The city walls rose before them like mountains made of stone and mortar, thirty feet high and thick enough to withstand siege weapons, marking the boundary between wilderness and civilization. Crimson Vale City—named for the red clay that colored the valley where it sat, or perhaps for the blood spilled during its founding wars, depending on which local legend you believed.
It was larger than Xia Lu Town by an order of magnitude. Where Xia Lu had perhaps ten thousand residents, Crimson Vale held closer to fifty thousand, sprawling across the valley floor in organized chaos—merchant districts and residential quarters, administrative buildings and entertainment establishments, temples and theaters and markets that never fully closed.
*Safety through anonymity,* Zhung thought as the cart approached the main gate. *In a town of ten thousand, four strangers are noticeable. In a city of fifty thousand, we disappear into the crowds. That's why Li Huang maintains safe houses here instead of smaller settlements.*
*That, and Crimson Vale's reputation for not asking questions about visitors' pasts or purposes as long as taxes are paid and violence stays out of the main streets.*
The gate checkpoint was busy despite the early afternoon hour—merchants with wagons full of goods, travelers on foot or horseback, farmers bringing produce to market, all waiting for guards to inspect papers and assess entry fees.
Hu guided their stolen cart into line, his posture relaxed despite the tension Zhung could sense in his shoulders. They had documentation—forged papers Li Huang had provided before the mission—but forgeries were only as good as the guards' diligence in checking them.
"Let me do the talking," Hu said quietly, not turning around. "You two just look tired and injured, which isn't difficult since you actually are."
Zhung nodded, though Hu couldn't see the gesture. Beside him, Bai remained unconscious, his breathing steady but his eyes still closed, his body still fighting its internal battle against Wei Shao's sword wound.
*Five days now,* Zhung calculated. *Five days since I transferred foreign essence to stabilize him. He should wake soon—another day or two at most. Unless complications develop. Unless the infection I can't see is spreading despite external appearances suggesting improvement.*
*Too many variables. But he's survived this long. That's encouraging.*
The line moved forward slowly, each cart and traveler inspected with varying degrees of thoroughness depending on the guards' mood and suspicion level.
Eventually they reached the checkpoint.
A guard approached—middle-aged, professionally bored, his eyes tracking over their cart with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this thousands of times.
"Papers," he said without preamble.
Hu produced their documentation—merchant licenses bearing the stamp of a trading company Li Huang controlled, identification showing them as employees traveling on business, medical notes explaining their injuries as the result of bandit attack on the road.
All forgeries. All perfect.
The guard examined them with moderate attention, comparing faces to descriptions, checking seals for signs of tampering.
"Bandit attack?" he asked, his tone suggesting he'd heard this excuse many times before.
"Two days ago," Hu replied smoothly. "Ambushed our original cart, killed our driver, took most of our goods. We barely escaped with our lives and what you see here."
"Report it?"
"To whom? We were in wilderness between towns. No local authority to report to. We just ran and kept moving until we reached somewhere safe."
The guard's eyes moved to Bai's unconscious form, then to Zhung's obvious injuries—the arrow still protruding from his shoulder, the makeshift bandages, the pale skin from blood loss.
"Your companions need medical attention."
"Yes," Hu agreed. "That's why we came here instead of continuing to our original destination. Crimson Vale has proper physicians. We'll get treatment, rest, then continue our business once everyone's recovered."
The guard considered this, his expression showing the internal calculation between diligence and the desire to move the line along faster.
"Entry fee is two silver per person," he finally said. "Six silver total. Medical quarter is in the eastern district—follow the main road and turn left at the fountain. You'll find physicians there."
Hu paid without haggling, and the guard waved them through with practiced disinterest.
*That easy,* Zhung noted as the cart rolled into the city proper. *Forged papers and a plausible story. No deep investigation. No follow-up questions. Just bureaucratic processing and moving on to the next traveler.*
*Li Huang's documentation is excellent. Or Crimson Vale's guards are poorly trained. Probably both.*
The city swallowed them immediately—streets wider than Xia Lu Town's, buildings taller and more densely packed, people everywhere in constant motion and noise. Merchants hawking wares from storefronts and street corners. Children running between carts and pedestrians. Musicians playing for coins. Beggars displaying injuries and asking for charity. The organized chaos of urban life at its most concentrated.
Hu navigated through the streets with confidence that suggested familiarity—either he'd been here before, or Li Huang's briefing had included detailed maps.
They passed through the merchant quarter where shops sold everything imaginable, through a residential district where multi-story buildings housed dozens of families, finally reaching a quieter area where the buildings were cleaner and better maintained.
Hu stopped the cart in front of a nondescript two-story structure that could have been a residence or small business—nothing distinguished it from neighboring buildings except a subtle mark carved into the doorframe, barely visible unless you knew to look for it.
Li Huang's safe house.
"We're here," Hu announced, climbing down from the driver's seat with visible relief. "Finally. Thought we'd never make it."
He moved to the back of the cart and carefully lifted Bai, cradling the unconscious man with surprising gentleness.
"Help me get him inside, then we'll—"
"No," Zhung interrupted quietly.
Hu paused, looking at him with confusion.
"What do you mean, 'no'? We need to get Bai inside, get him proper medical treatment, report to Li Huang's contact here—"
"You do that," Zhung said, his voice flat. "I'm leaving."
"Leaving? Where the hell are you going?"
"Somewhere else. Somewhere not connected to Li Huang's network. Somewhere I can recover without being tracked or monitored or immediately deployed on another mission."
Zhung moved to climb down from the cart, his injured body protesting every movement but obeying through sheer willpower.
"You're being stupid," Hu said, his voice carrying frustration and concern. "You're injured. You need medical treatment. You need rest and food and—"
"I'll get those things. Elsewhere." Zhung's dark eyes met Hu's gaze. "I completed the mission. Lu Shin is dead or dying. I've earned the right to recover on my own terms, in my own way, without Li Huang's immediate control."
"Li Huang won't like that."
"Li Huang can dislike whatever he wants. I'm not his slave. I'm a contractor who completed the job. What I do during recovery time is my own business."
Hu stared at him for a long moment, clearly wanting to argue further, but recognizing the futility.
"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met," Hu finally said, shaking his head. "Fine. Go. Do whatever suicidal independent thing you're planning. But at least take this."
He awkwardly shifted Bai's weight to one arm and produced a small pouch with his free hand, tossing it to Zhung.
Zhung caught it, feeling the weight of coins inside.
"Your share of the advance payment," Hu explained. "Li Huang gave us funds before the mission. That's your portion. Should be enough for medical treatment and lodging for a few weeks if you're careful."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just... try not to die from your injuries before we see you again. Bai will want to properly thank you for saving his life once he wakes up."
Zhung nodded once, then turned and walked away from the cart, from the safe house, from Hu and Bai and Li Huang's network.
Into the city's crowds, disappearing within moments, just another injured traveler among thousands of people going about their business.
*Alone,* his thoughts observed with something between relief and uncertainty. *Finally alone. No team. No immediate supervision. No one watching or judging or expecting things.*
*Just me and my injuries and the city's anonymity.*
*Freedom, of a sort. Bought with blood and sacrifice and the deaths of those who deserved better.*
He walked through the streets with no particular destination, just moving, putting distance between himself and the safe house, ensuring he wouldn't be easily found if Li Huang's people came looking.
Eventually, he found a quiet spot—an abandoned building's doorway, recessed enough to provide shadow and concealment, positioned where he could watch the street without being obviously visible.
He sat down carefully, his broken ribs protesting, his shoulder throbbing around the embedded arrow, his body finally allowing itself to acknowledge exhaustion now that immediate threats had passed.
*Safe. Relatively. Temporarily.*
*Time to see what Jiangsu left me.*
Zhung reached into his wolf pelt and withdrew the technique book—small, leather-bound, surprisingly well-preserved considering everything it had survived.
The cover was plain, unmarked except for slight discoloration where Jiangsu's decaying hands had held it. No title. No author name. Just anonymous leather and binding.
Zhung opened it carefully, treating it with the reverence due to a dead man's final gift.
The first page contained a single line, written in neat calligraphy:
*Shadow Decay — Theory and Application*
*Minimum Requirement: Steel Rank cultivation*
Zhung's eyes fixed on those words, reading them again, hoping he'd misunderstood.
*Steel Rank.*
*The threshold where cultivators transcend normal human limitations entirely. The rank above Iron. The rank Wei Shao was approaching but hadn't achieved.*
*The rank that takes decades to reach, that requires resources and training and natural talent far beyond what most practitioners possess.*
*And this technique requires it as minimum entry level.*
Disappointment settled in his chest—cold and heavy, the realization that Jiangsu's gift was currently useless to him.
*I'm barely Aperture Awakening rank. Haven't even stabilized at First Rank properly. Steel Rank is... years away. Maybe decades. Maybe never if I don't survive long enough or find proper resources.*
*This book is a promise I can't collect on. Knowledge I can't use. A legacy that requires me to become something I'm nowhere near achieving.*
He sighed, the sound carrying frustration and resignation.
*But I suppose that makes sense. Shadow Decay killed Jiangsu because he used it before he was strong enough to handle the costs. He's warning me—don't attempt this until you're Steel Rank or higher. Don't make his mistakes. Don't destroy yourself trying to use power your body can't support.*
*It's a gift meant for my future self. Assuming I have a future.*
Zhung considered closing the book, putting it away until he was actually capable of using its contents.
But curiosity and grief kept him turning pages.
The next section was theoretical—detailed explanations of how Shadow Decay worked, the principles underlying the technique, diagrams showing Will flow patterns and shadow manifestation methods.
It was dense, technical, clearly written by someone with deep understanding but assuming the reader had foundation knowledge Zhung only partially possessed.
*I can study this,* he realized. *Even if I can't use it yet, I can learn the theory. Understand the principles. Prepare myself for eventual application.*
*That's something. Not nothing.*
He continued reading, absorbing what he could, filing away information for future reference.
Then the book's content changed.
The technical diagrams gave way to text—not instructional, but personal. A diary.
Jiangsu's diary.
Zhung's fingers traced the first entry, dated three years ago:
*Father gave me the demonic blood today. Said it was an experiment. Said my unusual Aperture location made me valuable for research. I drank it because refusing wasn't an option. The pain was incredible—like swallowing fire that spread through every vein.*
*My left arm started changing within hours. Skin darkening. Feeling wrong. I thought it would pass.*
*It didn't pass.*
More entries followed—clinical at first, documenting the decay's progression, the development of Shadow Decay technique, the gradual realization that his condition was terminal.
Then the entries became more personal:
*They call me "freak" when they think I can't hear. Even the servants. Even the guards. Father doesn't correct them. Why would he? In his eyes, I'm exactly that—a failed experiment that happened to develop useful capabilities.*
*I wear the mask now. Better to hide than to see the disgust in their faces.*
Zhung read with growing tightness in his chest, recognizing pain he'd dismissed as dark humor during their scouting work.
*Met a woman today. She smiled at me before seeing the decay on my hand. Her expression changed so fast. Smiled to horrified in a heartbeat. I laughed it off. Made a joke. Pretended it didn't hurt.*
*It hurt.*
*Everything hurts. Not just physically. The loneliness is worse than the decay. At least the decay will end eventually. The loneliness just continues until I'm too dead to feel it anymore.*
More entries. Years of entries. A complete chronicle of Jiangsu's deterioration—physical and emotional.
*I think I'm starting to understand why Father kept me alive. I'm not his son. I'm his weapon. A tool that happens to share his blood. As long as I can complete missions, as long as Shadow Decay remains useful, I have value.*
*When the decay progresses too far, when I can no longer fight effectively, he'll dispose of me. Probably call it mercy. Probably make it quick.*
*I should be angry. Should hate him. But mostly I'm just tired. So tired.*
Zhung's vision blurred—tears again, despite his attempts to control them.
*He wrote all this down,* Zhung's thoughts acknowledged. *Kept a record of his suffering. His loneliness. His gradual acceptance of death.*
*And he gave it to me. Not just the technique, but his entire story. Everything he couldn't say during those two weeks of scouting. Everything hidden beneath dark humor and casual observations.*
*This is his real legacy. Not Shadow Decay. But the proof that he existed. That he suffered. That he was human despite everything trying to reduce him to a weapon.*
The diary continued through the Lu Shin mission:
*New assignment. Assassination in Xia Lu Town. Team of four—Bai leading, Hu as muscle, me as scout, and a new boy named Zhung.*
*The boy is interesting. Sixteen years old and already comfortable with murder. Empty eyes that show nothing. Trauma survivor, obviously, though he doesn't talk about it.*
*He reminds me of myself at that age. Before the decay. Before I accepted what I was.*
*I think I'll try to connect with him. Probably won't work—he's got walls thicker than city fortifications. But worth attempting. Everyone deserves someone who understands.*
Later entries documented their scouting work:
*Zhung is exactly as disturbed as I suspected. Cold. Detached. Treating assassination like mathematics. I made dark jokes today and he looked at me like I was wasting his time.*
*Good. If my humor annoys him, it means he's still capable of feeling irritation. That's better than complete emotional death.*
*I'll keep annoying him. Someone needs to remind him he's still human.*
The final entry was dated the morning of the banquet:
*Today's probably my last day. I can feel it. The decay has progressed too far. My body's holding together through Will and stubbornness, but that won't last much longer.*
*The mission will require heavy technique use. Shadow Decay at full power. That'll consume what's left of me.*
*I'm not afraid. Just... sad. Sad that I'll die as Li Huang's weapon instead of as my own person. Sad that I never got to see if Zhung would eventually let his walls down. Sad that there's so much beauty in the world I'll never experience because I'm too busy decaying to enjoy it.*
*But if I die today, at least I'll die doing something that matters. Saving teammates. Completing a mission. Going out on my terms instead of slowly rotting in some room while Father decides when to dispose of me.*
*That's worth something.*
*If Zhung reads this—and I hope he does, hope he survives to read it—I want him to know: You're not as cold as you pretend. I saw glimpses of the person beneath the walls. Don't let the world convince you that coldness is strength. Real strength is staying human despite everything trying to strip your humanity away.*
*Learn Shadow Decay if you reach Steel Rank. Master it properly. Use shadows without the decay cost. Prove that my technique has value beyond just being a weapon that destroyed its user.*
*And remember me. Not as the masked freak. Not as Li Huang's failed experiment. But as Li Jiangsu—someone who tried to stay human despite impossible circumstances.*
*That's all I ask.*
The diary ended there.
Zhung sat in the doorway, tears streaming down his face, the book held carefully in trembling hands.
*He knew he was going to die. Accepted it. Made peace with it. And used his final days trying to connect with someone as broken as himself.*
*Trying to help me. Trying to warn me. Trying to ensure I wouldn't make his mistakes.*
*And I dismissed it all. Kept my walls up. Stayed cold and detached and professional.*
*Until it was too late.*
He closed the book carefully, holding it against his chest like something precious and fragile.
*I won't be chained by guilt,* he told himself firmly. *Won't let your death become another weight dragging me down. You wouldn't want that. You specifically warned against letting coldness consume everything.*
*But I will remember. Will honor your request. Will try to stay human even when it's easier to retreat into emptiness.*
*And someday, when I reach Steel Rank, I'll learn Shadow Decay properly. Master it without the decay cost. Prove that your suffering wasn't meaningless.*
*That's the best way to honor you. Not through guilt or grief, but through becoming what you saw potential for.*
A sound cut through his thoughts—distant but growing closer.
Shouting.
Guards' voices, carrying across the street, coordinating search patterns.
"—from the Lu family! Descriptions match! Check every inn and boarding house! They can't have gotten far!"
Zhung's head snapped up, his analytical mind immediately processing the threat.
*Wei Shao sent people ahead. Probably knew we'd come to Crimson Vale. Probably has bounty hunters and mercenaries searching for us even while organizing pursuit from Xia Lu Town.*
*Professional. Thorough. Exactly what I would do.*
*And they're close. Too close.*
The voices grew louder:
"Young man, sixteen or seventeen, long brown hair, dark eyes, distinctive white wolf pelt! Armed and extremely dangerous! One thousand gold reward for capture!"
*They're searching this district. This street. They'll reach this building within minutes.*
*Need to move. Now.*
Instead of panicking, instead of running blindly, Zhung simply stood—movements controlled despite urgency—and walked deeper into the alley beside the abandoned building.
The alley was narrow, barely wide enough for one person, filled with refuse and shadows. Perfect for concealment if used correctly.
He found a recessed doorway—another abandoned entrance, this one to a building's basement level, stairs descending into darkness.
Zhung descended quickly, his injured body protesting but obeying, disappearing into the shadows just as the guards' voices reached the street above.
"Check that building! And the alley!"
"Nothing here! Just trash and—wait, there's stairs!"
Zhung pressed himself against the basement wall, controlling his breathing, making himself as small and silent as possible in the darkness.
Footsteps on the stairs above. A guard descending, torch in hand, light pushing back the shadows.
*Don't move. Don't breathe loudly. Just be another shadow among shadows.*
The guard's torch swept the basement—empty except for broken furniture and water damage from years of neglect.
"Nothing," the guard called up. "Place is abandoned. No one's been here in months."
"You sure? Check thoroughly!"
"I'm sure! There's not even footprints in the dust!"
The guard ascended, his footsteps fading.
More voices above, coordination and discussion:
"Split up! Cover more ground! They're here somewhere!"
"What about the safe house Li mentioned? The Thousand River Association property?"
"Already checked. Only found two men—one unconscious, one claiming they were attacked by bandits. No sign of the young one with the wolf pelt."
"Keep searching! One thousand gold doesn't walk away because we got lazy!"
The voices faded as the search moved to other streets, other districts.
Zhung remained motionless in the darkness, waiting, ensuring they were truly gone before allowing himself to relax.
*They found Hu and Bai. Questioned them. But Hu's smart enough to lie convincingly, and Bai's still unconscious. They have no information to give even if they wanted to.*
*I'm alone. Separated from the team. Hunted in a city where I have no resources or contacts.*
*But also anonymous. Lost in crowds of fifty thousand. Invisible if I'm careful.*
*Survival probability: uncertain but not zero.*
He waited another hour in the basement darkness, ensuring the search had truly moved on, before carefully ascending back to street level.
The alley was empty. The street beyond showed normal traffic—people going about their business, unaware or unconcerned about the manhunt happening in their city.
Zhung pulled his wolf pelt closer, concealing it beneath his outer robe, making himself less distinctive.
Then he walked into the crowds, just another injured traveler among thousands, carrying a dead man's diary and the determination to survive long enough to make that death mean something.
*The Broken Path continues,* he thought, disappearing into Crimson Vale's endless streets. *Alone now. Hunted. Injured.*
*But alive.*
*And that's enough. For now, that's enough.*
The city swallowed him whole, indifferent to his story, uncaring about his struggles.
And somewhere in the crowds, a sixteen-year-old assassin walked with empty eyes and a technique book he couldn't use yet, mourning a companion he'd failed to know until too late, planning survival in a world that wanted him dead.
---
**End of Chapter 34**