Pain lanced up his arm from the savage cut across his bicep that pulled with every movement, but it was nothing against the cold chill radiating from the hole in his gut. Where he knew something vital had been punctured just by the lack of burning pain. And the liquid heat spilling over the fingers clamped to his wound was also an obvious tell.

He had known his target was someone of great talent. After all, Zhengqing-zun had tried to recruit the Liu Cultivator several times, an effort the Sui Sect Leader didn’t extend very often. And having fought the Liu swordsman, Mùchén was forced to acknowledge the man had skill. The trap had been laid perfectly, and the two Liu sect members had walked right into his clutches. His shadow technique was one of the best in his sect, and not only that, but he had even used that damned poison he despised so much. It was designed specifically to kill cultivators, bypassing their body and spirit cultivation by attacking their meridians directly. As far as he was aware, there was no way to halt the process once you were infected with the specialised poison. But that cursed Zhou Jinhai had done exactly that! Mùchén knew his aim had been true, the powder aimed right at the cultivator’s face. And he had even coated his dagger in it as well, even though it was a less effective and far slower method that ingestion or inhalation. Even if the Liu cultivator had held his breath for the entire fight -something so remote it simply wasn’t worth trying to plan for- the powder would still have entered through his eyes, nose and ears. So how?!

Fuming as he stepped from tree to tree, travailing almost instantaneously across the canopy with the use of his high-level qinggong skills, the black-clad assassin considered his next step. He could go back and finish Zhou Jinhai off, thought there seemed little point as the man would surely be dead by nightfall. He had already confirmed the death of the other Liu sect member. Hissing through clenched teeth as his wounds started to feel like liquid fire had been poured under his skin, he paused his run and stood atop the tree, swaying lightly in the brisk breeze as he considered his condition. He needed to tend to his wounds, and soon. Even his high level of cultivation wouldn’t prevent his death if he continued to bleed out like he was.

It was as he stood atop the tallest tree trying to decide where to go, that the Sui Sect’s top assassin did indeed pass out. His body going limp and dropping like a stone from branches that could no longer support his weight without the active use of qinggong.

The thud of his landing caused all the birds in the surrounding area to take flight with squawking cries of alarm. The sudden uproar in a normally peaceful forest gaining the attention of a wandering figure. Pausing in their slowly meandering search for edibles, the cloaked person diverted from the barely visible path they were on and headed into the dense undergrowth, heading towards the origin of the heavy and rather meaty sounding thud.

The scent of blood easily guided the way as the Yanhui clan member weaved like a ghost through the forest, the reaching branches and hanging vines seeming to gently sway out of his way as he travailed. Soon enough he came across the shallow crater that the falling body had formed. Tilting his head, the hood shifting just enough so that a beam of light was cast across the angle of his jaw, the figure examined the prone cultivator. After a long moment, he stepped down into the shallow bowl of earth with a soft sigh and crouched down, pale fingers stretching to rest just under the stranger’s nose. Mildly surprised that the figure was indeed still alive, even if it seemed they wouldn’t remain that way for much longer, the Yanhui cultivator reached out and hefted the substantial body up onto his shoulder in a rather undignified carry. Once properly balanced, he hopped up out of the ditch and strode off, the unconscious blood-covered body draped like a deer over one shoulder, his basket with it’s gathered fruits and roots, dangling from his other hand.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the small hut where he was staying. Setting the basket on the small wobbly table he carried the prone form through the first ‘room’, passing between the hanging cloth dividers into the back space where an old tattered bedframe sat. Xie Feng hadn’t been there long, so the place was barely habitable. But it had a leak-proof roof and the door was easily secured against wandering animals, so it had been perfect for Xie Feng’s needs. Eyeing his only sleeping spot he sighed and carefully set the unconscious deadweight down, silently mourning the loss of his only set of blankets as the body proceeded to bleed all over them.

After divesting himself of his own cloak and sword, He sat down on the edge of the creaky bamboo frame before pulling the stranger’s hood down. A narrow, pinched face that was still youthful with high cheekbones and a slender nose, currently marked with dark blood from numerous cuts and grazes. Darker blood stained his lips and chin, clearly heartblood. Lowering his gaze Xie Feng frowned at the obvious sword cuts on his arms and chest, and the dark stain at his waist. Clearly this man had been in a fight with another cultivator. No beast ever wielded a sword, and some of those marks were certainly from strong qi blasts. Without hesitation, he peeled open the blood-soaked cloak and the robe beneath, revealing pale skin mottled in a variety of black, green and yellow. Deep cuts crisscrossed the sickly marbled effect. And blood was everywhere.

But it was the gut wound that required attention first. With steady but quick movements, Xie Feng went and fetched a pail of clean water and several rags. Which he proceeded to stain a dark crimson as he cleaned away the worst of the blood and gore. After cleaning up most of the mess and washing his hands in a clean pail - after all he wasn’t going to get the stranger’s blood all over his own robes - he plucked two small round pills from the pouch at his waist. The first, a vivid yellow colour, was pressed deep into the wound. The second, a sky-blue version, was pressed between the pale lips before strong fingers massaged the unconscious man’s throat until he swallowed. Shaking his head at the waste, Xie Feng allowed himself a moment of annoyance. But at least the pills would keep his guest on this plane of existence until he healed enough to wake and cultivate properly. He’d just have to work off the cost of those two precious items once he was healthy enough to be useful.

Allowing a slight laugh to escape, mostly at his own soft-hearted folly, the Yanhui cultivator finished cleaning up and bandaging the stranger’s body. Tending to the few other dire injuries and leaving the rest to sort themselves out after making sure nothing nasty was stuck in the wounds. Gathering the discarded clothing, as all but the stranger’s under garments had to be disposed off with extreme prejudice, Xie Feng covered him with the blanket and left the curtained off space, moving back into the front part of the old structure to wash up before cooking his dinner.

Days passed with little change in his guest. The wounded cultivator remained unconscious, but his colour gradually returned as his body worked on fixing itself with the energy of the two powerful pills. Xie Feng tended to the prone form, wiping away the fever sweat, spooning broth past dry lips and cleaning up the bed as needed. He wasn’t really sure why he was bothering, but he had little else to do during his unwanted seclusion, so he figured this was at least a decent distraction. And besides, he was curious as to who his guest really was. Unlike most cultivators, he had no clan insignia on him or his clothing, or at least none that had survived the devastating fight that had torn up his body and effects so badly. Dark clothes, the hood and the face mask all indicated someone up to no good, but since the man was at death’s door and wouldn’t be any kind of threat to a full-blooded Yanhui any time soon, Xie Feng didn’t concern himself with the details. He’d simply get the full story out of the man once he woke up.

It was mid afternoon a week later when Mùchén stirred. The dull throbbing pain of healing wounds was what finally roused him from the darkness where he had been trapped. His gut was a banked fire that roared to screaming life the moment he attempted to sit up. Instantly going still to relax the torn muscles, he tried to press a hand to the thick bandaging around his middle, only to realise that his arm was weighed down with something thick and heavy. Struggling to open his eyes, he had to grit his teeth to prevent the shout of pain that fought to free itself. It was a long moment before both the searing agony in his centre and the swimming of his vision both settled enough for him to carefully squint into the bright room. Old battered wood met his gaze, and it took a moment before he recognised the blurry barricade as a wall. Forcing his eyes further open he narrowed them at a… ceiling. So, he was inside somewhere…  His memory of the fight was vivid and sharp, and he recalled heading back to the Sui clan outpost in the area. But he was certain he hadn’t been anywhere near his destination when.. He had fallen unconscious?

Letting his eyes close as pain throbbed through his skull, he tried to figure out what had happened and where he was. The weight atop him was warm and soft. So he was covered by a blanket, in a bed. Panic suddenly flooded his thoughts as he realised he could feel the blanket where ever the tightness of bandages wasn’t. He was naked? Heart pounding, which only made the pain worse, he wiggled his fingers, walking his hand over to where his lag lay limply. Cloth touched his seeking digits. Thank the Heavens! He was least partly dressed. The idea of fleeing for his life without any clothing was… beyond what he could take right then. Calming down now that he knew he was safe, at least for the time being, and hadn’t been totally stripped naked, he waited for his vision to slowly clear. He needed information. Then to figure out how much he could move. He had to escape this place and get back to the clan headquarters to deliver his report.

As his sight gradually cleared up, he examined the small room he was in. Cloth hangings formed the far wall, and he could hear someone moving about beyond. So that had to be the entrance to this place. Apart from the tatty hangings, there was an old rug on the floor, clothes piled upon and draped over various objects around the room. No personal effects, no sense of permanence. So he had been found by a wanderer? Or just a hermit who eschewed worldly goods? Having tried to move his limbs and gotten no where, he knew he was stuck in the bed for the time being. And judging from how far his body had healed and the fact that he was hungry but not starving to death, the stranger who had found him had been caring for him. Letting himself relax a little, he simply rested - since he lacked any other real option. And waited for his savior to show himself.

It was mid afternoon by the time the hanging ‘door’ was swished aside and a tall, strikingly handsome man walked in. Tall with wide shoulders and a slim waist, he was dressed in simple robes that gave no hint as to his affiliation or attitude. Long hair fell about his shoulders in a disheveled yet appealing fashion, seeming to indicate he had no care for appearances. It lent him a slightly wild air, as if he were a forest creature taking human form. Upward slanted, narrow fox eyes gleamed with an inner amusement that was matched by the half smirk lazily curling his slightly thin lips. In fact, the fox-like appearance was in more than just his eyes, as what Mùchén had initially assumed was a rather strange hair crown moved. Small, fur-covered fox ears stood atop the stranger’s head, upright and alert. Mùchén felt his skin go cold with sweat as he stared in horror at the fox demon that was headed his way. He had heard all kinds of stories, of fox spirits bewitching a man and consuming his cultivation along with his flesh. Of dark promises with steep prices, of madness and blood and death.

Despite his desperate attempts to make his body move, his limbs barely twitched. Panic surged as the demon paced leisurely across the room to sit with elegant poise on the edge of his bed. Mùchén’s gaze dropped to the claw-tipped fingers, expecting a skinning blade or maybe bloody hunks of human flesh. But what greeted his frantic gaze was… a bowl of broth? Blinking as his brain refused to accept the mundane alongside the demonic, he could only gasp and splutter for a long moment. The fox demon chuckled softly, a low husky sound that had Mùchén’s skin crawling.

“Stop trying to give yourself a heart attack. I’m not going to eat you.” The voice was deep and soft, with a little purr to it that turned his blood to ice and yet warmed his skin into a dark flush. It was obvious why so many stories around fox demons were of the carnal variety. Had this man been a woman, Mùchén could have understood why so many men signed their life away to such creatures. Licking his lips, he scowled up at the demon perched so casually at his hip. He wanted to demand answers, but his lips barely moved as his voice croaked out a weak gasp.

Shaking his head, Xie Feng smiled. “Just relax. I drugged you so you wont be able to move and rip open your wounds.” Not only was this man a cultivator, he was clearly a dangerous swordsman. Such men tended to react badly to waking up vulnerable in an unknown location. Xie Feng had been drugging the meals he’d made for the stranger the last few days just for this reason. All his hard work, and his two pills, had gone into keeping this one alive. It would be a shame if he offed himself on accident by having an adverse reaction to finding himself still living.