chapter 29 “The Job”

Lu Yan woke to the dim glow of morning pressing through tattered curtains. The air in the room was stale, thick with the scent of damp wood and cold iron. He lay still for a moment, listening. The distant murmur of the city had shifted—no longer the eerie silence of night, but the slow, restless hum of a city that never truly slept.

He rose, his body heavy but his mind sharp. He locked his sword at his waist, fingers grazing the worn leather of the sheath. He had work to do.

Descending the stairs, he found Sariah already behind the counter, pouring something dark and steaming into a clay mug. She glanced up as he approached, eyes sharp beneath the flickering lantern light.

"You're up early," she noted, setting the mug down.

Lu Yan didn't waste time. "Where's the best place to start? Contracts, bounties—whatever pays."

Sariah set the mug down, studying him with that same unreadable look she'd given him last night. "Depends what you're looking for."

"Something worth my time."

She huffed a quiet breath, wiping her hands on a rag. "Bounty Hall. West side, past the market."

Lu Yan nodded once, about to turn, but her voice cut through the air—lower this time, quieter. "It's open to anyone—mercenaries, hunters, cultivators, and etc"

"Follow the main street. You'll know it when you see it," she said. "And stay sharp."

Lu Yan gave a small nod, his voice calm. "Many thanks."

He pulled the door shut behind him, the wood groaning on its hinges.

Then, he walked.

The streets of Blackvine stretched before him, a maze of uneven stone and packed dirt, buildings leaning like old men whispering secrets. The city breathed in layers—the open stench of the gutters, the iron tang of fresh-cut meat, the burnt oil from forge fires. A drizzle clung to the rooftops, soaking into the worn banners that hung from eaves, their sigils long faded.

Lu Yan moved through it all, his pace steady, unhurried.

A fishmonger dumped a bucket of scales into the street. A woman leaned from a second-story window, wringing water from her sleeves. Somewhere in a nearby alley, the wet sound of a punch landed, followed by a muffled grunt.

He ignored it.

His path carried him through the market, where voices tangled in a ceaseless hum. Vendors hawked their wares with aggressive smiles—jewelry of questionable origin, skewers of sizzling meat, dried herbs bundled in twine. A man in deep blue robes ran his hands over a string of talismans, murmuring under his breath before slipping them into his sleeve.

The further west he walked, the air itself seemed to tighten. The casual bustle faded, replaced by something else. Expectation. Tension.

Then—

A sharp crack.

Not wood breaking—something else.

Gasps rippled through the street.

Lu Yan barely shifted his stride as he approached, his steps soundless against damp stone.

A crowd had gathered before the Bounty Hall, forming a loose ring around the spectacle. The scent of sweat, dust, and blood thickened the air.

A fight.

At the center stood two men.

One—heavy armor, stance wide but desperate. Blood smeared across his jaw. His knuckles, split and raw.

The other—still. Unshaken. His robes, lined with gold, barely stirred in the morning air. He did not need to move. His presence alone was suffocating.

Golden Core cultivator.

The difference in power was absolute.

The armored man lunged—fast, but not fast enough. His blade whistled through the air.

The Golden Core cultivator lifted a hand.

No effort. No hesitation.

The air buckled.

A shockwave rippled outward.

The armored man's body twisted, then slammed into the ground. The impact left a crater in the dirt.

Silence.

Then, murmurs.

"Idiot challenged the wrong man."

"Golden Core? He never had a chance."

"Golden Core Stage 5 versus Golden core stage 1 body-refining brute? Might as well have been a butcher slaughtering a pig."

Lu Yan exhaled through his nose, unmoved. Watching the battle, something in him shifted—an imperceptible crack in his understanding, a step toward enlightenment. This was the gap between realms, the weight of true power pressing down like an unseen mountain. The fight had ended before it even began. The difference was absolute. In the end, power decided everything.

Without a word, he turned, stepping past the crowd and into the Bounty Hall.

Inside, the air was thick—ink, parchment, sweat. Lanterns cast flickering shadows over the walls, where aging notices curled at the edges. Promises of coin in exchange for blood.

The Bounty Hall pulsed with restless energy. Cultivators milled about—some sharp-eyed and battle-worn, their bodies bearing the scars of a hundred battles; others reckless, eager, untouched by failure, their arrogance still untested. Voices clashed over the clinking of cups, the scratch of ink on parchment, the low hum of tension that never left a place like this.

A maid moved through the crowd, balancing a tray of rice wine, dodging a drunken hand with practiced ease. Behind the counter, a grizzled bartender wiped down a chipped mug, his gaze flicking toward a group in the corner—three men murmuring over a bounty notice, their faces half-lit by the lantern glow.

The scent of old liquor, sweat, and ink thickened the air, mixing with something heavier—something metallic, like the memory of spilled blood. The bounty notices lining the walls curled at the edges, their ink bleeding slightly from the damp. Every name written on them was a death sentence waiting to be claimed.

Lu Yan moved through the hall, his boots clicking against the wooden floor. Conversations dipped as he passed. A few glances followed him—some curious, some wary, none lingering too long.

Then, a name cut through the noise.

His name.

Spoken low. Measured. Deliberate.

He stopped.

Somewhere in the room, someone was waiting. Watching.

At the counter, a man built like a boulder sat behind stacks of parchment. His robe was stained with ink and grease, his fingers smudged with charcoal.

"You looking for work?" the man grunted.

Lu Yan placed his hand on the counter. "What's available?"

The man smirked, finally glancing up. His eyes flickered with something—evaluation, calculation. Then, he reached for a stack of scrolls, flipping through them.

"Let's see…" He muttered, running a thick finger down a list. "Newcomer, huh? Qi Condensation Level 3?"

Lu Yan didn't confirm or deny.

The man snorted. "Don't get cocky, kid. Plenty of fresh corpses think they can handle more than they should." He yanked a scroll from the stack and shoved it forward.

Lu Yan unfolded it. The ink in old chinese was slightly smudged, different from modern one but still the words were clear.

Target: Moonshade Beasts—weak, but fast. Hunting them alone required precision.

Reward: Moderate.

Location: North, just beyond the city's outskirts.

Lu Yan traced a finger over the parchment, his mind already calculating to see the level.

(Level 5 and etc)

The fat man watched him. "Take it or leave it."

Lu Yan rolled the scroll shut. "I'll take it."

The man snorted again, shaking his head. "Then try not to die."

Lu Yan didn't bother responding. He turned, stepping into the cold morning air once more.

North. Just past the city's edge.

He pulled his cloak tighter against the wind, eyes narrowing.