Jin Yue did not linger near the crossing.
Once distance broke the invisible thread between himself and the patrol leader, he moved deeper into the city, following narrower paths where the noise thinned and the air smelled less like stagnant water. He did not run. Running drew attention.
Instead, he walked with purpose, as though he had somewhere important to be.
Which, in a way, he did.
The outer district was quieter at this hour. Shops were opening slowly, shutters creaking as vendors swept dust from their thresholds. Jin Yue slowed near a narrow street lined with old buildings whose wooden signs had long since faded.
At the far end stood a bookshop.
Calling it a shop was generous. The structure leaned slightly to one side, roof tiles cracked, windows clouded with age. But it was open...and more importantly, it stocked texts most people no longer bothered with.
Jin Yue stepped inside.
The scent of old paper and dried ink greeted him immediately. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, sagging under the weight of neglected volumes. Scrolls were stacked haphazardly on low tables, some tied neatly with string, others half-unfurled and forgotten.
The shopkeeper barely glanced up.
Jin Yue preferred it that way.
He moved slowly along the shelves, fingers brushing spines as he read faded titles. Most were useless...old moral treatises, outdated cultivation manuals, travel records written by people who had never left the capital.
Then he paused.
A thin volume sat tucked between two larger tomes, its cover worn smooth by time. Jin Yue slid it free and opened it carefully.
On the Flow of Water and the Stillness Between.
His eyes lingered.
Books like this were rare. Not because they were valuable, but because few people had patience for them. They didn't promise immediate strength. They didn't offer shortcuts.
They required understanding.
Jin Yue flipped through several pages, scanning the text. The writing was precise, almost meditative, describing movement that wasted nothing, force that followed rather than resisted.
He closed the book slowly.
"I'll take this one," he said.
The shopkeeper finally looked up, squinting at him before naming a modest price. Jin Yue paid without bargaining and slipped the book into his satchel.
Outside, the city had grown louder.
He didn't return to the slum. Instead, Jin Yue followed the river path toward the outskirts, where stone gave way to dirt and reeds grew thick along the water's edge. Few people came here during the day. Fewer still paid attention to a man sitting quietly near the riverbank.
Jin Yue did.
He crouched and set his satchel down, retrieving a simple fishing rod wrapped in cloth. The rod was unremarkable...old bamboo, carefully maintained, its line replaced more than once. It looked like something a poor laborer might use to supplement his meals.
In truth, it was the most honest thing Jin Yue owned.
He cast the line into the water with a practiced motion.
The float bobbed once, then stilled.
Fishing required patience. Observation. A willingness to wait without forcing the outcome. Jin Yue liked that.
It gave his mind space to wander.
The patrol leader returned to his thoughts uninvited.
Not his face...though Jin Yue remembered that clearly enough...but the way his presence had pressed against the world. Controlled. Restrained. As though every action passed through deliberate consideration before being allowed to exist.
That kind of discipline did not come easily.
It was learned. Often through loss.
Jin Yue frowned faintly and shifted his grip on the rod.
Why would someone like that be assigned to the slums?
The float dipped.
Jin Yue adjusted the line instinctively, movements smooth and precise. The fish fought briefly before surrendering, silver scales flashing in the sunlight as Jin Yue drew it in.
He stilled.
The water rippled again.
Not from the fish.
From the far side of the riverbank, someone stood watching.
Jin Yue did not look up immediately. He waited until the line was secured, until the fish was released back into the water, before lifting his gaze.
Two cultivators lingered nearby, their attention split between the river and the city beyond. They weren't doing anything overt. They didn't approach.
They were observing.
Jin Yue gathered his things calmly and rose to his feet. As he did, the cultivators turned away, pretending interest in something else.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
So that was how it was.
The city was uneasy. Patrols watching. Cultivators observing places they normally ignored. Jin Yue slipped the fishing rod back into its cloth and adjusted his satchel.
He could leave.
He should leave.
Instead, he took the longer path back, looping through streets where rumors traveled faster than people.
"…heard they're planning something big…"
"…too many anomalies lately…"
"…tournament, maybe…"
The word reached him more than once.
Jin Yue kept his expression neutral, but his steps slowed.
A tournament.
He didn't need to hear details to understand the purpose. Events like that were never about opportunity. They were about control. Measurement. Exposure.
A way to drag hidden things into the light.
By the time Jin Yue returned to the slum, dusk was already settling in. Lanterns flickered to life one by one, and the river-slum exhaled as night crept back in.
He paused near a familiar corner and sensed it again.
That restrained pressure.
He didn't turn.
He didn't need to.
Somewhere nearby, the patrol leader was present again...not intervening, not approaching, but watching.
Jin Yue tightened his grip on the strap of his satchel.
Books. Water. Fishing.
Those were the things he paid attention to.
People were dangerous.
And yet...
As the night deepened and shadows stretched longer, Jin Yue had the unsettling feeling that no matter how carefully he moved, the city was beginning to notice him anyway.