Kind Young Master [Progression Fantasy - Cultivation]

For two nights, they traveled, resting only in the high heat of day. Fushuai moved by moonlight, as always, and Sha adjusted without complaint.

The wood core guided them like a lodestone drawn to iron. Fushuai would only draw it out to confirm that they remained on course. His woodcraft allowed him to keep a steady direction even when the mountain sought to dissuade him, and Sha seemed to be familiar with the area as well.

On the third night, they found the hollow.

It lay between two ridges like the palm of a hand, cupped and steaming. Cypress gave way to bare stone and scrub, then to warm earth and mineral-slick mud. At the center of the basin, a wide spring bubbled softly, ringed by mottled rock and fragrant moss. A low dam of mud and felled trees blocked the near end, holding the water.

In the center of the spring sat a frog the size of an ox cart.

Its back was massive and ridged with lanes of bone, its skin blotchy red-black and glossy with heat. Its eyes were round as shields and bright as lanterns, gold flames licking behind rice paper, staring at nothing.

They crouched behind the dam, Sha stringing his bow.

"I want to get around it," Fushai said. "Can you keep its attention until I do?"

Sha gave him a sidelong look. "Am I to be bait, then?"

"You said you weren't much of a fighter."

Sha snorted, but didn't protest. After testing the tension in his string and shouldering a quiver that held despairingly few arrows, he climbed the logs. Fushuai activated Moon Step and slipped over the dam, slinking amid the brush around the edge of the basin.

The frog steamed more than the spring, which may have been heated by its presence alone. One of its eyes tracked Sha, independent of the other, as he began his slow, deliberate pacing. He walked back and forth as though confused, or half-lost, too weary to notice the threat watching from the center of the pool.

Fushuai's world was cool and cast in grays. He pushed aside the buzzing of insects and the bubbling of the pool, narrowing his focus to the path before him. Corralling his expanded senses had already become instinctive.

As he reached the opposite end of the pond, the frog's other eye flicked toward him, then it surged from the spring. A wall of water went up, roaring into steam where it met the cool night air. The spirit beast arced overhead and crashed down on the far side of the pond with a tremendous splash.

Its tongue lashed out, and Sha flung himself behind the dam with a curse. The tongue struck a log with a wet slap, splintering its side and withdrawing just as quickly. Spear clenched in one hand, Fushuai cycled energy into his feet and raced across the top of the water, his slippers splashing softly.

The frog let out a low, long, grinding groan and turned. Its lambent eyes locked onto his, and he slowed. His resolve weakened, and he felt the beast's intent like a command in his mind.

Be still.

The light behind the broad orbs of its eyes was mesmerizing, fascinating, and his head filled with a mix between a bee's buzzing and the tone of a tuning fork. The rhythm of his breath and qi faltered, and his next step plunged him into the spring.

His tunic was no protection from the scalding water. The heat scraped at his skin, purged the air from his lungs, and he barely kept his head from going under. In the same moment, the frog's tongue snapped out, grasping for where he had been. It slapped the surface with a hiss of steam and recoiled.

Fushuai forced himself to take a breath, closed his eyes, and went under. The spring wasn't deep, and he pushed aside the sensation of being boiled alive as his foot found the muddy bottom. Something shifted underneath, perhaps a bone, and he kicked off, splashing back into the air and landing on the surface again as if it were a pane of glass.

Avoiding the beast's gaze, he dodged another lash of its tongue and circled. The Moon Step made his passage blur like a shadow, steam rising from his skin in a mist.

An arrow whistled, striking the beast's ridged back with a thunk. Sha had crossed over the dam and onto the other side of the spring. The frog opened its wide mouth and belched, ejecting a roiling ball of flame that exploded against the bank. Black moss burst, and tree limbs lit like candles. Sha sprinted through the smoke.

Fushuai curved in, low and fast, and drove the point of his spear into the meat of its thigh. With a violent heave, it leapt backward, crashing into the center of the pond once more. Steam and water sprayed outward in a scalding arc, drenching the stones and Fushuai both. He raced around the water, his movement followed by the frog, and looked for an opening.

One thread of his corded qi had already burned away, but he was in control of his internal rhythms, and the technique held.

He moved again. dashing left, feinting right, the Moon Step carrying him like wind across the water. His skin stung, but his limbs felt light, and more than that, joy. He wanted to laugh in the face of the beast, though he did not have the breath to spare.

Another fireball scorched the bank. Sha had hit his mark again, this time in one of its back legs. The tongue snapped, and Fushuai ducked under it, sliding in low, and jabbed it again. Too shallow.

The beast was fast for its size, and it reacted with the skill of a trained fighter. Every leap made it unreachable, and it could spit an inferno.

Still, he could not help but marvel. Each thread of spirit energy that he had woven in the mantis's grip was worth all his dantian had been able to hold before. Every movement drank from them, every breath spent them, but he was only now seeing how great a change that single step had made.

I feel as if I could run forever, he thought, though he knew it wasn't true.

The battle dragged on, panting and hot. Sha spent his arrows cautiously, firing only in chosen moments, and never missed. Fushuai dodged flame and tongue alike, enjoying the chase even as he wondered whether he would ever be able to land a killing blow.

Then, a change.

The frog prepared to leap as Fushuai closed, and its back leg, thick as an ancient tree and sprouting half a dozen arrows, spasmed. It kicked itself end over end, croaking in what sounded like surprise, and half-disappeared in the water.

Fushuai darted forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat. With a cry that rang through his bones, he drove Suntooth's tip through the center of the beast's blazing eye. The golden orb burst with a hiss, and the frog shuddered, limbs of flame dancing out of its mouth. He stabbed it again, and the beast deflated, becoming little more than a hummock in the spring.

Bringing it onto the bank was almost as difficult as the battle had been.

Sha joined him without a word, crouching beside the body.

For a long moment, they simply looked at it. Its skin was thick and mottled, dark now without the red highlights, but still radiating heat. The arrows jutting from its leg were no more than a knuckle deep.

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Fushuai frowned. "They don't look like they should have hurt it so badly."

Sha was already retrieving his shafts.

"This is Ripple Needle Juncture, a skill meant to strike the meridians directly. You might call it a form of acupuncture."

"Is it a Binding Technique?"

"Yes." An arrow popped out of the frog's rubbery hide. "One common among the Hollow Reed Sect."

Fushuai bowed. Goshung wasn't here to tell him not to expose the back of his neck.

"A thousand thanks. I don't think I could have killed it alone."

"Then we're both fortunate," Sha said. "I wouldn't have enjoyed dying in its belly when I came looking for steamweed."

He began pulling gear from his satchel: glass jars, a thin scoop net, and a curved knife. "This pond has redveil algae everywhere. And while I was running for my life, I think I saw a radiant minnow near the back end. If I can catch that, I will be in your debt."

Fushuai nodded, only half-listening now. He knelt beside the carcass and ran his hand along the beast's bulging belly. The aura was unmistakable. After a few minutes of struggle that left both his arms and the spear coated with gore, he had the core.

An oval of molten glass, three fingers wide. A swirl of fire seemed trapped beneath its surface, forever rolling in place. The heat radiating from it was faint, no stronger than a cup of tea. But its weight in the world was undeniable.

Sha shouted an alarm, and the twang of his bow followed immediately, sharp and sure.

Fushuai turned in an instant, spear ready, and raced toward the treeline where the shot had gone. Even without Moon Step, he practically flew. But when he reached the edge, there was nothing. No prints in the mud. No scent of blood or musk, not even a pattern of disturbance in the needle bed.

Sha lowered his bow as Fushuai returned, though it seemed as if he struggled to do so.

"My apologies," he said, "I'm jumping at ghosts."

Fushuai looked at him, his spiritual sense already extended from his run to the wood. Something flickered in his companion's energy, a fault line beneath calm water. Then it was gone.

"I should be hunting a minnow," Sha didn't meet his gaze. "Excuse me."

Fushuai let the issue sit. They had been through a difficult encounter, and it made sense for the man to still be on edge. An overeager reflex was better than one that wasn't eager enough, in any case. He tucked the fire core into the scripted box with the others, hearing the faint click as the array sealed itself shut.

The frog's flesh was dense and richly marbled, streaked with ribbons of deep orange fat. It steamed even now, retaining heat. He cut thick slabs from the back legs, cleaned them quickly, and set a fire for them to sear.

Sha didn't return with a fish, but he had collected a bundle of moss and another of grass that he appeared to be pleased with. He tasted the meat with a surprised cough.

"You're wasted on fighting," he said after the first bite. "If you ever tire of the sword, there are restaurants in the city that would kill for hands like yours."

Fushuai thought the steaks were passable. It wasn't as if he had brought a pack full of spices, but they had a flavor all their own. Though now that he thought of it, he was sure Xiao Sheng's instruction included significantly more of the culinary arts than was traditionally included in the discipleship of the sects.

"What city?" he asked, and the other man acted as if he hadn't heard him.

"I noticed something odd about your energy," Sha said between mouthfuls.

Fushuai looked up.

"You've obviously reached the compression step. Usually, that means qi that flows like water. You're full of…I don't know, a rope."

That was a concerningly accurate way of describing what he had done. Fushuai wondered when his master might teach him how to properly conceal his spirit. Of course, he wouldn't be able to hide anything from someone more advanced, but he and Sha were at the same stage. He sighed.

"I had difficulty with the compression method I was taught. The fog would shrink, and then spring back again, no matter how much pressure I applied."

"And now?"

"I wove it," Fushuai said simply, "and the threads bound together help each other remember their shape."

Sha whistled. "Some might call that unorthodox."

Fushuai turned the meat on the stone. "I learned it from the mantis."

"The beast that tried to digest you? It didn't seem so clever."

Fushuai shrugged. "I think beasts find natural solutions to problems cultivators spend decades pondering."

Sha leaned back, balancing on his elbows, eyeing him shrewdly. "You said your master's named Zhou Jun? He must be permissive. Most sects would call that heresy."

"I don't think it's heresy to learn from what the heavens place before us freely."

"High talk for a demonic cultivator in disguise." Sha grinned. "Should I be worried?"

Fushuai stiffened.

"I've no intention of defying the heavens," he said, more sharply than he meant to.

Sha blinked, then waved a hand. "It was a joke. A poor one. In truth, I'm impressed. To come upon a new method while in the grip of a spirit beast? Most men would have died screaming. You found clarity." He touched his forehead. "They say there's a third dantian, you know? One that only the immortal ascendants can open. People can study for centuries and still come away as ignorant as a peasant. Who's to say where a moment of enlightenment comes from, or where it's supposed to?"

Fushuai said nothing. He had heard of a second dantian, the so-called heart core, but it was only theoretical. A third seemed preposterous.

He absently turned what was left of the meat, and barely heard it hissing on the hot stone. There was some truth in Zhang Sha's words. Not that what he had done was demonic. Unorthodox was harder to argue. It wasn't the method his master had instructed him to use. Void Hammer's Swing had been working, but too slowly.

Did that make what he had done insight, or error? Would Xiao Sheng praise his ingenuity, or tell him he had ruined his chances of ever advancing beyond qi refinement? There could well be a good reason that other cultivators did not use the method he had discovered for himself.

"You're wondering if you've made a mistake." Sha's voice was quiet, without accusation. He flicked his fingers toward the fire, and the grease from the frog sizzled where it landed. "I've seen that look before, in younger cultivators. And older ones, too. The worry that every step off the path is a step into the pit."

Fushuai didn't deny it.

"There's no wisdom in walking only where others have walked," he said. "Any fool can follow a painted road. But that road leads only into the past, never the future. If you want to be first-rate, you have to leave tradition behind. All the great heroes do."

"Besides," he added, smiling, "if your method doesn't kill you, then it's probably not a bad one."

Fushuai returned the expression. "Are you sure you're not the demonic cultivator, feeding my pride to lead me down a darkened path?"

Sha laughed. "Now you're making jokes. Much better."

It had been meant as a joke. Still, Fushuai wondered.

"How long do you plan to stay in the mountains?" he asked lightly.

"I can't say for sure. I want to reach foundation formation. I'm close, I think. But I haven't found the method that fits me. Not yet."

So he was at the peak. He was no master like Xiao Sheng or Mah Goshung, but there were still things he could teach, and he was much easier to talk to than either of the old monsters.

"Have you chosen a path?"

The wanderer didn't answer at once. He stilled, as if listening to something far away. His expression darkened, a flash of anger followed by blankness. Then his brow furrowed just slightly, like a man trying to recall a forgotten name.

"Are you alright?" Fushuai asked, sitting straighter.

Sha exhaled through his nose. "Before I left the Hollow Reed Sect, I dueled another disciple. I won. Barely. Luck, mostly. But he struck me with something, a poison of the mind. It seemed to be cleansed after a few days of cycling, but as time went on, I realized that it had never completely left me."

"When you thought you saw something in the woods?"

"I did see something. It wasn't real."

It was no secret that some cultivators could damage the spirit as easily as the body, and the mind was a point of attack as well. Zhang Sha's story seemed clearer now, his reasons for leaving the sect, at least.

"Is this what you need to overcome to reach the next stage?"

He sighed. "A part of it."

"Would you allow me to examine your spirit more closely?" Fushuai asked. "I suffered a spiritual poison recently, and it nearly cost me my life. I survived by filtering it through my root. What if I could help you?"

Sha gaped at him, then laughed from deep in his belly.

"You're a rash young master, telling me something like that. Kind, too. You might have a water root, or it might be something rarer, considering what you can already do. Keep your secrets closer, young friend. We aren't sworn brothers yet."

Fushuai's cheeks colored. The man was absolutely correct. He should not have hinted at the nature of his root to a near stranger. If he had any skill, and they came to blows, it would put him at a disadvantage. Besides, his root was unusual enough that it could potentially bring attention he didn't want. Zhang Sha said he had left his sect, but had he cut off all contacts? Hollow Reed Sect might be interested in recruiting someone with a pure Yin root, almost any sect would. Troubles upon troubles.

Fushuai inclined his head, accepting the refusal. He was of two minds about the wandering cultivator. What were the chances of him meeting someone so alike in mind on the Lonely Mountain? Unless it had been decreed by the heavens, the more probable answer was that the man wore a false face to hide some dark secret. But if he was the rogue cultivator, why strike up a shared adventure with the upstart who had robbed him?

There was something wrong with Zhang Sha's spirit, and he had given Fushuai a plausible explanation for that wrongness as soon as he had sensed it. It all felt too easy.

Still, he could not send the man away. Or if he did, trust that he was gone. Somewhere on the mountain, there were two more beasts to kill. Once Fushuai had their cores, he expected to learn what kind of heart this wandering cultivator truly had, for better or for worse.