Jiang felt every hair on the back of his neck and arms stand up, all at once.

Lin was patting the old woman on the arm, clearly putting no stock in what she was saying. Jiang, on the other hand, was utterly certain that the woman knew exactly what she was saying. How he was that certain, he didn't know, but a deep part of him left no room for doubts.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the unnerving clarity in Old Nan's eyes seemed to drain away, leaving them milky and unfocused once more. The sharp, knowing smile slackened, and her head lolled slightly to one side. She began to hum a tuneless, wavering melody, her thin fingers plucking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "So cold," Nan murmured, her voice a reedy whisper again. "The wind sounds like mice in the walls. Nasty little things, always chewing…"

"Alright, Nan, that's enough of that for one night," Lin sighed, her voice laced with a weary patience that spoke of long practice. She gently retook the old woman's arm, and this time, Nan didn't resist. "Let's get you tucked in."

She allowed Lin to guide her away, shuffling back toward the darkened doorway she'd emerged from, her rambling words fading into the musty quiet of the room. Under other circumstances, he might have found it amusing – or maybe a little touching – how the tough, pragmatic thief's demeanour had changed so completely into a slightly exasperated but filial granddaughter. As it was, the old woman's words had rattled him more than he wanted to admit.

The comments about the raven were far too pointed and specific to just be the ramblings of a crazy old lady, but even when he focused his Qi senses as much as he was able, he couldn't feel anything unusual from her. It was possible she just happened to be Qi sensitive without actually being a cultivator, but even then, it didn't explain how she could know about the raven. His affinity – according to Elder Lu, at least, who he was willing to bet was more powerful than some random old woman – was just shadow, so there shouldn't have been anything linking him to ravens.

Speaking of which, Jiang realised for the first time that he hadn't seen the raven since he'd arrived at Qinghe. It wasn't entirely unusual for him to not see it for a few days at a time, especially when he was in the Sect, but while on the road it had stuck around fairly consistently.

Maybe it just didn't like other people. He couldn't really blame it, to be honest.

Lin returned a moment later, shaking her head as she dropped back onto her pile of sacks with a huff. Jiang waited until she had settled, then leaned forward, keeping his voice low.

"What was that?"

Lin shot him an irritated look. "That was Old Nan," she said, like she thought he was a bit slow. "I told you."

Jiang waved a hand, irritated. "Not what I meant. What was she saying about the raven?"

That earned him an even more exasperated sigh. Lin rolled onto her side, turning her back to him and pulling a thin blanket up to her shoulder. "What does it matter?" she asked, her voice already thick with impending sleep. "She's a half-mad old woman who talks to herself. Says weird things all the time. Last week, she told me my teeth were going to fall out because I'd angered the river spirits. Now are you going to let me sleep, or are you going to keep asking stupid questions all night?"

Jiang closed his mouth, a sharp retort dying on his tongue. Lin was already turning away, the faint rustle of the sacks the only sound she made as she settled. Arguing was pointless, especially because he could hardly explain why a random old woman talking about ravens freaked him out. He'd have to try again in the morning.

He let out a slow breath and leaned back against the rough timber of the wall. The other youths were deep in sleep, their breathing a collection of soft, rhythmic sounds in the quiet. But sleep wouldn't come for Jiang.

A lonely little raven, come to visit.

What did that even mean? Was he the lonely raven, or was the actual raven the lonely raven, and Old Nan could just somehow sense its presence on him?

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He had too many questions and not enough answers. Frustration and a restless energy prickled under his skin. He needed to do something, anything, to keep from dwelling on questions he couldn't answer. With a familiar sense of resignation, he slipped into meditation, not to rest, but to practice.

His recently updated stealth technique had proven itself useful, but also flawed. Honestly, he'd gotten so caught up with the idea of using nearby shadows to hide himself that he'd somehow missed that it just really wasn't that effective. Oh, sure, from a distance, it might not be too bad, but from a distance, normal hiding wasn't that bad either.

Back at the merchant's shop, it had, at best, helped disguise his identity from the merchant. Better than nothing, certainly, but a mask would have done much the same thing, with the additional benefit of not making it obvious he was a cultivator. Not to mention how the technique had dropped almost immediately once he wasn't focusing directly on it.

Jiang absently pulled on his Qi, weaving it into the familiar pattern and watching as the shadows in his small corner seemed to deepen in response, clinging to his form. Honestly, besides looking kind of cool in a spooky way, it just really wasn't cutting it as a stealth technique.

He let the shadows dissipate with a sigh. What was the point? The technique was a dead end. He was a long, long way from it being genuinely useful for stealth purposes, and lacked the knowledge to properly improve it. It was maybe helpful in intimidating a city guard in a dark alley, but as a tool for a hunter – for someone who needed to move unseen and undetected – it was little more than a parlour trick.

He let his structured focus dissolve, the carefully woven lattice of his technique unravelling. The restless energy remained. Too unsettled to sleep, too frustrated to practice properly, he found himself simply… playing. He let a thread of Qi drift from his dantian, not forcing it into a shape, but just pushing it, nudging it towards the deep shadows under a nearby pile of sacks.

What did a shadow affinity actually mean? Was it as simple as his Qi being more suited to shadow-aspected techniques, or was it more general? Could he manipulate shadows in a more free-form way? Give them shape, texture, motion?

It was a pointless exercise, like a child poking a stick into a puddle just to watch the ripples. There was no goal, no specific outcome he was trying to achieve. He just let the Qi flow, a formless, idle curiosity guiding it. He imagined the heavy, inky blackness he'd held in his palm after his last breakthrough, not trying to replicate the manifestation itself, but to remember the feeling of that raw, untamed energy.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been at it – minutes or an hour – when he noticed the change. Not in the shadows he was trying to affect, but in himself. It was subtle at first, little more than a gradual easing.

When he drew on his Qi, the threads felt smoother, more responsive. Pushing it around without a specific structure was becoming easier than it had been. The resistance was less.

Curious, he drew his focus inward, examining his own Qi more closely. The heavy, almost gritty quality that had settled in his meridians since he'd killed Kaelen – the dark sand that was so good for holding the rigid shape of his techniques – was lessening. In its place was the lighter, more fluid feeling he remembered from before, a restless current that was easier to guide. It was a slow process, a gradual shift back towards how his Qi had felt before the fight.

Jiang tilted his head, struck by a sudden thought. He immediately tried to re-form his stealth technique, to build the lattice structure he'd come up with.

It was noticeably harder. The threads of his Qi wouldn't hold the shape as readily, slipping and dissolving before the pattern could fully lock in. The free-flowing energy that made his general Qi manipulation feel more intuitive actively fought against the rigid structure the technique required.

He let the half-formed technique dissolve, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. There was a trade-off. The dark, heavy, almost-congealed state his Qi had taken on after Kaelen's death was what made his techniques stable. It allowed him to impose a structure, a form, and have it hold. But it came at the cost of fine control, making his Qi feel sluggish and stubborn. This other state, the free-flowing, fluid one, made his general manipulation more intuitive – but it fought against the rigid patterns of a learned technique.

For starters, the fact that the texture of his Qi could change like this at all was fascinating. What was the trigger? He somewhat doubted it was due to external actions – while it had shifted for the first time after killing Kaelen, he suspected it had more to do with his mentality than the action itself. Was it simply based off his intent?

Either way, he wasn't sure which was better. The rigid state was good for his established techniques – such as they were – but this fluid state felt like it had more potential for developing new ones, if he could just figure out how. He had stumbled upon a fundamental choice about his own path, one that no one had ever mentioned, and he didn't have enough information to make a decision.

Jiang pulled his Qi back into the quiet stillness of his dantian. He'd need to think about this. The change was slow, and he didn't know the final outcome of letting it continue. For now, it was better to stop and observe before committing to one path or the other.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.