The joy of securing the remedies was short-lived. Li Jin felt their eyes on him, an unpleasant weight between his shoulder blades. He didn't look back. The Grand Master had taught him to listen with his skin, and his skin told him he was being followed.
He left the apothecary's alley and melted into the human river of the main streets. He hoped to lose them in the crowd, but the feeling of being watched persisted. They were professionals. Patient.
They're waiting for you to be isolated, the Tiger's voice murmured, no longer seductive, but analytical—the voice of a predator assessing a threat. They'll kill you for their master and take the herbs as a bonus. You can't outrun them in this city that isn't yours. You have to face them. Let me help. One burst of fury. They won't expect it.
Li Jin ignored the advice. To use the Tiger's strength here, in the midst of this innocent crowd, was unthinkable. The memory of Sun Yue's carnage was burned into his mind. He had to find another way. He had to be water, not fire.
He kept walking, his pace steady, showing no sign of panic. He clutched the packet of herbs to his chest. Protecting it was no longer just a matter of life and death for his father; it had become a test.
He turned a corner, heading into a labyrinth of narrower passages where the grand mansions gave way to artisans' workshops. The sun was beginning to set, stretching the shadows long. The time for confrontation was approaching. He couldn't lead them back to the inn where he was staying.
He spotted an open doorway leading into a dyer's workshop. Long strips of indigo, crimson, and scarlet cloth hung like silent banners, creating a colorful maze. An idea came to him. It was risky, but it was better than a fight to the death in an alley.
He ducked inside, slipping between the damp, hanging sheets. The acrid smell of pigment stung his nostrils. A few moments later, Lord Xiao's two men followed him in. They split up, one going right, the other left, their drawn swords glinting in the dim light.
"Nowhere to run, little monk," one of them called out, his voice muffled by the cloth. "Give us the herbs and we'll make it quick."
Li Jin stood motionless behind a deep blue curtain. He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing until it was almost imperceptible. He focused not on his enemies, but on his surroundings. The drip of water in the vats. The slight draft that made the sheets sway. The sound of their footsteps on the packed-earth floor. He became a part of the place.
One of the men was getting closer. Li Jin could hear the brush of his sleeve against the cloth. He didn't wait for the attack. At the precise moment the man was about to pass his hiding spot, Li Jin moved.
It wasn't an attack. It was a displacement. He used a technique he had never tried outside of training: the Silent River Step. He didn't take a step. He flowed, his body moving with the sway of the hanging cloth. In an instant, he had passed to the other side of the man, soundlessly.
The man felt a stir of air, nothing more. He paused, confused. He looked back. No one.
Li Jin was now behind him. He didn't use the wooden sword he'd left at the inn. He used his fingers. He struck two pressure points at the base of the man's neck. It wasn't a violent blow. Just two quick, precise jabs.
The man gave a surprised grunt. His eyes rolled back in his head. His legs buckled, and he collapsed in a heap, his sword clattering dully to the ground.
The second man heard the noise. "Jia? What was that?"
Getting no answer, he began to advance more cautiously, sword held ready. He came to the spot where his companion had fallen. He saw the inert body. Confidence on his face was replaced by fear.
"Show yourself, sorcerer!"
Li Jin didn't answer. He was already moving, a ghost gliding between the colors. The second man was more nervous, more alert. He spun around, slashing at the air.
Li Jin watched. The man was rigid. His fear made him predictable. He used wide, sweeping motions, wasting his energy. Li Jin waited. He let the man's fear do the work for him.
Finally, in a fit of panic, the man sliced through a wide sheet of scarlet cloth, hoping to catch his opponent behind it. The cloth fell away, revealing an empty wall.
In that split second of imbalance, Li Jin acted. Using the falling cloth as a screen, he darted in from the side and struck, not the neck, but the wrist holding the sword.
The pain was sharp and sudden. The man's hand flew open, dropping his weapon. Before he could even react, Li Jin had pivoted behind him, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle his cry and applying a precise carotid choke with his other arm.
The man struggled wildly, but Li Jin's hold was perfect, based not on strength but on a knowledge of anatomy. After a few seconds, the struggling ceased. The man went limp, slumping to the ground.
Li Jin lowered him gently. He stood for a moment, his heart pounding, listening to the silence of the workshop. It was over. He hadn't killed anyone. He hadn't seriously injured anyone. He had not used the Tiger's strength.
He stooped and picked up the two swords. He snapped them cleanly over his knee, a simple act to ensure they wouldn't be an immediate threat to anyone else. Then he slipped out of the workshop as silently as he had entered.
He took a roundabout route back to his inn, making sure he wasn't being followed. He locked himself in his small room and finally sat down. The packet of herbs was still secure.
He didn't feel triumphant. He felt tired. A deep exhaustion that came not from physical exertion, but from nervous tension. The outside world was draining.
You were lucky, the Tiger said. Its voice was less confident, almost sullen. They were brainless thugs. Others won't be so easy. You need me.
No, Li Jin thought, with a newfound certainty. I need me. That's enough.
He left Lin'an at first light the next day. The journey back to his village was long, but his spirit was lighter. He was no longer just a disciple hiding on a mountain. He was a man who had faced the world and remained true to himself.
When he finally came within sight of his village, a hamlet of earthen huts nestled in a misty valley, his heart quickened. Everything seemed smaller, simpler than he remembered.
He stepped into his parents' home. The familiar smell of damp straw and woodsmoke hit him. His mother was sitting by the hearth, her face etched with worry. When she saw him, tears sprang to her eyes, and she threw her arms around him.
"Jin! You've come back!"
His father was lying on a pallet in the darkest corner of the room. His breathing was a faint, wheezing rattle. His face was waxy, his eyes closed. He was worse than Li Jin had feared.
Li Jin wasted no time. He took out the herbs and began preparing the decoction according to the apothecary's instructions. He ground the root, steeped the flower, and mixed them in hot water. The powerful, earthy scent of the remedies filled the small hut.
With his mother's help, he gently raised his father's head and fed him the bitter liquid, one spoonful at a time.
Then, there was nothing left to do but wait.
He sat by his father's side, holding his feverish hand. The hours crawled by. Night fell. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and his father's labored breathing.
Fear and helplessness threatened to overwhelm Li Jin. He had done all he could. Now, his father's fate was in the hands of Heaven. The Tiger remained silent, as if it understood that rage and strength were useless against sickness.
In the middle of the night, his father's breathing seemed to stop. His mother choked back a sob. Li Jin's heart froze.
Then, his father took a breath. A deep, clear breath that didn't wheeze. A second. A third. A faint touch of color began to return to his cheeks. The fever seemed to have lessened.
Li Jin placed a hand on his father's forehead. It was still warm, but the burning heat was gone. He was sleeping. A true, peaceful sleep.
The tears Li Jin had been holding back for days finally came. Tears not of sorrow, but of relief and gratitude. He had done it. He had brought his father back from the brink of death.
He stepped outside for some air. The night sky was vast and studded with stars. The Breath of the World was calm, peaceful.
He had faced assassins and death itself. And he had won. Not by being a tiger, but by being a man. For the first time in his life, Li Jin felt truly strong.