Immortal Paladin-Chapter 009 Goldfish Wins

009 Goldfish Wins

The moment she stepped beyond the Senior’s presence, Gu Jie’s expression changed.

Gone was the hesitation, the fleeting embarrassment—only cold calculation remained. She moved with the easy grace of a predator, shoulders loose, gaze sharp.

The gold coins in her hand were no ordinary currency. Even a halfwit could tell they were relics of foreign lands, the kind that could fetch a small fortune in the right hands. Carrying them carelessly was inviting disaster.

She slipped into a secluded alleyway, where dim light barely reached past the tattered talismans clinging to the walls—remnants of half-hearted wards, long since faded. Methodically, she concealed her newfound wealth. Some coins disappeared into the folds of her ragged garments, nestled between layers of fabric where they wouldn’t jingle. Others were pressed against her skin, wrapped within her bandages. The pouch of local gold went into her boot—within easy reach should she need to bribe or flee.

Only when every coin was secured did she move again, vanishing into the labyrinth of the city’s backstreets.

Here, the air hung heavy with the scent of cheap liquor and damp wood, the quiet hum of desperation woven into every breath. Shadows loomed at the edges—ruffians, lone cultivators, beggars who weren’t truly beggars. She paid them no mind. They returned the courtesy.

This was neutral ground. The kind where one survived by knowing the rules, spoken or otherwise.

Once, Gu Jie had dreamed.

She dreamed of cultivation, of immortality, of a destiny worthy of the heavens.

Orphaned from birth, she had clung to hope. Even when a demonic cultivator took her in. Even when that so-called master drained her lifeblood to fuel his own path, leaving her crippled and ruined.

She had been Third Realm once. A promising future, shattered in an instant—reduced to a mere First Realm insect. And yet, she had still believed.

When the righteous sects attacked, she thought her prayers had been answered.

Holy blades gleamed, cutting through darkness. She rejoiced, thinking salvation had come.

She had been naive.

Branded as wicked, she stood alone, frail and trembling, as eager young heroes circled like vultures, debating who would take credit for her severed head.

Her heart shattered.

Then, crueler still, her master—the very fiend they sought to destroy—rose once more in a tide of malice and slaughtered them all.

Those righteous heroes, those beacons of justice, gone in an instant.

The only mercy? She escaped.

But freedom came at a price.

Her body was twisted by the flawed techniques forced upon her. Hunger gnawed at her bones and cold nights stole her rest. Weakened with every breath, she was forced to resort to every trickery just to survive.

Survival demanded its due.

She had abandoned honor long ago.

So, she became a bandit.

She robbed the weak. Threatened the helpless. Struck down those who resisted.

More than once, she had come close to taking an innocent life. But she never dared.

Even at her lowest, she knew that crossing that final line meant no return.

Pathetic as it was, she preyed only on mortals—those who could not fight back. It was shameful, but survival did not care for dignity.

Then came her greatest mistake—and perhaps, her greatest fortune.

She misjudged a target.

A lone young master, wandering the festival streets, unarmed and unguarded.

No weapons. No treasures. No discernible Qi.

Cultivators, especially the powerful ones, rarely mingled so freely with mortals. And this man? He was too ordinary. Handsome maybe, but ordinary. He spoke like a mortal, moved like a mortal, lacked the subtle presence that all cultivators carried.

Gu Jie had spent years honing her instincts, sharpening them like a blade against the whetstone of hardship. They had never failed her before.

And yet, she had been so terribly, laughably wrong.

What should have been a simple robbery became a near-death experience.

And then, impossibly, she was healed.

That was the day she met him.

And now, she walked through the back alleys with his gold in her boot and his words in her mind.

Perhaps—just perhaps—hope was not lost after all.

Yet Gu Jie knew better than to trust in miracles.

She was not naive, only desperate.

Her intentions toward this mysterious Senior were not entirely pure—hopeful, yes, but also selfish. If she could prove her sincerity, if she could earn his favor, perhaps he would take her as a disciple.

She had seen his movement technique. Even now, the memory remained vivid—the effortless shift, the seamless vanishing and reappearance, as though he had stepped beyond the constraints of the world itself.

It was not Qi-based.

She lacked Qi Sense, but she had long since developed Common Sense. No fluctuations, no subtle distortions in the air, no telltale pressure that accompanied even the most refined techniques.

It was something beyond her understanding.

And that terrified her just as much as it fascinated her.

Was he a hidden master? A rogue immortal? Something beyond comprehension?

She did not know.

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But she knew one thing.

He was her only chance.

Her only hope.

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And he had already given her enough to act.

Gu Jie strode through the dimly lit backstreets with purpose.

The air was thick with the stench of cheap liquor, unwashed bodies, and rotting food. Rats scurried past her feet, their tiny claws scratching against the stone. In the distance, voices murmured—hushed negotiations, whispered threats, the occasional dry chuckle of a man who had nothing left to lose.

She ignored them.

Her path led to a familiar sight—a small, rundown teahouse, its faded red lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze. The wooden sign creaked, the once-proud calligraphy barely visible beneath layers of dust and neglect.

Inside, seated at a low wooden table, was an elderly man draped in tattered gray robes. His wispy beard, once a mark of dignity, had grown uneven and thin. His eyes, half-lidded and clouded with age, still held the sharpness of a man who had seen too much and forgotten too little.

Old Song.

A relic of another time. A man who lived in the present, yet clung to the past.

He hunched over a steaming cup of tea, fingers stained yellow from years spent poring over ancient scrolls and forbidden texts. His gaze flicked up as she entered—piercing, unreadable.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Old Song,” Gu Jie greeted, her voice steady. “I have an errand for you.”

The old man chuckled, shaking his head. “An errand, is it? I am an information broker, girl, not your errand boy.”

She ignored the protest.

“I need books. Manuals, common or otherwise. Whatever you can find.” She met his gaze evenly. “I will pay market price—and more. Let’s say… a five percent commission on the total value of the texts you gather.”

A bushy brow lifted. “Five percent?” He let out a dry laugh. “You must have found yourself a fearsome master to demand so much from me. Do you think five percent is enough? That’s too little!”

Gu Jie didn’t so much as blink. “Too little?”

Old Song smirked, stroking his uneven beard. “Information is my trade, girl, but so is business. Procuring books—especially manuals—requires effort. Some are held by scholars too stubborn to part with them, others by sects that guard them like treasures. And then there’s the matter of moving them discreetly, lest someone else decides to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.” He spread his hands. “Do you know how much risk I’d be taking?”

Gu Jie crossed her arms. “And yet, you’re still considering it. Why?”

The old man chuckled. “Because I can smell opportunity, and you reek of it. Whoever this master of yours is, he’s generous—or foolish—enough to give you spending money. That means you’ll be back. And a repeat customer is worth far more than a one-time windfall.”

Gu Jie met his gaze evenly. “Then five percent is fair. It ensures I return, and it ensures you remain useful.”

Old Song let out a wheezing laugh. “Hah! Clever girl.” He tapped the table with a bony finger. “But let’s say I agree to this robbery of a deal. I assume you’re not expecting miracles? Certain manuals—sect-exclusive techniques, legacy tomes, divine arts—aren’t things I can simply pull from thin air.”

“I don’t need heaven-defying treasures,” Gu Jie said smoothly. “Not yet. I need foundation—mundane books, basic cultivation techniques, general knowledge on alchemy, formations, history.” She met his eyes. “You and I both know those are easier to obtain. And you also know that at five percent commission, you still make a profit.”

Old Song chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’re more ruthless than you look.”

She said nothing.

A pause.

Then, the old man sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll play along—for now. You’ll have your books. Two days.”

Gu Jie gave a curt nod. “Two days.”

“How about an introduction from your Master?”

Gu Jie did not blink.

“My benefactor is none of your concern.”

The old man took a slow sip of tea, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

“Oh, but it is, little girl. It always is.”

Gu Jie’s patience was wearing thin.

“I have no time for your games, Old Song.” Her voice was flat, unwavering. “Don’t test me.”

The old man chuckled—a dry, rasping sound like brittle paper crumbling in the wind.

“Oh? And here I thought you were just a little beggar girl not too long ago. Look at you now—ordering me around like some noble miss.” His cloudy eyes held amusement, but he did not press further.

Gu Jie remained silent, watching him. Waiting.

A moment passed. Then another.

Finally, Old Song let out a sigh. “Fine. What else do you need?”

“Directions.”

His brow lifted. “To where?”

“The most famous salon, tailor shop, and bathhouse in Yellow Dragon City.”

Old Song blinked.

“…What?”

Gu Jie did not repeat herself.

The old man leaned back, rubbing his chin, his confusion genuine. “You? Interested in such things? Hah. Didn’t take you for the type.”

She wasn’t. Not really.

But things had changed.

She had never cared for vanity, never had the luxury to consider it. But now, she had no excuse either.

Senior had given her the means—the command, even.

It would be shameful not to use them.

Old Song muttered something under his breath before shaking his head. “Well, I suppose even wolves like you need to clean up once in a while.”

Gu Jie’s gaze sharpened.

The old man raised his hands in surrender, laughing. “Fine, fine. There’s a tailor shop near the southern market square—Golden Thread Pavilion. You’ll know it when you see it. The best salon? Moonlit Silks, in the eastern district. And as for a proper bathhouse… Jade Serenity Bathhouse is what you’re looking for.”

He tapped the table. “Expensive places. You sure about this?”

Gu Jie simply nodded.

Old Song exhaled sharply, giving her a long look—something caught between amusement and something else.

“Hah… Well, well. Maybe you really have found yourself a Master worth serving.”

She did not answer.

She merely turned and left.

The experience was… strange.

Comfortable, yet overwhelming.

Gu Jie had never indulged in such luxuries before. Not once.

The Jade Serenity Bathhouse was far beyond what she had expected. She had prepared herself for simple hot water, perhaps a few scattered herbs. Instead, she was met with fragrant steam, silk robes, and attendants trained in massage and acupressure techniques.

The moment she stepped into the water, she nearly collapsed from sheer relaxation.

She hated how much she enjoyed it.

Then came Moonlit Silks, the salon. Delicate hands combed through her tangled, brittle hair, trimming away the dead ends, washing it with scented oils, weaving strands into soft, flowing locks. For years, her hair had been uneven, rough, neglected. Now? It felt light, smooth, alive.

And finally—

Golden Thread Pavilion.

The tailor raised a brow when she entered, taking in her previously ragged state. But the moment she produced gold, their demeanor shifted instantly.

And now—

She stood before a full-length bronze mirror, clad in black and gold. The ensemble was elegant yet practical, the fabric light but durable, woven with subtle patterns that caught the light. Her freshly cut dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, smooth and glossy.

She barely recognized herself.

A stranger stared back.

For a fleeting moment, she looked like the cultivators she had once idolized in her youth. Strong. Proud. Untouchable.

But then—

"Hic!"

A small hiccup escaped her lips.

Gu Jie froze.

Her fingers clenched around the folds of her robe.

For years, she had been nothing but a shadow—scavenging, lurking, surviving in the underbelly of the world. And yet… standing here, before this mirror, she saw a glimpse of the girl she had once been.

A dreamer.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Gu Jie was a patient hunter. Finding her Senior—a man who stood out like a sore thumb in emerald robes—was laughably easy.

After confirming with one of the city’s “rats” that the books she had ordered would be ready for pickup at first light in two days, she turned her focus toward tracking him down.

Normally, it would take her an hour at most. Today, however, she was fortunate.

She spotted him immediately.

There—at an arcade stall.

Playing a children's game.

Her steps slowed.

Senior sat in front of a shallow tub filled with darting goldfish, holding a flimsy paper scoop, his expression one of absolute focus. His brows were furrowed, his entire presence radiating intensity as he stared down his tiny, fishy opponents.

The stall owner, an elderly man, watched in barely concealed amusement.

Gu Jie’s lips twitched.

Still, she approached, stopping just behind him.

The Senior flicked his gaze upward, instantly recognizing her. His eyes swept over her new appearance—the freshly cleaned hair, the black and gold robes, the refined look.

And then—

"You look good," he remarked.

Gu Jie froze.

No one had ever told her that before. Was this a test? A trap? A meaningless remark?

Swallowing her hesitation, she quickly regained her composure.

"Senior," she said, bowing slightly. "How may I be of service?"

She had hoped for some form of recognition. A sign that he approved of her dedication. That she had done well in following him.

Instead—

The Senior frowned.

Then, in a flat, annoyed tone, he said:

"Fuck off."

Gu Jie’s lips twitched violently.

"…Senior?"

"Go enjoy the festival or something." He flicked his wrist dismissively, eyes never leaving the water. "I gave you money, didn’t I? Stop bothering me."

She stared at him.

Her fearsome, mysterious, impossibly skilled benefactor.

Locked in mortal combat.

With a goldfish.

…

Gu Jie inhaled deeply.

Lowering her head slightly, her expression perfectly composed, she murmured, "Understood, Senior."

Then, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Resisting the overwhelming urge to rip her own hair out.