The inner sanctum of Red Sleeves was nothing like the gaudy pleasure halls outside.
Madame Silk's private chamber was austere—plain wooden walls, a simple desk, shelves lined with ledgers. The only luxury was a jade incense burner releasing threads of sandalwood smoke.
The woman herself sat behind the desk like a queen on a throne. Perhaps fifty years old, her beauty had faded but her presence had not. She wore dark robes of expensive silk, her graying hair pinned with jade ornaments. Her eyes, sharp as broken glass, studied Nalan Yaran with cool assessment.
"So," Madame Silk said, her voice soft but commanding. "The girl who broke poor Liu's face yesterday. And today, you break my guard's wrist." She smiled—a thin, dangerous expression. "You're either very brave or very stupid, child."
Nalan Yaran met her gaze steadily. "Neither. I'm practical."
"Practical." Madame Silk's fingers drummed against the desk. "An interesting choice of words." Her eyes slid to Qing Chen. "And you, little fox. You've been busy. A dead tax collector. The Twin Eagle Gang screaming for blood. The Zhao family preparing for war." She leaned forward. "Tell me why I shouldn't have you both killed and dumped in the river?"
Qing Chen smiled. "Because we're about to make you very rich, Madame."
"I'm listening."
"The Twin Eagle Gang and the Zhao family are going to tear each other apart. When they do, there will be opportunities. Territory changes hands. Protection rackets become available. Businesses need new... management." He spread his hands. "You're already one of the most powerful information brokers in Jin City. Imagine what you could become when the current power structure collapses."
Madame Silk's expression didn't change, but Nalan Yaran noticed her fingers had stopped drumming.
"And what do you want in return for this... opportunity?"
"Information," Qing Chen said. "And resources. We need to know everything about North Mang Mountain. The bandits there, their routines, their weaknesses. Everything."
For the first time, surprise flickered across Madame Silk's face.
"North Mang? The Diao Lord's domain?" She laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. "You really are insane. Those aren't ordinary bandits, boy. They're a small army. Even if the Twin Eagle Gang and Zhao family destroyed each other, you'd still need a hundred men to assault that mountain."
"We don't need a hundred men," Nalan Yaran said quietly. "We just need to know the right way in."
Madame Silk studied her for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, she stood and walked to a cabinet against the wall. She withdrew a small jade box.
"Two months ago, a man came to me. A survivor from a merchant caravan that had been captured by the North Mang bandits." She opened the box, revealing a piece of yellowed paper. "Most of the merchants were killed. The women were taken as... property. But this man escaped. He drew a map before he died of his injuries."
She placed the map on the desk.
Nalan Yaran's heart hammered in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral.
"Why show us this?" Qing Chen asked.
"Because the dying merchant said something interesting before he passed." Madame Silk's eyes glinted. "He said the bandits guard a hidden cave. That they bring certain prisoners there—martial artists, scholars, anyone with unusual skills. That something in that cave is more valuable than all the gold they've ever stolen." She smiled coldly. "I've been waiting for someone foolish enough to investigate. Congratulations—you've volunteered."
---
**Two Months Later**
The courtyard behind Red Sleeves had become Nalan Yaran's second home.
Dawn found her there most mornings, moving through Forging Jade forms with deadly precision. The energy flowed through her like water now—no longer the stuttering, uncertain power of an amateur. Under Qing Chen's brutal instruction and her own relentless practice, she had transformed.
"Again," Qing Chen commanded from the shadows. "Faster."
She blurred into motion. The wooden practice dummy shattered under her palm strike, splinters flying across the courtyard.
"Better." He stepped into the light. "You're approaching second-rate warrior level now. In another few months, you might even pose a threat to Iron Claw Wei."
Nalan Yaran wiped sweat from her brow. "Only might?"
"Confidence will get you killed." But there was approval in his eyes. "Though I admit, your progress is... impressive."
Over the past two months, the city had changed. The simmering tension between the Twin Eagle Gang and the Zhao family had erupted into violence. Bodies appeared in alleys. Businesses burned. The City Lord had imposed a curfew, but it did little to stem the bloodshed.
And through it all, Qing Chen and Nalan Yaran moved like ghosts—observing, learning, occasionally... intervening.
Nalan Yaran had killed three men in that time.
The first had been a Twin Eagle enforcer who had cornered a young girl in an alley. She'd cut his throat and left him bleeding in the gutter.
The second and third had been Zhao family guards who'd tried to shake down Uncle Feng's noodle shop. They'd made the mistake of reaching for their weapons.
Each death had been easier than the last.
*Ruthlessness*, she reminded herself. *This is what survival requires.*
"We have a problem," Qing Chen said, pulling her from her thoughts.
"What kind of problem?"
"The profitable kind." He gestured toward the brothel. "Madame Silk has a job for us. There's a merchant arriving tomorrow from the western provinces. He's carrying something valuable—a medicinal herb that can accelerate martial arts training. The Twin Eagle Gang wants to rob him. The Zhao family wants to offer protection. Madame Silk wants us to acquire it first."
Nalan Yaran frowned. "Why us?"
"Because if the Twin Eagle Gang succeeds, they grow stronger. If the Zhao family succeeds, same problem. But if we take it..." He smiled. "We keep the herb for ourselves, and both sides blame each other. More chaos. More opportunities."
"And Madame Silk accepts this?"
"She's getting a cut of our other operations. She's content." Qing Chen's expression turned serious. "But there's more. One of my informants heard something interesting. The merchant has traveled through North Mang territory. Apparently, he knows something about the bandits' routines—including when the Diao Lord leaves the mountain for his monthly visits to the provincial capital."
Nalan Yaran's pulse quickened. "When?"
"That's what we need to find out." He met her eyes. "Tomorrow night, we intercept the merchant. We take the herb, and we make him tell us everything he knows about North Mang. No matter what it takes."
---
That evening, Nalan Yaran sat alone in her rented room, cleaning her blade by candlelight.
Uncle Feng had moved to a relative's home outside the city—safer there, away from the gang violence. She'd given him most of her earnings from the various "jobs" with Qing Chen. Enough to live comfortably for a year.
She told herself it was practical. That keeping him safe was strategic.
But part of her knew it was guilt.
The girl who'd set out two months ago to recover her family's stolen money would have been horrified by what she'd become. A killer. A thief. Someone who worked for a brothel madam and planned robberies in the dark.
*But that girl was weak*, Nalan Yaran thought coldly. *She would have died, uselessly, and accomplished nothing.*
A knock at her door interrupted her reflection.
She opened it to find a street urchin—one of the beggar children who sometimes carried messages for Madame Silk's network.
"Miss Nalan?" The boy's eyes were wide with fear. "Brother Chen says to meet him at the eastern warehouse. Says it's urgent."
She flipped him a copper coin and grabbed her cloak.
---
The warehouse was abandoned, one of many casualties of the gang war. Qing Chen stood in the shadows, but he wasn't alone.
A man knelt before him—middle-aged, wearing merchant's robes now torn and bloodied. Two of Madame Silk's enforcers held him upright.
"Ah, you're here." Qing Chen's smile was cold. "Perfect timing. Our merchant friend arrived early. Unfortunately, he tried to run when the Twin Eagle Gang approached. Led them on quite a chase through the market." He crouched beside the merchant. "Tell her what you told me."
The merchant's face was pale with terror. "Please... I already said everything—"
Qing Chen's hand moved faster than sight. The merchant screamed as his finger bent backward with a sickening crack.
"Tell. Her."
Nalan Yaran watched without flinching. She'd seen Qing Chen extract information before. He was efficient.
The merchant sobbed. "The... the Diao Lord. He leaves the mountain every month. New moon. Takes only a small escort—maybe twenty men. They travel to Blackwater City to sell their... their goods."
"What kind of goods?" Nalan Yaran asked quietly.
"People. Women, mostly. Some men with special skills. They..." He swallowed. "They keep the most valuable ones in a cave. Behind the main compound. The Diao Lord's son guards it personally."
*The cave from the map*, Nalan Yaran realized. *This confirms it.*
"And the medicine herb?" Qing Chen pressed.
"In my wagon. Hidden compartment under the driver's seat." The merchant looked up with desperate hope. "Please, I have a family—"
Qing Chen's blade flashed.
The merchant slumped forward, blood pooling beneath him.
Nalan Yaran felt nothing. Not horror, not pity. Just cold calculation.
"The new moon is in three weeks," Qing Chen said, wiping his blade clean. "When the Diao Lord leaves, the mountain will be more vulnerable. That's our window."
"Three weeks," Nalan Yaran repeated. "We'll need supplies. Weapons. A better understanding of the terrain."
"Agreed." He looked at her, and something dangerous passed between them—a shared hunger. "We're close now. Everything we've done, everyone we've killed... it's all been leading to this."
To North Mang Mountain.
To the secret the dying wanderer had whispered about with his final breath.
To immortality itself.
Nalan Yaran touched the hilt of her blade.
*Three weeks*, she thought. *Three weeks, and nothing will ever be the same.*
---
[End of Chapter 4]