Unseen Cultivator

"One of us, who serves in the dagger hall or library," Chen Chao summarized after Liao laid out the circumstances he had uncovered. "Someone likely close to my own age, and a man."

"Yes," the cultivator agreed. He was glad his maid managed to grasp the circumstances with such swiftness. "Do you have access to a list, perhaps, or know the identity of the proper servant in administration?" The ways of the servant families were remarkably opaque to the average initiate. Liao had little understanding of how they were organized. Grand Elder Neay ultimately coordinated them in their thousands, but it was too much for even an immortal to manage personally. With assignments to both sect facilities and individual cultivators, other managers were clearly required. Mortals directing their own.

"We can go see the steward of the dagger hall," Chen Chao spoke quietly, as always. She retreated into formality as if to try and pretend this conversation was not happening. Her face had twisted through a series of expressions rent by ever increasing shock as Liao explained the nature of the crimes. The very idea of touching a cultivator's weapon, much less using it, horrified her. He had long noticed she avoided touching his own blades and arrows when cleaning the hall, always using covering cloths and never grasping with bare flesh. "He will have such a list, and though your request will be recorded, it cannot be refused."

The implication lacing these words was simple. If the murderer had accomplices within the mortal administration, or simply friends with access to such records, he would quickly learn of Liao's pursuit. Considering this for a moment, the cultivator decided it did not matter. The servants all had duties, one who disappeared, who ran, would be noticed. It would be much easier to hunt down a fugitive than to uncover a hidden mole.

"Why only the dagger hall?" he questioned. It took conscious effort to make this inquiry sound like merely a curiosity, not a demand. He was not used to talking with the servants. Normally he simply gave directions that they do whatever he needed and expected them to be carried out. Refusal was impossible, a cultivator's will would be done. Only an unreasonable demand would raise objections, and Liao was not in the habit of making such requests.

Even when calling Chen Chao to join his bed at night, few words were exchanged. It made this action, this inquiry into her knowledge and life, difficult. Even without that barrier, he was tuned to long and lonely journeys in the wilderness, not conversations with women his own age. Sayaana's company had done little to coach him in casual discourse. "Why not the library?"

"Lin Mei, the first girl killed, worked in the library," the answer came swiftly. "I remember her. We trained together, years ago. The library steward suspected one of the male servants and had them all reassigned to elsewhere in the sect. If it is the same killer, they do not work in the library."

Liao grunted in response to this. It seemed that the sect had paid no real attention to such a death and instead left it to the mortals to handle their own search and justice. He could not even say that approach was wrong. If he struggled to even talk to his own maid, how could an honest investigation unfold? Fear would distort every question, every word.

In any case, the library had always been less likely. Most who worked there were older, attracted to the limited physical requirements of such duties. Such positions were commonly secured by those dismissed from household staff due to advanced age. The dagger hall, by contrast, had younger servants and, since the short-bladed weapon was preferred by female cultivators, most of them were men.

"The dagger hall then," Liao stood up and prepared to take a walk he'd made many times. He'd visited the hall in question for weapons practice at least every other day he'd spent in the sect. This time, in a first, Chen Chao accompanied him. Their joint foray made both of them nervous, but drew no attention whatsoever from the rest of the sect. A cultivator walking about in the company of his maid was ordinary and the other gray-robed servants who formed the primary audience – outnumbering the cultivators at least five to one – ignored this.

The white-robed sect members paid no more attention. Many of them walked about with their own servant in tow, usually heavily laden with some burden. No one questioned this, or even looked at the servants. They simply were not considered worthy of attention.

Liao did have to slow his normal walking pace so that Chen Chao could keep up. This was less a consequence of cultivation, for use of the Stellar Flash Steps in the open grounds of the sect was to be kept to a minimum in order to avoid damaging the buildings, and more that time in the wild had caused Liao to develop a naturally swift stride. Combined with his longer legs, for he had nearly a full head of height over his maid, and he outpaced her easily. Halfway there, he realized that she was scrambling within her skirt and slowed down sufficiently that she might walk normally.

It felt painfully patronizing, and further embarrassing in that he'd ignored this difference between them. Had two decades as a cultivator changed him so much? He wondered how the grand elders remained able to function as normal-seeming as they did. Such thoughts ran down dangerous paths he did not feel ready to pursue. Such trepidation allowed him to focus properly on the moment.

It was not a long walk. Though the sect sprawled across a fairly wide space, it possessed a concentric ring design that allowed for rapid traversal across the central court. As there were far fewer people within the bounds of the sect than in the bustling streets of the city below, there was no mass of traffic to hinder progress. Their path was further expedited by the deeply ingrained training that saw servants recognize a cultivator and move aside from their path in anticipation.

The dagger hall resembled all the other weapon halls, a modest four-storey pagoda-style structure surrounded by a wide expanse of differently sized courtyards. The central tower served as administration, armory, maintenance, and technique repository. The courtyards offered a wide variety of training environments and sparring grounds for the use of the members. Sounds traceable to steady practice and mock combat filled the air as they approached. Though not the most popular weapon in the Nine Spheres Arsenal, daggers were by far the most often chosen secondary implement and every cultivator eventually devoted at least some effort to studying their arts. As such, the hall was never empty and the sharp, motion-heavy exertion of dagger practice and the acoustics linked to clashing blades perpetually surrounded the hall.

As they moved through the series of surrounding courtyards Liao noticed, for the very first time, the traits common to the servants who operated within this space. They were indeed mostly male, young, and finely presented specimens at that. There was a distinct trend toward the tall and slender type presently favored by most of the sect's female cultivators. Liao had noticed this before, for the bow hall displayed a similar pattern, but had never considered it important. He paid little attention to the silent servants at any time, and even less than that during the fury of exertion that characterized weapon practice. Sayaana was generally manifest throughout such sessions and the remnant soul drew the totality of his focus toward her glorious greenery.

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Seeing things now, for the first time again, he was shocked at just how many servants there were within the facility. Gray-robed bodies shifted about constantly, handling countless tasks. Much of it was simple carrying. Water and towels had to be brought to those in training and later removed after use. Cushions and booklets were taken to cultivators when then began studying, and returned to proper storage when no longer needed. Practice dummies and targets were replaced when damaged beyond usefulness. Even food, placed in the central hall for those martial cultivators inclined to devote themselves to the Nine Spheres Arsenal all day long, cycled back and forth from the hidden kitchen.

Cleaning also continually occupied the servants. Dust had to be cleared from rooms and paving stones. Dirt, blood, and other debris needed to be removed from each courtyard between bouts. The level of concealed and unnoticed labor was considerable. Liao had been, in the past, vaguely aware of this, able to tabulate all the daily tasks that suddenly vanished from his agenda when he returned from the wild to his home in the sect, but he felt foolish for never truly observing it in action before this moment.

Every cultivator in the sect was, at all times, surrounded by servants. A resource of critical import, deliberately hidden away. He found this, upon reflection, more than a little disquieting. It seemed strange to pretend such a mass of people did not exist, to make them spend their entire lives in silence, obscured in plain sight. They were well paid, of course, and the sect could not function as it did without them. But how, with their cultivation benefiting from such constant assistance, could they rise up and challenge the heavens?

Sayaana's description of Mother's Gift as a farmer's pen came to mind in that moment. A horse in a stall did not clean the space itself, or replace the straw, or even graze for its own food on most days. That was the only sort of horse Liao had ever seen, but the remnant soul spoke of wild herds that ran upon the endless plains of the north, grazed the tall grass, and under the open sky. He wondered, looking upon the normally ignored mass of servants, whether the horse raised in the stall could run as faster those born in the open grasslands.

This disturbing contemplation distracted him until they reached the central pagoda and pushed within. Only then did he recall the grim task that brought them here and how the large number of servants would make it especially difficult.

The clerks and administrators who supervised the servants of the dagger hall occupied a large chamber that took up nearly half of the second floor of the pagoda. The fourth floor, where true power resided, belonged to the soul forging realm elder who had been granted oversight of this place as the voice of Grand Elder Artemay, the sect's Master of Daggers. She was a talent, but shared the eccentricities of her teacher and was best known for offering lessons by inducing grievous injuries. No one had dared to spar with her in over a full century.

Though the chamber was large, it was quite cluttered, filled with cases full of ledgers and records wrapped around five desk stations with their attendant cushions for the staff. The room stank of ink and stale paper. Presently only three of the five places were occupied. Two belonged to gray-robed clerks, both elderly men, who scrawled away endlessly in thick ledgers, recording some sort of ever-growing record of the dagger hall's ongoing activities. The final space, which filled the back wall beneath a window and had far better light than any other position, belonged to a stout middle-aged man who sported a thick beard in a largely failed attempt to hide the expansion of his chins. A large pile of dates took up far more space on his lap desk than all his writing materials combined.

Liao tried hard not to stare at this man, and the severe corpulence that dominated every aspect of his being. He was not used to such people. As a boy in the mountains, he lived a life where winter kept everyone lean, even the village priest and traveling merchants. As to cultivators, the sect mandated constant combat readiness of all its members. Anyone unable to maintain basic fitness was not only subject to the shame of their peers, but also endless extra patrol assignments until the countless kilometers of the Starwall sloughed the excess weight from their frames.

He had been told that mortals in possession of wealth often over-indulged in food and drink, but he had almost never seen it. Perhaps, he supposed, it was more common in the city.

Though this aspect of appearance repelled him, Liao did notice that the steward's hands were just as ink stained as those of his clerks and that the many slips of paper that passed across the desk shuffled with great speed. Mobility was hardly important to such labors, so perhaps fitness was ignored by the servant's superiors. Doubtless the elders cared little so long as the servants kept the hall operating smoothly.

The administrator gave Liao a hard-eyed look as he entered the chamber, far less deferential than most servants were when unexpectedly faced with a cultivator. The orange belt and copper badge emblazoned with the number two that marked Liao as a second layer vitality annealing realm cultivator received swift scrutiny. The look that accompanied that assessment was not a friendly one.

Unlike most servants, this man had the direct backing of an elder, and he clearly knew it. Any low-ranking cultivator who dared impede his business could face the wrath of the one who prioritized it.

So long as he took care to maintain proper respect throughout the encounter. "Honored cultivator," the steward bowed, an awkward motion given his bulk, as soon as Liao pushed through the door. "I apologize for our appearance," he waved a hand to the mess of the paper-filled office. We were not expecting visitors. How can the dagger hall be of service this day?" The administrator had a silky, overly sweet voice. It was a tone common to many servants when speaking to cultivators, an expression outwardly helpful but full of silent condemnation of the one who pulled them from their duties.

Being singled out from the rest of the sect, Liao was very familiar with it. He tended to cause disruptions as he wandered about.

"I need information," he answered. Interaction with servants followed strict patterns. Focused declarations were preferred, discussion kept to a minimum. It was a dictate Liao knew was necessary now. Should he attempt to argue or explain to this steward the man might well invoke the elder's authority. That could well be disastrous.

Position allowed him to make demands and expect obedience. Doing so felt unkind, but it was not only easier, it was expected. Brevity, in such matters, was the only courtesy he could provide. "I require a list of names, all those in service of the dagger hall, including the dates of their service here and in any other duty to the sect."

"That will," the steward paused. His eyes danced back and forth across the papers spread before him. A search for an excuse even the worst conversationalist could not have missed. "Take some time." Delay, it appeared, was the move chosen for this moment. It was a reasonable one, considering the number of servants attached to the hall. Liao recognized that the document he required would reach considerable size, hundreds of lines. No one would wish to be saddled with such work, even if it was surely to be pressed onto the backs of one of the elderly clerks. "Do you have a more...specific request I might expedite?"

"No." Liao forced himself to be a stone in response. This was not, he told himself bitterly, drawing on Sayaana's lessons, an interaction between equals. Cultivator and servant: predator and prey. That was the equivalence. There could not be equality, even if both sides wished for it.

That reasoning, those thoughts, they held the seeds of something truly awful, but try as he might, he could find no way to deny them. "I require the full profile of all who work in the dagger hall, and swiftly. I am on sect business." He stared at the portly clerk, forced his mind to envision looking down his bow at a rooting boar.

Liao hated how that felt, how the man squirmed in naked fear before that gaze and the qi pressed behind it.

Eight women are dead. He repeated this over and over again in his mind, used it as a mantra to endure the discomfort tied to such arrogance. He would endure such behavior in order to prevent the number from rising to nine. "You will deliver the documents to my maid, as soon as they are complete. That is all."

"Of course, honored cultivator, we are ever at the sect's service," the steward agreed. His words contained an embedded threat, one Liao was not so naive as to fail to notice. He had claimed the entire sect in support of his agenda. If that proved untrue, the hall's elder would punish him severely for subverting the duties of his servants. A reasonable rule, but useless in the moment. Liao's orders came directly from Grand Elder Itinay. Any challenge would evaporate the moment it was raised.

He simply turned and left without saying anything further.

"The murderer will learn you came," Chen Chao whispered as they left the dagger hall. "That man will complain, loudly, to others. Soon all the servants will know."

Liao supposed that was probably true. It did not matter, not this time. "If he runs, then I will hunt him down." It would be easy, clean. He did not think this matter was fated to have such a simple conclusion.