Chapter 7: The Hawk Circles
Bo Xiāo stood in the dimly lit chamber, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the cold stone floor. His broad shoulders strained against the golden and jade folds of his Hanfu, the rich fabric shimmering in the faint light like the skin of a slumbering dragon. The room smelled faintly of incense and iron, the air thick with tension. Behind him, the heavy oak doors creaked as they swung shut, sealing him in with his thoughts.
The small brazier in the corner cast flickering shadows on the walls, casting eerie shapes that danced and twisted like the ghosts of the dead. Bo Xiāo stared into the flames, his dark eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating intensity. His expression was calm, but beneath the surface, his mind was a seething cauldron of ambition and violent intent.
The Iron Eagle Gang was no common band of thugs, no mindless rabble. Bo Xiāo had shaped them into something far more disciplined—a miniature army, an extension of his will. Control was the essence of power, and Bo Xiāo had learned that lesson well. His gang obeyed him not out of loyalty or respect, but out of fear. Fear of what he could do, fear of what he was willing to do.
He shifted slightly, the jade embroidery on his Hanfu catching the light, making his figure seem almost regal. His face, angular and sharp, carried a beauty that seemed out of place on a man with his sheer physical presence. His muscles rippled beneath his clothing, yet his every movement was deliberate, calculated. A predator in every sense, dressed in the finery of an aristocrat.
The BloodCrow Sect was his ticket to true power. He had served their interests for years, a loyal dog for one of the sect's outer disciples, Wei Chun, the son of an elder. Wei Chun was young, arrogant, but his father's influence shielded him. Bo Xiāo had played the loyal subordinate, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to rise higher. But now, opportunity had come knocking.
A traitor had fled with a valuable cultivation technique. A simple theft, but one that had stirred interest within the sect. If Bo Xiāo could deliver the traitor's head and the stolen technique back to Wei Chun, he would earn his place in the sect—an outer disciple. From there, the doors to true cultivation would be open to him, and Bo Xiāo would no longer have to answer to anyone.
He smiled, though the expression held no warmth.
"Bo Xiāo," a voice rasped from the shadows, breaking the silence.
He didn't turn immediately, knowing who it was without needing to see. The figure stepped forward, a thin man with sunken eyes and skin as pale as death itself. He moved like a snake, his steps silent, his presence barely noticeable. Shi Yong, the gang's assassin, an expert in poisons and stealth. His black robes clung to his frail frame, making him seem more like a shadow than a man.
"The brothers. Li Jian and Li Xuan," Shi Yong hissed, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "We found them."
Bo Xiāo's gaze remained fixed on the brazier, the flames reflecting in his dark eyes. "And?"
"They're stronger than we thought," Shi Yong continued, his tone cautious. "Qi cultivation. They've grown in power. But they're still… inexperienced."
Bo Xiāo's jaw tightened, though his expression remained unreadable. The brothers were a small nuisance, a distraction from his greater goal. But even small nuisances could become problematic if left unchecked.
"And the traitor?" Bo Xiāo asked, his voice deep and smooth, like the rumble of distant thunder.
Shi Yong hesitated, his fingers twitching nervously. "Not yet. But we're closing in. It's only a matter of time before we have him."
Bo Xiāo finally turned to face the assassin, his eyes narrowing. "You know what will happen if you fail me again, Shi Yong."
Shi Yong swallowed, his thin frame trembling slightly. "I won't. I swear it. I'll make sure the traitor is caught. Alive, if possible. Dead, if not."
"Good," Bo Xiāo said, his voice low and menacing. "Because if you fail, there will be no place for you in this world, let alone the sect."
Shi Yong bowed low, his face pale, before retreating back into the shadows. Bo Xiāo watched him go, his mind already moving ahead. The brothers, the traitor, the sect—it was all part of the game, the intricate dance of power and manipulation. And Bo Xiāo was a master of that dance.
A soft knock echoed from the door behind him, and without waiting for permission, the doors creaked open. Wen Qing, his second lieutenant, entered the room with smooth, confident strides. A scholarly man, slender but strong, Wen Qing was known for his cunning as much as his skill with a blade. His sword was always at his side, though he rarely had to use it. In battle, Wen Qing preferred to win with his mind, outmaneuvering his enemies before ever drawing steel.
"Shi Yong tells me we're closing in on the brothers," Wen Qing said, his voice as smooth as silk. He glanced around the chamber with casual interest, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "I take it our next move is to capture them?"
Bo Xiāo nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the flickering flames. "They're not important, but they could lead us to the traitor. Besides, we need to remind the district who rules here."
Wen Qing smiled faintly, though it was a smile filled with malice. "Of course. It's always good to remind the sheep who their shepherd is."
As Wen Qing moved to leave, the final figure entered the chamber. Xiao Lan, the third lieutenant, was nothing like the other two. Where Shi Yong was gaunt and ghostly, and Wen Qing was sharp and calculating, Xiao Lan was a force of raw, feral power.
Standing at just under six feet, she was shorter than Bo Xiāo but no less intimidating. Her jade-like skin glistened in the low light, and her beauty was striking, almost ethereal—were it not for the faint streaks of dried blood at the corner of her lips. Her eyes gleamed with a wild hunger, and she carried herself with a savage grace, every step a promise of violence. In her hands, she held a small flask, likely filled with blood. Her favored drink.
"Bo Xiāo," she said, her voice husky, as if she had just finished drinking. "When do we get to hunt?"
Bo Xiāo's lips twitched into a cold smile. Xiao Lan was a barbarian by nature, though she cloaked herself in the elegance of the city. She lived for the thrill of the fight, the taste of blood on her lips, and though Bo Xiāo valued her strength, he knew she was unpredictable.
"Soon," he said simply. "Prepare yourselves. The brothers will lead us to the traitor, and when they do, we'll strike."
Xiao Lan's eyes gleamed with anticipation, and she smiled, revealing sharp, white teeth. "Good. I'm thirsty."
Bo Xiāo watched her with mild amusement before turning his attention back to the fire. His lieutenants were loyal, each in their own way. Shi Yong was loyal out of fear, Wen Qing out of ambition, and Xiao Lan out of her bloodlust. They served him because they knew there was no better option, and because he had crafted the Iron Eagle Gang into something formidable. But Bo Xiāo knew that loyalty was fragile in a place like the Mud Lotus District. It could crumble at the slightest provocation.
But for now, they were his. And with their help, he would capture the traitor, deliver the stolen technique, and finally earn his place in the BloodCrow Sect. His path to becoming an outer disciple was set. He could already see the doors to the sect opening before him, the world of cultivation finally within reach.
Bo Xiāo's eyes darkened, his mind already moving to the next step. The district had been quiet for too long, and the brothers had been allowed too much freedom. They would pay for their defiance.
And when the time came, Bo Xiāo would stand victorious, not as a gang leader, but as a cultivator of true power.
"Send word to the men," he said, his voice a soft growl. "We move tonight."