The sounds of pursuit faded into the distance as Nalan Yaran followed Qing Chen through a maze of narrow alleys. He moved with practiced ease, clearly knowing every shadow and shortcut in this district.
Finally, they emerged into a small courtyard behind a decrepit wine shop. The morning sun barely penetrated the high walls surrounding them.
"Talk," Nalan Yaran said, her hand still resting on her blade. "Who do you want killed?"
Qing Chen leaned against a wooden pillar, studying her with those unsettling eyes. "Straight to business. I like that."
"I don't have time for games."
"Neither do I." His casual demeanor shifted, something cold sliding into place behind his smile. "The Twin Eagle Gang's second-in-command. A man called Iron Claw Wei. He controls their operations in the eastern district—including the protection racket that destroyed your family's business."
Nalan Yaran's eyes narrowed. "You know about my family?"
"I know many things, Miss Nalan. I know your father was Nalan Feng, once the most successful silk merchant in Jin City. I know the Twin Eagle Gang demanded sixty percent of his profits. I know that when he refused, they broke his legs and burned his warehouse." Qing Chen's voice remained level. "And I know he died three months ago, broken in spirit and body."
Her hand trembled slightly on her blade. "Why do you want Iron Claw Wei dead?"
"Let's say our interests align. He's been... problematic for certain plans I have." Qing Chen pushed off from the pillar. "I have information—his schedule, his weaknesses, the layout of his compound. What I lack is someone skilled enough to do the deed. Someone with nothing left to lose."
"And in return?"
"I told you. I'll help you destroy the entire Twin Eagle Gang. Not just Iron Claw Wei—all of them. Including their leader, Black Tiger Fang."
Nalan Yaran studied him for a long moment. There was something familiar about him—the way he calculated, the way he observed everything while revealing nothing.
"You're not just some street rat," she said slowly. "Who are you really?"
Qing Chen's smile didn't waver. "Someone who understands that in this world, you either climb or you get crushed. I intend to climb."
Before she could respond, a commotion erupted from the street beyond the courtyard.
---
"Move aside! City Lord's business!"
The shout was followed by the thunder of boots and the crack of a whip.
Nalan Yaran and Qing Chen exchanged glances before moving silently to peer through a gap in the courtyard wall.
A procession was pushing through the narrow street. Servants in fine livery bearing the character "Zhao" on their clothes shoved aside anyone too slow to move. At the center, a palanquin carried by four sweating men swayed with each step.
Walking beside it was a young man Nalan Yaran recognized—Young Master Zhao, the City Lord's youngest son. His pale, dissolute face was twisted in irritation as he fanned himself.
"Faster, you worthless dogs! I'm expected at the Red Sleeves!"
Behind them, bound with rough rope, stumbled a young woman. Her clothes were torn, her face bruised, and her eyes held the hollow look of someone who had already accepted death.
"Please!" An old man—her father, perhaps—crawled after the procession on his knees. "She's my only daughter! She was just fetching water from the well! Please, Young Master, have mercy!"
Young Master Zhao didn't even glance back. "Your daughter splashed water on my shoes. She should be grateful I'm only taking her to serve at the brothel instead of having her executed."
"But she's only fifteen! Please—"
One of the servants kicked the old man aside. He crumpled into the mud, sobbing.
The procession moved on. The girl didn't scream or struggle—she had already learned that resistance was futile.
Nalan Yaran's grip on her blade tightened until her knuckles went white. The Forging Jade energy surged through her veins, demanding action.
A hand closed around her wrist.
"Don't." Qing Chen's voice was ice. "Not now. Not here."
"They're going to—"
"I know exactly what they're going to do." His eyes held hers, and she saw something dark swimming in their depths. "But if you attack the City Lord's son in broad daylight, you'll be dead before sunset. And then who will avenge your family? Who will destroy the Twin Eagle Gang?"
Nalan Yaran wanted to argue. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to act.
But she had learned, in these past two years, that justice was a luxury the powerless couldn't afford.
She released her blade.
---
They watched in silence as the procession disappeared around a corner. The old man remained in the mud, his sobs gradually fading to whimpers, then to silence.
"This is the world we live in," Qing Chen said quietly. "Lives cheaper than grass. The strong take what they want, and the weak can only endure."
"It doesn't have to be this way."
"No. It doesn't." He turned to face her fully. "That girl will be dead by tomorrow. Used up and discarded like garbage. No one will investigate. No one will care. The City Lord's family will continue as they always have."
Nalan Yaran said nothing.
"But imagine," Qing Chen continued, his voice dropping to barely a whisper, "if someone were to change the balance of power in this city. If the Twin Eagle Gang fell. If the City Lord's family were... humbled. If the weak had a protector."
"Pretty words. But power doesn't come from nowhere."
"No, it doesn't." Something flickered in Qing Chen's eyes—a secret, burning to be told. "Tell me, Miss Nalan. The man who taught you the Forging Jade Art. Did he say anything else before he died?"
Nalan Yaran went still.
The memory surfaced unbidden—a blood-soaked cave, a dying stranger whose skills far exceeded any martial artist she had ever seen. Three days of desperate teaching, and then...
*"North Mang Mountain,"* he had whispered with his final breaths. *"The medicine of longevity... the path to becoming an Immortal... it's all there. But the bandits guard it without knowing what they possess. Find it, girl. Find it and transcend this mortal cage."*
She had told no one. Not even Uncle Feng.
"How do you know about my master?" she demanded.
Qing Chen smiled—a real smile this time, sharp as a blade. "Because twenty years ago, a young man saved a dying traveler and learned the same art. That young man was my father. And before he died, he passed the secret to me."
The world seemed to shift beneath Nalan Yaran's feet.
"We're connected, you and I," Qing Chen said. "Both students of the same lineage. Both seeking the same mountain. The question is—do we climb it as allies, or as rivals?"
---
That night, Nalan Yaran sat alone in the cramped room she rented above a noodle shop.
The pouch of silver from Scarface Liu sat untouched on the table. Enough for her father's funeral. Enough to survive another few months.
Not enough to change anything.
She thought of the girl being dragged to Red Sleeves. She thought of her mother, dying of illness because they couldn't afford medicine. She thought of her father, a proud man reduced to a crippled beggar.
And she thought of North Mang Mountain.
*The path to becoming an Immortal.*
Her master's words had seemed like the ravings of a dying man. But if Qing Chen knew of it too—if two separate people had learned of the same secret—
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.
Uncle Feng's voice, trembling: "Miss Nalan. There's... there's news. About the Twin Eagle Gang."
She opened the door. The old servant's face was ashen.
"What happened?"
"Scarface Liu. The man you... visited this morning." Uncle Feng swallowed. "He's dead. Someone cut his throat an hour ago. And they're saying... they're saying it was the City Lord's men who did it."
Nalan Yaran's blood ran cold.
"The Twin Eagle Gang is gathering," Uncle Feng continued. "They're calling it an act of war. They're saying the City Lord's family will pay in blood."
*Qing Chen*, she realized. *He planned this. He used my attack on Scarface Liu to set the stage, then had someone finish the job and frame the Zhao family.*
The Twin Eagle Gang and the City Lord's forces were about to tear each other apart.
And somewhere in the chaos, there would be opportunities.
Nalan Yaran looked out her window at the dark city below. In the distance, she could see torches gathering—the first signs of the coming storm.
*Lives cheaper than grass*, Qing Chen had said.
Perhaps it was time to become the one who decided which grass was cut.
---
[End of Chapter 2]