By late morning the sunlight felt metallic against the tiles of Jade Immortal City, and even the pigeons circled lower, wary. At the main avenues he found ranks of Jade Immortal Manor guards in teal armor, their clipped breaths rising like steam off sharpened steel.
They had closed every archway in the outer wall except a single side gate, and anyone walking through it was peeled open by questions and runes. Patrols now moved ten strong instead of three, each led by a High Immortal Realm Level Four officer whose gaze combed pedestrians like fingers seeking loose threads. The teleport dais at market square was wrapped in ward-wire; anyone approaching it met a gauntleted forearm across the throat before finishing the request.
“What happened? Why the lockdown?” Someone behind them muttered, voice cracked thin by caution.
“No clue… Rumor says the city lord’s estate erupted last night.”
“Shh, keep it down! Those guards will gut you for curiosity.”
“Haven’t seen this many blades in centuries. Maybe a dignitary is coming, or maybe something worse already arrived.”
The street performed a nervous ballet—robes whispering, heads tilting together, eyes scattering the moment a helmet turned their way. Jade Immortal City had slept in peace too long; now the pressure in the air felt like the hush before thunder tears the roof off. Word drifted in like dusk smoke: neighboring sects barred their doors, recalled every wandering disciple, and waited behind locked halls. Jared heard the whispers, but they brushed the edge of his thoughts and settled there, a low thrum of confirmation rather than surprise.
***
The bamboo around the lodge quivered, sheathing the courtyard in pale green shadow. From where he sat, Jared felt the city’s pulse change: guards’ boots striking stone in quicker rhythm, the breeze carrying clipped orders that did not belong in a garden.
Luther tilted his head, eyes narrowing through the slits between swaying stalks. “They moved fast,” he muttered. “The Turner brothers disappear and Jade Immortal Manor panics… Look at them… Patrols clog every street, gates shut behind us. This dragnet is for us.”
Monkey’s face drained to the color of ash, his hands worried one another so fiercely Jared expected sparks. “S-Senior… What now? The city gates, the teleport array, everything’s sealed. How do we get out?”
Panther’s shoulders hunched, as if he could already feel the net tightening. “Jade Immortal Manor wouldn’t thrash this hard just for two dead executioners. That old cur Quentin must have sniffed something uglier.”
Lyza turned toward Jared; his stillness seemed to draw every plea, every decision. “Senior, fresh intel just came in. Their internal probe now targets two strangers who asked about Soulfall Slope in the Knowledge Pavilion a few days back… They’re sweeping the city in secret. Our hideout is good, but not forever.”
Jared opened his eyes; the pond-water calm inside them had not stirred. “As expected… Quentin’s no fool. The Turner brothers lead straight to Mr. Morse. Lockdown and hunts are the obvious ripples.” He paused, gaze sliding to Lyza. “You said you could muddy the water, make him chase ghosts. How far along?”
Lyza straightened, relief sparking across her features. “Our people already seeded rumors through a chain of unreliable go-betweens tied to outer court enforcers… First thread says the Turner brothers learned dirty secrets about Manor resource deals—so they got silenced… Second points a crooked finger at elder enforcers unhappy with Quentin’s grip—revenge, pruning his wings, that sort of poison… Third, whispered softest, hints the stones at Soulfall Slope might be crumbling—maybe the Soul-Refining Grand Array, or its crystals, is sick… Trails are twisted enough that no one traces them back quickly. Paranoid as he is, Quentin can’t ignore any of it—especially the last. The Soul-Refining Crystal is his heartbeat.”
Jared nodded once, approving. “Well played. His worst nightmare is Soulfall exposed and crystals failing. Rumors of internal knives will make him hoard his trusted few, maybe even leave the manor to lay hands on the thing himself.”
Luther glanced at Jared. “You think he moves tonight?”
Jared’s gaze cooled, calculating. “The cordon chokes outsiders, but securing his secrets presses harder… If he plans to brief Julian, he’ll first visit one place…”
Lyza’s eyes lit like struck flint. “The secret vault where he locks the Soul-Refining Crystals!”
“Exactly…” Jared pushed off the tatami. The others straightened instinctively. Only Lyza held his gaze. “Ms. Lyza, do you have anyone who can slip inside the inner court,” he asked, voice kept to a calm rumble, “or at least linger near its vital corridors without attracting suspicion? They won’t need to do anything reckless,” he added before she could answer. “All I require is a distant eye, someone to confirm whether Quentin leaves the core district this morning, especially if he heads west of the Hundred Blossom Garden toward the Treasury or any lonelier corner.”
Lyza’s pupils flicked left and right, gears spinning behind them. “Yes! A brother of ours works scut duty in the inner court kitchens. He ferries supplies along the outer passages—nothing remarkable.” She tapped a knuckle against her lower lip. “The western side of the Hundred Blossom Garden skirts the cold cellar and the Old Alchemy Chamber—quiet ground. I’ll send him to loiter along those lanes at once.”
Jared nodded once, letting the ripple of approval settle their nerves. “Luther, Panther, keep tracking the city-wide dragnet and any new signals from Jade Immortal Manor’s brass. Monkey, you stay put. No errands.”
Lyza hesitated, breath barely audible. “Senior, are you planning to…”
The unspoken worry tasted metallic on his tongue, but he voiced only the plan. “If rumors have truly spooked Quentin, if he fears for the Soul-Refining Crystal, he may inspect the secret vault himself.” Jared’s tone remained level, yet certainty rang like iron on stone. “Catching him on the secluded trail to that vault is a far safer play than assaulting the Spirit-Nurturing Pool wrapped in protective arrays.”
Panther shifted, shoulders bunching beneath rough cloth. “Even outside the core, he’ll keep guards close, and the vault itself will bristle with defenses…”
Jared let the concern hang, then cut it clean. “Every lock was made by hands. Hands can open it.” He offered no further assurances. The quiet authority radiating from him rolled across the room like deep water, and one by one their doubts drowned in it.
***
Time thickened. Lamps burned low, even the incense seemed afraid to flicker. In the smothered hush each person heard the ragged drumming of his own pulse. After roughly an hour, a crisp three-note birdcall sliced the stillness from beyond the shutters.
Footsteps hurried away, then back. Lyza reentered, excitement pressed beneath forced restraint, pupils shining like wet obsidian. “Senior, word just arrived!” Her voice raced to keep pace with her thoughts. “About half an hour ago, Quentin left the Tranquil Heart Pavilion with only two bodyguards and headed west, behind the Old Alchemy Chamber, toward the ground past the Hundred Blossom Garden! Deeper in that direction lies an abandoned courtyard against the cliff face, marked forbidden. We have long suspected a hidden door or chamber there.”
A keen gleam lit Jared’s eyes. “Just the two guards?”
“Confirmed! Both are his sworn retainers, each at High Immortal Realm Level Four. They kept to side paths, moving fast, wary of every shadow.”
“Good…” Jared’s hesitation snapped. “Show me the spot along that path where opportunity is thickest.”
Lyza unfurled a dog-eared inner court perimeter map, its ink almost worn to ghosts. She traced a crooked route threading between artificial crags and a ruined garden. “Pine-Whisper Path,” she said, fingertip tapping a narrow bend. “Old pines and tumble-stone choke the view, patrols pass only sporadically, and it’s one of the unavoidable links between the pavilion and that forbidden yard.”
Jared pressed its corners flat with his thumbs, let his gaze crawl along every bend in the trail, every cluster of buildings. He rehearsed the turns silently until the parchment felt printed behind his eyes.
“Luther, you’re with me. Stay just outside Pine-Whisper Path. If something tilts sideways, you move first and draw the heat… Lyza, grab everyone and vanish. Go to the safe house you stocked earlier. Until you hear from me, keep the doors bolted and your heads down.”
Lyza’s voice landed harder than her hand on his sleeve, a quiet tug that said she would rather have chained herself to the floor. “Senior, please be careful. Quentin isn’t weak, and he’s sly. He’ll have something hidden for when the blades come out.”
Jared answered with a single nod. He caught Luther’s gaze, the brief spark of shared intent, and then both men slid forward, letting the corridor light swallow them until they were nothing but the idea of shade leaving the lodge behind.
They had minutes, maybe less—the space of a kettle coming to boil—before Quentin reappeared. Intercept on the path, pin the man, bleed answers from him, vanish again; each step sharp as glass, none allowed to slip.
