The Silent Path

Chapter 9: The Silent Path

Baifang moved through the forest, the night air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. His body was tired, weighed down by the long hours of travel and the burden of his aunt's body still wrapped in his arms. Each step felt like an eternity, the weight of her death, the rage that fueled him, and the cold grip of sorrow intertwining. His thoughts churned with anger, frustration, and a desperate need to find his sister. The woman's words from earlier had vanished into the background of his mind; he had no time for such warnings. Every step he took brought him closer to the Zhao family—and to the answers he craved.

The forest seemed unnaturally quiet tonight, the usual rustle of nocturnal creatures gone, leaving only the occasional whisper of wind through the branches. Baifang's senses were on edge, every snap of a twig or shift in the air sharpening his awareness. He wasn't sure if the silence was because of his own inner turmoil or if something more sinister lay ahead.

His thoughts kept returning to his aunt—her body cold and lifeless, her face still haunting him. He had failed her. He had failed to protect her from the violence of this world. The only thing that kept him from collapsing under the weight of it all was his sister. Xiaomei. His last tie to any semblance of family. She had been taken. By the Zhao men. He had seen them, heard their threats, their laughter. He could still hear them in his head, and the fury that bloomed inside him was enough to drown out any remaining doubts.

The forest thickened as he continued, the trees taller and more imposing. The sky above was barely visible now, the moonlight filtering down in patches through the dense canopy. His pace slowed as he scanned the surroundings, always alert for any movement. His hand, still gripping his aunt's body, twitched with the hunger for the Qi that had consumed him. But there was no time for such distractions. He needed information. He needed to find Xiaomei.

After several more hours of walking, Baifang noticed two figures ahead, their silhouettes barely visible against the thickening darkness. They stood near a massive, twisted tree, one of the ancient ones that dotted the forest. The man was sharpening a blade, his movements deliberate but relaxed, while the woman appeared to be inspecting something in her hands—roots or herbs perhaps. There was something about their presence that felt wrong, out of place, like they didn't belong in this wild, untamed part of the world.

Baifang hesitated, taking a moment to observe them from a distance. His instincts told him that these weren't ordinary travelers. He couldn't place why, but there was something about the way they moved, the way they carried themselves, that suggested they knew this forest far better than he did. The man's sharp, calculating eyes flicked toward him as though he had already sensed Baifang's approach.

Baifang gripped the bundle of his aunt's body tighter and prepared himself, drawing on the remnants of the Qi that still surged through his veins. His energy was low, but his fury had not dulled. He stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound on the soft forest floor.

The man didn't flinch. Instead, he finished sharpening his blade with a slow, rhythmic motion, his eyes never leaving Baifang. The woman, hearing the movement, looked up from her task. Her eyes scanned him as well, noting the bundle in his arms, the weary set of his shoulders, the hard glint in his eyes.

"You're far from home," the man said, his voice calm but edged with something Baifang couldn't quite place—perhaps a trace of amusement or suspicion.

Baifang didn't answer right away. His mind was too focused on his sister, on the urgency that burned in his chest. He could already feel his frustration building. He didn't have time to waste.

"I'm looking for someone," Baifang said, his voice low and measured. He wasn't here to make friends, and he wasn't interested in talking about his past. "Have you seen anyone pass through here—people, perhaps—headed north?"

The man didn't seem startled by the question. He finished sharpening his blade, then set it aside, his eyes flicking briefly to the woman. She had straightened now, watching him with a steady gaze, her expression unreadable.

"People come and go," the man said with a shrug. "But not many pass through these parts without reason. What's your business?"

Baifang's grip tightened involuntarily around the fabric of his aunt's body, the pain of her loss still raw and fresh in his mind. "My sister," he said, his voice breaking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried to steady himself. "She was taken. By the Zhao family. I'm looking for her."

The woman's expression didn't change, but there was a subtle shift in the air, a quiet tension that seemed to settle over the clearing. The man didn't respond immediately, his gaze lingering on Baifang as though evaluating him.

"You think the Zhao family's up north?" the man asked, his tone even. "They've got business all over, but they rarely stay in one place long."

Baifang clenched his jaw, feeling the burning frustration inside him rise again. "I'm not asking for your opinion," he snapped, his patience wearing thin. "I just need to know where they are. Do you know anything or not?"

The woman, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. There was no hostility in her movement, just a quiet sense of purpose. She was dressed in simple robes, but there was an aura of calm about her that contrasted sharply with Baifang's raw urgency.

"There's a village up north, along the river," she said. Her voice was steady, calm. "That's your best chance. If the Zhao men are anywhere nearby, they'd be there."

Baifang nodded, already turning away, his feet already moving toward the path that would lead him north. The village. That was the answer he needed. His focus had shifted entirely, and the strangers' presence now felt like little more than a fleeting inconvenience.

"The river's dangerous," the woman added, her voice softer now, almost as if speaking more to herself than to him. "The village doesn't like strangers. And they don't take kindly to questions."

Baifang didn't stop. He didn't need warnings or advice. He didn't care about the village's rules or its people. His only goal was his sister.

"I'll deal with them when I get there," he said over his shoulder, his voice hard, final.

The man didn't respond. The woman simply watched him, her gaze unwavering, but Baifang didn't turn back to see her face as he walked away. There was no need. The path ahead was all that mattered.

The forest grew darker, the trees growing taller and more oppressive as the moonlight was swallowed by the dense canopy above. Baifang's thoughts turned inward again. He could feel the hunger for Qi still lingering at the edges of his consciousness, whispering to him like an old friend. The power, the strength it offered—it was like a drug, and every step toward the village brought him closer to satisfying that hunger.

But the longer he walked, the quieter the forest seemed. The wind died down completely, and all that remained was the sound of his footsteps and the dull throb of his pulse in his ears. Baifang's grip on the bundle of his aunt's body tightened once more. He had no time for distractions, no time for thoughts of power.