Morning light filtered through the cracks in Nalan Yaran's rented room, casting pale stripes across the worn wooden floor.
She sat in the center of the small space, legs crossed, palms resting on her knees. The Forging Jade energy circulated through her meridians—slow, controlled, building like water behind a dam.
With each breath, fragments of memory surfaced unbidden.
—A rain-soaked cave. A dying man whose robes were stained with blood not entirely his own. Three days of desperate instruction, his hands guiding hers through forms she barely understood.
*"You have talent, girl. More than I ever did. But talent without ruthlessness is just a pretty flower waiting to be trampled."*
Those had been among his final words.
Nalan Yaran exhaled slowly, feeling the energy settle into her bones. In the month since her father's death, she had trained relentlessly. The Forging Jade Art demanded discipline—and pain. Every morning, she pushed her body past its limits. Every night, she studied the techniques etched into her memory.
She was still far from mastery. A third-rate warrior at best.
But against ordinary thugs? She was more than enough.
A knock at her door broke her concentration.
"Miss Nalan." Uncle Feng's voice was hesitant. "There's... someone here to see you."
---
Qing Chen stood in the narrow hallway, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had orchestrated a gang war the previous night.
"You're awake early," he said, that infuriating smile playing at his lips. "Good. We have work to do."
Nalan Yaran studied him coldly. "You killed Scarface Liu."
"Technically, someone else killed him. I merely... arranged the circumstances." He shrugged. "The Twin Eagle Gang thinks the Zhao family did it. The Zhao family has no idea what's happening. By tonight, they'll be at each other's throats."
"And what do you gain from this chaos?"
"Opportunity." Qing Chen leaned against the doorframe. "When two tigers fight, the clever fox claims the mountain. But I didn't come here to discuss philosophy. I came to offer you something."
"I'm listening."
"Training. Real training, not whatever scraps your dying master managed to teach you." His eyes glinted. "I've been practicing the Forging Jade Art for years. I can show you techniques that will double your combat effectiveness within a week."
Nalan Yaran's eyes narrowed. "And in return?"
"Your loyalty. Your blade. And when the time comes—your help reaching North Mang Mountain."
The name hung in the air between them like a promise.
---
They trained in an abandoned courtyard behind a collapsed temple—one of many derelict spaces in Jin City's poorer districts.
Qing Chen was a brutal instructor.
"Again," he commanded, watching as Nalan Yaran picked herself up from the dirt for the fifth time. "Your footwork is sloppy. You're telegraphing your strikes."
"I've defeated dozens of men with this 'sloppy' footwork."
"Street thugs. Drunken guards. Men who've never faced a real martial artist." Qing Chen's voice was cold. "Iron Claw Wei has killed warriors twice your skill level. If you fight him like this, you'll die in three moves."
Nalan Yaran gritted her teeth and attacked again.
This time, Qing Chen didn't just deflect—he countered. His palm struck her solar plexus, sending Forging Jade energy crashing through her defenses. She flew backward, hitting the temple wall hard enough to crack the ancient plaster.
"Understand something," Qing Chen said, standing over her. "In this world, mercy is weakness. Hesitation is death. Every opponent you face wants to kill you, enslave you, or use you. The only way to survive is to be more ruthless than they are."
Nalan Yaran coughed, tasting blood. "Is that your philosophy? Be the biggest monster in the room?"
"It's reality." He extended a hand to help her up. "Your father tried to be honorable. He negotiated. He compromised. He believed that if he just paid enough, worked hard enough, the wolves would leave him alone." His grip tightened around her wrist. "How did that work out for him?"
She wanted to hit him. To wipe that knowing look off his face.
Instead, she took his hand and stood.
"Teach me," she said quietly. "Teach me to be ruthless."
---
By evening, Nalan Yaran's body was a map of bruises. But something had changed.
The Forging Jade energy flowed more smoothly now, responding to her will with newfound precision. Qing Chen had shown her shortcuts—ways to channel power that her dying master had never mentioned.
"You learn fast," Qing Chen admitted as they walked through the darkening streets. "Faster than I expected."
"Where are we going?"
"Red Sleeves." He smiled at her surprised expression. "The brothel is more than it appears. The madam—Madame Silk—has connections throughout the city. Information brokers, corrupt officials, gang leaders. If we want to know what the Twin Eagle Gang is planning, she's our best source."
"And she'll just... help us?"
"She'll help me. We have an arrangement." Qing Chen's smile turned cryptic. "Just follow my lead and try not to kill anyone unless absolutely necessary."
---
The Red Sleeves brothel blazed with light and music as night fell. Painted women in revealing silk beckoned from the entrance, their laughter carrying across the street.
"Lords, come inside~"
"Such handsome young people, surely you want some company~"
One woman in pink, her dress cut daringly low, reached for a passing merchant's sleeve.
Nalan Yaran watched it all with cold eyes. She had been inside this place just yesterday, fighting her way out after confronting Scarface Liu. The irony of returning willingly wasn't lost on her.
But Qing Chen led her past the main entrance, down a narrow alley to a half-hidden door at the back.
He knocked twice, paused, then knocked three times more.
The door creaked open.
The smell hit Nalan Yaran first—sweat, cheap wine, and something metallic beneath it all. Blood, perhaps.
Inside, a cramped courtyard held a dozen rough-looking men. They lounged on broken furniture, cleaning weapons, gambling with worn dice. Guards for the brothel's less savory operations.
A scarred man sat at the center—pockmarked face, a curved blade thrust through his belt. He was having his shoulders massaged by two younger thugs when he looked up at the newcomers.
His eyes found Qing Chen first, then slid to Nalan Yaran.
"Well, well." The scarred man's lips twisted into something between a smile and a snarl. "The little fox returns. And he brought a vixen this time."
The other thugs laughed—ugly, hungry sounds.
Qing Chen's expression didn't change. "Brother Dao. I need to see Madame Silk."
"Do you now?" Brother Dao picked at his teeth with a small knife. "Funny thing—she's been asking about you. Something about a dead man named Liu and a whole lot of trouble coming our way."
"Then she'll definitely want to hear what I have to say."
Brother Dao's eyes narrowed. He studied Qing Chen for a long moment, then his gaze drifted back to Nalan Yaran.
"Who's the girl? New merchandise?"
Before Qing Chen could answer, one of the thugs—a heavyset man with arms like tree trunks—stood up.
"Pretty thing," he said, moving toward Nalan Yaran with a predatory grin. "Bit skinny, but I like them feisty. How about a taste before we let you see the Madame?"
He reached for her arm.
Nalan Yaran moved.
The Forging Jade energy surged through her limbs—faster now, more refined after Qing Chen's training. She sidestepped the grab, caught the thug's wrist, and twisted.
*Crack.*
The sound of breaking bone echoed through the courtyard.
The thug's eyes went wide. His mouth opened to scream, but Nalan Yaran's palm was already driving into his throat. Not hard enough to kill—just enough to collapse his voice.
He crumpled to his knees, choking silently.
The courtyard went still.
Every thug had frozen, hands moving toward weapons. Brother Dao's knife was already in his grip, his earlier amusement replaced by cold calculation.
Nalan Yaran stood over the fallen man, her breathing steady, her eyes sweeping the room.
"Anyone else want a taste?"
Silence.
Then, unexpectedly, Brother Dao laughed.
"Well, well." He slid his knife back into his belt. "The fox found himself a real vixen after all." He stood, jerking his head toward a door at the far end of the courtyard. "Madame Silk will see you now. Both of you."
As they walked past the groaning thug, Qing Chen leaned close to Nalan Yaran's ear.
"I told you to try not to hurt anyone."
"He touched me."
"Fair enough." A ghost of approval flickered across his face. "Just remember—Madame Silk is not someone you can intimidate with broken wrists. With her, we use words."
Nalan Yaran said nothing.
But as they approached the inner door, she felt something shift inside her. The Forging Jade energy hummed through her veins, hungry for more.
*Ruthlessness*, Qing Chen had said.
Perhaps she was learning after all.
---
[End of Chapter 3]