The Blood Wolf Company's temporary compound occupied the eastern quarter of Redstone City's mercenary district. A sprawling complex of converted warehouses that had seen better days. But the guards at the gates were sharp-eyed, the formations on the walls were freshly inscribed, and anyone with spiritual sense could feel the weight of Core Formation cultivators within.
Three of them, to be precise.
Though at the moment, one of those three was trying very hard not to scream.
Lang Zhanfeng sat on the edge of his bed, stripped to the waist, as the physician changed his bandages. The wounds beneath were healing, slowly and painfully, but healing nonetheless. Deep gouges across his chest and back, the marks of a demonic cultivator's corrupted qi techniques. The flesh around them was still discolored, tinged with the sickly purple of poison that hadn't fully purged.
"You're lucky to be alive," the physician said, not for the first time. "Another inch to the left and that strike would have severed your spine."
"I'm aware." Zhanfeng's jaw was tight. "Are we done?"
"For now. I'll return this evening to check the..."
"Fine. Leave."
The physician gathered his supplies and departed without another word. He'd been with the Blood Wolf Company long enough to know when to push and when to retreat.
Alone, Zhanfeng allowed himself to slump. The movement pulled at his wounds, sending fresh waves of pain through his torso, but he didn't care. Pain was nothing. Pain he could handle.
It was the shame that burned.
Core Formation Stage 4.
The demonic cultivator had been Core Formation Stage 4. Zhanfeng was Stage 3. By all rights, the gap shouldn't have been insurmountable. One stage. He'd fought opponents one stage above him before and won.
But he hadn't won. He'd been carved apart like a training dummy, saved only by his eldest brother's intervention. Zhanyue had appeared from nowhere, scattered the cultists with a single technique, and carried Zhanfeng's bleeding body back to their camp.
Three weeks ago. Three weeks of lying in bed, of being tended to like an invalid, of watching his brothers coordinate the hunt without him.
A knock at the door.
"What?" Zhanfeng snapped.
The door opened to reveal Fang Lei, his second brother's lieutenant. A gruff man with more scars than hair. "Council meeting. All three brothers. Now."
"I'm injured."
"You can walk. The boss says now."
Zhanfeng wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Fang Lei exactly where he could shove his summons. But he was still Blood Wolf, and when the eldest brother called a council, you answered.
He reached for his robes, ignoring the way his wounds screamed in protest.
The meeting room was sparse. A table, six chairs, maps of the Blackwood region covering the walls. Lang Zhanyue sat at the head, his expression unreadable. Beside him stood Qin Hongye, his lieutenant, a woman whose calm demeanor hid a mind like a steel trap.
Lang Zhantian was already seated, arms crossed, face set in its perpetual scowl. He looked up as Zhanfeng entered, and something flickered in his eyes. Concern? Anger? Both?
"Sit down before you fall down," Zhantian growled. "You look like death."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're three weeks out from nearly dying because you couldn't keep your head in a fight." Zhantian's voice was hard. "Sit. Down."
Zhanfeng sat.
For a moment, silence hung in the room. Then Zhanyue spoke, his voice quiet and measured.
"The remaining cultists are still in the wind." Zhanyue's voice was flat. "We know they fled east after the fight. We know they're somewhere in this region. Beyond that, nothing."
A month ago, they'd finally cornered the demonic cultivators they'd been hunting, in the borderlands west of here. The fight had been bloody. They'd killed the leader and captured most of his followers, who were now en route to the domain capital for interrogation. But a handful of subordinates had escaped during the chaos, fleeing east. The Blood Wolf Company had pursued them toward Redstone City, but lost the trail before reaching the walls. Three weeks of searching since then had turned up nothing.
"Then we pursue," Zhanfeng said immediately. "I can travel. My wounds..."
"Your wounds nearly killed you," Zhantian cut in. "The poison in your system hasn't fully cleared. You try to fight right now, you'll collapse in the first exchange."
"I won't..."
"You will." Zhantian leaned forward, his scarred face inches from Zhanfeng's. "You think I don't know you, little brother? You think I can't see it in your eyes? You want to prove yourself. You want to show you're not the weak link. But charging into battle before you're healed isn't courage. It's suicide."
"I'm not..."
"You nearly cost us a brother." Zhantian's voice dropped, suddenly quiet. Somehow, that was worse than the shouting. "Over your pride. Over your need to prove you're not 'the youngest' anymore. Their leader was stronger than you. You should have retreated. Instead, you charged in alone, and Zhanyue had to risk his life to save yours."
The words hit like physical blows. Zhanfeng opened his mouth to respond, found nothing there.
"Enough." Zhanyue's voice cut through the tension. "What's done is done. Recriminations help no one."
"He needs to hear it," Zhantian said.
"He's heard it. Multiple times. From you, from me, from the physicians." Zhanyue's gaze settled on Zhanfeng, not unkind but utterly serious. "You made a mistake. You know it. Now we move forward."
Zhanfeng looked at his eldest brother. Really looked. Zhanyue was the oldest by a century, Core Formation Stage 5, the leader who had built the Blood Wolf Company from nothing. He'd been fighting since before Zhanfeng was born. And yet he never shouted. Never raged. Just... assessed. Calculated. Moved forward.
Why can't I be more like him?
"We've posted a bounty with the local Phantom Gate branch," Zhanyue continued. "Someone in this city saw something. It's only a matter of time before they come forward." He glanced at Qin Hongye. "The auction tomorrow. Status?"
"Last time this auction house held an event, they had plenty of high-grade healing pills. Worth acquiring regardless. If not for our current wounded, then for future operations." She paused. "Competition will be fierce. The city's major clans will be attending, and there are rumors of buyers from Crimson Bastion."
"We'll secure what we need," Zhanyue said. "Our men come first."
He glanced at the maps covering the walls. Somewhere out there, three demonic cultivators were hiding. Waiting. Planning.
"When the intel comes through the Gate, we move," Zhanyue said.
"And if it doesn't?" Zhanfeng asked.
"Then we search the old way. Street by street. Building by building." Zhanyue's expression was calm, patient. "They can't hide forever."
Wang Ben found the tea house in the merchant district's quieter corner, tucked between a herbalist shop and a closed textile warehouse. A wooden sign above the door read "The Quiet Cup" in faded characters. Nothing remarkable. Nothing memorable.
That was the point.
He'd spent the morning asking careful questions in careful places. The Phantom Gate's local network wasn't a single location but a web of establishments where certain services could be requested. Information bought and sold, connections made, deals brokered. The City Lord's mansion turned a blind eye. Not because the services were legal, but because the Phantom Gate was too powerful to challenge.
It hadn't taken long to find the right contact. A name whispered in the right ear, a spirit stone slipped to the right people, and he'd been pointed here.
Wang Ben pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The interior was dim, lit by paper lanterns that cast warm shadows across wooden furniture worn smooth by centuries of use. A handful of patrons sat at scattered tables, nursing cups of tea and speaking in low voices. None looked up as he entered.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man in grey robes, unremarkable in every way. Forgettable features, calm expression, hands folded before him.
"Tea," Wang Ben said.
The man studied him for a moment. His gaze was mild, unhurried. "What kind?"
"The kind that comes with discretion."
A slight nod. "Follow me."
He led Wang Ben through a beaded curtain into a private room at the back. Small, clean, furnished with only a low table and cushions. The man gestured for Wang Ben to sit, then settled across from him, pouring tea from a pot that had already been prepared.
"I am called Shen Wuyan," he said. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "You seek to broker information."
"I have intelligence that may interest certain parties. I understand you can facilitate such transactions."
"Perhaps." Shen Wuyan sipped his tea. "What kind of intelligence?"
"Demonic cultivators. I know where they were three days ago, their approximate numbers, their direction of travel."
The man's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. Interest. "That's valuable information. How did you come by it?"
"I notice things."
"A Body Refinement cultivator notices demonic cultivators that half the city's Qi Condensation guards missed?"
"I have good eyes."
Shen Wuyan set down his cup. For a long moment, he simply looked at Wang Ben. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but weighted with something Wang Ben couldn't identify.
"You're in luck," Shen Wuyan said finally. "There are interested parties. A bounty was posted recently for information on demonic cultivators matching your description. The reward is one defensive talisman. Grade 7, high quality. Strong enough to block a single attack from a late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator, though a peak cultivator would likely punch through."
Wang Ben considered this. A talisman that could block a late Foundation Establishment attack. Not much against the real threats of the world, but for someone at Body Refinement Stage 4, it could mean the difference between life and death.
"Acceptable."
Shen Wuyan studied him for a moment longer. "Tell me what you saw. If it matches what the interested party is looking for, you'll have your talisman."
Wang Ben nodded. "Three days ago, I was in the marketplace near the eastern gate. I noticed three individuals moving through the crowd. Their robes were local, but their movement patterns were wrong. Too coordinated. Too alert. And their qi..." He paused. "Corrupted. The signature was faint, but unmistakable. Demonic cultivation."
Shen Wuyan's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture. Attention. "Go on."
"I followed them from a distance. They left the city through the eastern gate. Three cultivators, estimated strength Qi Condensation 5 to 7. One was limping, possibly injured in a recent engagement. They were heading northeast, toward the Dragon Spine foothills."
Shen Wuyan was quiet for a long moment. His fingers traced the rim of his teacup, the motion almost absent.
"That matches," he said finally. "Precisely." He reached into his robes and produced a jade slip, roughly the size of his palm. Inscribed across its surface were formation patterns that glowed faintly with stored spiritual energy. "The bounty reward. Grade 7, high quality. Single use."
Wang Ben accepted the talisman, feeling the weight of the formations within. Real. Genuine. Worth more than he'd earned in his entire life.
"My fee is ten percent of any agreed compensation," Shen Wuyan added. "In this case, the interested party has already paid it as part of the bounty posting. You owe nothing."
"And the interested party?"
"Will receive your information through the appropriate channels." Shen Wuyan smiled slightly. "That's how the Phantom Gate works. Buyers and sellers never meet. Anonymity is preserved. Reputations are protected."
Wang Ben nodded. He'd suspected as much.
Wang Ben remained seated, the talisman heavy in his palm.
Across the room, Shen Wuyan poured fresh tea.
"You handled that well," the broker said quietly. "Better than most adults I've seen."
"I had good information."
"You had valuable information. There's a difference." Shen Wuyan's eyes lingered on Wang Ben, something unreadable in their depths. "Most people your age would have asked for money. Or pills. Or techniques. Something immediate. Something they could use now."
"A talisman is immediate."
"A talisman is insurance. Planning for disaster. That's not how fifteen-year-olds think." He paused. "That's how soldiers think. Veterans. People who've seen enough death to know it can come at any moment."
Wang Ben said nothing.
"You're an interesting young man, Wang Ben." Shen Wuyan smiled his small smile. "I hope we'll do business again."
"Perhaps."
Wang Ben rose, tucked the talisman into his inner robes, and left the tea house.
Behind him, Shen Wuyan sat alone in the quiet room, the smile fading from his face.
In 2,800 years, he had read thousands of people. Cultivators, mortals, kings, beggars, killers, saints. He could tell a man's cultivation, his fears, his secrets, often within moments of meeting him.
But this boy...
Something was wrong.
Not wrong as in dangerous. Wrong as in impossible.
The boy was Body Refinement Stage 4. His cultivation was genuine, unremarkable. But the way he carried himself, there was no fear. Not bravado masking fear. Genuine absence of fear. His eyes were too calm, too measured, like someone who had seen far more than fifteen years of life.
When discussing demonic cultivators, he'd shown no excitement, no nervousness. Just cold assessment. His report had been precise. Professional. Like he'd done it a thousand times.
Shen Wuyan had seen old souls in young bodies before. Reincarnated cultivators who retained fragments of past lives. But this felt different. Deeper. Like the boy wasn't just carrying memories, but weight. The kind of weight that took millennia to accumulate.
Interesting.
He filed the observation away. Probably nothing. Possibly something. Time would tell.
But for the first time in decades, Shen Wuyan found himself genuinely curious about someone in this boring frontier city.
Wang Ben walked through the evening streets, the setting sun painting the buildings in shades of gold and red. His hand kept drifting to his chest, where the talisman rested against his heart.
Golden Bell Shield Talisman. Grade 7. Blocks one attack up to Foundation Establishment Stage 8.
It wasn't much. Against the real threats in the world, the Nascent Soul cultivators and ancient clan powerhouses and entities that haunted his fragmented memories, it was nothing. A paper shield against a tidal wave.
But against the hundred smaller dangers that stood between him and survival?
It might be enough.
[TRANSACTION ANALYSIS: Complete]
[ACQUIRED: Golden Bell Shield Talisman (Grade 7)]
[DEFENSIVE CAPABILITY: Blocks one full-power attack from FE Stage 8. Multiple weaker attacks possible before depletion.]
[ESTIMATED VALUE: 12-15 Mid-Grade Spirit Stones]
[ASSESSMENT: Favorable exchange. Intelligence provided cost Host nothing. Talisman provides significant survival advantage.]
Wang Ben almost smiled. Trust the System to reduce everything to numbers.
[ADDITIONAL ANALYSIS: Contact "Shen Wuyan"]
[PROCESSING...]
A pause. Longer than usual.
[CONTACT ANALYSIS: Complete]
[DESIGNATION: "Shen Wuyan" - Cover Identity]
[APPARENT CULTIVATION: Core Formation Stage 2]
[ACTUAL CULTIVATION: Nascent Soul Stage 9 (Peak)]
Wang Ben's steps faltered.
What?
[NOTE: Cultivation actively suppressed. Detection required cross-referencing micro-expressions, qi fluctuation patterns, and historical assassination signatures.]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: Extreme. Subject could eliminate Host in 0.003 seconds.]
[CURRENT THREAT TO HOST: None. Subject showed no hostile intent.]
[ADDENDUM: Subject displayed unusual interest in Host. Reason unknown. Monitoring recommended.]
[RECOMMENDATION: Maintain cordial relations. Do not antagonize.]
Wang Ben stopped walking entirely, standing in the middle of the street as other pedestrians flowed around him.
Peak Nascent Soul.
The mild-mannered tea house owner. The soft-spoken broker who never raised his voice above a whisper. The man he'd shared tea with, exchanged information with, treated as a simple intermediary.
Could eliminate him in 0.003 seconds.
Displayed unusual interest in Host.
Something cold settled in Wang Ben's stomach.
He thought about the way Shen Wuyan had looked at him. Those weighted silences. The comments about how he "handled things well" and "thought like a veteran."
The man had been reading him. Evaluating him. And Wang Ben, completely oblivious, had sat there thinking he was the one in control of the conversation.
What is a Peak Nascent Soul cultivator doing in a frontier city like Redstone?
[INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR ACCURATE ASSESSMENT]
[HYPOTHESIS: Subject is in hiding. Cover identity suggests deliberate obscurity.]
[PROBABILITY OF HOSTILE INTENT: <3%]
[PROBABILITY OF CONTINUED OBSERVATION: >85%]
Great. A kingdom-ruler level cultivator hiding in his city. Probably an assassin, given the "historical assassination signatures" the System had mentioned. And now that assassin was curious about him.
Wang Ben resumed walking, his mind churning.
Tomorrow was the auction. His father's hope. His family's future.
And somewhere in this city, a monster wore the face of a tea house owner and wondered why a fifteen-year-old boy carried the weight of millennia in his eyes.
One problem at a time, Wang Ben told himself. One day at a time.
He clutched the talisman tighter and walked home.
END OF CHAPTER 11