Kind Young Master [Progression Fantasy - Cultivation]

The stone floated between Lin's hands, wrapped in a web of water. It was her brother's stone, given to him by one of his masters, and he had bid her to break it if she could. His qi compression method was strange, and she had not been able to replicate it for herself. The Deep Well Pressure method had allowed her to achieve that step of refinement already, so another was not needed. However, his qi braiding had applications beyond internal alchemy.

Liquid cords bound the rock, hardened by her will. For days now, as they traveled, she had been attempting to weave water like Fushuai did qi. It might not be possible, but there was something to this technique, even if it was beyond the limits of her skill. A rustle in the nearby sagebrush drew her attention. A snake had caught a tiny sand crab. How mighty it seemed, conquering the infant, when one day that crab might have grown to be the size of a house.

Tarnish was not as bad as the dust flats, but it was still a dry land with hardly any green. Sparse vegetation, ample colonies of yellow moss, and more bugs than beasts. There was groundwater, at least. She could find it, and the despicable Zhang Sha could help her bring it to the surface. For that, the refugees treated them as heroes and gods.

"High Lady Lin." It was Hou Fen. The elderly man had appointed himself the sole communicator for the fleeing people. Not that he tried to prevent them from interacting with the others, just that he took every opportunity to be the one seen engaging with them. That suited her well enough; hierarchies were both proper and important for the smooth functioning of society.

"Yes?" Her focus was still on water and stone.

"I have brought you the evening meal. Would you prefer not to eat, High Lady?" She regretted telling him that she was a sect elder. These mortals didn't know the proper forms of address, and instead threw titles like paper script before a funeral procession. She could smell it now, savory and faintly metallic, crab stew. The meat was too rich for mortals to taste more than the broth, but that had been enough to sustain them while they traveled. Despite the power in the meat, it was not an ideal food for this heat, and she had grown to dislike the sun almost as much as her brother seemed to.

"You may leave it with me," she said, and he bowed himself away shortly thereafter. There was laughter in the camp, and the occasional quiet song. It pleased her, as it would have pleased her to hear birds singing or dogs playing. One's honor was upheld by the four pillars of the code of the jianghu: loyalty, truth, respect, and balance. The heavens had decreed that cultivators were the stewards of the earthly realm, and therefore, mistreating mortals was dishonorable. It denied them the respect they were due for the part they played in the greater hierarchy.

That being said, it would have been within the bounds of honor to ignore the plight of these people and allow them to die in the dust flats. The cultivator who had been responsible for them was gone. Now, they were responsible, but only because her brother had accepted the obligation. For herself, Lin thought it would have been better to continue their journey rather than be sidetracked. She knew Fushuai, though, and it had come as a relief to see that his time with the Living Blade had not changed him as much as she once feared.

It was one of her first memories, seeing him in the courtyard as a boy, bowed over a dying wine thief. Her father's punishment had been just. Mercy would have been just as well. That decision had been Gao Ligang's to make. And yet, she had never forgotten the tears Fushuai had shed for a servant, blood staining his hands red as he tried and failed to stem the flow.

***

Fushuai stood atop a hill overlooking Sand Orchard. There were signs it had once been a large and prosperous town, but most of what it had been was now no more than sunken foundations and memories in the dust. The portion where people lived now was made up of squat sandstone homes, sparse gardens, and goat pens.

He'd asked his sisters to remain behind with the townsfolk. The confrontation ahead of him could have been instructive, but they didn't know how formidable an opponent waited for them. If the man who had killed Shi Ti was too strong for him and Zhang Sha to handle together, then their presence would be more hindrance than help.

They had watched the moon grow as they traveled, and though it had begun to wane again, its influence was still dominant at night. It was as good a time as any to issue a challenge.

Boots scraped against the soil behind him.

"So, Sect Leader, what do we do when we find him?"

"I am not a sect leader, Sha."

"Aren't you? Those mortals think you are. We have an emblem. I've never heard of a wandering sect before, but I don't see why they can't exist."

"The lack of a stronghold would be a detriment. Besides, a sect without a core cultivator is like a gang of ducklings without a mother to defend them."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Hah. We have one, don't we? The famous Grand Elder Zhou Jun."

"There is no such man."

"Does it matter?" Zhang Sha did not appear to be joking, though it could be hard to tell. His expression was that of a man pondering a purely academic subject. "If what people believe is false, it rarely carries less weight than it would if it were true."

Fushuai rolled the shaft of his gu-en in one hand. Lies and illusions had their uses, and he was not above using them to his advantage. Honor dictated that one not deceive an ally. If it led to victory, to deceive one's enemies was generally considered a masterstroke. He wasn't sure how to make use of that here.

"We could drive him away."

"Would he not return when he saw that danger had passed? Or do the same in another town as he did in this one?"

Cultivators killed each other. He who lived as a warrior generally died as one. That was not what bothered him about this man. Why kill mortals because they had once served another master? Even if they were not fit or willing to renew their service, they could be sent away and replaced. Even if they voiced their discontent to the community, it would be no more than grumbles. They could not pose a threat.

"If I could take away his power without killing him, I would."

"Interesting." Zhang Sha scratched his chin. "You know, such things are possible. Enough damage to the dantian, and recovery becomes nearly impossible without intervention from a greater artist. But wouldn't that be worse than killing him? For most cultivators I have known, damage to the spirit is feared above damage to the body. Forcing the immortal to become mortal, that is nothing short of cruelty."

"We are not facing immortality, only arrogance."

"Hah. A bit of that on both sides."

Fushuai found he couldn't disagree with him. He wasn't certain how to solve the problem before him, only that he intended to try. "Perhaps he can be reasoned with. We have only heard one side of this story. There could be justification for what he has done."

"Of course there is. He wanted something, so he took it."

They descended the hill and crossed a recently sown field to enter the silent town. People slept in their homes, the sense of their spirits like embers hidden under ash. The street was old brick, and Fushuai found himself wondering if this one stretch had been maintained since before the fall of the Silver Empire. It was in better condition than many of the homes, which appeared to be of more recent construction. Mortals were as capable of pride as cultivators, and of diligence.

It was an easy guess as to where the cultivator had chosen to take residence. A single square pagoda, four stories high, lifted its tile-mantled head above the other structures. Hou Fen had described it to them beforehand, but they wouldn't have missed it otherwise. There was hardly another building here of note.

A woman was waiting on the landing of its entrance, head bowed and hands clasped.

"We are here to speak with your master," Fushuai said.

She looked up, startled, and her mouth dropped open when she took them in. "Master Ao does not admit visitors at this hour. Forgiveness." She ducked her head again. "Please share your names with me, and I will inform him of your intent when the sun rises."

"He is here, though?" Fushuai asked, just as Zhang Sha pointed to the fourth floor.

"There. We may as well have that chat now."

"He is..." The servant's voice trailed away as she watched two cultivators scale the side of the building at a run. There was a low-grade array engraved in the wall, an alarm that Zhang Sha disabled before Fushuai had a chance to. Their spirits were already veiled, and they entered a study through the window, crossed into a hall, and then found the bedchamber.

It was hardly the abode of a king. A few shelves of books and scrolls, a wardrobe, and a desk. The sleeping mat on the floor opposite a shuttered window was occupied by a young man in a purple silk robe, snoring soundly. His spirit shone with the mark of qi refinement, no more than that. Wary of tricks, they moved to stand silently over him. Zhang Sha brandished his knife, and Fushuai pressed the tip of his staff into the young man's chest hard enough to pin him on his back.

He awoke at once, lost a few brief moments in fruitless struggle, and finding he could not dislodge the staff, glared up with murder in his eyes.

"Kill me then. Thieves. But know that I am Ao Lao, and my death will be a curse upon your heads."

"Why?" Zhang Sha asked casually. "Are you important?"

Fushuai felt the thread of intent as soon as it was formed, and spun just as a flying dao appeared behind his back. He batted it away, reminded sharply of his training session with Goshung, and heard the scuffle begin and finish over the sleeping mat in a breath.

"Can't I just kill him?"

The dao was still dancing, but after a few more clashes with his gu-en, it lost some of its eagerness. Fushuai was able to catch it by its grip, and with a thread of Yin, interrupted the formation that was connecting it to the hostile cultivator's will.

"Not yet. I'd like to question him first."

Their captive had a knife to his neck and a bruise forming under one eye. He lay flat on his belly, with a knee pressed into his back and his cheek against the cool stone of the floor. Fushuai knelt beside him.

"You are the one who killed Shi Ti?"

"I am. I would have killed you too, if you had not come to me as cowards under the cover of night."

"A heavy sleeper is one who never wakes."

Ao Lao tried to spit at him, but didn't do more than wet the stone.

"We met some of the people fleeing this town. They said you meant to kill them. Is that true?"

"It was only right. Their master died, and so should they. I gave them a night to prepare themselves, and they left their honor behind them. Worms."

"Do you have a master, or a sect?"

The young man shut his mouth, which was as good as a refusal. He didn't want to admit to being alone when the threat of reprisal was all he believed could preserve his life. Killing him would be easy, simple, and clean. It was certainly what this puny tyrant would have done in their position. Zhang Sha had been correct. Sending him away would serve only to encourage him to try again. He would live or die as bandits did, at the end of a sword, with no thought to the damage he left in his wake.

Still, a summary execution did not sit well with him. Lao was as young as Lin. Had he been born this way, governed by the instincts of a beast, or had he been shaped? Suddenly, Fushuai felt like laughing.

Instead, he spoke.

"Welcome, Ao Lao, you are now a prospective disciple of the Devouring Death Sect."

Zhang Sha groaned.