Three weeks passed like a knife sliding through silk—smooth, inevitable, and leaving separation in its wake.
The new moon approached.
Dawn found Nalan Yaran and Qing Chen passing through Jin City's western gate, joining the stream of merchants, laborers, and desperate souls that flowed in and out each day. The guards barely glanced at them—just two more faces in an endless crowd.
Beyond the city walls, the air changed.
The stench hit first. Unwashed bodies, disease, and death mixing with the smoke from cooking fires. The refugee camp sprawled across the barren ground like a festering wound—thousands of displaced souls driven from their homes by floods, bandits, and the endless grinding poverty of Jing Kingdom's provinces.
"Still think humanity is worth saving?" Qing Chen asked quietly, his eyes scanning the sea of misery.
Nalan Yaran said nothing. She'd learned that he asked questions not for answers, but to gauge reactions.
Twelve massive iron pots bubbled over fires, tended by city soldiers. The City Lord had instituted a daily gruel distribution—just enough to keep the refugees from rioting, not enough to actually feed them properly. A few hundred soldiers with spears maintained a semblance of order as the ragged lines shuffled forward.
"Gruel ready!" a sergeant bellowed.
The soldiers began ladling out portions—each scoop barely covering the bottom of a bowl. Just enough to sustain life for another day. Those who received their ration clutched it like treasure, gulping it down with desperate hunger.
But at the edges of the camp, many had given up even trying. They lay in the mud, too weak to move, staring at the cooking pots with hollow eyes.
"Why are we here?" Nalan Yaran asked. They had weapons to acquire, routes to memorize, final preparations for North Mang Mountain.
"Because desperation is a resource," Qing Chen replied. "And we need desperate people."
He led her through the maze of crude shelters—some barely more than leaned sticks covered with rags. As they walked, Nalan Yaran noticed Qing Chen's eyes constantly moving, evaluating, calculating.
"There," he said suddenly.
Ahead, near a collapsed tent, a commotion was unfolding.
A woman—perhaps twenty-five, with dirt-smudged features but a defiant bearing—was struggling with a heavyset man over a broken bowl. Inside, a few precious spoonfuls of gruel sloshed.
"Give it back! It's mine!" The woman's voice shook with fear, but she didn't let go.
"Yours?" The man laughed—an ugly, phlegmy sound. "I saw you steal it from my spot. You're a thief, woman. I'm just taking what's mine."
He wasn't exerting his full strength, Nalan Yaran noticed. He was toying with her, enjoying her terror.
A small crowd had gathered, but no one intervened. In the refugee camp, survival was individual. Helping others meant risking what little you had.
"Should we—" Nalan Yaran began.
"Wait." Qing Chen's hand on her arm stopped her. "Watch."
From a nearby shelter, a figure emerged. A young man, perhaps sixteen, limping badly on his left leg. His clothes were torn, his face a map of fresh bruises—left cheek swollen, right eye blackened, lips split and crusted with dried blood.
Despite his injuries, he launched himself at the heavyset man.
"Let her go!"
The man backhanded him almost casually. The young man crashed into the mud.
"Xiao Feng!" The woman released the bowl, rushing to him.
The heavyset man laughed, claiming his prize.
*Now*, Nalan Yaran thought, *now Qing Chen will intervene.*
But he didn't move.
The young man tried to rise, failed. His sister—for clearly that's what she was—helped him sit up. They clung to each other in the mud while the crowd dispersed.
Only then did Qing Chen approach.
---
"That was quite brave," Qing Chen said, stopping a few feet from the siblings. "Stupid, but brave."
The young man—Xiao Feng—looked up sharply. His good eye narrowed with suspicion and barely restrained anger.
His sister moved protectively in front of him. "We don't want trouble."
"Neither do I." Qing Chen crouched down, bringing himself to their level. "I want to make you an offer."
"We have nothing," the woman said flatly.
"I can see that." Qing Chen's tone was conversational. "But you have something more valuable than silver. You have desperation. And your brother—" he nodded at Xiao Feng, "—he has anger."
Xiao Feng's hands clenched in the mud.
Nalan Yaran watched the exchange carefully. This was why they'd come. Qing Chen was recruiting.
"My name is Qing Chen. This is my associate." He gestured at Nalan Yaran without naming her. "We're planning something. Something dangerous. We need people who have nothing to lose and everything to gain."
"What kind of something?" the woman asked warily.
"The kind that could make you rich. Or get you killed." Qing Chen smiled. "Probably both."
"We're not killers," she said.
"Neither were we, once." Qing Chen's eyes flicked to Nalan Yaran, then back. "Tell me—those bruises on your brother. They're not from that petty thief just now, are they?"
Xiao Feng's jaw tightened.
The woman—his sister—looked down. "It's nothing. He fell."
"He was beaten systematically," Nalan Yaran said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was cold, clinical. "Those injuries are precise. Someone who knew where to hit to cause maximum pain without permanent damage. Gang work."
The siblings said nothing, but their silence was confirmation.
Qing Chen nodded. "Let me guess. You're beggars—the organized kind. Someone controls your territory, takes a cut of everything you earn. But recently, you haven't been earning enough. So they beat you as a lesson. And tonight, they'll come collecting again. And if you can't pay..."
"They'll kill him," the sister whispered. "They said if he doesn't have the silver by sunset, they'll break both his legs and throw him out of the camp."
"The Twin Eagle Gang?" Qing Chen asked.
She shook her head. "Iron Fist Brotherhood. They control the eastern sections of the camp."
Nalan Yaran's mind raced. She'd heard of the Iron Fist Brotherhood—a smaller gang, but vicious. They'd actually allied with the Twin Eagle Gang recently, consolidating power during the chaos.
"How much do you owe?" Qing Chen asked.
"Fifty copper coins," Xiao Feng said, his voice bitter. "I made forty-three yesterday. Today I made sixty. But that bastard—" he nodded toward where the heavyset man had disappeared, "—took it all."
"Sixty coins in a day." Qing Chen looked impressed. "You're a good earner. What's your method? Sympathy for the cripple?"
Xiao Feng's face flushed with shame and rage.
His sister stood. "If you're just here to mock us—"
"I'm here to make a deal." Qing Chen reached into his robes and produced a small pouch. He tossed it to the woman. "Two hundred copper coins. Enough to pay your debt, buy food, and have some left over."
She caught it reflexively, eyes widening. "What... what do you want?"
"Information first. Then, if you prove useful, employment." Qing Chen stood. "The Iron Fist Brotherhood—I need to know everything. Where they gather, who leads them, their routines. Especially any connection they have to operations outside the city."
Xiao Feng struggled to his feet, ignoring his sister's protests. He faced Qing Chen directly.
"Why should we help you? You're clearly not from around here. You're well-fed, well-dressed. What's your game?"
"My game is destroying the gangs that prey on people like you." Qing Chen's smile turned cold. "Not out of altruism. I have my own reasons. But if your oppressors burn, does it matter why I lit the match?"
The siblings exchanged glances—a silent conversation in a shared look.
Finally, Xiao Feng nodded. "The Iron Fist Brotherhood. Their leader is called Broken Tooth Huang. He has maybe forty men. They operate out of the old granary building, north side of the camp."
"Good. Keep talking."
---
An hour later, Nalan Yaran and Qing Chen walked through the camp's northern section, Xiao Feng limping between them while his sister waited behind with the silver.
"You're using them," Nalan Yaran said quietly.
"Of course I am. That's how this works." Qing Chen kept his eyes forward. "The boy is smart. Observant. He's survived this long in a place where most die within weeks. His sister is protective, loyal. They're useful."
"And when we leave for North Mang Mountain?"
"We bring them." He glanced at her. "You think we're assaulting that fortress alone? We need bodies. Distractions. Expendable assets."
Nalan Yaran felt something twist in her chest. Not guilt—she'd left that behind. But something close to it.
"The old you would have saved them out of pity," Qing Chen continued, as if reading her thoughts. "The new you saves them because they can be used. Which version kept you alive these past three months?"
She didn't answer.
They reached the old granary—a partially collapsed building that had once stored rice for the city's reserves. Now it served as a den for Broken Tooth Huang and his thugs.
"Wait here," Qing Chen told Xiao Feng. "If we're not back in ten minutes, run."
"What are you planning?" the young man asked.
Qing Chen smiled. "An introduction."
He and Nalan Yaran entered the granary.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and cheap wine. A dozen men lounged around a fire, gambling with worn dice. At the center, a scarred man with several missing teeth watched over them—Broken Tooth Huang himself.
The conversation died as Nalan Yaran and Qing Chen walked into the firelight.
"Well, well." Broken Tooth Huang stood, his hand moving to the club at his belt. "Fresh meat walks right in. Either you're very brave or very stupid."
"Neither," Qing Chen said. "We're here to make a deal."
"A deal?" Huang laughed. Several of his men stood, surrounding them. "I'll tell you the deal, pretty boy. You give me everything you have, and I only break one bone. How's that?"
Qing Chen looked at Nalan Yaran. "I'll take the ones on the left. You take the right."
She nodded.
The Forging Jade energy surged through her meridians like lightning through wire.
Three men charged from the right.
Nalan Yaran moved.
---
Thirty seconds later, eight men lay groaning on the ground. Nalan Yaran stood over three unconscious bodies, her breathing barely elevated. Qing Chen had disabled five more with brutal efficiency.
Only Broken Tooth Huang remained standing, his club raised but his hands trembling.
"Now," Qing Chen said pleasantly, as if they'd just finished having tea. "About that deal. You're going to tell me everything you know about the gangs' operations. Especially any connections to North Mang Mountain. And then, you're going to work for me."
Huang's eyes darted to his fallen men, then back to Qing Chen. Slowly, he lowered his club.
"What... what do you want to know?"
Qing Chen smiled. "Everything."
---
As the sun set over the refugee camp, Nalan Yaran and Qing Chen walked back toward the city gates. Behind them, they left Broken Tooth Huang nursing his wounds and contemplating his new employment.
"You have your information brokers in the city," Nalan Yaran said. "Now you have eyes in the camp. You're building something."
"We're building something," Qing Chen corrected. "When we go to North Mang Mountain, we won't go as two warriors hoping to sneak in. We'll go as the vanguard of an army of desperate people who have nothing to lose. The refugees, the gang members we've recruited, even some of Madame Silk's people."
"You're using them all as cannon fodder."
"I'm giving them a chance to change their circumstances. If they die in the attempt..." He shrugged. "They were dying anyway. At least this way, they die for something."
Nalan Yaran thought of Xiao Feng and his sister. Of the refugees starving in the mud. Of all the people Qing Chen was gathering like chess pieces.
*Am I any different?* she wondered. *I kill, I manipulate. I've become exactly what this world demanded.*
But when she thought of North Mang Mountain, of the secret hidden there, of the power that could lift her beyond this crushing reality—the doubts faded.
"The new moon is tomorrow," she said.
"Yes." Qing Chen's eyes gleamed in the fading light. "The Diao Lord leaves his mountain. His forces will be divided. And we'll be ready."
"How many people have you recruited in total?"
"Fifty-three," he said. "Thieves, thugs, refugees, and desperates. Not much of an army. But they'll serve their purpose."
They reached the city gates just as the guards were preparing to close them for the night.
Tomorrow, Nalan Yaran knew, everything would change. They would march on North Mang Mountain. Many would die. Perhaps she would be among them.
But for the first time since her father's death, she felt something other than rage and despair.
She felt purpose.
However dark, however stained with blood—it was hers.
---
[End of Chapter 5]