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54. Scars and Suspicions
🕑 Added 2025-06-03 22:00:04 +0000 UTCThe walk back to the caravan was shorter than the pursuit, or at least it felt that way. Jiang moved on autopilot, slipping through the trees, bow heavy in his hands. He felt… tired. There was a bone-deep weariness weighing him down, like the arrow he’d fired had taken some part of him with it.
He didn’t regret his actions.
He just didn’t like them either.
The dark, restless energy in his Qi had settled somewhat, leaving behind a hollow ache that resonated with the throbbing in his side. The momentum that had kept him going this far was finally starting to fade. By the time the wagons came into view, each step was a conscious effort.
Heads turned as he emerged from the treeline. The caravan had been busy – a fire was going as the women with some medical experience tended to the guard’s latest round of wounds. It was similar enough to the aftermath of the Spirit Beast attack that Jiang was hit by a wave of deja vu.
Or maybe that was just the blood loss.
Han was the first to reach him, his weathered face etched with a mixture of relief and a new, more sober respect.
“Gods, kid, you’re a sight,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. He didn’t ask what happened, didn’t need to. The grim set of Jiang’s jaw and the absence of Kaelen told their own story. Several other caravan members were approaching now, their expressions ranging from hesitant gratitude to outright awe. Even worse was the fear he could read on some of the faces that were hanging back.
Jiang felt a pang of regret. The fragile normality he’d started to find with these people, the way they’d slowly begun to treat him as just another traveller, was gone. His actions against the spirit beasts had been distant enough for most to downplay or misremember. This, though? This was different. Their wide eyes and hushed reverence were a heavier burden than he was prepared for.
The realisation, coupled with the sudden wave of their gratitude, seemed to sever the last thread of adrenaline that had kept him upright. The spite and cold rage that had fuelled his pursuit had burned out, leaving only the stark truth of his injuries. His thoughts began to fray at the edges, the sounds of the camp dimming as a wave of dizziness washed over him. His legs abruptly felt like water, the ground tilting unsteadily beneath his boots.
Jiang swayed, a hand shooting out instinctively to steady himself against the nearest wagon wheel, but his fingers fumbled, finding no purchase. The bow slipped from his grasp, clattering softly onto the snow. Just as his knees buckled, Han’s arm shot out, a solid presence catching him. “Easy there, lad,” the caravan master’s voice rumbled, sounding very far away.
He barely registered the sensation of being lowered to the snowy ground before the world greyed at the edges and then faded entirely.
— — —
Jiang woke to a throbbing headache and a body that felt like it had been trampled by a particularly enthusiastic ox.
Honestly, he’d expected worse.
The distinctive sensation of a fever clung to him, making his skin clammy and his thoughts thick. He hadn’t felt this bad since the first winter after his father had died when he’d run off into the woods as a seven-year-old child with a half-formed idea of providing for his family and more balls than sense.
The fact that it had worked hadn’t convinced his mother to go easy on him when he’d staggered back home shivering so badly he could barely keep a hold of the doe he’d killed through sheer luck.
A woman he vaguely recognised from the passenger wagons was hovering over him, clucking like a concerned mother hen. She was a small, bird-like woman with nervous eyes and hands that fluttered as she adjusted the furs tucked around him. Fortunately, he’d heard Wei Ren call her Anmei, so he didn’t have to endure the awkwardness of revealing that he didn’t remember her name.
From the moment he’d woken up, she’d been clucking like a concerned mother hen, forcing bitter herbal teas down his throat and ensuring he stayed put in the back of one of the better-sprung wagons. Han had just laughed at Jiang’s disgruntled expression when he’d first woken and offered him a swig from his ever-present flask, which Anmei had immediately snatched away with a scandalised gasp.
“Oh, Young Master Jiang, you mustn’t!” she’d exclaimed, her voice thin with anxiety. “Spirits are no good for a fever, no good at all. My grandmother always said…” And then she was off, a torrent of village remedies and worried pronouncements, her initial timidity forgotten in the face of a patient to fuss over. Surprisingly, Jiang didn’t mind the constant chatter – she didn’t seem to expect him to be a participant, so the one-sided conversation formed a pleasant sort of white noise.
He spent most of the daylight hours in a half-doze, lulled by the monotonous sway of the wagon. When he was lucid, he circulated his Qi, a slow, painstaking process. His reserves were still low, and the dark, restless quality to his energy remained, making fine control difficult. Still, he could feel it working around the wound, a faint coolness seeping into the inflamed tissue. It could have all been in his head, but he was reasonably sure it was having a positive effect.
If nothing else, it gave him plenty of time to consider his actions. In hindsight, going off after Kaelen while injured… well, it hadn’t been his finest idea, to put it mildly. Considering how he’d collapsed as soon as he’d gotten back, things could have gone a lot worse. If he’d been a little slower, if he’d run out of Qi, if Kaelen had prepared for pursuers…
Well, live and learn, and all that.
Honestly, the worst part of it was that no one was directly mentioning the matter. Jiang had been expecting a lecture at the very least – and the fact that it hadn’t come was making him increasingly uncomfortable. Wei Ren and Jin had dropped by a couple of times – Wei Ren proudly showing off an injury he’d received, claiming the scar was sure to impress the ladies – and they certainly hadn’t tried very hard to hide the disapproving expressions on their faces when they visited, or the pointed looks they aimed at his side.
But they hadn’t said anything.
It was driving him crazy.
— — —
The fever took a few miserable days to break, which Jiang was aware was fairly quick for an injury like his, especially considering how he’d run off into the woods minutes after receiving it instead of allowing himself to be treated.
By the end of it, Jiang felt shaky but clear-headed, the insistent throb in his side having dulled to a persistent ache. Anmei still hovered, but her pronouncements had shifted from dire warnings on the dangers of not drinking the herbal remedies she provided to cheerful, rambling stories about her own children, her village, and her husband’s apparently endless list of minor ailments that only she knew how to cure. She still slipped between addressing him as “Young Master” with a sort of flustered awe, and “poor boy” with a maternal concern that made him vaguely uncomfortable but also, strangely, a little less tense.
He was ‘allowed’ short walks around the camp when they stopped, and though the notion that he needed permission was a little offensive, Jiang did his best to take the restrictions with good grace. It wasn’t like he terribly minded relaxing while other people worked around him, though it did take some getting used to.
The dagger wound was knitting cleanly, his cultivator’s constitution making short work of an injury that would have laid a normal man low for weeks, if it hadn’t killed him outright. It would scar, though, a thin, puckered line just above his hip.
It felt… appropriate, almost, that there would be a permanent record of his actions. Both his decision to protect an innocent woman at the cost of his own health, but also as a reminder of his resolve to never again lack the power to make a difference. If he’d been faster or stronger, he wouldn’t have been injured in the first place – but a few short months ago, he wouldn’t have been fast or strong enough to make a difference at all.
He was making progress.
That wasn’t an excuse to slack off, though – if anything, it encouraged him to work harder than ever. With his strength slowly returning, Jiang began to cautiously experiment with his Qi again during the long, jolting hours in the wagon. It still felt…off. Fuzzy, as if a fine mist had settled within his meridians, making it harder to direct with his usual precision. He suspected it was tied to the cold, hard resolve he’d felt when he’d killed Kaelen, that surge of grim satisfaction. General control was definitely worse; it took more effort to cycle his Qi and more concentration to keep it from dissipating.
Yet, when he idly tried the stealth technique he’d been fumbling with, the Qi seemed to snap into place with surprising ease, the feeling of his presence diffusing almost naturally. The same happened when he attempted to reinforce his limbs; the power flowed more readily, the effect stronger than before, even if it still drained his reserves quickly.
It was a strange trade-off – almost like his Qi had ‘set’ somehow, like it more readily remembered the structures he used for his techniques but, in turn, resisted being formed into new shapes.
He wasn’t sure if he liked it. The loss of fine control was frustrating, but easier techniques and more potent reinforcement were significant advantages in a fight. And he knew, with a certainty that had only solidified since the attack, that he would need every advantage he could get against the Hollow Fangs.
More concerningly was the sensation of darkness in his Qi. Being shadow-aligned, his Qi had always felt dark, of course, but before now it had been a simple thing.
Like, well, a shadow.
Now, it felt… deeper, somehow. Less like a normal shadow and more… hungry. The effect was fairly minor, but it was distinctive – and further, Jiang got the impression it wasn’t a one-time thing.
Despite the uncertainty, Jiang couldn’t bring himself to feel any remorse over killing Kaelen. The man had been a predator, a purveyor of suffering for coin and amusement. Bad men who hurt people didn’t deserve to keep drawing breath. Nobody would miss him.
Still, he once again found himself lamenting his lack of proper instruction. Leaving the Sect still felt like the right decision, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t have been advantages to staying. Maybe he would be able to find someone to teach him a thing or two in Qinghe. Surely, not all cultivators stayed in a Sect forever.
As it was, he had no idea if this was a normal thing for Qi alignment to shift, if it was somehow related to the feather he’d used to ignite his dantian, or if he was doing something terribly wrong and was going to accidentally kill himself any minute now.
Irritatingly, the raven that had been following him around all this time had been missing for the last week or so, so he couldn’t even try examining it to see if he could learn anything from its own Qi. Something told Jiang that it would be back, but how long it would take or what it was doing in the meantime, he had no idea.
With a weary sigh, Jiang turned his attention back to clearing out his pathways. If nothing else, having this much free time meant he was making excellent progress towards the next stage.
At least it wasn’t a total waste of time.
— — —
Another week passed. The landscape slowly began to change, the dense forests giving way to more open, rolling hills, though still blanketed in snow. They passed through another village, this one larger than the last, its gates standing open, smoke rising cheerily from its chimneys. The atmosphere was entirely different. Children played in the slushy main street, and the villagers greeted the caravan with cautious smiles rather than suspicion.
Han, it turned out, had sent a rider ahead after Kaelen’s crew had been dealt with, carrying word that the local bandit scourge was no more. On the one hand, it meant they were welcomed into the village.
On the other hand, it appeared the rider had informed the villages of Jiang’s part in dealing with the problem. Fortunately, while the awe directed at Jiang was still present, it was simpler, less fearful – more like the gratitude shown to a skilled hunter who’d cleared out a den of troublesome wolves. It was… easier to bear.
That evening, as the caravan settled into the relative comfort of the village’s common yard – a marked improvement over their usual windswept campsites – Jiang found himself watching Han Shu more closely. The caravan master was holding court near the largest fire, a mug of something steaming in his hand, his voice booming as he recounted a heavily embellished version of their encounter with Kaelen’s crew, much to the appreciative laughter of the villagers and some of his own men.
Jiang picked at the stew Anmei had pressed into his hands – actual meat in this one, a welcome change – but found his appetite missing.
He’d been turning things over in his mind for the past week, a nagging sense of unease that hadn’t quite settled since the attack. Han’s reaction to Kaelen… wasn’t just the recognition of an old foe. There had been something else beneath the caravan master’s initial shock, a flicker of grim expectation, almost as if he’d been waiting for something like that to happen, even if not Kaelen specifically.
Initially, he hadn’t paid it much attention – too busy preparing for a fight, not to mention he’d simply assumed Han had expected Kaelen to be the sort of man to turn to banditry. But the more Jiang thought about it, the more other details started to resurface, small things that hadn’t seemed significant on their own but now began to form a pattern.
Han’s caravan was unusually well-guarded for its size and the supposed value of its declared cargo. Eight seasoned men, not just hired muscle, but disciplined fighters. And the drivers, he now recalled, almost all had crossbows stowed within easy reach under their seats – expensive, powerful weapons, hardly standard equipment for men whose primary job was to guide oxen. Then, there was Han’s decision to travel deep into winter, a risky, unprofitable venture for the simple textiles and pottery the man claimed to be transporting.
Though Jiang had surreptitiously checked, and there were two wagons dedicated to cargo that at least seemed to be full of textiles and pottery, so at least that part of the story seemed to check out.
It wasn’t one single thing, but the accumulation of them, a slow click of puzzle pieces falling into place. Han Shu wasn’t just a jovial caravan master hauling everyday goods. There was something more to this journey, something valuable enough to attract serious, organised predators. Something Han had been anticipating.
Jiang set his half-empty bowl aside, the stew suddenly tasteless. The unease he’d felt was solidifying into a cold certainty. He stood, ignoring Anmei’s questioning look, and walked over to where Han was mid-laugh, his arm slung around the shoulder of a grinning villager.
He waited patiently enough until Han finished his current anecdote, and the laughter subsided. The caravan master turned, spotting Jiang, his smile widening. “Ah, Jiang! Come join us, lad! These good folk were just hearing about your… enthusiastic swordsmanship!”
Jiang’s expression remained flat. “Actually, I was hoping to speak with you in private.”
Han’s booming laugh tapered off. Say what you would about the man, but he’d never failed to read the mood. He gave the villager beside him a final, friendly clap on the shoulder, then turned fully to Jiang, his gaze suddenly more focused, the earlier merriment receding. “Right then, lad,” he said, his voice a note quieter but with a hint of curiosity. “Let’s find a less crowded corner.”
Comments
Tom C
Hmmm maybe his qi and the darkness in it isn’t indicative of an issue with killing but more to do with his shadow alignment and how it will manifest? Like moving from a general ‘shadow’ towards ‘shade of death’ or something equally ominous! TFTC
Raymond Mouton
Thanks for the chapter.
