Jiang wasn’t entirely sure what he expected the inside of the building to look like – he hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time in places like this, he was pleased to say – but he certainly hadn’t expected this.

  The first thing he noticed was that the interior was warmer than the street, the air heavy with the scent of sandalwood and expensive tea. It was quiet, too – the thick, heavy wood of the door cut off the low noise of the market square as if it had never existed. The room was spacious, lined with dark wood panelling and illuminated by the soft, steady glow of oil lamps set in recessed alcoves. It looked less like a place that sold human beings and more like a high-end tea house or a magistrate’s private study.

  Jiang disliked it on principle.

  Behind a polished mahogany counter stood a young woman. She was pretty in a deliberate, curated way – hair pinned up with pearl combs, robes of pale blue silk that fit just a little too tightly. A pretty face to put the customers at ease, no doubt. On the counter between them sat a small block of jade, resting on a velvet cushion. As Jiang approached, it began to vibrate, a low, buzzing hum that rattled against the wood.

  Jiang frowned. It was the same mechanism the guard captain had used at the gate. These things were apparently standard issue in Biragawa. It was useful in this particular instance – it would mean they were less likely to try kicking him out, at least – but it was a problem for the future. If he ever needed to move through the city unnoticed, he’d have to figure out how they worked. Could he suppress his Qi enough to fool them? Or were they sensitive to the mere existence of a dantian?

  The woman’s eyes flicked briefly to the jade block as it vibrated, then back to him. She swallowed once before offering a polite smile.

  “Welcome to this humble establishment, Honoured Cultivator,” she said, voice just a touch too breathy to be natural. “How may we serve you?”

  “I’m here to see Feng,” Jiang said simply. “Regarding a past transaction.”

  He hadn’t been entirely sure if this was the best way to do things, but he figured it couldn’t hurt – Feng was the name of the slaver who had purchased his family, so even if the man wasn’t in charge here, he was the most likely to have the information Jiang needed.

  The woman hesitated for a moment. “Might I ask if you have an appointment?”

  Well, at least that confirmed that he was at the right place.

  “No.”

  “I—Of course,” she said quickly, clearly a little flustered. “My apologies. Please wait a moment.”

  She hurried out from behind the counter and disappeared through a curtained archway at the back of the room, leaving Jiang alone. While it was always a little uncomfortable to see how normal people reacted to him now that he was a cultivator, Jiang had to admit that there were advantages. If nothing else, her reaction indicated that these slavers didn’t deal with cultivators often, which boded well. The less confident these slavers were around him, the more likely it was he could get out of here without… complications.

  His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword for a moment. Not that he was necessarily averse to the idea of things turning into a fight, no matter how counter-productive it may be. The constant burn of corruption in his meridians was making him impatient, and he could use an opportunity to blow off some steam.

  The curtain at the back of the room rustled, and a man stepped out. He was older than Jiang expected, perhaps in his fifties, with greying hair swept back from a high forehead and intelligent, alert eyes. His robes were fine but not ostentatious, the cut practical, the embroidery restrained.

  He paused for a fraction of a second as he saw Jiang, his eyes flicking over the travel-worn leathers and the youth of his visitor. Whatever confusion he felt didn’t reach his face. A merchant’s smile slid into place – warm, welcoming, and entirely fake.

  “Honoured guest,” the man said, spreading his hands. “My assistant tells me you asked for me by name. I am Feng. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “Jiang,” he replied, skipping the pleasantries. “And I’m here about a purchase you made in Qinghe a few months back. A specific group of slaves.”

  Jiang’s expression must have been darker than he realised, because Feng’s smile faltered slightly. The man recovered quickly, though, and if Jiang’s senses hadn’t been as sharp as they were, he would have missed the note of wariness in his posture.

  “Perhaps we might speak somewhere more private?” Feng suggested. “There are… delicate matters that are best not discussed in public. Please, this way.”

  It was an invitation, but Jiang heard the caution in it. Get the dangerous element out of the public eye.

  “Lead the way,” Jiang said.

  Feng nodded and turned, sweeping the curtain aside. Jiang followed, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t terribly worried about an ambush – even keeping his senses restrained, he would have noticed a cultivator this close, and mortals simply weren’t much of a threat anymore – but a little caution never hurt anyone.

  The hallway beyond was a stark departure from the reception area. The plush rugs gave way to bare, polished floorboards that creaked faintly underfoot. The walls here weren’t panelled in warm wood but were solid plaster, punctuated by a series of heavy, iron-bound doors.

  They reached the end of the hall, stopping before a door that looked more like the entrance to a vault than an office. It was reinforced with bands of black iron, the wood dark and scarred. Feng produced a heavy key from his belt, the metal clinking softly in the quiet corridor, and unlocked it with a practised twist.

  He pushed the door open and stepped inside, beckoning for Jiang to follow.

  Feng’s office was smaller than Jiang expected, but well-appointed. A heavy desk of dark wood dominated the space, its surface occupied by neatly stacked ledgers, an inkstone, and a small brazier that took the edge off the winter chill. A single, high window let in a trickle of grey light. There was a faint smell of ink, paper, and some kind of spiced tea.

  On one wall, a rack of scrolls hung labelled and sorted. On the opposite wall, three more of the jade blocks rested on narrow shelves at equal intervals. None of them were vibrating.

  Feng closed the door carefully behind them and, somewhat conspicuously, did not lock it. He moved around the desk, not quite putting it between them but close enough that it would be a barrier if Jiang suddenly decided to lunge across the room.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Please, sit,” Feng said, gesturing to a cushioned chair in front of the desk even as he sank into his own seat. “Or stand, if you prefer. Whatever is most comfortable for you, honoured sir. Please, forgive the lack of comforts back here. I find the trappings of hospitality are best left where the customers can appreciate them. In here, I prefer function.”

  “I’ll stand,” he said.

  “Of course, of course.” Feng bobbed his head several times, then clasped his hands together on the desk, fingers lacing and unlacing as if they couldn’t bear to be still. “Then, how may this unworthy one be of assistance?”

  “I’m looking for my family,” Jiang said. There was no reason to waste time. “They were taken from a village called Liǔxī by bandits and taken to Qinghe. I have reason to believe they were sold to you.”

  Feng’s fingers stilled. He grew very slightly more formal. “I see,” he said slowly. “And may I ask… what reason you have for this belief, honoured sir?”

  Jiang reached into his cloak and pulled out the folded information packet he had received from the Broker. The paper was creased and a little worn from being read half a dozen times on the road, but the ink was still clear. He flicked it open, scanning the cramped characters again out of habit, then set it on the desk and tapped one line with a finger.

  “The broker in Qingyi kept records,” he said. “He’s dead now, but I have his notes. They say the group taken from Liuxi village was sold on to a man in Biragawa named Feng. That would be you.”

  Feng’s gaze had dropped to the paper as soon as it touched the desk. At the mention of the broker’s death, his shoulders jerked in a tiny flinch, but he didn’t look surprised. If anything, there was a flicker of something like resignation in his eyes.

  “Qingyi,” he repeated softly. “Yes. I had heard there was… unpleasantness in the city of late.”

  He cleared his throat and smoothed his expression. When he spoke again, his voice had that careful, measured tone people used when they knew they were walking near a cliff.

  “Honoured sir, allow me to say at once that this business is not… uncommon,” Feng said. “Men from ruined villages, women, children – they pass through many hands. I am but one link in a long chain. That said,” he added quickly, raising a hand as if warding off Jiang’s looming anger, “I will not insult you by claiming ignorance. Yes, I did accept a consignment from a broker in Qingyi some months ago. It is all recorded. All legal within the laws of Biragawa and the province.” His gaze searched Jiang’s face. “I understand, of course, that a noble cultivator may look with disfavour upon such… necessary trades. But I assure you, I conduct my affairs with the utmost… discretion.”

  Jiang’s hands curled into fists at his sides, keeping his temper under control. The reminder that, legally speaking, this man had done nothing wrong was… infuriating. It highlighted the exact reasons he hadn’t wanted to throw his lot in with the Azure Sky Sect – by joining, he knew he would be expected to uphold the values of the Sect, regardless of whether or not they conflicted with his own values.

  “My mother’s name is Tian Xieren,” he said, each word clipped. “My sister is Tian Xiaoyu. Check your records.”

  Feng swallowed nervously. “Of course. Of course, honoured sir. Names are most helpful. Just a moment.” He pulled a thick ledger toward him, fingers fumbling slightly at the edges of the pages before he forced them to steady and began flipping through.

  “Tian… Tian…” Feng muttered, scanning lines of cramped script. “Xieren… Xiaoyu… ah.” His finger stopped. His eyes flicked back and forth as he read, then stilled entirely.

  For a moment, his expression went oddly blank. Then he exhaled, a short, tight sound, and his shoulders lowered by a fraction. He somehow simultaneously looked relieved and even more tense at the same time.

  “Well?” Jiang demanded.

  Feng hesitated, then turned the ledger so Jiang couldn’t see the writing and rested both hands on either side of it, as if anchoring himself.

  “Yes,” he said. “Your mother and sister were part of the consignment from Liuxi. There is no mistake. Their names are here.” He tapped the page lightly. “They were… purchased shortly after their arrival in Biragawa.”

  “By who?” The words came out like a growl, though he had known that this outcome was likely. Still, the knowledge that someone had purchased his family like livestock…

  Feng’s gaze dropped to the ledger again. He licked his lips.

  “The Ninefold Jade Sect,” he said.

  The room seemed to tilt for a heartbeat. Jiang’s breath left him in a thin, controlled exhale.

  “Explain,” he said.

  Feng rushed to fill the silence, words tripping over one another in his haste. “It is not unusual, honoured sir. The great sects keep an eye on the markets. They have agents, watchers, people who look for… potential. When your family arrived, one of the Sect’s representatives happened to be in attendance. They examined the stock.” He winced, realising how that sounded, and corrected himself quickly. “They observed the new arrivals. It was discovered that your younger sister possesses Qi sensitivity. A rare gift, especially from such humble origins.”

  Jiang’s jaw clenched at the word stock, but he let it pass. For now. “So they bought them,” he said.

  “Yes.” Feng nodded, relief flickering in his eyes at Jiang’s calm tone, even if it was only surface-deep. “At once. Full price, plus a generous premium for exclusive rights. It was all very swift. The Sect does not haggle when it finds something it wants.”

  “And my mother?” Jiang asked. His voice felt like it belonged to someone else.

  “Also purchased,” Feng said. “As… as an attendant. The Sect values loyalty, and it is easier to secure loyalty when family remains together, you understand.”

  That was… well, as much as he hated to admit it, things could be a lot worse. Of course, the fact that his family was purchased by a Sect made things very, very complicated for him, but it also meant that they were likely being taken care of – and, crucially, they hadn’t been separated.

  “Can you get them back?” he asked.

  Feng blinked. “Honoured sir, I…” He laughed, a short, brittle sound that died almost at once. “The Ninefold Jade Sect is not a merchant house. I facilitated the sale as an intermediary. Once the papers were signed and the funds transferred, my part in the matter ended. Your family is no longer… legally associated with my establishment. They are under the Sect’s protection now.”

  Jiang felt something cold settle in his gut. “Protection,” he repeated.

  Feng flinched, but, to his credit, didn’t try to defend the word. “If you wish to see them,” he said carefully, “you will need to deal with the Sect directly. They maintain an outer compound here in Biragawa. Many of their disciples and stewards use this city as a base. If… if there is to be any negotiation, it will be through them. Not through me.”

  It was hard to argue with the logic, and Jiang hated that. He hated that the man was right.

  He drew a slow breath, letting it out through his nose. The pain in his meridians pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a constant reminder that losing his temper here – now – would be worse than useless. If he killed Feng, the Ninefold Jade Sect would hear about it within the day. They might hear about it anyway, but at least this way, he wouldn’t be starting the conversation by explaining a corpse.

  “Do you know exactly where they are?” Jiang asked, trying to get something useful from this conversation. “In the Sect compound.”

  Feng shook his head, clearly not relishing delivering more bad news. “Unfortunately not, honoured guest. We only keep a record of the details of the transaction itself – names, prices, dates. Once they left this house, their handling became an internal matter for the Ninefold Jade Sect. I do not have the… authority to inquire further.”

  So… the man was useless to him.

  Jiang stared at him, letting the silence in the office stretch. Feng didn’t flinch, but Jiang could see the tension in the set of his jaw. The man knew he was delivering bad news to someone who could kill him – and however much the man had tried to claim that slavery was just a business, he was clearly aware that it was rather more personal for the family of the slaves he’d sold.

  If anything, that made Jiang want to kill him more. It was one thing to be so devoid of morals that you simply didn’t see anything wrong with slavery; it was another thing entirely to know the effect it had on the people involved and still go along with it. The urge to draw his sword was stronger than he would like to admit.

  He reminded himself that it would serve no purpose.

  Killing Feng wouldn’t bring him any closer to his family. It wouldn’t hurt the Ninefold Jade Sect. It would just be murder – a momentary release of frustration that solved nothing. It was the kind of thing Gao Leng would have done.

  “Fine,” Jiang said, standing.

  Feng exhaled, a short, controlled breath. His shoulders loosened a fraction of an inch. “I… thank you for your understanding, honoured guest.”

  Jiang didn’t reply, already striding out the door without looking back, trying to ignore the part of him that whispered he was making a mistake.