Zhang took a moment to reply, his eyes sweeping over Jiang's battered form before returning to his face.

"Now, we negotiate," the disciple said plainly. "This is something you would have learned had you remained at the Sect. Cultivators must rely on more than just their strength when dealing with situations such as this. Between outer disciples," he gestured between them demonstratively, "a battle can be kept contained without much difficulty. Should the elders of a sect fight, however, their power may reshape the landscape, killing hundreds of mortals by mere happenstance. As such, the Honoured Founders decreed that discourse is the path to resolving disputes."

Jiang blinked. Was… was Zhang trying to lecture him, now of all times? Really?

After a moment, though, he realised that – in a very weird way – Zhang was already trying to convince him to return to the Sect, by pointing out how he still had a lot to learn.

Zhang either didn't notice his expression, or otherwise chose to ignore it. "The situation is clear," the disciple continued. "Your grievance is with the local bandits. My task is to return you to the Sect. It seems our goals are not mutually exclusive."

He took a step back, folding his hands into his sleeves in a gesture of magnanimous reason. "I will offer you a compromise. I will lend my strength to your cause. Together, we will eliminate this 'Dead River Gang' you are so concerned with. Eradicating such criminals serves the local populace and, by extension, reflects well upon the Sect. Once your desire for vengeance has been satisfied, you will have no further reason to remain out here. You will return with me to face judgment, and I will report that your desertion was a temporary foolishness, mitigated by your service in this matter."

Jiang let out a sharp breath, half a laugh. "So that's it? You help me deal with the bandits, and I trot back north at your side like a tame dog?"

"And the alternative is… what, exactly?" Zhang arched a brow. "In case you have forgotten our situation, you are the one with fewer options than I. You should be thanking me for even considering a peaceful alternative – and do keep in mind that this is a matter of convenience for me, not necessity."

Well. There went the hope that Zhang hadn't thought of the whole 'break his legs' idea. As much as Jiang hated to think it, the fact that Zhang was willing to consider talking this out was a significant point in his favour.

That didn't mean he was just going to roll over, though.

"That won't work for me," Jiang said slowly, considering how much to reveal. At this stage, it seemed that honesty might be his best bet. "First of all, I'm not here for vengeance – I'm here for information."

He met Zhang's gaze. In for a copper, in for a gold, as the saying went.

"A few weeks before I arrived at the sect, my village was raided by a group of bandits working under the name of the Hollow Fangs. My mother and sister were captured and taken… somewhere. I'm trying to find them, and when I do, I'll save them. That's the only reason I joined the Azure Sky Sect in the first place – so I could get strong enough to rescue them myself, and get information on where they might have been taken." He shrugged, feeling unaccountably tired. "From what I've learned, the Dead River Gang may have been involved with the raid, so I tracked them down to find out where they sell their slaves. That's all I care about – and I'm not going back to the sect until I find my family."

He probably wouldn't return to the sect even after he found his family, in fairness – it's just that he wouldn't necessarily have anything stopping him from doing so. As much as he enjoyed the physical abilities that came along with being a cultivator, he didn't have any particular burning desire to spend the rest of his life trying to advance just a little bit further. What would be the point? What would he need to get stronger for – and what good was strength without a reason to apply it?

"I see," Zhang said after a long pause. "That… clarifies the depth of your conviction."

He considered for a moment. "Very well. These bandits are still a threat to the stability of the region. Removing them is a worthwhile cause, which is something we can both agree on – it will aid your search, ensure the safety of the local population, and serve the Sect's prestige. I will lend my strength to this task, after which we may resume our discussion."

"And then?" Jiang pressed. "You haul me back in chains?"

"And then we discuss." Zhang snapped, irritation colouring his tone for the first time. "Are you so proud that you would refuse my aid? Or is this simply a childish urge to lash out, establish some form of control? I am doing you a favour, when arguably the correct decision would be to remove a limb to prevent you from escaping and drag you back to the Azure Sky Sect. The correct response is gratitude."

Jiang winced.

The words had cut closer than he wanted to admit. He was being stupid, and he knew it. It wasn't just Zhang's arrogance that had stung – it was the reminder that he had lost, utterly. That even after everything, even after pushing himself further than he thought possible, he still wasn't strong enough. Worse, that weakness might cost him the only chance he had at finding his family.

No wonder he had snapped.

He drew in a slow breath, forcing his shoulders to settle. "You're right," he said, the words tasting bitter. "I let myself get carried away. That wasn't… useful."

Zhang regarded him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then, to Jiang's surprise, he inclined his head in the faintest gesture of acknowledgment.

Jiang shuffled awkwardly, not entirely sure how to move on to a less charged topic. After a moment, he decided to push forward and ignore things. It had worked for him thus far, so why stop now?

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He crouched, brushing snow aside with his palm to sketch a crude map of the ridge and basin where the Dead River Gang had set up camp. "They had a scout out by the western ridge that I already killed. My plan was to let them find the body, then use the confusion to split their numbers. I'd pick them off in the trees, one group at a time, keep them guessing until the camp was thin enough to hit directly."

There. That made him sound like he had things under control. And with Zhang here, it even had a decent chance of working, which was convenient.

Zhang stepped closer, studying the lines with polite attention. When Jiang finished, the disciple made a faint sound – something between amusement and dismissal. "A clever enough strategy for one working from a position of weakness – but ultimately, unnecessary."

Jiang straightened. "Unnecessary?"

"Yes." Zhang folded his hands back into his sleeves, as though pronouncing some well-established truth. "When faced with a cultivator, such rabble will do one of two things: surrender in hopes of mercy, or scatter like rats." He waved a hand. "There are exceptions to this rule, certainly, but they are rare. Those few who are too stubborn to yield will still fall quickly. The true difficulty is not in the confrontation itself, but in ensuring none escape. That is what challenges us."

Jiang stared at him, incredulous. "You think sixty bandits will just… fall over once they see you?"

"I think," Zhang said with cool certainty, "that the weight of cultivation is not something mortals can mistake. They will know, and they will break."

The confidence was absolute – so absolute that it almost made Jiang second-guess himself. He remembered all too clearly how it felt to be flattened beneath the heavy Qi of Elder Lu, or even Mistress Bai.

But there was a significant difference between their presence and Zhang's. Jiang could still feel the weight of Zhang's Qi, but it was more an acknowledgement of the sensation. Like feeling the cold, but not letting it affect him. Of course, Jiang himself was a cultivator, and the bandits were just mortals – but they were mortals familiar with violence and being in a position of strength. Jiang somewhat doubted their go-to response would be to surrender or flee in panic.

He could be wrong, of course, but he wasn't about to bet his life on it.

"Fine," he said, his tone edged with caution. "You can walk right up to them if you like. I'll keep to the shadows. When they run, I'll cut them off before they get too far."

Zhang's eyes narrowed faintly. "And what guarantee have I that you will not simply use the chaos to vanish? That would be the simpler course for you, would it not?"

Jiang met his gaze steadily. "If I run, I lose the one lead I've got. The Dead River Gang knows where the Hollow Fangs are moving people. Until I have that information, I'm not going anywhere."

The disciple studied him for a long moment.

Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because at last he gave a single, sharp nod. "Very well. Keep to the shadows, if that is where you are comfortable." Zhang's lips curled into a somewhat self-satisfied expression. "You may take this as an opportunity to see what sect training can offer. A properly trained cultivator has nothing to fear from mortal bandits."

Jiang let the smugness roll off him without comment. He was honestly more comfortable dealing with the casual arrogance than the surprisingly understanding and helpful attitude from earlier.

"Well then," he said, wiping the snow-map away with a sweep of his hand and pushing himself to his feet. "After you."

— — —

Jiang found a good vantage point in the treeline, a thick cluster of pines that offered a clear view of the camp's entrance. He settled down, the snow cold beneath him, and watched as Zhang Shuren walked into the open. The disciple moved with an unhurried, arrogant confidence, as if he were strolling into a tea house rather than a den of sixty hardened bandits. The shadows at Jiang's feet stirred restlessly, a dark, coiling mirror of his own unease. He idly let them writhe and twist, a nervous habit he'd picked up without realising it.

This felt… wrong. It went against every instinct he'd ever learned from hunting.

He really wished he had a bow right about now.

Zhang stopped just short of the camp's edge. He didn't draw his sword. He simply flared his Qi.

Even from this distance, Jiang felt the pressure wash over the area, though it didn't affect him very much. A wall of fire erupted from the ground, forming a perfect, blazing circle around Zhang before vanishing in a shower of sparks. The snow hissed, steam rising in curling wisps.

Jiang had to admit, it was a spectacular, intimidating display. Without a cultivator's innate resistance to Qi suppression, he was starting to see why Zhang was confident most of the bandits would surrender without a fight.

Except that the reaction from the camp was not what he, or Zhang, had expected.

The scattered conversations died. Every single bandit, almost in eerie synchronicity, turned to look at Zhang.

"Bandits of the Dead River Gang," Zhang's voice rang out, seemingly undeterred by the attention. "You stand before a disciple of the Azure Sky Sect. Lay down your arms and—"

A shout cut him off.

One of the bandits nearest to Zhang dropped the waterskin he was holding and charged him barehanded, face twisted in a snarl.

The disciple barely blinked as he dispatched the bandit with contemptuous ease, a single, precise open-handed strike to the throat that snapped the man's head back. The body dropped into the snow like a sack of grain.

Jiang winced at the casual violence of the action, but if nothing else, it should prove to be a useful deterrent.

"That was a warning," Zhang announced, his voice carrying across the basin, cold and clear. "Surrender now, and you may yet live to see the magistrate's judgment. Resist, and you will share his fate—"

He didn't get to finish. Another bandit, this one armed with an axe, lunged from the side. Zhang pivoted, his hand a blur as he intercepted the man's arm, and a sharp crack echoed in the sudden quiet. The bandit fell, screaming and clutching his broken limb. Zhang finished him with a swift kick to the head.

Jiang's gut clenched. Something was wrong.

More shouting rose. A dozen men surged forward together, some grabbing spears, others yanking bows from their racks. The rest scattered through the camp, hauling weapons from tents and firesides. The cages rattled as someone stumbled against them.

Zhang's brows pinched faintly, the first crack in his composure. "Fools," he muttered. He drew his sword even as his other hand swept outward and a wave of fire rolled from him, catching two bandits full in the chest. They screamed as they fell, thrashing, the stink of scorched hair curling through the cold air.

And yet the others kept coming.

Zhang cut another man down, then twisted aside as three more tried to rush him at once. His fire flared again, but Jiang saw the shift in his stance. The Azure Sky disciple wasn't striding forward anymore. He was adjusting, edging sideways to keep from being surrounded.

Jiang swore under his breath. Zhang's arrogant plan had failed, utterly and completely. These men weren't going to surrender, and they weren't going to run. They were going to fight until they were all dead, and they were going to try and take Zhang with them.

He could just watch. Let Zhang fight his own battle, learn his own arrogant lesson. But even if Zhang was holding his own at the moment, it would only take a stray arrow to turn the tide – and Jiang didn't fancy his own chances against a group of men fighting with no apparent regard for their own safety.

His decision made, Jiang started moving through the treeline, swinging wide. Rushing into a melee would just get him killed – better to target the archers hanging back, and secure himself a new weapon in the process.

A wash of heat rolled over him as Zhang let loose another burst of flame, larger than the last.

Hopefully, the disciple could last long enough for him to make a difference.

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