The knife Xiao Lan gave me weighed more than it looked. Iron, not steel, but the edge was honest. I tested it against my thumb—didn't break skin, which meant it would cut flesh. Good enough.
We followed the stream south, trading silence for the slap of water and the creak of our steps. Dawn mist clung to everything, turning the world gray and soft. My shoulder itched where the cleaver had kissed it, but the new skin stayed sealed. The jade hung on a scrap of cloth around my neck now, warm against my sternum like a second heartbeat.
Xiao Lan broke the quiet first. "Bandits hit the mill two li ahead. Word is they're recruiting—strong arms, no questions."
I grunted. "Recruiting or press-ganging?"
"Same thing in Jianghu." She glanced sideways. "You planning to walk past?"
The jade pulsed once, a gentle tug southward. I swallowed. "Not sure I can."
We crested a rise. Smoke rose in thin threads from the mill's chimney. A dozen men lounged outside, sharpening blades or chewing rice cakes. The leader—the cleaver man—sat on an overturned bucket, cloth wrapped around his knee where I'd landed my punch. His eyes found me across the distance, narrowed.
Xiao Lan hissed. "That's them."
"Looks like."
He stood, slow. The others followed, hands drifting to weapons. No rush in their steps; they knew the math. Four on two, and we were kids with sticks.
Xiao Lan drew her knife. "Flank left. I'll take right."
I nodded, but my feet didn't move. The jade burned—not pain, just pressure. A whisper, wordless: Take.
The leader limped forward. "Thought you'd crawl away, boy."
I stepped onto the path. "Road's wide enough for both of us."
He laughed. "Road's mine now."
He lunged. Cleaver arcing down. I twisted, felt the air part. My knife came up—not fancy, just blocking. Metal rang. Vibration shot up my arm. He pressed, weight behind the swing.
Then I breathed.
Not like normal. I inhaled him—the stink of his sweat, the sour twist of fear under bravado, the ragged pulse of qi in his dantian. It flooded in through the jade, a dirty river into a clear pond. My meridians stretched, complaining, then accepted.
His eyes went wide. The cleaver slipped in his grip.
I shoved. He staggered back, knee buckling. Before he hit ground, I was moving. Knife low, slash across his thigh. Blood sprayed, hot on my hand. He howled.
The others charged. Xiao Lan met the first with a quick stab to the arm, twisted away. Second came at me from the side. I ducked, felt the jade pull again—take—and suddenly his balance was mine to read. I hooked his ankle, sent him sprawling.
A third grabbed my collar. Rough hands. Panic flared. I jammed my elbow back, heard ribs crack. He released. I spun, knife finding his shoulder.
Breathing came easier now. Not lungs—something deeper. Each exhale carried their qi out, refined, back into me. My skin tingled. The jade's crack widened a hair, black vein forking toward my collarbone.
Xiao Lan finished her last with a knee to the gut, then a pommel to the temple. The mill yard went still except for groans.
She wiped her knife on her sleeve. "You okay?"
I stared at my hands. Blood, some mine, mostly theirs. The jade cooled, content. "Yeah."
The leader crawled, leaving a red trail. "What... are you?"
I crouched beside him. His qi flickered, weak. I could take it all—finish him. The jade hummed agreement.
But his eyes weren't just afraid. They were human. Tired.
I stood. "Just a kid with a knife."
Xiao Lan kicked his cleaver away. "And a hungry pendant."
We left them there, tying wounds and cursing. The miller poked his head out as we passed, eyes wide. He tossed us a sack of rice without a word.
Half a li on, Xiao Lan stopped. "You took their qi. Not just killed them—took."
"I didn't mean to."
"Didn't have to." She looked at the jade. "It's teaching you bad habits."
"Maybe," I said. "But I'm still breathing."
She snorted, but there was no bite in it. "First blood's always the sweetest. Wait till it's someone who matters."
The sun climbed higher. Heat rose off the path. My new skin on the shoulder itched again, but this time it felt like growing.