Three days had passed since Zhung had hidden in the basement darkness, three days of moving through Crimson Vale's streets like a ghost, sleeping in abandoned buildings and stealing food when hunger became unbearable, his injuries slowly healing through sheer stubborn refusal to die.
The arrow was still in his shoulder—he'd tried to remove it himself and nearly passed out from the pain, deciding that leaving it embedded was less immediately dangerous than bleeding out alone in an alley. His ribs were still broken, wrapped in bandages he'd stolen from a merchant's stall. His body was a catalog of damage that should have killed him but somehow hadn't.
*Survival through spite,* he'd thought more than once. *Too stubborn to die. Too angry at the universe to give it the satisfaction.*
But three days of surviving alone had also meant three days of thinking. Three days of his analytical mind processing decisions and consequences and the uncomfortable weight of what he'd left behind.
Hu and Bai were still at the clinic—the medical facility connected to Li Huang's safe house, where proper physicians could treat Bai's sword wound and Hu could recover from exhaustion and minor injuries. They were safe there. Protected by Li Huang's network. Receiving care Zhung couldn't provide.
*I should leave them,* his cold pragmatic side insisted. *They're adults. Experienced assassins. They can handle themselves. My presence only draws attention. Only makes them targets.*
*Better to disappear completely. Let them think I died or abandoned them. Cut all ties and survive independently.*
*That's the logical choice. The smart choice. The choice that maximizes my individual survival probability.*
But another part of him—smaller, quieter, harder to dismiss after reading Jiangsu's diary—whispered different arguments:
*They're your team. Your companions. Hu saved your life by carrying you when you couldn't walk. Bai taught you Will manipulation when he didn't have to. They deserve better than abandonment.*
*And Jiangsu died asking you to stay human. To not let coldness consume everything. Abandoning injured companions is exactly the kind of thing that pushes you further toward being a weapon instead of a person.*
Zhung sat in yet another abandoned doorway, his dark eyes watching the street, his mind circling through the same arguments for the hundredth time.
*Leave them. It's safer. It's smarter. It's what tools do—they don't form attachments that compromise efficiency.*
*But I'm not a tool. Or I'm trying not to be. That's what Jiangsu wanted. That's what staying human means—making choices that aren't purely logical. Valuing things beyond survival probability calculations.*
He frowned, frustration building in his chest.
*Damn it.*
The curse escaped his lips unbidden—rare for someone who prided himself on emotional control, but the internal conflict had worn down his usual discipline.
*I can't just leave them. Not after everything. Not after Jiangsu died specifically so I could survive to be something better than Li Huang's disposable weapon.*
*Abandoning injured companions is what weapons do. What tools do. What people who've given up on humanity do.*
*And I'm not there yet. Not quite. Maybe someday, if I survive long enough and see enough horror. But not today.*
*Damn it.*
He stood, his body protesting the movement, and began walking toward the medical district. Toward the clinic. Toward the choice that was tactically stupid but morally necessary.
*I'll check on them. Make sure they're okay. Maybe help if Wei Shao's people found them. Then I'll leave. That's the compromise. Not complete abandonment, but not staying to become a permanent liability either.*
*Middle ground. The worst of both options, probably. But better than either extreme.*
The medical district was in the eastern part of Crimson Vale, marked by cleaner streets and buildings painted white to denote healing spaces. The clinic connected to Li Huang's safe house was a three-story structure that looked like dozens of others in the area—deliberately unremarkable, designed to blend in.
Zhung approached cautiously, staying to shadows, watching for signs of guards or mercenaries conducting searches.
The street seemed normal. Physicians moving between buildings. Patients arriving for treatment. The usual flow of medical district business.
*Maybe they haven't found this location yet. Maybe Hu's cover story held. Maybe—*
Then he saw them.
Guards. At least a dozen, wearing the blue and silver of Lu family colors mixed with the nondescript armor of hired mercenaries. They were positioned around the clinic's perimeter, trying to appear casual but clearly watching the entrance with focused attention.
*Wei Shao's people. They found the clinic. They're waiting for someone to try entering or exiting.*
*Probably questioning everyone inside right now. Probably threatening Hu. Probably searching for the "young man with long brown hair and wolf pelt" who has a thousand gold bounty on his head.*
Zhung should have turned around. Should have walked away. Should have let Hu handle the situation—the older assassin was smart enough and experienced enough to lie his way out of questioning.
But even as the logical part of his brain calculated escape routes, his feet were already moving forward. Toward the clinic. Toward danger. Toward the stupid choice that his newly-awakened conscience demanded.
*Moral chains,* he thought with bitter recognition. *That's what this is. Jiangsu's dying words wrapped around my soul. The obligation to be something better than a weapon. The burden of trying to stay human.*
*I hate it. It's going to get me killed. But I can't escape it.*
*Can't escape the feeling that abandoning them now would be crossing a line I can't come back from.*
He got within fifty feet of the clinic before the guards noticed him.
One of them—sharper than the others, or maybe just lucky—looked directly at Zhung and recognition flashed across his face.
"THERE!" the guard shouted, pointing. "The boy! Long brown hair! That's him!"
Every guard's head snapped toward Zhung. Weapons were drawn. Shouts of coordination filled the street.
"SURROUND HIM! DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!"
Zhung could have run immediately. Could have disappeared into the crowds before they fully organized. But his eyes went to the clinic entrance just as Hu emerged—clearly being escorted out forcibly by two guards, his hands bound, his expression showing frustration and barely-controlled anger.
Their eyes met across the distance.
Hu's expression transformed from frustration to horror to desperate warning: *Run, you idiot! Get out of here!*
But Zhung didn't run.
Instead, he raised his right hand—middle finger extended in a gesture of pure defiance—and directed it specifically at the guards wearing Lu family colors.
"BASTARDS!" he shouted, his voice carrying across the street with surprising volume. "WEI SHAO IS A VENGEFUL SOUL WHO CAN'T ACCEPT THAT HIS LORD IS DYING!"
The insult hung in the air for a heartbeat.
Then chaos erupted.
Guards rushed toward him from multiple directions, weapons drawn, shouting commands to surrender or be cut down.
Zhung turned and ran.
Not away from the clinic—that would lead the pursuit away from Hu and Bai but accomplish nothing else. Instead, he ran parallel to the building, drawing the guards' attention, making himself the obvious target.
*If they're chasing me, they're not questioning Hu. Not searching for Bai. Not focusing on the clinic.*
*I'm the valuable target. The one with a thousand gold bounty. The one Wei Shao specifically wants captured.*
*Drawing their attention serves a purpose. Makes this stupidity slightly less stupid.*
His injured body protested immediately—broken ribs grinding with each breath, shoulder screaming around the embedded arrow, legs that had been pushed beyond endurance for days now being asked for one more impossible effort.
But he ran anyway, because stopping meant capture and capture meant interrogation and execution and failure of everything Jiangsu had died to give him.
Behind him, the pursuit was organizing—guards coordinating, mercenaries joining the chase, the street transforming into a hunting ground with Zhung as the prey.
"SPLIT UP! CUT OFF HIS ESCAPE ROUTES!"
"FIVE HUNDRED GOLD TO WHOEVER CATCHES HIM!"
*They're motivated,* Zhung noted with clinical detachment despite his racing heart and burning lungs. *Money makes people fast and coordinated. This is going to be difficult.*
He cut down an alley, his feet finding purchase on uneven stone, his smaller size and familiarity with urban environments giving him fractional advantage over guards wearing armor.
The alley opened into a market square—afternoon crowds, merchants and customers, normal people going about normal business.
Zhung didn't hesitate, plunging into the crowd, using bodies as obstacles, weaving between stalls and carts with desperate speed.
Shouts behind him:
"MOVE! OUT OF THE WAY! CRIMINAL FLEEING!"
The crowd parted reluctantly, some people too slow or confused to clear the path effectively, creating more obstacles for the pursuing guards.
*Advantage: crowds slow armored guards more than they slow me.*
*Disadvantage: crowds mean witnesses. Means this chase becomes public knowledge. Means word spreads that the thousand-gold bounty is real and active.*
*Can't stay in crowded areas. Need to reach somewhere the guards won't follow easily.*
Zhung's analytical mind processed the city's geography while his body continued its desperate flight.
*The lower districts. The slums where guard presence is minimal and criminal networks won't cooperate with official searches. That's survival territory. That's where I can disappear.*
He changed direction, heading toward the southern part of Crimson Vale where buildings became shabbier and streets became narrower, where the city's prosperity gave way to the poverty that always existed beneath civilization's surface.
The guards were still following, their shouts echoing between buildings:
"DON'T LOSE HIM! HE'S HEADING FOR THE SLUMS!"
"WE CAN'T FOLLOW INTO THAT TERRITORY! WE'LL NEED LOCAL AUTHORIZATION!"
"THEN GET IT! I'M NOT LOSING A THOUSAND GOLD BECAUSE OF PAPERWORK!"
*They're hesitating,* Zhung recognized. *The slums are different jurisdiction. Different rules. Following me there means potential conflict with local criminal organizations who don't appreciate outside interference.*
*That hesitation is my opportunity.*
He pushed harder, ignoring his body's screaming protests, focusing everything on reaching the boundary between respectable Crimson Vale and its darker underbelly.
The transition was marked by a literal line—a street where the maintained cobblestones ended and packed dirt began, where painted buildings gave way to ramshackle structures, where the smell changed from commerce to decay.
Zhung crossed that line and kept running.
Behind him, the guards slowed, some stopping completely, others continuing pursuit but with visible reluctance.
*Can't escape the moral chains in my soul,* Zhung's thoughts acknowledged even as he ran. *Couldn't abandon Hu and Bai. Couldn't let them face Wei Shao's vengeance alone. Had to create distraction. Had to draw attention away from them.*
*And now I'm paying the price. Running injured through slums, hunted by people motivated by enormous bounty, separated from any support or resources.*
*Wei Shao is a bastard. A vengeful soul who can't accept that his lord is dying. Who's mobilized half the region to hunt down four assassins who had the audacity to complete their mission despite his perfect trap.*
*I respect his thoroughness even while hating him for it.*
The slums swallowed Zhung completely—narrow streets that twisted without logic, buildings that leaned against each other for support, shadows that were deeper and more dangerous than in respectable districts.
People watched him run with eyes that assessed threat and opportunity in equal measure. Some called out warnings. Others simply observed, filing away information for potential profit later.
Zhung found a building that looked sufficiently abandoned—windows broken, door hanging from one hinge, the kind of place even slum residents avoided.
He ducked inside, his chest heaving, his vision swimming from exhaustion and pain, his body finally reaching its absolute limit.
The interior was dark and reeked of mold and worse things. Collapsed furniture. Evidence of previous occupants who'd left quickly or died here. The perfect hiding place because no one would willingly enter.
Zhung collapsed against a wall in what had once been someone's home, sliding down to sit on the filthy floor, his breathing labored and wet-sounding—probably blood in his lungs from broken ribs puncturing tissue.
*Made it. Barely. Maybe.*
*Drew the guards' attention away from the clinic. Gave Hu opportunity to talk his way out of custody. Probably saved both of them from being identified as my associates.*
*Mission accomplished, in the most chaotic and self-destructive way possible.*
Outside, he could hear the guards' voices—distant now, frustrated, debating whether pursuing into the slums was worth the risk and political complications.
Eventually, their voices faded completely. Either they'd given up, or they were organizing a more systematic search that would take time to implement.
Zhung sat in the darkness, holding his injured shoulder, feeling blood slowly soaking through his makeshift bandages.
*Stupid choice,* his cold analytical side observed. *Could have escaped cleanly. Could have let Hu handle himself. Could have prioritized individual survival over moral obligation.*
*But I didn't. Because Jiangsu's words are chains I can't break. Because staying human means making stupid choices sometimes. Because abandoning them felt like crossing a line that would turn me into exactly what Li Huang wants—a weapon without conscience.*
*So here I am. Injured in a slum. Hunted. Alone. Possibly bleeding internally.*
*But still human. Still capable of caring whether my companions live or die.*
*Still not quite a tool.*
He pulled Jiangsu's technique book from his wolf pelt, holding it carefully despite his trembling hands.
*Is this what you meant?* he asked the dead man silently. *Making choices that hurt but feel right? Refusing to let coldness become complete? Fighting against the transformation into weapon even when being a weapon would be easier and safer?*
*Because it's exhausting. And painful. And probably going to get me killed.*
*But I understand now. I understand why you kept making dark jokes and trying to connect. Why you died saving me instead of prioritizing your own survival.*
*Because being human is the real rebellion. The real resistance against a world that wants to reduce us to tools and functions and disposable assets.*
*And you wanted at least one person to remember that rebellion was possible.*
Zhung closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall, his consciousness beginning to fade from blood loss and exhaustion.
*I'll try, Jiangsu. Can't promise I'll succeed. Can't promise I won't eventually become the weapon everyone expects.*
*But I'll try.*
*That's all I can offer. The effort. The resistance. The stupid choices that prove I'm still capable of caring.*
*Even if it kills me.*
Darkness claimed him gradually, and Zhung surrendered to it, trusting that if he woke again, it would mean he'd survived one more impossible situation.
And if he didn't wake, at least his last choice had been human rather than calculated.
At least he'd died still fighting against the chains that tried to bind him—not the moral chains Jiangsu had wrapped around his soul, but the chains that would have made him into nothing more than Li Huang's perfect weapon.
The slums continued their evening business around him, indifferent to one more injured boy hiding in darkness.
And somewhere in that same city, guards reported their failure to capture the thousand-gold bounty, and Wei Shao's network tightened its search, and Hu breathed relief that the stupid kid had at least survived today even if tomorrow remained uncertain.
The moral chains remained.
The hunt continued.
And Zhung rested in darkness, still human despite everything.
Still fighting.
Still refusing to surrender what little humanity he had left.
---
**End of Chapter 35**