Chapter Five: Shadows Among Temples
I hated boredom.
Not because it was dull, but because it whispered lies to me. It told me I was soft. It told me I could let the city lull me into thinking I was untouchable. That was dangerous.
So when the Pavilion sent me to Lingyun Province, I was thrilled. A temple town on the river's edge, streets paved with cracked stones and moss, incense curling like lazy ghosts from every corner. The sort of place where secrets clung to the walls of tea houses and the wooden shutters of wealthy merchants.
And I could finally do nothing.
---
I walked through the market, a cigarette tucked behind my ear, dodging a merchant hawking dried herbs.
"Fresh chrysanthemums! Only ten copper!" he shouted.
I waved, smiling. "I prefer the night kind."
The boy blinked. "Huh?"
"Night jasmine," I said, plucking a stem from a nearby stall. Its fragrance whispered warmth into my chest. My favorite flower. Something about it reminded me that even killers deserved beauty.
He laughed nervously and backed away.
I liked that. People should be slightly afraid. Slightly curious.
---
By the riverbank, I met my first contact. Lao Chen, a man older than the oldest temple bell, wiry and weathered with hands like carved roots. He ran information for the Pavilion. No one noticed him except those who were desperate—or dead.
"You're early," he said, voice dry as sunbaked clay.
"I hate waiting," I said, flipping my cigarette from one hand to the other. "Besides, I like watching people panic."
He laughed. Low. Rumbling. "Still the same brat. Ten years and nothing changes."
"You think years matter?" I asked, stepping closer. Smoke from my cigarette curling between us like a veil. "I've survived worse boredom than this."
Lao Chen studied me. His eyes, sharp despite age, flicked to the temple beyond the river. "The patron at Shanyin Temple… he isn't human. Keep your distance."
"Distant enough," I said, twirling the night jasmine between my fingers, "or close enough to make him regret it."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Always a blade and a smile."
---
The temple itself was deceptively quiet. Moss clung to the wooden eaves, lanterns swung gently in the wind, and incense drifted in thick spirals from every corner. Monks shuffled silently across stone floors, chanting prayers for things humans could not see.
I walked past them, unremarkable except for the slight sway of my hips, the tilt of my head, and the cigarette smoke that hung just behind me.
And then I saw him.
A man in a deep maroon robe, hair tied high, eyes black and liquid. He wasn't young. He wasn't old. He was perfectly dangerous.
I froze. Not in fear—never fear—but in curiosity.
He smiled, faint and sly. "You're far from home, little shadow."
"I go where the shadows need me," I said, voice even, letting my cigarette burn low. "And you?"
"I watch," he said, tilting his head. "You're… unusual."
"Thank you," I said, flicking ash into the river. "I try."
He chuckled, a sound like wind through bamboo. "And what do you want here?"
"Tea," I said simply. "And a little trouble."
He raised a brow, amused. "Tea and trouble. Dangerous combination."
"Perfect," I said. "I like dangerous."
---
The afternoon passed slowly, full of quiet observation. I followed him through the temple corridors, watched as he fed birds along the river, as he inspected old statues for runes I could barely decipher.
I smoked, smiled, whispered jokes to myself about how everyone thinks monks are boring.
By evening, I realized something. I had no orders to kill today. No targets. Just people, temples, and a city breathing like it had secrets. And for once, I enjoyed it.
I even laughed. Quietly. At a cat stealing a roasted fish.
---
That night, I sat on the edge of the bridge overlooking the river. Lanterns reflected like stars in the water, and the night smelled of jasmine, smoke, and damp stone.
I lit another cigarette, inhaled, and thought about how funny it was that I could be so alive when I was trained to be a shadow.
People think death is exciting, I narrated internally. It isn't. Life is. Even if it's temporary.
And then, without warning, I felt it—the brush of something unnatural, something watching. The dark presence of the temple patron, just as Lao Chen had warned. Not human. Too aware. Too patient.
I smiled.
Finally, I thought. Someone interesting.