Shadowwwing
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61. Power Corrupts
🕑 Added 2025-06-19 22:00:07 +0000 UTCThe heavy thud of the tavern door closing behind him felt less like an escape and more like being ejected into a different kind of danger. Jiang stood for a moment on the grimy cobblestones, letting his eyes adjust to the deepening gloom of early evening. The oppressive warmth and the thick, sour smell of the tavern were replaced instantly by the sharp bite of the winter air, but the chaotic press of Qinghe remained.
Unlike in Liǔxī, where dusk meant the village hunkered down, locking doors and seeking the warmth of the hearth, Qinghe felt more alive now that the sun had set. Lanterns had been lit, casting long, flickering shadows that danced and twisted in the narrow alleys. The roar of the main thoroughfares had softened to a dense, constant murmur, but the side streets had come alive with a different kind of energy. Voices spilled from behind shuttered windows, rough laughter echoed from unseen doorways, and figures moved through the gloom with a purpose that felt sharper, more predatory, than the daytime bustle.
And in his pocket, the leather pouch felt like a burning coal against his hip.
Twenty silver.
Jiang’s hand instinctively went to cover it, his fingers pressing against the heavy, unfamiliar weight of the coins through the rough fabric of his tunic. He’d never held so much wealth in his life. The few silver pieces that had passed through his family’s hands over the years were hoarded, counted, and spent with the grudging care of something precious and fleeting. This… this was a fortune. A burden. A bright, shining target painted on his back.
He forced his hand away, letting it drop to rest near the hilt of his sword. Acting like he was guarding something was as good as announcing he had something to guard. Still, every brush of a shoulder in the crowded street, every lingering glance from a passing face, sent a fresh jolt of paranoia through him. The pickpocket from earlier in the day flashed through his mind. How many others like him were out here, their eyes trained for any sign of a newcomer, any hint of a full coin purse?
Jiang started walking, more because he was beginning to draw attention by standing outside the tavern door like a lemming than because he had an actual destination. Right now, his priority was finding someplace to sleep for the night – everything else he could handle in the morning. His first instinct was to find a quiet alley, a sheltered doorway, and simply settle in for the night as he would in the forest – wrapped in his cloak, back to a solid wall, sword across his lap. He’d spent countless nights like that, the quiet sounds of the wilderness a familiar lullaby.
But this wasn’t the forest, and Jiang couldn’t shake the feeling that Qinghe had more dangerous predators than just wolves. If nothing else, a wolf would only attack if it were hungry. Sleeping in an alley here felt less like roughing it and more like a fool’s invitation to be robbed or murdered.
He needed a room. An inn. A door with a lock.
The thought brought with it a fresh wave of anxiety. How did one even find a decent inn in a city this vast? And how could he trust it? For all he knew, the innkeeper would be the one to hire a thug to slit his throat in his sleep.
The only locations he actually knew in Qinghe were the tavern he’d just left, and the warehouses near the docks where the caravan had unloaded. Fortunately, thinking of the caravan reminded him of a possible solution - the Leaky Kettle. Wei Ren had mentioned it was where the guards were staying while in Qinghe, and if nothing else, the familiar, trustworthy faces would be worth their weight in gold.
But where was it? He had no idea.
He spotted a man leaning against a doorway, smoking a thin clay pipe, and forced himself to approach. “Excuse me,” Jiang began, his voice sounding rougher than he’d intended.
The man blew a stream of smoke in his general direction and grunted. “What?”
“I’m looking for the Leaky Kettle Inn.”
The man gave him a slow, deliberate once-over, his eyes lingering on Jiang’s sword, then on the solid-looking pack on his back. He took another long pull from his pipe. “Never heard of it.” He turned his head and spat a glob of phlegm onto the cobblestones, a clear dismissal.
Jiang gritted his teeth and moved on. The next person he tried was a passing woman carrying a basket of laundry. “Excuse me—” he began, but she just shot him a withering glare and pushed past without breaking stride. The third person, a younger man carrying an armful of papers, simply pretended not to hear him.
Frustration, sharp and hot, pricked at him. He was a cultivator, stronger and faster than any of these people, yet here he was, rendered helpless and invisible by their sheer, overwhelming indifference.
Finally, he spotted a pair of city guards making their slow, ponderous way down the street, carrying lanterns in one hand and with short, stout clubs on their belts. Jiang hesitated a moment – they didn’t exactly look like the types to enjoy chatting with passersbys – but stubbornness won out. Worst case scenario, he’d just have to try returning to the tavern and asking the barkeep.
He stepped into their path, forcing them to stop.
Almost immediately, the older guard’s hand dropped to the club at his belt, his expression hardening. “Get out of the way, boy.”
Jiang held his ground, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I just need directions. To the Leaky Kettle Inn.”
The guard squinted at him, his gaze sharp and assessing. He looked from Jiang’s worn but sturdy boots to the new sword at his hip, then to the pack on his shoulders. A flicker of something—not quite recognition, but calculation—passed through his eyes.
“And why should we know anything about that?” the other guard chimed in, his tone bored. “We’re on patrol, not acting as a signpost for every lost pup in the city.”
The first guard didn’t take his eyes off Jiang. “My throat’s dry,” he said, the statement hanging in the air with the weight of an unspoken demand. “Hard to remember street names when your throat’s dry.”
Jiang’s jaw tightened. Another toll, or, as Han put it, the ‘price of convenience’. This whole city ran on a current of petty extortion, from the main gates down to the grimy alleys. As it was, he only had the silver coins from the Broker, and he knew a single one of those was worth more than this guard probably made in a week. The idea of rewarding this petty corruption with that much was absurd.
He turned away in disgust. “Never mind.”
“Hey!” The guard’s voice sharpened, and a heavy hand clamped down on Jiang’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Where do you think you’re going? Showing disrespect to an officer of the City Watch, are you? Loitering with intent, I’d say. A night in the cells might teach you some manners.”
“Hey!” The guard’s voice sharpened, and a heavy hand clamped down on Jiang’s shoulder, spinning him around. The man’s face was inches from his, his breath sour with cheap ale. “I don’t think I said you could leave. Showing disrespect to a city officer, that’s a fine. Vagrancy, that’s a night in the cells. You look like a vagrant to me. Maybe we should take a walk down to the lockup, see if we can’t sort this out.”
Frustration, hot and sudden, surged through Jiang. He was tired, hungry, and on edge. He’d faced down spirit beasts and armed bandits, and now he was being threatened by a common thug with a tin badge and an inflated sense of importance. It was infuriating.
He didn’t mean to do it. He didn’t even know he could do it. But as the anger coiled in his gut, so did his Qi. The dark, restless energy within him churned in sympathy, and for a split second, the world seemed to shift. The flickering light from the guard’s lantern seemed to dim, pulling back as if afraid. The shadows at their feet, once long and inert, suddenly deepened, twisting at the edges like living things.
The first guard, too caught up in his own bluster, noticed nothing. But the second guard did. His bored expression vanished, replaced by wide-eyed, dawning horror.
“Gai, stop!” he yelped, shoving his partner back with a strength born of pure panic. “What are you doing?!”
The first guard stumbled, turning on his companion with a snarl. “What’s wrong with you? I was just teaching this little—”
“A-a thousand apologies, Honoured Cultivator!” he squeaked, his voice cracking. “My partner is an idiot! Drank too much on his lunch break! The Leaky Kettle, you said? Of course! Three streets down, left at the chandler’s with the green shutters! At the end of the alley! Our apologies, a thousand apologies for the misunderstanding!” He bowed low, his whole body trembling.
Jiang stared, momentarily stunned by the abrupt transformation. The first guard, Gai, looked from his terrified partner to Jiang, his own bravado finally faltering as confusion and fear began to dawn on his face.
At that moment, standing in the grimy alley with two city guards practically grovelling, Jiang understood. This was the allure of power. Not the raw strength to shatter bone or the speed to dodge an arrow, but this—the silent, crushing weight of what he was. The fear his very presence could inspire. The way the world bent itself around him, not because he forced it to, but because it was too afraid not to.
He wasn’t even a proper cultivator.
It felt… good. And deeply unsettling, at the same time.
Without another word, Jiang turned and walked away, the guards scrambling to get out of his path. He didn’t look back, but he could feel their terrified gazes on him until he rounded the corner, leaving them behind in the suddenly too-bright lantern light. He tried to avoid the feeling he was fleeing the situation – for the second time since he’d arrived at the city, not two hours earlier.
But it wasn’t that easy to outrun his own shadow.
— — —
The directions were simple enough to follow, even in the disorienting gloom. Jiang kept to the shadows where he could, doing his best to avoid drawing attention – both for the weight of the coin pouch at his hip and to prevent a repeat of the situation with the guards.
He didn’t like the feeling that had washed over him back there – that cold, intoxicating hum of power. It felt like a shortcut, an unearned advantage that had nothing to do with skill or strength and everything to do with what others feared he could be. It was a useful tool, he grudgingly admitted to himself, but a dangerous one. Relying on it felt like a different kind of weakness.
He found the alley the guard had directed him to without much trouble, next to the chandler’s shop as advertised. The smell of wax and tallow formed an almost strange, clean note in the otherwise foul air. He hadn’t even been here a day and was already forgetting what fresh air smelt like.
At the far end of the alley, a single lantern illuminated a crooked wooden sign: a crudely painted kettle that did, in fact, appear to be leaking. He wondered briefly if the name had started out like that or if they’d changed it once the place started to get a bit run-down.
Pushing the heavy timber door open, Jiang was met with a blast of warm, noisy air. The common room of the Leaky Kettle was crowded, the air thick with the smell of damp wool, fried onions, and cheap ale. But unlike the tense, predatory quiet of the Broker’s tavern, the atmosphere here was boisterous and unapologetically loud. Men with the broad shoulders and weathered faces of guards and caravan hands were packed around sturdy wooden tables, their voices raised in arguments, stories, and laughter. No one paid him any mind as he slipped inside, just another body seeking shelter from the cold.
He spotted them almost immediately, tucked into a corner table. Wei Ren was mid-story, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten leg of roasted fowl, while Jin listened with a long-suffering patience that seemed to be his default expression. A few of the other caravan guards were with them, looking tired but content.
Wei Ren noticed him first, his face breaking into a wide, uncomplicated grin. “Well, well, boys, look’s like we’re being graced with the Young Master’s presence tonight!” He kicked out a nearby stool with his boot. “Pull up a seat! The stew’s surprisingly edible.”
Jiang winced at the proclamation, picking his way through the crowded room. Still, despite his aversion to drawing attention to himself, he found the warm welcome a soothing balm to the edge of paranoia that had started to settle over him once he’d accepted the coin pouch from the Broker.
“Figured this was the kind of place you lot would end up,” Jiang said, trying for a joke as he found a spot next to Jin and regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Best place in the dock district for folk like us,” Jin confirmed, apparently taking him seriously, his voice a low rumble. “The owner used to be a ship’s guard, knows the life. Keeps the rooms clean, the prices fair, and doesn’t tolerate troublemakers.” He took a long drink of his ale. “Anyone starts a fight in here, they’re not just dealing with the owner; they’re dealing with a room full of off-duty guards. Tends to keep the peace.”
“I was actually looking for a place to stay myself,” Jiand said, cutting straight to the point. “Do you know if they still have rooms available?”
Jin looked up from his tankard, nodding toward the bar where a stout woman with arms as thick as small logs was yelling at a serving boy. “Talk to Maeve. It’s forty copper a night for us, since we’re guild members. Probably a bit more for an outsider.”
“Sixty,” Wei Ren supplied cheerfully around a mouthful of fowl. “But it’s worth it. Rooms are clean enough, and the bed probably only has a few fleas. Best you’ll find in a city like this.”
Sixty copper. A week ago, the price would have been unthinkable. Now, it was just… a price. A number he could actually pay. The relief of it was almost dizzying – finally, a problem he could just… solve. Jiang nodded his thanks to the group as he left them to their meal and approached the bar.
Maeve, the innkeeper, turned a stern eye on him as he drew near. “What can I get for you, lad?”
“A room,” Jiang said. “Just for the night.”
She gave him a quick, appraising look, her gaze lingering for a moment on the hilt of his sword. “Sixty copper. In advance.”
Without a word, Jiang reached into his tunic and pulled out the pouch, tipping one of the silver coins into his palm and laying it on the bar.
Maeve’s eyebrows quirked. She picked up the coin, tested its weight between her thumb and forefinger, then, with surprising speed, bit it hard, leaving a faint indent. Satisfied, she tossed it into a wooden box under the counter, the sound swallowed by the noise of the room. She counted out a pile of copper coins, their surfaces dull and varied, and pushed them towards him along with a heavy iron key.
“Room seven. Top of the stairs, to the left,” she said, her tone all business. “Don’t bring any trouble back with you.”
“I won’t,” Jiang promised, scooping the change and the key into his hand. He glanced over at the guards and tossed up joining them at the table, maybe buying himself a meal, but… right now, he was more tired than hungry. He made his way up the stairwell to his room. It was small, sparse, and smelled faintly of dust and old linen, but it had a sturdy-looking bed, a window with shutters that latched, and a thick wooden door.
He pushed it shut, slid the heavy bolt into place, and leaned his back against the rough timber, the solid thud echoing in the small space. For the first time since setting foot in Qinghe, the frantic knot of anxiety in his chest finally began to unwind. He was safe. He had a lock. And in his pocket, he had the means to buy himself another night of the same tomorrow.
Good enough for now.
Comments
Hermes
His shadow affinity is really intriguing. Interesting to see what it can do. Thanks for the chapter.
Raymond Mouton
Thanks for the chapter. Good one. Like the introspection.
