Kind Young Master [Progression Fantasy - Cultivation]

Dragon Month (March)

A sliver of the new moon was in the sky when Xiao Sheng appeared in the shrine as if he had never left. He scanned the cookfire, baskets and bundles, wearing a mildly dissatisfied expression.

"Where is dinner?"

The shrine was steeped in deep twilight. Fushuai had not been awake for long, and the first breath of evening cold was coiling through the trees. The cracked stones of the landing had been recently swept clean by a broom of bundled twigs that now leaned against one of the supporting columns.

Fushuai was excited to see his master again, and uneasy as well. His advancement would be as obvious as the damage he had done to his meridians in the process. They had recovered, mostly, twinging only slightly when he cycled into the early morning. He rarely breakfasted, and his dinners took place after midnight, but those were not excuses that would impress Xiao Sheng.

The man wanted a meal, and he would get it.

After a few hurried minutes, he presented a clay bowl piled with a salad of wild greens, onions, and strips of smoked fish he had seasoned with herbs, then stood aside.

Xiao Sheng barely tasted it. "We are not starving," he said gently. "A stew, if you please. Something that warms the soul."

He would need to leave for the parasol tree within minutes if he were to reach it before full night. The consequences of forcing Mah Goshung to wait on him were better left unconsidered. Surely, he would sense Xiao Sheng's return.

When Fushuai mentioned his obligation, his master shrugged.

"I'm sure you'll make it up to him." A table, a cutting board, and a small mound of fresh vegetables and pork appeared out of thin air, summoned from his storage ring. Clearly, their path was set, so he went about preparing a stew, come what may.

It went quickly enough, but his confidence faltered as his master critiqued every move he made. His knife angle, the structure of his fire, the rhythm of his stirring, it was all wrong. Worse, he imposed a new condition: whenever Fushuai let his cycling slip out of rhythm, he had to halt immediately and begin again.

Xiao Sheng had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of vegetables and no longer showed any sign of impatience for a meal that might never be finished. What he cared about was the process.

"If you cannot stir stew while stirring qi, why even bother being a cultivator?"

"For the pleasure of your company," Fushuai said. As soon as it slipped out, he wished he could physically retrieve the statement with his hands and shove the words back into his mouth. He had spent too much time alone and with Goshung. What was he thinking, speaking to his master in that way?

Xiao Sheng only laughed. "Your tongue has sharpened in my absence. Not a bet I would have won. Now, pour it all out and begin again."

It took three attempts before he was satisfied. By that time, half the night had gone, and Goshung had appeared. The Asura's arrival was announced by the clack of his hooves on the roof tiles before he dropped down. There was amusement in the molten rims of his eyes.

"Ah, good," he said. "A real meal at last. Did the boy tell you he thinks he's a genius now?"

A slight smile. "I saw it in his face."

"I—" Fushuai cut off his denial. He had never said any such thing, but he couldn't pretend he hadn't thought it. To have advanced two steps in a single month was a monumental achievement, even at a low stage. "Has my progress come as expected?"

Qi drawing had been the goal when his master left to "visit an old friend." Now, he was well beyond it.

The stew bubbled, carrots and cabbage floating to the surface. Xiao Sheng regarded the pot as if it contained the secrets of the sages.

"It would be a remarkable achievement were you still in Ashen City. They would assume the extra years you spent in body refinement were a hindrance, when in truth, they will smooth the path of cultivation now that you are on it. Were you a disciple of the Endless River sect, the pace would have been considered more than adequate, though it would have hardly been cause for celebration."

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He felt something deflate in his chest as his master continued. "You are still well behind for your years, at least in the sense of steps and stages. But I wouldn't worry too much about that. When building a grand structure, there is nothing more important than the foundation. Stir the pot for me, will you?"

It took him a moment to register the instruction. As he moved to comply, Xiao Sheng stepped close, seizing his wrist gently but firmly. "This," he said, forcing the ladle into a tighter, more purposeful spiral. "You should watch for a whirlpool."

An odd method for preparing stew, but he did not question it.

"Your meridians have expanded, but you are still inadequately filtering qi. The Void Stirring has prepared you for the next method. Turn the energy in your channels until it follows the pattern you see in this water. Your dantian should become a vortex whose edges only graze your root. It will absorb what it can, and the rest must continue to spin. Even as it is filtered, do not send it back through your channels, return it to the vortex, and continue until your entire store has been processed seven times."

He attempted to do as he was told and quickly ran into a seemingly insurmountable problem.

"How can I continue to cycle through my meridians if I do not allow qi to escape my dantian?"

"Forge a new channel, one that passes through without touching the root or interrupting the filtration."

The stew simmered softly, the bubbling rhythm gentle and unbroken. Fushuai stood motionless, watching steam rise in curls as delicate as smoke from temple incense. Within, qi moved quietly, spiraling deeper into his meridians, turning in perfect harmony with the rotations of the ladle.

It was ready long before he was.

Forging a new channel? There were twenty named meridians in the body, and though they did branch, he had never considered using pressure in the smaller channels to force them to extend and connect to one another. It seemed dangerous, and he said as much.

Xiao Sheng was amused. "You have already risked yourself once, fumbling blindly with Void Stirring without my guidance. If you're determined to ruin yourself, my student, at least ruin yourself correctly."

His elders supped while he was sent to meditate under the new moon. The process was slow, involved, and difficult, but he could feel that it was possible. As focused as he was, he still could not help overhearing a brief exchange between his teachers that bordered on argument.

Something about the other cultivator hiding in the mountain. The chimera. Whether Fushuai was ready to hunt alone. Xiao thought it better to wait, while Goshung was in favor of pushing their "pretty little bird" from the nest. It was not his place to eavesdrop. He intensified his efforts, and soon the external world had fallen away in favor of the internal.

The silverleaf was gone, as were the Heaven's Draw pills. He had nothing to rely upon but his own skill and intent. It would be enough, he was sure, but not enough to finish in one night.

When the sun rose, he asked what the new cycling method was called.

Xiao Sheng looked at the dawn like a man surprised to see it. He shook his head. Perhaps even grand elders could be distracted by their thoughts and lose track of time.

"Void Dilution," he said. "Ideal for a young root. Now, for your break, you should spend a few hours with Goshung. It's come to my attention that I caused you to miss an appointment."

Fushuai resisted the urge to sigh. For the last week, he had been extending his cultivation farther and farther into the day, as well as doing his foraging when the sun was high; there simply weren't enough hours in the night for him to progress as quickly as he wanted. So he'd reduced his sleep. Now that his master had returned, it didn't seem that trend would be reversed.

"I will go immediately," he said, turning. The Asura had disappeared when the stew had, and he would almost certainly find him at the parasol tree. He caught himself midstep when Xiao Sheng spoke again.

"We discussed your training pace. Spring is ending, and summer approaches. I expect you to be close to the peak of qi refinement before the end of the year."

"I will be," he promised.

"You must be."

He bowed, a question burning on his tongue. "I think I asked the wrong thing before. Instead of asking whether I met your expectations, I should have asked whether you are satisfied with my progress." After all, it could well be that Xiao Sheng only hoped that he would one day be capable of carrying his legacy, understanding that it was more likely he would fail. He could push harder, but he did not know if he should push harder. Stories were full of cultivators who achieved greatness by training tirelessly, day and night. In reality, people who did not know their limits burned down the houses they were trying to build.

The advice he had received from both his teachers aligned with that understanding, but what if they had only been testing his resolve, waiting to see if he had the heart to endure beyond enduring?

He could have already fallen far short of who he needed to be.

Xiao Sheng was quiet for a time, watching the slow seep of gold and gray across the forest below them as the fabric of night continued to shred.

"Once," he said, "a man found a pearl inside a clam at the base of a waterfall. Every day, he returned to that spot, taking what there was to take. Eventually, there were no more clams in that river, let alone pearls, and he starved."

Seeing that the abbreviated parable was all the answer he would get, Fushuai made his way into the forest. As he ran, jumped, and climbed, relishing the strength in limbs suffused with qi, he spotted a flash of white fur following him beneath the limbs of ferns. For a moment, his heart beat faster, and he felt a warmth rising to the surface of his skin, thinking another chimera had appeared.

He slowed his pace, allowing whatever it was to catch up, and soon realized it was only a little fox. Waving, he left it behind, ascending faster than it could ever chase.