was suddenly struck by the realisation that he was about to see the ocean for the first time. He'd always wanted to when he was younger, back when life was simple and the most exciting things in the world were all safely contained in his father's stories. In the last few months, he'd travelled further than almost anyone in Liǔxī ever had.

Except, of course, for the people the Hollow Fangs dragged away, he thought with a grim sort of amusement. They've travelled further still. But I'll catch up.

The three weeks it had taken the caravan to make it to Qinghe had been… useful. Certainly, in terms of speed, he could have made the journey quicker alone, but he'd learned quite a bit from Wei Ren and Jin, to say nothing of what Han had taught him. Still, while it had been surprisingly pleasant to form some connections with people, Jiang was looking forward to making his own path again.

He wasn't the only one to be looking forward to the journey's end either – there was a distinctive sense of eager anticipation amongst his fellow travellers, a subtle change in the rhythm of the caravan, even a new alertness in the voices of the guards. Everyone was ready to put the hard weeks of travel behind them.

But for now, Jiang sat with his back propped against a stack of bundled furs in one of the rear wagons and turned over his options endlessly in his head. The decision to accept Han's offer had settled in his gut with a sort of resigned pragmatism. An introduction to an information broker in exchange for escorting Han somewhere? Personal feelings aside, it was a no-brainer. Han had refused to tell Jiang where exactly they would be going – not that it would make a difference, considering Jiang didn't know where anything was in Qinghe – but he'd been assured that the location was within the city.

Even on the off chance that they were attacked again, Jiang wasn't too worried – he'd proven that he could handle himself against bandits, and the city guard would no doubt intervene if things got out of hand.

Despite the unease that still prickled at him whenever he considered the tangled mess of obligations and expectations that came with dealing with people, he knew it was the smart play. The only play, really, if he wanted to find his family before they vanished into the vast, uncaring churn of the slave trade.

Unfortunately, he had the feeling that meeting the information broker was only half the problem. Han's advice from that night outside the village still echoed in his mind: "You need to decide what you want from the folks around you, and what you're willing to give in return."

At least as a cultivator rapidly approaching the fourth stage, he had more than most to offer.

Or, at least, he had been rapidly approaching the fourth stage. He was definitely close; he could feel it – a persistent pressure in his dantian, a restless coiling that hinted at the breakthrough to come. Yet, for days now, it had felt as though he were pushing against a thick, unseen membrane. The final blockages in his current meridians, which should have yielded to his efforts by now, remained stubbornly resistant. According to the pace he'd set through the second and third stages, he should have advanced almost a week ago.

The delay was a cold knot of anxiety in his stomach, a fear he ruthlessly suppressed that perhaps this was his limit, a premature wall that would leave him stranded, his strength insufficient for the trials ahead, for the rescue he was so desperate to achieve.

Still, if nothing else, the practice was helping. The motion of cycling his Qi was almost habitual now, a way to pass the slow hours in the wagon as much as a focused effort. As the energy moved, his mind turned to the practicalities of dealing with Han's information broker. Payment. The bane of his life.

Back in the village, he'd hunted, traded. In the Sect, contribution points had been the currency. Out here, in the wider world, silver and gold held sway, and he possessed neither. He was, however, beginning to understand his value as a cultivator. Protection, a strong arm, someone who could face threats that would send ordinary men scattering – these were services, and services had a price. The problem, he knew, was that offering himself as a cultivator-for-hire was a dangerous game. It could lead him into complicated entanglements, bind him to causes not his own, or worse, demand he undertake tasks that chafed against the hard, simple lines of his own moral code.

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And yet, what choice did he have?

At the end of the day, what lines was he willing to cross – what would he offer? He considered the question, truly considered it, not as an abstract problem but as a concrete exchange. His time? Certainly – though only up to a point. His immediate focus was on finding the Hollow Fangs quickly, and every day wasted increased the chances of something terrible happening to his family. He had no issues with promising his time later on, after he'd rescued his family – and he would follow through, as well – but somehow, he doubted others would be willing to take him on his word.

Would he offer his skills? Undoubtedly – though, in reality, his skills were mostly limited to hunting. He could fight if required, of course, but honestly, he wasn't that great at it. Not any better than someone actually trained for it, at least.

Could he offer his loyalty? That was a more slippery concept – but again, something he was willing to do. As long as the people demanding his loyalty weren't bandits or criminals, he didn't particularly hold to any creed or code that would hold him back.

…His life?

If it meant finding his mother and Xiaoyu… yes. A cold, hard certainty settled in his core. He would pay anything. He would do anything.

The realisation seemed to send a soft pulse through him, his Qi shuddering in response to his resolve. It was that stark, unyielding realisation, that absolute commitment, that seemed to shatter the unseen barrier within him. One moment, his Qi was a thick, reluctant river; the next, it surged, a sudden, unimpeded torrent. The breakthrough, when it came, was not a violent crashing of gates but a smooth, effortless dissolving of resistance. It was almost anticlimactic, especially compared to the frustrating struggle of the past week.

The rush of sensation that followed was familiar from his previous breakthroughs – that fleeting period of clarity where the veil between his physical senses and his Qi perception thinned, allowing him to grasp nuances that were usually just beyond his reach.

As the new, more potent Qi flooded his pathways, Jiang felt an immediate and distinct difference. It wasn't just a greater volume of energy; the Qi itself felt heavier, denser, almost like fine, dark sand swirling within him instead of the lighter, more ethereal threads he was used to. There was a strange new cohesiveness to it, a natural inclination to pool and stick together rather than dissipate.

Curiosity, sharper now in the heightened sensitivity that always accompanied a breakthrough, made him reach out with his intent. What would happen if he tried to gather a significant amount of this newly weighted Qi in one place? He focused, drawing a substantial portion from his dantian, not trying to force it into any technique or pathway but simply guiding it, letting its natural tendency to coalesce draw it towards his outstretched palm.

It resisted at first, the sheer mass of it unwieldy, but then, with a surprising suddenness, it flowed. He felt it gather in his hand, a cold, heavy presence. And then, he saw it. Jiang's breath caught. Cupped in his palm, a roiling, inky blackness flickered and writhed – a fistful of pure, visible shadow held in the palm of his hand, like the inverse of a flame.

It was… beautiful.

It also ripped through his Qi reserves faster than anything he'd ever tried before. Even in his inexperience, he could tell it wasn't anything like a technique. This visible manifestation, as striking as it was, was clearly just raw energy spilling out, Qi being burned away uselessly. Still, he couldn't deny its stark, simple appeal. It looked powerful.

He let the last vestiges of the shadowy Qi dissipate from his palm, a faint coolness lingering on his skin. The wagon jolted, pulling him fully from his reverie. He blinked, the mundane sounds of the caravan – the creak of wheels, the low murmur of voices, the rhythmic plod of the oxen – filtering back in, grounding him.

The wind shifted, carrying a host of new smells. It wasn't just the wind either – the Qi in the area was slowly changing, twisting into something vast and complex – the impressions of a thousand lives pressed close together, of industry and decay.

Jiang pushed himself up slightly, peering over the bundled furs towards the front of the wagon train. Through a gap in the weary, winter-thinned trees, rising against the bruised purple of the late afternoon sky, were the gates of Qinghe. Even from this distance, they were immense, dark stone bastions that promised both sanctuary and a thousand new dangers. The city sprawled beyond them, a jagged silhouette of rooftops and towers disappearing into the haze.

Somewhere in that maze of civilisation lay the information he needed and the first steps of the trail he could follow right to his family. Jiang's gaze fixed on the distant city, a cold, quiet determination settling deep in his bones.

High above, a raven's caw echoed.

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