It might have just been his impatience, but it felt like the final approach to Qinghe was a slow crawl. What had been a single track through the thinning woods widened into a road of packed, rutted earth, then again into a broad causeway paved with immense, uneven flagstones. The fresh forest air quickly became thick with the smell of coal smoke, damp earth, and unwashed bodies. Even from a distance, the low murmur of the distant city resolved into distinct sounds: the shouts of vendors, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the rumble of a thousand conversations pressed together.

Despite the persistent chill of winter, the road was crowded. A long, disjointed queue of merchants, travellers, and farmers snaked its way towards the gatehouse, a testament to the city's unceasing pulse.

"I thought winter would slow things down," Jiang commented, his voice low.

Atop the lead wagon, Han grunted, pulling his collar tighter against the wind. "Long-range caravans like ours are rare this time of year. But the city still has to eat. These are mostly locals, farmers from the valley towns and coastal fishermen. Qinghe's maw is always open."

The gates themselves were a marvel of grim utility. Two massive slabs of iron-banded timber were set into a wall of dark, soot-stained stone that climbed higher than any structure Jiang had ever seen. Stern-faced guards in boiled leather and steel caps moved amongst the travellers, though they seemed more bored than alert.

More than anything else, it was the sheer scale that Jiang found intimidating. He'd known, in a distant sort of way, that cities were large – but seeing it up close was another thing entirely. He was suddenly very glad for Han's offer to introduce him to an information broker, and could now see that it was probably more of a kindness on the caravan master's part than an actual fear of being attacked.

Probably, anyway – Jiang was increasingly realising that his short time at the Azure Sky Sect and on the road had not prepared him for this kind of situation. For all he knew, violence was more common in the cities than out in the wild.

The line shuffled forward with painstaking slowness. Each wagon or group of travellers that reached the gate was subjected to an inspection that somehow seemed both perfunctory and time-consuming. Strangely enough, some inspections went much quicker than others. Jiang couldn't see what triggered the difference – some of the larger wagons were waved through with barely a glance, while the smaller ones were inspected thoroughly.

Eventually, it was their turn. Two city guards, walking with a rolling swagger that was clearly meant to project an authority they might not otherwise possess, approached, thumbing the hilt of their swords pointedly.

"Right then," one drawled, "who's in charge here?"

"That's me," Han said amiably. "Just finished a run from the west. Cargo manifest is in order; just got some goods and a few passengers looking for a safe ride to the big city."

The guard grunted, taking the proffered manifest without much interest. "From the west, eh? Long trip for this time of year. Must have been trouble on the road." It wasn't a question so much as a statement of fact, an opening for negotiation.

"Nothing my boys couldn't handle," Han replied smoothly.

Jiang noticed for the first time that the caravan guards were all standing a little straighter than usual, not to mention the expressions on their faces were more serious than Jiang had seen at any time during the trip – aside from when they were being actively attacked.

It wasn't until Wei Ren caught his gaze and winked, puffing his chest out a little, that Jiang understood they were… peacocking, for lack of a better word. Showing off in front of the city guards. He wondered briefly if there was any sense of competition between the two groups or if this was just an effort to seem competent while under official scrutiny.

By the time Jiang turned back to the front, the conversation between Han and the guard seemed to have come to a close. Interestingly, the guard in question was handing the manifest back and waving them forward. Clearly, theirs was one of the caravans that didn't merit a closer inspection.

As the lead wagon creaked into motion, Jiang caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. The guard who had spoken to Han was turning away, and in that same motion, his hand dipped casually into a pouch at his belt. It was a subtle gesture, but Jiang saw the unmistakable glint of silver before the leather flap closed. The realisation hit him almost immediately – the quick inspection hadn't been a matter of luck or Han's reputation. It had been bought. All of the wagons proceeding into the city without inspection had bribed the guards.

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Han, who seemed to notice everything, saw the direction of Jiang's gaze and let out a low chuckle. "Welcome to Qinghe, kid. That's the price of convenience."

Jiang's brow furrowed, and he lowered his voice so only the caravan master could hear. "What if his captain sees? Won't he get in trouble?"

The question made Han laugh again, a short, humourless bark. As they passed under the great stone arch of the gatehouse, he casually waved a hand in the direction of a bored-looking officer overseeing the traffic. "See him?" Han said, not even bothering to turn his head. "He knows. Best case, he's turning a blind eye. More likely, he gets a cut of everything his men skim off the top. It's just another toll, is all."

That… said troubling things about the state of the law in the city.

Then again, it was none of his business. He wasn't here to be a force for justice – he was here to find information. Once he had that, he would be gone. If anything, it could be an advantage, considering that the information broker they were going to see was unlikely to be on the side of the law.

The thought was pushed from his mind the moment they cleared the deep shadow of the gatehouse arch. The noise of the city, which had been a dull roar from the outside, crashed over him in a physical wave. The thoroughfare they entered was a churning river of humanity, a chaotic flow of merchants, labourers, and street urchins that parted grudgingly for the caravan. Buildings of stone and dark, heavy timber loomed on all sides, packed so tightly together that they seemed to lean on one another for support, their upper floors jutting out to steal sunlight from the street below.

More than the sight or the sound, it was the smell that struck him. In the wild, every scent was distinct – pine, damp earth, maybe the smoke from a lone campfire. Here, a thousand smells were mashed together into a single, potent assault: the greasy aroma of frying meat from a street stall, the sharp tang of sweat and unwashed bodies, the foulness of an overflowing gutter, and the ever-present haze of coal smoke that stung the back of his throat. Even the Qi of the place was a chaotic mess, a muddled, restless sea of countless lives pressed together, a stark contrast to the clean, sharp feel of the wilderness.

His head swivelled from side to side, his eyes wide as he tried to take it all in at once. He was so engrossed in the overwhelming spectacle that he didn't notice Jin sidle up beside him until the man spoke, a grin on his face.

"Bit different to the frontier, eh?"

"Just a little," Jiang replied absently. "Why do so many people want to live together? The smell alone…"

Wei Ren laughed, muscling into the conversation with his typical lack of subtlety. "That, my friend, is the smell of civilisation! Don't you know, living in the stench makes you inherently better than everyone else?"

Jiang gave the man a confused look, but Wei Ren simply gestured around them. Sure enough, when Jiang looked, he found that nearly everyone passing them on the street looked either vaguely condescending or vaguely smug. He watched them curiously for a moment before dismissing them with a shrug and going back to looking around. Frankly, the buildings were more interesting than the people – he'd never seen so many buildings crammed so close to one another before. What if there was a fire? Would the whole city just burn down?

The caravan kept to the main road, a wide, cobbled artery that clearly led towards the heart of the city's commerce. The further they went, the more the city's scent profile began to change. The general odour of urban life was gradually undercut by a sharper, saltier smell, a briny tang mixed with the unmistakable stink of fish.

"Where are we going?" he asked, having to raise his voice to be heard as he turned to Han.

"Near the docks!" Han called back over his shoulder, not taking his eyes from the road. "We'll unload our goods in the big warehouses they have there – not much point in splitting up before then, and the caravan sticks together until we reach our destination anyway."

True to Han's word, the main road eventually opened into a vast, walled-in yard paved with the same heavy flagstones as the causeway. The air here was thick with the cries of gulls and the bellowed orders of foremen, the salty air doing little to mask the scent of tar and fish. Beyond the yard's walls, Jiang could see the tall, bare masts of ships, their rigging like a complex spiderweb against the bruised grey sky. A portly man in a fine, if slightly stained, tunic emerged from the largest of the warehouses to greet Han, and the two immediately fell into a quiet, business-like conversation.

This was the end of the line. The few remaining passengers hopped down from their wagons, approaching Han to settle their accounts before melting into the city, some offering a brief, sincere thanks to Jiang as they went. Wei Ren, Jin, and the other hired guards lined up to get their pay.

"We'll be at the Leaky Kettle for a few nights," Wei Ren said, clapping a heavy hand on Jiang's shoulder after pocketing his silver. "Don't be a stranger. We've still got a few things we can teach you about swinging that sword of yours." Jin gave a quieter nod of agreement before they and the other guards trudged off, no doubt in search of a hot meal and a strong drink.

Jiang stood off to the side, his back against the rough timber of a wagon as he watched the methodical chaos. Men from the warehouse crew swarmed their wagons, unloading crates and bundles with practised efficiency. The sheer number of people was still jarring, a stark contrast to the quiet emptiness of the road, but he was no longer completely overwhelmed.

As he watched, he started to see the patterns in the madness, the invisible pathways people followed as they moved through the yard. There was an oddly organic, living feel to it, a complex dance of avoidance and purpose as workers weaved around each other without a single wasted step. It was like watching currents in a river.

To his surprise, as he focused on that rhythmic, flowing energy of the crowd, he felt a faint, sympathetic stirring in his own dantian. His Qi, that heavy, dark sand within him, swirled gently in response to the life around him.

Before he could examine the feeling further, Han separated from the warehouse master and strode over to him. "Alright, our turn. Let's you and I take care of that 'special' delivery, shall we?"

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