THE BOY THEY CALLED A JINX BECAME THE SUPREME CULTIVATOR

9 - ASSASSIN'S PRESCRIPTION I

Ye Canghai’s threat lingered in the freezing water long after the actual words were spoken.

Zhentian stared up at the old man from his place in the mud.

He did not argue or offer empty promises about doing better next time.

He simply nodded once.

"Good," Ye Canghai said, stepping backward into the shadows of the trench.

"Now fix your shoulder before it sets wrong and cripples you forever."

Zhentian shifted his weight, biting back a groan as the broken collarbone ground against itself.

"Without Qi to numb the nerves, you are going to feel every single movement," Ye Canghai added from the dark.

"I know," Zhentian replied, his voice barely a rough rasp.

He reached his good hand across his chest to feel the jagged lump protruding under his cold skin.

The bone had snapped cleanly in two when he initially hit the surface of the ocean.

He needed to push the overlapping pieces back into proper alignment immediately.

He took a shallow breath, filling his lungs with the tiny amount of oxygen filtering through the heavy water.

He dug his fingers firmly into his own flesh, gripping the broken end of the bone tight.

"Do not close your eyes," Ye Canghai commanded sharply.

"Look at what you are doing so you understand the cost of a mistake out here."

Zhentian kept his eyes wide open, staring directly down at his ruined shoulder.

He pushed inward and pulled upward at the exact same time.

A sickening crunch echoed in the water as the jagged ends scraped violently against each other.

White-hot agony flared behind his eyes, threatening to drag him straight into unconsciousness.

He clamped his jaw shut to trap the scream building deep in his throat.

He tasted fresh blood as his teeth cut directly into his bottom lip.

With one final, violent shove, the bone popped back into its correct place.

Zhentian collapsed forward into the dirt, gasping rapidly as tremors shook his entire body.

"Tear your robes," Ye Canghai instructed, tossing him a jagged piece of dead coral.

"Bind the arm tight against your chest so it does not move again."

Zhentian grabbed the coral with shaking fingers and awkwardly sawed through the hem of his outer robe.

He ripped off a long, thick strip of the dark fabric with his teeth and his good hand.

He wrapped it tightly around his injured arm and tied it securely behind his back.

The crude sling held his shoulder firm, preventing the bone from slipping out of place while he moved.

"Are you done bleeding?" Ye Canghai asked, stepping back into the faint blue light.

Zhentian pushed himself up onto his knees, ignoring the throbbing ache in his chest.

"I am done," he said, wiping a mixture of mud and sweat from his forehead.

"Then get up and follow me," the old man replied, turning away to walk deeper into the trench.

Zhentian forced himself onto his feet, swaying slightly in the dark, heavy current.

He followed the faint blue light radiating from Ye Canghai’s back.

They walked in silence for a long time, navigating around the massive skeletons of dead sea beasts.

"Your sect taught you how to fight on a brightly lit stage," Ye Canghai said without looking back.

"They taught you to announce your presence with glowing auras and shouted technique names."

Zhentian frowned, remembering the flashy, proud displays in the Azure Dragon Hall courtyards.

"It is a sign of honor," Zhentian argued weakly, remembering Elder Bai's endless lectures.

"It is a sign of stupidity," Ye Canghai corrected, his voice entirely flat.

"Honor is a luxury invented by men who have never had to fight for their next breath in the mud."

The old man paused near a cluster of jagged, towering rocks that looked like shattered teeth.

"Down here, the loudest thing in the water is usually the first thing to be eaten."

Zhentian thought about the blind crawler from earlier and how easily it had tracked him.

"I made too much noise," Zhentian admitted quietly.

"You were practically screaming for attention," Ye Canghai agreed, resuming his slow pace.

"If you want to survive long enough to see the sky again, you must become a ghost."

He pointed a scarred finger toward the impenetrable darkness hovering above them.

"You have no Qi to reinforce your muscles or speed up your strikes anymore."

"So I have to rely on raw strength?" Zhentian asked, gripping his good hand into a tight fist.

"No," Ye Canghai said, turning to look the boy directly in the eye.

"Raw strength belongs to the beasts, and you will never out-muscle the things that live down here."

The old man tapped the side of his own scarred head with two fingers.

"You rely on leverage, momentum, and the environment to do the killing for you."

Zhentian remembered how the crawler had basically impaled itself on the bone spike because of its own weight.

"Let the enemy do the heavy lifting," Zhentian muttered, starting to truly understand the lesson.

Ye Canghai gave a brief, grim nod of approval.

"Every step you take must be silent, and every breath you draw must be strictly controlled."

The old man resumed walking, leading them toward a steep drop-off in the trench floor.

"A true killer does not need a glowing weapon to end a life."