Chapter 11: The Arrow's Alert

Ba Hu Zhuang Village

The village chief ascended the creaking wooden stairs, groaning under his weight. In one hand, he held a glass of fresh milk, still emitting a faint steam in the cool night air. With a gentle yet firm knock, he tapped on Xue Sha's room door before turning the knob and entering without waiting for a response.

The dim moonlight filtered through the window, bathing the room in a silvery glow that revealed Xue Sha sitting on the bed. His legs were crossed in the lotus position, and his breathing was so slow and deep that it barely disturbed the silence of the night. Sensing the presence of the village chief, Xue Sha slowly opened his eyes, showing a flash of surprise.

The village chief approached with silent steps and placed the glass of milk on the bedside table, next to a bronze candlestick casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls. "It's late, Xiao Xue. Time to sleep; it's not good for you to stay up meditating for so long," he said with a voice that, though kind, carried the weight of experience and concern.

"I'm just trying to better understand the technique," murmured Xue Sha, his gaze still fixed on the empty space in front of him, as if he could see the invisible threads of qi flowing around him.

The village chief nodded, understanding the young man's passion for learning. "Alright," he said, smoothly changing the subject. "By the way, I almost forgot to mention it, but in three months, the junior academy classes start in Nuoding City. Would you like to attend?"

The proposal took Xue Sha by surprise. "Couldn't you teach me? Being a Spiritual King, surely you are much better than the teachers, who are only Spiritual Elders at most," he replied with a mix of hope and reluctance in his voice.

The village chief let out a soft laugh, one that needed no words to express his refusal. The smile on his face was warm, but his eyes reflected an unyielding firmness.

Seeing the smile of the village chief, Xue Sha understood there was no room for negotiation. With a sigh of acceptance, he nodded. "I will go to the academy."

"That's a good decision," affirmed the village chief, satisfied. "Now, drink the milk. It will help you sleep. And don't forget to blow out the candles; you need to rest well for your training."

With a warm and paternal "Good night," the village chief left the room, closing the door carefully. Xue Sha took the glass and drank the milk, feeling the warm and comforting liquid go down his throat, carrying with it the promise of a peaceful sleep.

"Good night," Xue Sha replied softly, though the village chief had already departed. He blew out the candles with a gentle puff, and the room was enveloped in darkness. He lay back on his bed, letting the fatigue of the day slowly carry him into the world of dreams.

Meanwhile, the village chief, after saying goodbye to Xue Sha, began to descend the stairs leading to the ground floor of his home. His steps, now slower and more contemplative, echoed in the nocturnal stillness. He reached his office, an austere space but full of character, where each piece of furniture and object told a story of service and dedication to his people.

He sat in the chair behind his solid wood desk, showing the marks and scratches of years of use. He put on a pair of simple-framed glasses, which gave him an air of wisdom and experience. Before him, a pile of papers awaited his attention: village documents, requests from the villagers, harvest reports, and more. With a sigh, he took the pen and began to work, immersing himself in the responsibilities that came with his position.

The night advanced silently, and the only sound in the office was the scratching of the pen on paper. Suddenly, the tranquility was broken by a sharp whistle that cut through the air. An arrow burst through the open window, passing mere inches from his face and embedding itself forcefully into the opposite wall.

The village chief sprang up, his heart pounding with surprise and imminent danger. With a mix of fear and urgency, he approached the arrow, noting how the tip still trembled from the impact. His gaze turned worried, aware that a message of this nature boded nothing good.

With hands betraying slight unease, he pulled the arrow from the wall and examined the cylindrical compartment attached to it. He unscrewed the cap carefully and extracted a carefully rolled letter.

The village chief, with the letter in hand, began to decipher the message, but there was no ink staining the paper. Instead, he found a series of carefully made perforations, each shaping the silhouette of Chinese characters. Initial concern gave way to anger as he read the letter.

After a few moments of deep reflection, he made a decision. He stood up and, with the letter in hand, approached the candle still burning on his desk. With a firm gesture, he held the paper over the flame. The perforations seemed to dance in the hot air before the fire consumed the message, turning it into ash and smoke that rose into the darkness.

Without delay, he left his house and ventured into the night. The light of candles shining through the windows of a nearby house served as his guide. He arrived at the door and knocked urgently. A man of sleepy demeanor appeared, middle-aged, resembling the one who had awakened the martial spirit of the cat. His name was Zhu Long.

"Chief, what's happening at this hour?" asked Zhu Long, yawning and trying to clear the sleep from his mind.

But meeting the grave gaze of the village chief, Zhu Long tensed, his posture shifting from relaxation to alert. "It's an emergency. Gather the others and come to my house," instructed the village chief with a voice that brooked no argument.

"What's happened?" inquired Zhu Long, now fully awake.

"The young master is in danger," was the concise and grave reply.

Zhu Long nodded gravely, aware that every second counted. He accepted the order and left his home, heading to other houses to gather more village men.

Meanwhile, the village chief returned to his home, where he would wait for them in the dining room. He lit a small iron stove and placed a finely decorated porcelain teapot with dragon and phoenix motifs on it. He carefully selected tea leaves from a carved wooden box, pouring them into the teapot with ceremonial movements. The water began to boil, and he poured the hot liquid over the leaves, which slowly unfolded, releasing their aroma.

He took a small tea cup, held it between his hands to feel the warmth, and brought it to his lips, savoring the bitter and comforting green tea. The drink was a small comfort in the face of the approaching storm, but it provided a moment of peace to gather his thoughts and prepare for what was to come.

After drinking the cup of tea, the village chief heard the sound of approaching footsteps. One by one, six men entered the room, led by Zhu Long, all with somber expressions that foretold the gravity of the situation. The village chief gestured with his hand, indicating for them to follow him as he headed towards his office.

Upon entering, he sat in his carved wooden chair, which creaked under his weight, while the others stood, forming a semicircle in front of him. The tension in the room was palpable, and one of the men, unable to contain his unease, broke the silence with a voice that distilled a mix of anger and anxiety.

"Who dares to want to kill the young master?" he asked, with a tone that suggested he was more than ready to face the danger.

The village chief took a deep breath before responding, his gaze slowly shifting over each of the men present, ensuring they understood the magnitude of the information he was about to share.

"I have just received a letter from an infiltrator we have in the Hall of Spirits," he began, his voice low but firm. "Today, during a meeting, there was talk of wanting to kill the young master for refusing to join the Hall of Spirits. They also told me they will come in three days."