The gloomy night was unbearable, and the coldness of the situation loomed around the world—life and death where one was near and the other was also near to death, each destiny different from each other, separated by nothing more than heartbeats and shallow breaths and the cruel indifference of fate.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, promising rain that hadn't yet arrived, the sky heavy with clouds that blocked even the moon's pale light.
They'd run for hours through the forest, stumbling over roots and rocks, crashing through underbrush, driven by desperate fear of pursuit and the certainty that stopping meant capture and death. But eventually, exhaustion had overcome terror, and they'd found this cave—a shallow depression in a hillside, barely deep enough to provide shelter but sufficient to hide them from casual search.
Now they sat in the darkness, four assassins who'd come so close to complete failure and somehow transformed it into catastrophic success, each nursing wounds and exhaustion and the knowledge that they weren't safe yet, wouldn't be safe for days or weeks or possibly ever.
"Well, that happened," Hu said finally, breaking the silence that had settled over them since they'd stopped running. His voice was rough, strained, his breathing still heavy and labored despite the rest. Sweat and blood matted his beard, and his eyes—when they caught the faint light filtering into the cave—showed the exhaustion of someone who'd pushed far beyond normal limits and was running on nothing but willpower and survival instinct.
"We almost failed," he continued, his gaze darting to Zhung who sat opposite him against the cave wall, separated by perhaps six feet of darkness. "Actually, we *did* fail. The primary plan collapsed completely. Bai got stabbed. We got captured. We were seconds from execution."
His eyes studied Zhung's face, searching for some reaction, some acknowledgment of how close they'd come to death.
"But you..." Hu paused, struggling for words. "You had a backup plan. A horrifying, ruthless, absolutely insane backup plan that somehow worked."
Zhung only nodded—a small movement, barely visible in the darkness, showing nothing of whatever thoughts occupied his mind. His expression remained detached, cold, empty of emotion despite the arrow still protruding from his left shoulder, despite the blood soaking his clothes, despite the pain that should have been overwhelming.
*He doesn't even acknowledge the pain,* Hu observed with something between respect and horror. *Doesn't show it in his face or his breathing or his posture. Just sits there like the arrow is irrelevant, like nearly dying is just another detail to be cataloged and filed away.*
*What creates someone like that? What breaks a person so thoroughly that they feel nothing?*
Beside them, closer to the cave entrance where faint light provided better visibility, Bai lay unconscious but still breathing. Each breath was shallow and wet-sounding, blood still in his lungs from Wei Shao's sword thrust, but the fact that he was breathing at all was something approaching miraculous given the severity of his injury.
His pale, corpse-like skin actually helped hide the worst of his condition—the deathly pallor that would alarm anyone looking at a normal person was just Bai's usual appearance. But his closed eyes moved beneath their lids, rapid twitching that suggested either dreams or delirium, and occasionally his body would shudder with involuntary spasms.
*Still alive,* Zhung noted with clinical detachment. *For now. But the wound is serious. Punctured lung, probably damaged other organs, significant blood loss. Without proper medical treatment, he'll die within days even if infection doesn't set in immediately.*
*Not my concern. My concern is survival. If Bai dies, he dies. If he lives, he lives. Either way, it doesn't change what I need to do.*
The driver sat near the cave entrance, having just returned from scouting the immediate area to ensure they hadn't been followed and that this location was reasonably secure. His wooden mask remained in place despite everything—through the fighting, the capture, the escape, somehow the mask had survived, still concealing whatever face lay beneath.
He slumped against the cave wall with visible exhaustion, his breathing controlled but clearly labored, his body language suggesting injuries beneath his clothes that he was too disciplined or too stubborn to acknowledge.
For several minutes, the only sounds were breathing—four men inhaling and exhaling, alive despite everything, existing in this moment of temporary safety before circumstances inevitably changed.
Then Zhung moved, his right hand reaching into his blood-soaked robes and producing something small—a glass vial, perhaps the size of his thumb, sealed with wax.
He looked at it for a moment in the faint light, his dark eyes reflecting nothing of his thoughts.
Then, with deliberate motion, he threw it.
The vial struck the stone ground at the cave entrance and shattered with a sharp *crack*, glass fragments scattering, the contents—some kind of liquid—spreading across the rock in patterns that caught what little light penetrated their shelter.
At almost the exact same moment, thunder crashed overhead with deafening intensity, and rain began to fall.
Not gentle rain, but a downpour—sheets of water hammering the ground with force that created a roar of white noise, instantly transforming the forest into a waterlogged maze where visibility dropped to nearly nothing and tracking became impossible.
Hu and the driver both stared at the shattered vial, then at Zhung, their expressions showing confusion and the beginning of understanding.
"What was that?" Hu asked, his voice carrying suspicion. "That bottle—what was in it?"
Zhung's reply was characteristically flat, emotionless: "Something Li Huang gave me before I joined your team. He said it might be useful if we needed to disappear quickly after the mission."
He paused, then added with cold precision: "It's a scent marker. The liquid has a very specific smell—undetectable to human noses, but extremely attractive to certain animals. Tracking dogs, specifically. The kind Wei Shao would use to follow our trail through the forest."
The driver's masked head tilted slightly, processing the implications.
"You've been carrying a substance that would *attract* tracking dogs?" Hu's voice rose with incredulous anger. "If we'd been caught with that—if they'd searched us and found it—"
"They didn't search me thoroughly," Zhung interrupted. "They were too focused on securing the more obvious threats—Bai's techniques, your combat skills, the driver's weapons. A sixteen-year-old with a small vial hidden properly wasn't their priority."
His dark eyes fixed on Hu's face.
"And now, when Wei Shao releases tracking dogs to follow our blood trail, they'll come straight to this cave entrance. Where they'll find the scent marker *outside*, in the rain, being washed down the hillside in dozens of different directions by the downpour. The dogs will lose our actual trail completely, following false scents spread across miles of forest."
Understanding dawned in Hu's expression, followed by grudging respect and lingering horror at the level of planning this required.
"Li Huang gave you that before the mission even started," Hu said slowly. "Before we entered Xia Lu Town. Before we scouted the manor. Before anything went wrong."
"Yes."
"Which means he anticipated that we might fail. That we might need to escape through the forest with tracking dogs following us. That we might need a way to disappear completely despite leaving blood trails."
"Li Huang didn't survive this long by being unprepared," Zhung replied simply. "He plans for failure as thoroughly as he plans for success. And he provides tools for both outcomes."
The driver made a sound that might have been a dark chuckle beneath his mask. "So we're safe here. For tonight, at least. The rain will wash away our traces. The false scent will confuse any pursuit. And by morning, we can move again before they organize a proper search pattern."
"Yes," Zhung confirmed.
Silence settled again, broken only by the roar of rain outside their shelter and the wet, labored breathing of four exhausted men.
They rested—not truly sleeping, but entering that semi-conscious state where the body recovered while the mind remained alert enough to respond to danger. Time passed in darkness and rain, unmeasured and irrelevant.
Then Bai's breathing changed.
The wet, shallow rhythm that had been relatively steady suddenly became irregular—gasping, choking, desperate for air that his punctured lung couldn't properly process.
His body began to spasm, muscles contracting involuntarily, limbs jerking with increasing violence. Saliva poured from his mouth, mixing with blood, creating foam that bubbled at his lips.
His back arched, pressing against the cave floor with such force that it looked like his spine might break.
*Seizure,* Zhung diagnosed with clinical detachment. *The wound has caused complications. Infection setting in faster than expected, or blood loss creating pressure in his brain, or organ failure triggering systemic collapse. Whatever the specific cause, he's dying. Minutes, not hours.*
Hu reacted instantly, his exhaustion forgotten in the face of immediate crisis. He lunged toward Bai, grabbing the convulsing man's shoulders and pinning them to the ground with his considerable strength.
"Driver! His legs!" Hu shouted, struggling to keep Bai's upper body still as the seizure intensified.
The masked man moved quickly despite his own injuries, grabbing Bai's ankles and pressing them down, using his body weight to prevent the violent kicking that could cause additional damage.
Between them, Bai continued seizing—eyes rolled back showing only whites that were bloodshot and terrifying, foam and blood mixing at his mouth, body fighting against their restraint with cultivator strength that was impressive even in his dying state.
"He's going into shock!" Hu yelled over the sound of rain and Bai's choking gasps. "The wound—the infection—he's dying right now!"
His eyes found Zhung, still sitting against the opposite wall, watching the scene with that same cold, detached expression.
"DO SOMETHING!" Hu roared, desperation and fury combining in his voice. "You're just going to sit there? Just going to watch him die without even trying?"
Zhung's expression didn't change. His posture didn't shift. For several long seconds, he simply watched Bai's death throes with the same analytical interest he might apply to observing weather patterns or animal behavior.
*He taught me,* Zhung's thoughts moved with cold calculation. *Two weeks ago, when I didn't know how to use Will. Bai showed me the fundamentals—how to sense ambient energy, how to channel it through the Aperture, how to manifest techniques. He didn't have to do that. Could have let me remain ignorant and weak. But he chose to teach.*
*That creates an obligation. Not friendship. Not loyalty. But... debt. Professional courtesy that demands reciprocation.*
*And besides...*
His analytical mind continued processing.
*If Bai dies here, it reduces our team's combat capability. Reduces our chances of surviving whatever pursuit comes next. From a purely pragmatic standpoint, keeping him alive serves my own interests.*
*So I'll try. Not out of compassion or mercy, but out of cold calculation of advantage.*
Slowly, Zhung reached into his blood-soaked robes and withdrew another small vial—this one containing dark red liquid that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
Expired demonic blood.
The same substance he'd been experimenting with during his cultivation sessions, the degraded essence that still contained traces of power but was considered worthless by most cultivators because the corruption was too advanced, too unstable, too dangerous to consume.
Without hesitation, without grimacing or showing any emotion whatsoever, Zhung uncorked the vial and drank the contents in a single swallow.
The effect was immediate and violent.
His body seized, similar to Bai's but for completely different reasons. The expired blood hit his stomach like liquid fire, corruption spreading through his system faster than his Aperture could process and purify it.
He began coughing—deep, wracking coughs that expelled blood from his lungs, crimson spraying from his mouth to splatter on the cave floor.
"What are you doing?!" Hu screamed, his eyes wide with horror as he watched Zhung deliberately poison himself. "Are you insane? That's expired blood! It'll kill you!"
The driver's masked face turned sharply toward Zhung, body language radiating alarm and confusion.
But Zhung ignored them both, forcing his body into a lotus position despite the convulsions, despite the pain exploding through every nerve, despite the corruption trying to tear him apart from within.
*Breathe,* he commanded himself with iron discipline. *Focus. Channel the blood to the Aperture. Let the Aperture purify what it can. Discard what it can't. Control the process through sheer willpower.*
His hands formed seals—the meditation positions he'd learned from his dream-life's cultivation training, adapted for this world's energy system, modified through experimentation and desperate necessity.
The expired blood fought him, the corruption resisting purification, trying to spread through his meridians and destroy him completely.
But Zhung's will was absolute, cold and implacable as winter ice. He forced the blood toward his heart-based Aperture, forced the corrupted essence to submit to his control, forced the purification process despite the agony it caused.
Minutes passed—time measured in heartbeats and breathing and the wet sounds of Bai still seizing between Hu and the driver.
Then, gradually, the convulsions in Zhung's body began to ease. The coughing reduced in frequency and intensity. His breathing steadied, becoming controlled meditation rather than desperate gasping.
His Aperture pulsed in his chest—now containing a small amount of purified demonic blood, extracted from the expired substance through a process that should have been impossible, that violated every principle of cultivation he'd been taught, but that worked through sheer stubborn refusal to accept limitations.
*Not much,* he assessed coldly. *Maybe enough for two or three basic techniques. Maybe enough for what I'm about to attempt. Maybe not. We'll find out.*
He opened his eyes—dark and empty and showing nothing of the pain he'd just endured—and extended his right hand, palm facing upward, fingers slightly curled in a gesture that resembled offering or receiving.
His left arm remained useless, the arrow still embedded in his shoulder, but his right hand was steady despite everything.
Hu watched this with growing comprehension, his expression shifting from confusion to desperate hope to resigned acceptance of what was about to happen.
"You're going to try to save him," Hu said, not quite a question. "Using... what? Will manipulation? Transferring purified blood? Some technique I don't know about?"
"Theory," Zhung replied, his voice flat despite the blood still dripping from his chin. "Untested. Possibly fatal. But higher probability of success than doing nothing."
His dark eyes fixed on Bai's convulsing form.
"I'm going to extract a portion of my purified demonic blood, compress it using Will manipulation, and force it into Bai's system through direct contact. If the theory is correct, the fresh essence will provide his body with enough energy to fight the infection and stabilize the organ damage. His Aperture will process it, use it as fuel for accelerated healing."
He paused, then added with characteristic coldness: "If the theory is incorrect, the foreign blood will be rejected violently, causing his Aperture to rupture and killing him instantly. Approximately sixty percent chance of success based on my understanding of Will mechanics and cultivation physiology."
"Sixty percent," Hu repeated, his voice hollow. "You're going to use Bai as a test subject for an untested technique that has a forty percent chance of killing him immediately."
"Yes."
"And you're telling me this because...?"
"Because you need to understand the risks before allowing me to proceed," Zhung said simply. "Because Bai is your... family? Associate? I'm unclear on the exact relationship. But you care whether he lives or dies beyond mere tactical calculations. So you need to make an informed decision."
Hu looked down at Bai's seizing form, at the foam and blood covering his pale face, at the clear signs of approaching death.
Then he looked back at Zhung—sixteen years old, covered in blood, an arrow still protruding from his shoulder, eyes empty of everything except cold calculation.
"Do it," Hu said finally. "Sixty percent is better than zero. And if you're wrong, if you kill him..." His voice hardened. "Then you better hope you die too, because I'll make what Wei Shao was planning look merciful."
Zhung nodded once, acknowledging the threat without emotion.
He extended his right hand further, positioning his palm directly above Bai's chest, perhaps six inches away from contact.
Then he began the process.
*Focus,* his thoughts commanded with absolute clarity. *Sense the demonic blood in my Aperture. Isolate a portion—small enough that it won't deplete me completely, large enough to be useful. Compress it using Will manipulation until it's dense enough to transfer. Guide it out through my palm. Direct it into Bai's system through his heart-based Aperture.*
*Theory: Apertures can accept external essence if properly prepared and introduced. The blood I'm transferring is already purified, already compatible with human physiology. Bai's Aperture should recognize it as fuel rather than foreign contamination.*
*Theory: the fresh essence will provide immediate energy for his body's natural healing processes. Not a cure, but enough to stabilize him. Enough to buy time for proper recovery.*
*Sixty percent probability of success. Forty percent probability of catastrophic failure.*
*Acceptable odds under current circumstances.*
His hand began to glow faintly—not with light, but with that distinctive pressure of Will being actively channeled. The air around his palm shimmered slightly, reality bending as he manipulated fundamental forces.
From his chest, he felt the Aperture open, felt the precious blood he'd just purified being drawn upward through pathways that shouldn't exist, moving against natural flow through sheer Will-based compulsion.
The blood reached his palm, pooling there in a sphere of compressed energy that was almost visible as a dark red shimmer between his skin and Bai's chest.
*Now the difficult part. Transfer. Introduction without rejection. Gentle enough not to trigger defense mechanisms, forceful enough to penetrate barriers.*
Zhung lowered his palm until it made contact with Bai's chest, directly over where he knew the other man's heart-based Aperture resided.
Then he pushed.
The compressed blood flowed from his palm into Bai's body—not through skin or physical pathways, but through the resonance between their Apertures, essence recognizing essence and allowing passage where normal matter couldn't penetrate.
Bai's body went rigid, his seizure stopping instantly, his back arching even further until it seemed impossible that bones didn't break.
For three heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then Bai's Aperture accepted the foreign blood, recognizing it as compatible fuel, drawing it inward with desperate hunger.
His body collapsed back onto the cave floor, muscles going limp, the violent convulsions ceasing completely.
His breathing—which had been irregular gasping—suddenly smoothed into something more rhythmic, more controlled, still shallow but no longer desperate.
The foam at his mouth stopped bubbling. The blood flow from his wound slowed fractionally.
Zhung pulled his hand back, his expression showing nothing despite the exhaustion now weighing on him. His Aperture was almost empty again—first depleted by the escape, then by purifying expired blood, now by transferring essence to Bai.
*Worked,* he noted with cold satisfaction. *Theory confirmed. Apertures can accept compatible external essence if properly introduced. Useful knowledge for future situations.*
Hu and the driver were staring at Bai with expressions of shock and desperate hope.
"Is he...?" Hu couldn't finish the question.
"Stable," Zhung replied flatly. "For now. The essence is providing energy for his body's natural healing. He won't die tonight. Possibly won't die at all if we can get him proper medical treatment within the next few days."
He paused, then added with characteristic honesty: "But he's not cured. The wound is still serious. The infection is still present. I've bought time, not salvation. What happens next depends on finding a physician or alchemist who can provide actual treatment."
Hu's shoulders sagged with relief, the tension that had been holding him rigid suddenly releasing. He looked at Zhung with an expression that combined gratitude, respect, and continued wariness.
"You saved him," Hu said quietly. "Used yourself as a test subject first, then risked everything on an untested theory. That's..." He struggled for words. "I don't know whether to thank you or fear you more."
"Fear is more appropriate," Zhung replied without emotion. "I didn't save him out of compassion or friendship. I saved him because keeping him alive serves my interests. Because his death would weaken our group's survival chances. Because he taught me Will manipulation and I'm pragmatic enough to value that service."
His dark eyes fixed on Hu's face.
"Don't mistake calculated self-interest for heroism. I'm not a good person. I'm just someone who understands that living allies are more useful than dead ones."
The driver made another sound beneath his mask—something that might have been dark amusement or agreement.
"Regardless of your reasons," Hu said finally, "Bai is alive because of what you did. That counts for something."
Zhung didn't respond, simply leaning back against the cave wall and closing his eyes, his body finally acknowledging the exhaustion and pain it had been ignoring through sheer willpower.
The arrow was still in his shoulder. The wounds from their escape were still bleeding slowly. His Aperture was nearly empty. His body was pushed far beyond normal limits.
But he was alive. They were all alive. The mission had succeeded despite catastrophic failure. Lu Shin was dying or dead from the poisoned wine.
*Success,* Zhung's final conscious thought concluded as sleep began claiming him. *Messy, costly, purchased with dozens of lives and a wine maker's murder and methods that violated every principle of professional assassination.*
*But success nonetheless.*
*The Broken Path continues forward.*
Outside, the rain continued its relentless downpour, washing away traces and scattering false scents and providing the cover four assassins desperately needed.
Inside the cave, four men rested—one unconscious but stabilized, three exhausted but breathing, all alive against impossible odds.
The gloomy night was unbearable.
But they had survived it.
For now, that was enough.
---
**End of Chapter 28**