With a wry quirk of his brow he lifted the bowl in his hands pointedly. “I brought you dinner.” The sudden and violent shaking of his guest’s head made him sigh in disappointment. Like a mother dealing with her recalcitrant toddler. “I’ve not poisoned you thus far, only drugged you. Why would I start now?” The furious glare he received in return only made him roll his eyes. “Fine. If you are going to act like a brat, I’ll eat it.” Lifting the bowl up high, he caught hold of the spoon and carefully stirred the steaming liquid. After making sure it wasn’t going to burn him, he dipped the spoon in and slurped up the rich broth happily. He slowly but steadily set about eating the entire bowl. About half way through the noises from his guest’s stomach were getting hard to ignore, making Xie Feng’s furred ear twitch in annoyance. Lowering the spoon he turned his head and arched one gracefully swept brow upwards at his uninvited guest, amused to see the dark red hue staining the man’s cheeks even as he still glared silent daggers at Xie Feng. Giving a lazy shrug, the Yanhui cultivator resumed his meal, only turning his attention back to his fuming visitor once the bowl was empty.

“Right. Since you refuse to be civil, I may as well drop the rest of it on you while you can’t argue with me.” Leaning to the side he set the bowl down on the tiny bedside table. Resuming his previous posture, he folded his hands in his lap, head tilting to regard the prone man. “You owe me for two high grade pills, plus a weeks worth of room and board.” He raised one hand slightly as the man on the bed looked like he was trying to protest. “I saved your life, you owe me regardless. So…” Standing from his perch he paced the small space, footsteps unhurried, hands tucked at the small of his back. Looking for all the world like the Zongzhu of a sect pacing his spacious abode. But for the slightly ragged effect of his clothing and the tiny space he had within which to do said pacing.

“A week of menial labour to repay the room and board is fair.” He held a finger to his lips in thought, dark eyes with their slitted cat-like pupils sparkling. “But the two pills…. They cost 10,000 taels. How long will that take to work off with simple jobs about the place? Or do you have some other skills you are willing to trade for the value?” Turning to his captive, the Yanhui smiled a confident, slightly crooked grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes just so. “You still need to finish healing, but now that you are awake, I expect you to cultivate. Don’t waste those pills I gave you.” His smile was still in place, but his gaze had gone predatory, causing the man on the bed to glower darkly. “Oh, and you wont be able to speak until you promise not to start yelling and screaming the minute I release the spell.” Raising his fingers to his chin in thought he regarded the furious looking man. “Hmm… You can’t actually move right now, so… nod twice when you are ready to speak.” Releasing his chin he instead pointed a finger at the mute man. “But I warn you, don’t test me.” With that he shot the other a smirk and turned away, passing through the hanging curtain and vanishing.

Mùchén could only lie there, stiff with fury. Unable to move as the demon had claimed, he could only rant within the confines of his own mind. And while he was grateful to be rescued, he was infuriated by being held captive. It wasn’t long however before his hunger caused painful cramps to wrack his body, pulling at the gut wound and drawing a long low moan from his sealed lips. The pain was getting too intense to ignore, and despite himself he realised that he had been staring at the gently swaying curtains for some time. Was that more food he could smell? Drool pooled in his mouth, almost causing him to choke until he hurriedly swallowed. It looked like he had no choice but to agree to the demon’s demands and get his voice back. Then maybe he could get some food. As much as his situation wounded his pride, he was alive. Had been looked after and was healing. He could have woken up in a much worse situation, all told. So he resolved to at least be civil to the fox demon until he was well enough to escape. He’d come back and kill the demon once he was fully recovered, and after he had reported his mission’s success to his Clan Leader.

It was some time before his host reappeared. The fox ears were still there, atop his head, and the lazy half-smirk still lingered upon his lips, making Mùchén frown. But he kept his resolve and carefully nodded his head twice when the demon looked at him. At the dubious expression he received, he nodded again to confirm. With a snap of the demon’s fingers, he felt the spell that had been on him release and he opened his mouth, dragging in a deep breath. “I’m hungry.” Heat suffused his face again as he heard his own voice blurt out the thought that had been dominating his mind. He hadn’t intended to speak at all, not until he had worked out what to say, but it seemed his body had made the choice for him. “I won’t shout or cause a commotion.” He added at the arched look he received from his host, recalling the terms of their initial agreement. The demon seemed to consider him for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. The rest of the broth should do for now.” Turning the demon ducked back through the curtain and vanished from sight. Mùchén was surprised. He had expected an argument, or at the very least some derision on from the demon. But no… the creature had simply agreed and gone to fetch his meal. Annoyed and now confused, Mùchén could only lay there and wait. Clearly the monster didn’t trust him yet, seeing as he still couldn’t move his limbs more than an inch or two. But this was at least a step up from when he had awoken. Food. Then cultivating to heal faster. Then he’d escape and make his report.

Nodding with satisfaction he watched the curtain until his host reappeared carrying a steaming bowl. The same bowl as earlier. Did the demon only have one bowl? The thought was random and irrelevant, but Mùchén couldn’t help it. He was mentally exhausted, despite apparently having been asleep for a week. He obsessed over the idea as the demon crossed the room and sat down at his side, the old bamboo bed-frame creaking uneasily. To his horror, the spoon was dipped into the bowl and then held out to him. The demon was going to feed him?? Face burning he glared daggers up at the still smiling monster. But the spoon remained there, held out as if the demon had infinite patience. It was only the rapidly worsening pain in his abdomen that finally forced him to submit, lips opening with a slight tremble as his eyes remained locked on the demon’s own, fury hot within them. Beaming as if pleased by the capitulation of his captive, the demon carefully fed him each mouthful, taking time to wipe his chin of the few droplets that spilled free. Eventually the bowl was empty, and the pain within Mùchén had eased slightly. In fact, he felt sleepy, causing him to glare suspiciously at his host. “Was it drugged?” He demanded in a tight voice, only to scowl at the head shake the demon gave.

“No. You are just weak from your injuries. That’s a nasty stab wound you have there. Rest now. I’ll come feed you again later.” Before Mùchén could protest further, the demon made a hand sign and darkness descended.

The next time he awoke, it felt a lot more natural. Rather than struggling up from some unfathomably deep darkness, his eyes opened gradually as his mind slowly became aware of where he was. Still the same room as before, old and worn but clean. The same curtain swayed off to the side, hiding the other room and his captor from view. His mind felt clearer as well, as if a veil had been pulled back. Blinking against the morning light he wondered how long he had been out this time. Sighing heavily, he was surprised to find that he did actually make a noise. So the demon hadn’t lied… he could talk freely now?

“H-hello..?” He tested his voice and winced at how weak it sounded. Taking a slow, careful breath to avoid aggravating his wounds, he attempted to sit up. At first it was like trying to move something long dead. His limbs felt heavy and stiff. But gradually he managed to work his way up the bed so he was mostly upright, sitting slumped against the wall behind him in an undignified slouch. But at least he was no longer flat on his back and it made him feel better, more in control.

What had the demon said to him? Cultivate the pills he had been given? While it was obviously over a week since he had received that particular gift, he could feel two balls of energy still sitting like globs of sticky rice in his stomach and somewhere in his diantian. So one had been fed to him.. The other…? Shuddering and deciding he probably didn’t want to know how it had gotten where it was, he closed his eyes and focused inwards. The pain was distracting, torn muscles, sliced tissue.. But with a lot of effort and concentration Mùchén finally managed to sink into his cultivation technique. While it wouldn’t be efficient, it was better than nothing, and so he stayed where he was, slumped slightly sideways, back  against the wall, legs pulled up into a semblance of the lotus pose. Only his hands, resting knuckles-down on his knees, held the proper posture, thumbs to middle fingers and palms to the sky.

Gradually, his golden core started to spin and his qi began moving through his meridians. Sluggishly at first, but gradually with more speed, control and direction. As he worked, he focused on those two lumps of sluggish energy in his system. They were clearly foreign, but unexpectedly didn’t seem to react poorly with his own inner spiritual power. Instead, it was like his qi was gradually stripping away the sticky layers, syphoning them off to run through his body, along his meridians, where the pieces slowly dissolved into the flow as it grew more powerful, more deliberate. Pleased that he had found a solution to the foreign energy within him, he settled down to slowly absorb every last scrap of the gifted qi.

The morning light had transformed into the last dregs of evening by the time he opened his eyes again. The face that met his blurry eyes made him jerk back and simultaneously shout in alarm, for it was hovering so close as if to kiss him. Fear then embarrassment followed the shock of panic as he glared darkly at the smirking demon who had leaned back the moment Mùchén’s eyes had opened. What had he been about to do?! Narrowing his gaze at the creature, he glowered. But there was no reaction, only that satisfied smug grin as the demon lifted the bowl in his hands. “I brought dinner. How do you feel now? I can see most of the energy from those pills has been incorporated, that’s good.” Setting the bowl in Mùchén’s lap, spoon clinking softly from within, the demon settled back. Resting one hand on the sheet beside Mùchén’s leg in order to lean casually, his posture relaxed and at ease as if his guest was of no threat or consequence. It galled Mùchén in the extreme, but he couldn’t deny that it was true. For now.

“You were meditating all day. Not a bad start.” The demon complimented, though the smell wafting from the broth had already distracted Mùchén from the conversion as he accepted the bowl from his host’s grasp and started shovelling the broth into his mouth. It was surprisingly good, deep and rich despite the lack of actual meat. Mercifully the demon stayed quiet as Mùchén ate his fill. Only stirring in order to accept the bowl back once it had been thoroughly scraped clean. “So, how do you feel?” Xie Feng asked, setting the bowl down to one side and without any warning, reaching over to pull the blanket off Mùchén.

The assassin went stiff with indignant rage as his whole body was bared. Cool air rushed across the bare skin of his arms, shoulders, chest and belly wherever the thickly wrapped bandaging didn’t offer some cover. At least he still had on his trousers, but even that was far too intimate for Mùchén. Slapping away the hand that had reached out to his stomach he snarled a low warning at the demon, fingers aching for his sword but remaining empty.

“What do you think you are doing!?” He demanded in impotent fury, voice sharp. HIs rage only increased at the demon’s easy laughter.

“Why, checking your wounds of course… who do you think it was that rescued you, washed you clean and bandaged you?” The Yanhui made a show of looking around the tiny room as if seeking a third party. But then he turned back to Mùchén and pointed one long, elegant finger at himself. “Oh yes… it was me. So don’t be all bashful now, my dear warrior.” Mùchén practically steamed, outraged at the brazen nature of this .. creature! But what the demon had said was true after all. So he could only glare with deadly intent as his captor inspected his many wounds. However, he drew the line when the demon attempted to pull his trousers down to look at the thigh wound. Nearly spitting up blood as his rage burned like bile in the back of his throat.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” He roared, face a dark shade of red, hands balled into fists as if he dearly desired to punch his jailer in his self-satisfied face.

With a smirk, Xie Feng sat back, having had his fun and ascertained that his guest was healing well, despite his mean temper. “You’ll live.” He pronounced as if it was wisdom from the Great Sage himself.

Mùchén could only glare darkly, too angry to speak civilly to his rescuer thus unable to speak at all.

Chuckling softly under his breath Xie Feng decided to give the poor man some space and stood, moving to fuss with the pile of clothes draped over a plain wooden screen. “So.. Have you decided how you are going to pay me back the 10,000 tales you own me?” He asked idly, looking at his bed-ridden patient from over one shoulder, brow raised.

Mùchén’s face remained set in a glare, brows knit tight and mouth pulled into a thin, hard line. But it was not a question he hadn’t given any thought to. And so far, hadn't come up with a decent answer for either. He refused to give away his sect affiliation. For someone like himself, a tool who was at the beck and call of his Sect Leader, having his name and face known was bad enough. But to also give away not just who he was, but what he was? Zhengqing-zun would skin him alive. And him being the clan’s best assassin wouldn’t be able to save him. The Sui sect leader was not a man who would abide failure or betrayal of any kind.