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3. Hollow Promises
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 05:57:42 +0000 UTCIt was almost dawn by the time Jiang finally admitted to himself that the chance he was looking for wasn’t coming.
If he was being totally honest with himself, he had come to the conclusion hours ago, but consciously knowing something was very different to feeling like it was the right choice.
The bandits were too disciplined, too numerous. Even if he had the element of surprise, even if he managed to slip past the perimeter, even if he reached the cages—then what? He had no key for the shackles. He had no horse to make an escape. The bandits would hear, react, and cut them down before they got twenty paces.
Jiang exhaled slowly, keeping his breath quiet in the freezing air. His hands flexed against the cold-packed earth beneath him, fingers digging into frost-bitten leaves. His body ached with the need to act, to move, to do something—anything—but all he could do was watch.
There was no path forward. Not alone.
That left only one option.
The thought of it made his stomach twist. Leaving them—his mother, his sister, his people—was the last thing he wanted. But wanting something didn’t make it possible. He couldn’t fight an army. He couldn’t sneak past a hundred men. He needed help.
And the only help worth getting was at least four days away.
Jiang’s jaw tightened. The nearest town, Wúyè, was two days on foot if he pushed hard. Once he arrived, he’d have to convince the local magistrate’s office to send word to the Azure Sky Sect. That would take another two days, assuming no delays. Beyond that… who knew? He had never seen a cultivator in person, only heard the stories. If they truly were as powerful as people claimed, maybe the problem would be solved in a single night. Or maybe the Hollow Fangs would slip away like they always had.
And in the meantime, his family would be trapped here. Waiting.
Jiang’s fingers clenched in the dirt.
He pushed the thought aside. No use thinking about what he couldn’t change. The only thing that mattered was moving, now, before he lost his nerve.
His eyes flicked back to the camp. If they were leaving soon, if they planned to take the captives elsewhere, he needed to know. If they intended to stay, it gave him more time. Either way, he had to be certain.
Jiang carefully ignored the part of his mind asking him what the answer would change. Even if the bandits were planning on moving, tracking them to wherever they were going could take days. Days during which no one was coming to help, no one would even know that help was required.
The smart thing to do was to leave now, make it to the nearest town as quickly as possible, and hope that whoever came to help was competent enough to track the bandits if they had moved. Or he could even volunteer to accompany whatever force was sent, do the tracking for them.
Two more hours, he decided. Once the sun peeks over the mountains.
He would give himself two more hours to see if the bandits were going to move, and then, regardless of what they were doing, he would leave to get help.
The time came and went.
Jiang stayed.
He knew he was delaying. He told himself it was necessary—watching a little longer, making sure—but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was, leaving felt like failure. Like cowardice. His mother and Xiaoyu were right there, trapped behind wooden bars, and he was going to turn his back and walk away.
His fingers dug into the frozen ground. His breath curled in the cold air. The camp below hadn’t changed. The bandits weren’t moving.
It didn’t matter.
Jiang exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to move. He shifted back into the trees, keeping low, every instinct screaming at him to stay. He ignored it. It wasn’t instinct—it was desperation. A useless thing. He had made his decision.
His boots found familiar purchase on the frost-hardened soil as he retraced his path away from the ridge. He moved carefully at first, wary of any patrols that might have strayed farther than expected. But the further he got, the less caution mattered. The bandits weren’t hunting him. They didn’t even know he existed.
Jiang’s jaw tightened.
He increased his pace, settling into an efficient stride. No more hesitation. The town of Wúyè was waiting. Help was waiting.
He ran.
— — —
Elder Lu Heng sat cross-legged in the quiet of his borrowed room, eyes half-lidded, breath slow and measured. The faint scent of incense curled in the air, blending with the distant murmur of Wúyè’s streets beyond the window. The town was waking—merchants setting up stalls, carts rolling over packed dirt roads, the chatter of morning business beginning.
It was all very… mortal.
He barely heard it. His attention turned inward, past the physical world, past the gentle hum of spiritual energy that ebbed and flowed through his body. Cultivation had once been simpler—gather qi, refine it, break through. He missed those days, when progress was a matter of perseverance and force.
Now, it was more nebulous. Strength alone would not carry him further. Perspective, understanding—these were the things that mattered. It was why he had left the Sect to wander, to observe the mortal world. There was wisdom in watching, in helping, in seeing the world as it was rather than how the sects viewed it.
A sharp knock broke his meditation.
Elder Lu’s eyes opened.
The door creaked as it swung inward, revealing the town magistrate, Liu Cheng. The man’s silk robes were pristine, but sweat shone on his forehead despite the morning chill. He bowed deeply, his back stiff with deference.
“Esteemed Elder Lu, I apologise for disturbing you.” His voice was carefully measured, respectful to the point of obsequiousness. “There is… a matter that requires your attention.”
Lu Heng studied him.
While he made an effort to be approachable, he was under no illusions of how his visits to towns were usually seen – as something to be weathered, endured. A shame, really, and far from how the honoured founders had wanted the Azure Sky Sect to be seen. Regardless, for the magistrate to not only approach him without an invitation but to outright interrupt him, the matter must be important.
“Speak.”
The magistrate hesitated. “A boy arrived at the gates not long ago. He claims his village has been razed to the ground, and with the survivors being captured.” He swallowed. “By Gao Leng.”
Lu Heng’s expression did not change, but the air in the room sharpened.
Gao Leng. The Wicked Blade.
A bandit, a murderer, and—most damning of all—a former Outer Disciple of the Azure Sky Sect.
The Hollow Fangs had been a stain on the region for years, slipping away every time the Sect sent someone after them. Their survival was an embarrassment, but more than that, they were an insult not just to the Azure Sky Sect’s authority but to its very name.
Gao Leng had never been particularly talented, barely reaching the second stage of Foundation Establishment before he was expelled. But that alone made him dangerous—far too dangerous for anyone but a cultivator to handle. He should have had his cultivation sealed the moment he was cast out, his dantian shattered, his spiritual energy reduced to nothing.
But, of course, that hadn’t happened.
Because Elder Yan Zhihao, ever the stubborn, prideful bastard, had vouched for him.
Lu Heng’s fingers flexed at his sides, though he kept his expression impassive. How many mortals had suffered for the sake of Yan Zhihao’s reputation? How many villages had been burned because an elder refused to bear the shame of a failed disciple?
He took no satisfaction in how Gao Leng had turned into an even bigger stain on Yan Zhihao’s name than before.
Well.
He took a little satisfaction.
Either way, this could be the opportunity he’d been seeking for years – a chance to finally erase this blemish on the Sect’s honour.
“Where is the boy?”
The magistrate’s shoulders twitched, though he hid it well. “He was taken to my office to rest. The journey exhausted him, but he insisted on delivering his report before accepting food or sleep.”
Lu Heng stood in a single smooth motion.
“Take me to him.”
— — —
Lu Heng stepped into the magistrate’s office, his gaze sweeping the room in a single practised motion. It was a modest space—cluttered shelves, a simple wooden desk, an oil lamp still burning from the night before. And standing in the centre, stiff-backed and sharp-eyed, was the boy.
Younger than he expected.
The boy was perhaps at most fifteen, lean but not scrawny, his clothes worn from travel but well-maintained. He was tall for his age, posture straight and shoulders squared. It was the way a man carried himself, not a boy. Lu Heng had seen it before—children who had been forced to grow too quickly, who had stepped into responsibilities too large for them because there was no one else left.
He did not waste time treating him as anything less than what he had become.
Lu Heng met his gaze. “You’re the one who brought the report.”
The boy nodded. “Yes.”
No excessive deference, no stammering awe. It could be that the boy simply didn’t know he was speaking to a cultivator, but that wasn’t terribly likely – not to mention a boy from a small village would normally be nervous even just speaking to the magistrate.
Interesting.
Lu Heng stepped closer, absently letting a thread of his qi extend toward the boy—a reflex as much as anything. A cultivator’s way of gauging presence, strength, social standing. The magistrate wouldn’t have noticed it, but this boy…
Jiang frowned, just slightly. A flicker of something in his expression, a shift in his stance, as if some part of him had caught the touch but didn’t understand what it was.
Also interesting.
But not important. Not now.
Lu Heng didn’t dwell on it. “You’re sure it was the Hollow Fangs?”
“Yes.”
Lu Heng raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“Their symbol was everywhere.”
“How long ago?”
“Two nights.”
“Do you know where they went?”
The boy nodded. “They made camp near the river. By the ruins of an old outpost. They were still there when I left.”
The magistrate, standing off to the side had been gradually stiffening the more the boy spoke. “You are speaking to an Elder of the Azure Sky Sect,” he said sharply. “Mind your manners.”
Lu Heng waved a hand dismissively. “He’s not wasting my time.”
The magistrate immediately stepped back, bowing low. Interestingly, the boy seemed more confused than chastised. Clearly, he was unaware of how rude he was being – not that Lu Heng particularly cared. The boy’s village had just been razed, and he had spent two days rushing to get help. A little unintentional rudeness was nothing in the face of that.
He considered what he had learned. The numbers worried him less than the logistics. He could kill them all himself without difficulty – the reports indicated that even Gao Leng, the most dangerous of them, was only at the fourth stage of Foundation Establishment, having barely advanced since he’d left the Sect – but could he do it before they realised what was happening?
That many men, with that many hostages… someone would take desperate measures. Someone would use a prisoner as a shield, or slit a captive’s throat just for spite. Others would flee, and Lu Heng had no desire to spend the next six months tracking random bandits through the woods.
No, better to do it properly. Better to make sure none of them escaped, and none of the villagers died for it.
Lu Heng turned for the door. “I’m returning to the Azure Sky Sect.”
Jiang stiffened, just slightly. “You’re leaving?”
“I’ll be back within a few hours,” Lu Heng said. “I need reinforcements to ensure none of the bandits slip away and to keep the prisoners safe.” He paused, then added, “If the Heavens allow, you’ll be reunited with your family by the end of the day.”
Jiang’s expression didn’t change, but Lu Heng caught the flicker of scepticism in his eyes. Not fear, not doubt—just the quiet disbelief of someone who had never trusted in anything so intangible.
Lu Heng huffed a quiet laugh. It had been a long time since someone so obviously thought he was lying.
He stepped outside and, with a minor flex of Qi, leapt through the air faster than most mortals could perceive. Using his full speed within the town walls could cause chaos, after all, and the delay was minor.
Seconds later, clear of the walls, he began moulding his Qi into his favoured movement technique.
There was work to do.
