Of Hunters and Immortals

The lessons took place in a large courtyard, set into the mountainside, open to the sky and bordered by a low wall of shaped stone. Terraced rows of rough benches flanked a circular clearing of packed earth.

Thin lines of frost still clung to the shadowed edges, melting slowly under the rising sun. A few scrub trees clung to the edges of the stone, gnarled and wind-bitten. Above, a wide canvas awning stretched between tall poles, rigged with ropes and weights to hold steady in the wind. It offered little shelter.

Jiang was suddenly struck by the realisation that not even three weeks ago, the temperature would have been verging on dangerously uncomfortable for him, especially in the thin robes he was wearing. Instead, it was just refreshingly brisk.

He… wasn't sure how it made him feel, to already be so different.

The other new outer disciples were sitting in loose clusters, a few already whispering behind cupped hands. Unsurprisingly, they all seemed to know what was going on, presumably not having missed the earlier lessons like he did. He hadn't even known where the classes were held – he'd found his way here by watching where the others went.

At the centre of the courtyard, an Elder was waiting patiently for them to be settled. Fortunately, Wei and Shen had told him a little about the lessons – nothing specific, but enough for Jiang to know that this was Elder Tao.

He was thin, tall, dressed in the same layered robes as the others Jiang had seen—but his were older, frayed at the sleeves and sun-bleached along the hem. His hair was tied up with a bone pin. He did not speak until the last disciples had seated themselves.

"Welcome to your first lesson as disciples," he said. His voice was dry and slow. "Much like the lessons held during the exams, these will take place each morning for the duration of your time as Outer Disciples. If you are late, do not bother coming. You will already have failed that day's task."

He let the words sit. No one moved.

Elder Tao folded his hands behind his back and began pacing slowly across the front of the courtyard. His steps were silent on the packed earth.

"There are many lessons in cultivation," he said. "Some are rote. Qi theory. Movement forms. Breathing exercises. Most of those were introduced during the exams. These lessons are different."

…Some of that actually sounded useful. Jiang was suddenly a little annoyed with himself that he hadn't tried attending even a single lesson, just to check it out. Unfortunately, it was something of a habit of his – he tended to get so wrapped up in his own way of doing things that he missed some obvious advantages of trying things a different way.

Elder Tao paused near the edge of the awning, gaze sweeping across them.

"Now that you are disciples, the lessons turn outward. You are no longer just aspirants competing in a closed system. You are part of the Sect. That means your actions carry weight—both within these walls and beyond them. In time, each of you will leave this mountain. Some to fulfil tasks. Others to seek fortune or to advance their cultivation. A few will simply leave, one way or another. Regardless, when a cultivator walks among mortals, it is not as an equal."

A faint breeze stirred the edge of the canvas overhead.

"You may think that power is enough. That so long as you are strong, so long as you win your fights, nothing else matters. But cultivators are not bandits. We are not warlords. We do not rule the common people by force. Not openly. Not directly."

Elder Tao turned and pointed toward the distant valley, toward the world below.

"The Sects exist because mortals allow them to. Because we are seen as protectors, as judges, as arbiters of the heavens' will. When one cultivator grows too arrogant, too cruel, they are cut down by another. If that stops happening, if we forget the difference between cultivator and tyrant, then mortals will turn against us. Not with blades, but with silence. With resistance. With withdrawal. No sect survives that."

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A faint murmur sprung up around the room, and Jiang caught several disbelieving, almost offended looks from the other aspirants.

"You don't believe me?" The Elder seemed more amused than anything at the reaction. "Tell me, who is it that prepares your food? Who washes your robes? Who designed and built the Sect that we live in? Who tends the fields, harvests the grain, weaves the blankets?"

Elder Tao turned, pinning the aspirants with the intensity of his gaze. "Mortals," he said softly. "The Azure Sky Sect is protected by cultivators, but it was built by mortals, for mortals." He gestured expansively around them, voice rising. "The purpose of this Sect, beyond advancement, is protection. We exist to protect the mortals of this province from those who would do them harm – bandits, spirit beasts, demonic cultivators. We are the bulwark of the innocent. We strive for virtue, that we may be righteous, that we may be just."

Elder Tao smiled softly.

"We are powerful, it is true. As cultivators, we strive to defy the Heavens themselves, to become so mighty that we ascend beyond the boundaries of this world. In open combat, no mortal can stand against a cultivator – not even as an army. But that does not mean we are all-powerful. That is why honour matters. Why face matters. Why, when we walk the world beneath us, we tread lightly."

Jiang let out a breath, realising for the first time that he had been holding it. The Elder's speech was… captivating. He hadn't thought about what would happen after he managed to rescue his family, not truly. But now he was starting to understand that becoming a cultivator wasn't something he could just undo. When – not if, when – he saved his family, he couldn't just go back to living in a village for the rest of his life.

If nothing else, 'the rest of his life' was going to be a lot longer than he'd ever planned for.

Elder Tao continued, voice even.

"You will learn the laws of conduct. Not just etiquette, but principle. What it means to show respect to seniors. How to grant face in victory. How to accept defeat without shame. How to duel without creating enemies. How to respond when your name is insulted. When to speak. When to act. When to stand aside."

He turned back toward the centre of the courtyard.

"You will be judged for your choices. Not by the heavens. Not by your Sect. By your peers. Your enemies. The people you think beneath your notice. If they do not speak well of you, you will not rise."

Jiang's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. That almost sounded like the servants would have a say in which disciples would advance within the Sect.

Interesting.

In truth, the lecture sounded a lot more reasonable than he'd thought. It wasn't so much that he had much in the way of expectations about how cultivators would act – he'd only ever heard stories before meeting Elder Lu – but the fact that most of the aspirants who passed were clearly from more affluent families hadn't escaped him. He'd expected more… arrogance.

A positive surprise, for once.

"That is enough theory for today," Elder Tao said, letting the silence stretch a moment longer. "Tomorrow, we begin etiquette drills. Today, we observe."

He raised a hand, and a disciple that had been standing off to one side stepped forward. The man moved with quiet assurance, stepping into the centre circle and beginning a set of formal gestures.

"Most of you will already be familiar with these motions. You will watch attentively anyway," A brief burst of Qi settled over the watching aspirants, stifling the disgruntled chattering. Elder Tao acted like he hadn't noticed anything, stepping forward and starting to narrate the disciple's actions.

"Observe. This is how you greet a senior. The gesture is precise, and you will learn to read it—how low they bow, which hand they place above, how long they hold the position. Each variation carries a different weight. Each can shift a conversation."

The disciple shifted into a new form. The movements were nearly identical. Jiang squinted.

"This," Elder Tao continued, "is the same greeting, but given by a senior to a junior. The difference is subtle, but anyone who receives it will understand immediately what is being implied."

Jiang leaned back slightly, arms folded across his chest. A part of him itched to be moving, not watching. Another part grudgingly admitted there was something interesting in how layered it all was. These weren't rituals for the sake of formality—they were language. One built by people with too much time and too much power.

It reminded him a little of tracking. The patterns meant something. You just had to know how to read them.

The demonstration continued. The forms for issuing a formal challenge. The forms for refusing one without losing face. A gesture that acknowledged insult, but deferred response. Another that signalled one's intent to respond later, in private.

Jiang watched until his eyes glazed.

The topic may be less boring than he thought it would be, but that didn't actually make it enjoyable. At the end of the day, Jiang just didn't see the point in pretending – if someone managed to insult him, he wasn't going to calculate whether or not punching them would make him lose face.

He was just going to punch them.