Dragon's Descent [Xianxia, Reverse Cultivation]

The Azure Waters Sect had developed an allergy to Xiaolong's presence, and like most allergies, the symptoms grew worse with repeated exposure.

It began the morning after their return from Li Feng's village, when Young Disciple Chen bowed so deeply that his forehead nearly kissed the courtyard stones. The boy had greeted her politely enough before their departure—a respectful nod, perhaps a murmured "Senior Sister"—but now he folded himself like a prayer flag in a typhoon.

"Honored... um... Daoist Xiaolong," he stammered, his voice muffled by proximity to the ground. "This humble disciple greets you and wishes you... celestial... harmony?"

The question mark at the end suggested he wasn't entirely confident in his terminology.

Xiaolong paused in her morning walk, studying the boy's prostrate form. Dragons received such deference as natural as mountains received snow, but this felt different. Desperate. As if Chen feared she might transform him into a toad if he failed to demonstrate sufficient reverence.

"Good morning, Chen," she replied, deliberately casual. "Please stand. The stones are filthy."

The boy shot upright so fast he nearly toppled backward. His face burned red as autumn maple leaves.

"Of course! This disciple apologizes for... for..." He seemed to be searching for the proper way to apologize for apologizing, creating a recursive loop of mortification that threatened to trap him indefinitely.

"For being thorough in your greetings," Xiaolong finished kindly. "No harm done."

Chen bobbed his head like a drinking bird, muttered something that might have been gratitude or an incantation, and fled toward the training grounds with the urgency of someone late for his own execution.

Xiaolong continued her walk, but the encounter left her with the peculiar sensation that something had shifted in the sect's atmosphere. Like the way air tasted different before thunderstorms.

By the end of the first week, the taste had grown sharp enough to cut glass.

The disciples had developed an elaborate system for avoiding her path through the compound. Not obvious avoidance—that would be rude—but a choreographed dance of sudden remembrances and urgent errands that cleared her route like peasants scattering before an imperial procession.

Someone would spot her approaching the Eastern Pavilion and suddenly recall an important task in the Western Gardens. A group chatting by the Azure Pool would simultaneously remember pressing duties in the opposite direction. It became so predictable that Xiaolong caught herself timing how long it took each cluster of students to notice her approach and evaporate.

Elder Disciple Ming Lian had grown the most peculiar tic during their conversations. Every few sentences, he would pause mid-word and study her face with the intensity of someone trying to read scripture written in disappearing ink. His usual irreverent humor had acquired a nervous edge, as if he worried his jokes might offend cosmic sensibilities.

"So I told Master Huang that his meditation posture looked like a constipated crane, and he—" Ming Lian's words died as his gaze fixed on her eyes. The silence stretched until it snapped. "That is, I respectfully suggested that his technique might benefit from adjustment. In the most humble and... appropriate... manner."

"Ming Lian," Xiaolong said gently, "I haven't changed my sense of humor in the past week."

"Right. Of course. Obviously." He nodded too quickly. "Though if you had, that would be... perfectly reasonable. Given your... circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

Ming Lian's mouth opened and closed like a fish hauled from water. "Your... you know. Your..." He gestured vaguely at her entire person. "Everything?"

This conversation, Xiaolong reflected, had achieved new heights of unhelpful clarity.

The second week brought whispered conferences that scattered like startled sparrows whenever she approached. Disciples huddled in corners, their voices dropping to levels that would have challenged a bat's hearing. The few words she caught suggested a vigorous debate regarding her fundamental nature.

"—definitely some kind of river spirit—"

"—don't be ridiculous, river spirits can't—"

"—my grandmother always said that when the old powers wake—"

"—but the way she made those plants bloom—"

"—ancient bloodline, has to be—"

The speculation had grown creative. According to the fragments she'd collected, she was variously a reincarnated mountain goddess, the earthly avatar of a celestial court official, a forgotten wind spirit finally remembered, the latest in a lineage of ancient cultivators who transcended mortality to safeguard the righteous, and/or the embodiment of the Azure River itself, incarnate to bless and bless and bless the Sect.

None of them had guessed correctly, though several had orbited the truth like comets skirting the sun.

Li Feng's presence provided the only island of normalcy in this sea of increasingly strange behavior. He continued to treat her as herself rather than some nebulous being whose identity seemed to evolve hourly. But even he seemed affected by the charged atmosphere, his conversations growing careful when others might overhear.

"Perhaps," he suggested one evening as they walked through gardens empty of everyone except gardeners who had urgent business elsewhere, "we might consider addressing these speculations directly."

"You think I should tell them I'm a humble dragon who enjoys their company?"

"I think the current situation serves no one's interests," Li Feng replied diplomatically. "Including yours."

He wasn't wrong. The careful distance her fellow disciples maintained had begun to wear against her transformed sensibilities like sand against silk. She had grown accustomed to casual interaction, to being treated as a person rather than a phenomenon. The loss of that simple acceptance stung more than she had expected.

By the third week, the avoidance had evolved into something approaching a formal protocol.

Disciples now arranged themselves in precise formations when she entered common areas—not exactly ranks, but a careful spacing that ensured no one appeared to be presuming on her attention while simultaneously demonstrating their awareness of her presence. Conversations didn't stop when she arrived; they simply elevated into the sort of elevated discourse typically reserved for formal ceremonies.

"The philosophical implications of water's dual nature as both yielding and irresistible force provide fascinating parallels to our cultivation principles," Senior Disciple Kong proclaimed to his training partner, his voice pitched to carry despite her being twenty paces away.

"Indeed," replied Junior Sister Wu with the solemnity of someone discussing funeral arrangements. "The ancient masters clearly understood that apparent weakness often conceals profound strength."

They might as well have been reciting from textbooks. Which, Xiaolong suspected after listening to several such exchanges, they probably were.

The training grounds had become a theater of awkward performance art. Disciples practiced their techniques with the sort of exaggerated correctness that suggested they believed themselves under cosmic evaluation. Every movement was textbook perfect, every form executed with academic thoroughness, every meditation session conducted with the focused intensity of someone expecting divine judgment.

The atmosphere had grown so thick with manufactured reverence that spontaneous combustion seemed possible.

Master Zhen, at least, remained wonderfully oblivious to the social undercurrents. The Head Herbalist continued to treat her visits to the gardens as opportunities for botanical consultation rather than religious experience. His plants, equally indifferent to cosmic politics, responded to her presence with their usual enthusiastic growth.

"Remarkable affinity," he muttered, watching a patch of winter jasmine burst into unseasonable bloom. "Though I confess the mechanism escapes me. Are you applying some form of seasonal adjustment technique? Temporal manipulation? Direct essence infusion?"

"I ask them nicely," Xiaolong replied.

Master Zhen paused in his note-taking to stare at her. "That's... not a recognized cultivation method."

"Perhaps it should be."

The old herbalist scratched his beard, leaving a streak of potting soil across his cheek. "Politeness as a spiritual discipline. Fascinating concept. I shall have to research the theoretical foundations."

At least someone remained committed to treating her mysteries as academic puzzles rather than divine manifestations.

The fourth week brought the sort of artificial normalcy that indicated everyone had agreed to pretend the situation wasn't desperately strange.

Disciples greeted her with careful warmth, their smiles bright enough to light lanterns. Conversations included her with the determined inclusiveness of people following a script titled "How to Interact with Supernatural Entities: A Practical Guide."

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Even the dining hall had reorganized itself around her presumed preferences—or someone's best guesses about what those preferences might be. The chef now provided a selection of vegetarian dishes at every meal, each arranged in neat portions exactly suited to her appetite. The tea service had expanded to include varieties sourced from the furthest corners of the kingdom—flavors delicate enough to satisfy the most discriminating palette.

"The seasonal migration patterns of cloud cranes present interesting parallels to our own spiritual journeys," Elder Disciple Wan observed during one such dinner, his tone suggesting he had practiced this observation in advance.

"The metaphorical significance of their flight paths cannot be overlooked," agreed his companion, nodding sagely.

Xiaolong found herself missing the days when dinner conversation focused on more practical matters, like who had forgotten to close the chicken coop or whether the new junior disciples could be trusted with sharp implements.

The breaking point arrived on a morning when she discovered that someone had placed a small offering bowl outside her chamber door. The bowl contained wildflowers, three perfect river stones, and what appeared to be a hastily composed poem written on rice paper.

"Honored presence graces humble halls,

Like mountain streams that answer calls

Of thirsting earth and growing grain—

May blessing flow like gentle rain."

The verse's enthusiastic sincerity only made it more mortifying.

Xiaolong stared at the offering for several long moments, considering her options.

She could pretend not to notice it, which seemed unkind to whoever had spent time gathering flowers and composing poetry. She could return it with gentle correction, which might hurt feelings unnecessarily. Or she could accept it graciously while privately plotting to discover who had initiated what threatened to become a regular practice.

She chose acceptance, though the flowers wilted under the weight of her conflicted emotions.

Li Feng found her later that morning, sitting beside the Azure Pool with the offering bowl in her lap and an expression that suggested she was contemplating the philosophical implications of human awkwardness.

"Ah," he said, noting the bowl. "It's begun."

"Began yesterday, actually. This is the third one."

Li Feng settled beside her on the stone bench, his presence offering its usual comfortable ease. "I was wondering when someone would take that step. Offerings seem like a natural progression from whispered theories."

"Natural for whom?" Xiaolong asked. "I don't want to be worshipped. I want to be treated like... like..."

"Like yourself?"

"Like someone who belongs here instead of someone who's visiting from another realm entirely."

Though, she reflected, that description wasn't entirely inaccurate. The irony wasn't lost on her that achieving the human connections she'd sought through reverse cultivation had somehow led to being treated as more alien than ever.

"The situation has grown rather untenable," Li Feng agreed. "For everyone involved."

"Including you?"

He considered this carefully. "I find myself measuring my words around others in ways I dislike. Not because I doubt our friendship, but because I worry about subjecting you to their speculation."

The admission stung because it confirmed what she had already observed—that even Li Feng, despite his steadfast loyalty, felt the weight of others' expectations pressing against their relationship.

"We can't continue like this," she said.

"No," Li Feng agreed. "We can't."

The silence that followed carried the weight of a decision that had been building for weeks, gathering momentum like water behind a dam. The question wasn't whether something needed to change, but what form that change should take.

"Li Feng," she said slowly, "how do you think the sect would react if they knew the truth about my nature?"

"Which truth?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew which one she meant.

"That I'm a cosmic dragon who grew curious about human connections. And that those humans, in turn, inspired me to embark on a path of reverse cultivation."

Li Feng was quiet for a long time, his gaze focused on the Azure Pool's still surface. When he finally spoke, it was with the considered cadence of someone choosing each word as if selecting stones to build a bridge.

"I think," he said, "that they might surprise you. People fear the unknown more than the known, even when the known is extraordinary."

"And if they don't surprise me? If they react with fear or excessive reverence?"

"Then we deal with that challenge when it arises." Li Feng turned to meet her gaze directly. "But hiding who you are isn't protecting anyone anymore. It's just creating a different kind of problem."

The truth of this observation settled over her like morning mist—obvious once acknowledged, but somehow invisible until the right light revealed its shape.

"Elder Wei has been giving me meaningful looks," she said.

"Elder Liu asked me three separate questions yesterday about 'ancient cultivation methods' and 'beings of unusual spiritual depth.'"

"Ah." Xiaolong nodded. "So they've noticed the situation as well."

"I suspect they've been waiting for us to reach this conclusion on our own."

The afternoon brought confirmation of Li Feng's suspicion in the form of a politely worded request for Xiaolong to join Elder Wei and Elder Liu for tea in the Western Contemplation Chamber. The invitation's careful phrasing suggested official business conducted in unofficial surroundings—the sort of conversation that needed to happen but couldn't be recorded in formal minutes.

Li Feng accompanied her, his presence serving as both moral support and diplomatic backup. The Western Contemplation Chamber was the sect's designated space for delicate discussions, its comfortable furnishings and excellent acoustics designed to encourage honest conversation while ensuring privacy.

Elder Wei sat behind a low table that held tea service for four, his weathered hands arranging cups with the methodical care of someone using ritual to manage complex emotions. Elder Liu occupied the cushion to his right, her elegant posture and calm demeanor masking whatever thoughts had led to this invitation.

"Daoist Xiaolong," Elder Wei began, his tone carrying the diplomatic warmth of someone addressing an honored guest with complicated circumstances. "Thank you for accepting our invitation."

"Elder Wei, Elder Liu," Xiaolong replied, settling onto the cushion across from them. "I hope I haven't caused any inconvenience."

"Quite the contrary," Elder Liu said, her voice carrying amusement rather than accusation. "Though I confess your presence has created certain... administrative challenges."

Li Feng took the remaining cushion, his expression conveying polite attentiveness.

Elder Wei poured tea for each of them, the ceremony providing a moment of comfortable routine before they addressed less comfortable subjects.

"We find ourselves in a peculiar situation," Elder Wei continued, offering Xiaolong the first cup. "The sect harbors a guest whose nature has become the subject of considerable speculation, yet whose actual identity remains diplomatically unconfirmed."

"Speculation can be more problematic than truth," Elder Liu added. "Imagination rarely knows when to stop expanding."

Xiaolong accepted the tea cup with a nod of thanks. "What sort of speculation concerns you most?"

"The kind that suggests our guest might possess capabilities beyond normal cultivation methods," Elder Wei replied carefully. "Such theories, if left unaddressed, could attract unwanted attention from parties outside our sect."

"Other sects have begun making polite inquiries," Elder Liu confirmed. "Requests for cultural exchange, offers of cooperation, invitations to various ceremonies. The sort of diplomatic overtures that suggest word has spread beyond our walls."

Li Feng leaned forward slightly. "What sort of inquiries?"

"The Golden Sun Sect has expressed interest in arranging formal introduction between their senior disciples and our... distinguished guest," Elder Wei replied. "The Verdant Grove Association has invited her to participate in their seasonal harmony ceremony. The White Cloud Temple has offered to provide instruction in advanced meditation techniques, though their letter suggested they hoped to learn as much as teach."

"All very flattering," Elder Liu added, "but also increasingly difficult to decline without explanation."

Xiaolong sipped her tea, gathering her thoughts and allowing the warmth to center her mind. The prospect of her reverse-cultivated identity becoming the center of diplomatic attention held little appeal. If anything, it reminded her too keenly of the politics surrounding cosmic dragons and their relations.

The sect's attempts to maintain discretion were attracting exactly the sort of attention they had hoped to avoid.

"You believe clarity would serve everyone's interests better than continued ambiguity," she said.

"We believe," Elder Liu replied carefully, "that honest acknowledgment of your nature would allow the sect to interact with you more naturally, while also providing appropriate responses to external inquiries."

"Assuming," Elder Wei added with a slight smile, "that your true nature is something that can be acknowledged without causing panic or territorial disputes."

The opening hung in the air like an invitation to confession. Both elders watched her with the patient attention of people who had already formed their own conclusions and were simply waiting for official confirmation.

"You have theories about my identity."

"We have observations," Elder Wei corrected gently. "Your spiritual signature, your knowledge of cultivation principles that predate our sect's founding, your unusual effect on natural phenomena, your apparent age despite evident power. These details suggest possibilities that extend beyond normal cultivation achievement."

"We also have trust," Elder Liu added. "Your actions have consistently demonstrated benevolent intent toward our sect and its members. Whatever your true nature, you have earned our respect through conduct rather than mystery."

Li Feng's hand brushed hers beneath the table—a gesture of support that reminded her she didn't face this decision alone.

"If I were to reveal my true nature," Xiaolong said slowly, "what assurances could you offer regarding the sect's reaction?"

"None," Elder Liu replied with surprising honesty. "We cannot guarantee how others will respond to revelation. We can only commit to treating you with the respect you have earned through your actions."

"And to ensuring that your safety remains paramount regardless of others' reactions," Elder Wei added. "The sect protects its own, and you have become one of our own through choice and contribution."

The words carried weight that went beyond mere diplomatic courtesy. These were formal commitments from people whose authority could make them meaningful.

"How do you suggest we proceed?" Xiaolong asked.

Elder Wei exchanged a glance with his colleague before answering. "We recommend a controlled revelation. An opportunity for voluntary disclosure in circumstances that allow for questions and adjustment rather than shock and speculation."

"A formal gathering of the sect membership," Elder Liu elaborated. "Perhaps framed as an opportunity for cultural exchange or educational demonstration. Something that emphasizes your role as teacher and ally rather than object of curiosity."

"When would such a gathering be appropriate?"

"The autumn equinox celebrations are next week," Elder Wei replied. "A traditional time for sharing knowledge and strengthening community bonds. Your revelation could be presented as a gift to the sect—an opportunity to learn from someone with unique perspective and experience."

Li Feng squeezed her hand gently. "The decision remains yours," he said quietly. "Whatever you choose, we'll support it."

Xiaolong looked around the chamber, taking in the faces of people who had welcomed a stranger into their midst without demanding promises or guarantees. The Azure Waters Sect was her community in every way that mattered, its members her people.

The thought of losing those relationships to fear or excessive reverence made her chest tight with an emotion dragons weren't supposed to experience.

But the thought of continuing to hide from them felt worse.

"Very well," she said, setting down her teacup with steady hands. "Let's arrange for proper introductions."