They reached the newcomer quarters in silence, the compound's lamps throwing soft halos across the stone. Mei Yun paused at the doorway, fingers lingering on Li Wei's sleeve as if to hold the conversation just a shade longer.
"Rest," she said, half-order, half-prayer. "You pushed hard today."
He let out a short breath, a small laugh carrying no humor. "I will. Tomorrow I'll be back at it."
She nodded once, then stepped inside. The door shut with a muted click. Li Wei lingered beneath the willow for a moment longer, listening to the compound settle — the distant clink of a training sword, the low murmur of two voices practicing talismans — and then he slipped into his own room.
His token rested on the bedside table, the carved numbers faintly luminescent in the dim. He touched it without looking, feeling the grain under his fingertips. The clerk had verified Broken Fang Ridge; the jade had recorded the kills and the location. The points were already counted.
Contribution Points: 2,225.
He had said the same numbers to himself a dozen times that night. It was a solid amount. Not extravagant. Not enough. He ran through the accounting again, this time aloud as if speaking to someone who could do the math for him.
Foundation Pill — 3,000.
Dantian protective medicines — 1,000.
One week in Spirit Convergence Chamber — 840.
Total: 4,840.
His stipend from the Xianglong tournament gave him breathing room; the caravan had pushed him forward. But to push for Foundation Establishment, it was still nearly double his current balance. The monthly stipend would arrive with the next distribution, tied to his rising rank, but that would take time. Time he felt he could not waste.
Outside his window, a faint breeze teased the willow branches. Time, he reminded himself, was the thing he needed to compress. Less time meant fewer chances for whatever had taken his parents to grow distant, for clues to vanish or be buried under years of dust. That thought tightened his jaw.
He dressed quietly, performing the ritual motions of preparing for missions with efficient hands. He could take low-risk missions for steady points — herb-gathering and the like — but those would crawl toward the goal like ants up a cliff. To make the numbers behave, he needed missions that paid well. Dangerous missions. Investigations or exterminations that risked life for a sizeable ledger.
He pulled his light cloak tight against the morning chill and set off.
The Mission Hall smelled of ink, pine resin, and wet stone. Clerks moved like tides between counters, and the jade plaques pulsed with new lines as disciples argued, claimed, and withdrew. Li Wei cut through the press to the wall where the most dangerous commissions were posted; their edging glowed faint crimson and the characters shifted rapidly.
—Investigate disappearances near Redclaw Hollow. Reward: 500 contribution.
—Escort a merchant caravan (Wolf Fang Gorge). Reward: 320.
—Beast extermination — Three-Spike Boars. Reward: 400.
—Scouting mission — Ruined Watchtower, report anomaly. Reward: 260.
He let his eyes scan the list but paused on the first line. Five hundred was nothing compared to the Foundation total, but it was substantial — and an investigation rarely behaved like a simple gather-or-slay. It required wit, stealth, and careful reading of the world. Clues found in a hollow might point to an abandoned talisman, a bandit den, or a deeper scheme. If there was any chance that the fate of his parents had left traces beyond Xianglong's borders, it would be in the messy places: disappearances, trafficking routes, old ruins where secrets festered.
He tapped his token lightly against the plaque. Crimson fire blinked across the runes. A clerk glanced up and, with a professional nod, recorded his acceptance: the mission registered to his slate, the coordinates printed in ephemeral ink that only the token could read.
"Redclaw Hollow," he told the clerk. "Any companions required?"
"None required, but recommended." The clerk's tone was businesslike. "Locals report movement near the east ravine. Dangerous small groups, likely bandit activity. Give the sect a full report on cause and number — and return with any physical evidence if possible."
Li Wei inclined his head. The clerk's eyes flicked to his token, then away — another newcomer, another name carved in the Stele. They had seen many like him; some rose, some fell. The Mission Hall did not judge beyond the ledger.
He left the hall with the mission sealed to his token. The route led eastward; Redclaw Hollow lay a day's travel beyond the Broken Fang Ridge, deeper into lands where the sect's watchmen rarely trod except to retrieve bodies and send back reports.
The road out of the outer compound was quieter than the first time he'd taken it for the wolves. Fewer caravans threaded the passes; the animals left behind a dusty silence. He walked alone, the landscape changing as he moved: the neat terraces of the sect's outer gardens gave way to stony plateaus flecked with hardy brush; the trees grew gnarled and salt-crusted where wind clawed at their trunks.
Midway through the morning he met a pair of recruits — outer sect novices bound for a week of menial fieldwork. They stepped aside when they recognized the blade at his hip; their faces held the polite mix of respect and envy common to those who measured themselves by another's stride.
"Heading east?" one asked in a voice that tried to sound casual and landed somewhere between curiosity and challenge.
"Redclaw Hollow," Li Wei answered. "Investigate disappearances."
The recruits fell quiet. "That place… people say it's cursed. Folk go in and don't come back."
"I'll be careful." He gave them a curt nod and continued on. The recruits watched his back for a while, then turned inland to their own tasks.
---
Redclaw Hollow was less a hollow than a shallow basin ringed with broken trees and rotted fenceposts — the remnants of old settlements swallowed by the wild. The ground darkened here: old fires, stagnant pools, and the tang of iron in the air. Tracks dotted the mud — human boot prints, but some prints crisscrossed with sharper, clawed impressions. Not all disappearances were the work of beasts.
He moved slow, Flowing Cloud Steps carrying him silent as a shadow over fallen logs. The first sign of recent trouble was an overturned cart, its canvas slashed, its goods scavenged. Nearby, a ragged scarf snagged on a bramble — bright thread, recent wash. Blood spotted the dirt in clotted smears.
Li Wei crouched, eyes narrowing. The blood ran toward the east ravine; someone had been dragged downhill.
He followed the trail.
By the time the ravine opened into its narrower throat, the light had softened. The path wound between shale and roots, and the air tasted metallic. Something watched from the slope above — movement like ragged cloth, a silhouette sliding between broken trees.
Li Wei pressed back into shadow and waited.
When the figure descended, it was not a wolf but a small band — three men, half cloaked in stolen sect robes, their blades nicked and crude. One dragged a bound figure — thin, dress torn, face slack with pain. Their talk was low and rough: words about payment, about moving prisoners south to sell them into some nameless market road.
Li Wei stepped from his cover.
"Let them go," he said.
The three swung, surprise turning to anger as they faced him. Not a one had expected a blade between the trees. The leader spat. "A sect dog? Keep him alive — sale's earlier if they're breathing."
The first blade sliced. Li Wei flowed. The Tempest Fang Slash snapped through the air, not a flourish but a clean, layered cut that disarmed and stunned in a single breath. The leader's knife went spinning into the undergrowth. His companions fared no better; a short, precise burst of movement and both were pinned with shadows of wind and steel — hands bound at the wrists before they could twitch.
The bound figure slumped, groaning as Li Wei hurried to cut the ropes. It was a young woman, eyes rimmed red with tears, her breath shuddering. She looked up at him, and for a heartbeat Li Wei saw something like recognition — then it faded with shock.
"You're from the sect?" she rasped.
He nodded. "Tell me what happened."
As she spoke — between coughs and sobs — a larger pattern unfurled: trailing caravans robbed, folk taken from outlying villages, a small network of slavers using the ravine's concealment. This was not a wolf-pack. It was an organization.
He looked at the bandits, bound by their own ropes and watching him with newly wary eyes. The mission plaque's reward hummed behind his thoughts, but something else clicked cold and sharp inside his chest. These threads — a ruined cart, a market route, a bandit leader who sold human lives — could lead farther than a single hollow.
He turned his gaze to the ravine's mouth where morning light fell. There were choices: bring these bandits back and claim the reward for the Hollow, or pursue the network deeper and risk more for more — or for a clue that might intersect with the old wounds he carried.
For now, he did both.
He trussed the three and left a warning carved into the bark at the ravine's mouth for any other gangs — a riddle of sect-runes that would bring attention if ignored — and then hoisted the woman gently over his shoulder to carry her back.
The mission would be verified; the token would record the rescue and the capture. But the trail he had glimpsed did not end in Redclaw Hollow. It wound outward, through markets and caravans — out where the Xianglong attackers might once have moved like shadows.
As he walked back to the sect, the woman's breathing steadied and the burden felt smaller beneath his arm than the map that had opened in his mind.
He tightened his grip on the token.
Points mattered. So did clues.
Two things he needed, both earned the same way: contribution and answers. Today he'd gained both.