Unintended Cultivator

Despite Sen’s best intentions to simply avoid the Soaring Skies sect members, it turned out to be a lot more difficult to achieve in practice than he expected. While he could hide from them, it wasn’t something he could do all the time. Nor, for that matter, was it something that he wanted to do all the time. Complicating the matter was the fact that they were heading in the same direction. While Sen could easily leave behind any mortal traveler that he came across, the sect members and even their prisoners were all cultivators in their own rights. They didn’t all have the body cultivation advantages that he did, but they could continue moving for longer and deeper into the night than any caravan or mortal lone traveler would dare.

So, they kept crossing each other’s paths. At first, Sen thought they were doing it on purpose. He wasted most of one afternoon trying to let them get ahead, only to run across them grudgingly tending the wounds of one of the prisoners who looked to have made an escape attempt while they set up their camp. Again, while he wanted to think there was something nefarious or duplicitous in their actions, it soon became clear that it was just one of those vagaries of travel. Unless he stopped for several days somewhere, it was going to keep happening. Of course, none of that made him any happier to deal with them. His grudging acceptance that maybe, just maybe, those specific members of that specific sect might not be insane and looking for a fight aside, Sen didn’t want to answer their questions. And they would have questions.

He’d seen the way they reacted to him after he defeated the hatchet-faced cultivator. Minimally, they’d want to know about his training. Worst case scenario, they’d want to trade pointers to try to glean some insight for themselves. Sen supposed he might be willing to trade pointers with Wu Meng yao, if she asked nicely, but it wouldn’t go down like that. If he did that for her, they’d all want a turn. That would turn into a disaster. The hulking cultivator, Changpu, would probably try to prove some kind of point. What that point would be, Sen didn’t know, but he was confident it would happen. The other sect guy would get so embarrassed that he’d probably end up stabbing himself in his distraction. The other sect girl was straightforward enough in her intentions. She just wanted to go to bed with him. He found himself mulling that possibility over. He’d avoided the question up until then for the simple reason that he didn’t want to get involved with a mortal woman. Doing that would be too complicated.

The other sect girl was a different story. He got the impression that there would be zero complications there. No, he thought, not zero complications. He was quite sure that she wasn’t hunting for some kind of relationship. So, that was a problem dodged. Yet, he couldn’t help but think that there would be some other kind of complication from that. Still, it might be worth it. He was disciplined enough to ignore those urges when it was inappropriate or inadvisable, but he was still human. He still had those desires, and they had been piling up on him for years. Sen forcibly pushed those thoughts aside and got his mind back on to cooking. Burning his food because he was distracted by the thought of a tryst, however willing the other person might be, wasn’t going to do him any favors. Besides, he thought, it’s not like she’s conveniently available right now anyway. Then, as if the universe wanted to let him know that it was paying special attention to him and took great glee in his discomfort, Sen heard a voice.

“I’m telling you. Someone is cooking something over here. I can smell it.”

Sen was almost sure he knew who that voice belonged to. A few moments later, the hulking form of Changpu stomped into view like a great, trundling beast. Sen checked those uncharitable thoughts. The big man was no more or less graceful than most of the cultivators Sen had seen. Granted, that was still a comparatively small number, but he was getting a feel for what was normal. The impossible standard for grace set by the elder cultivators who trained him was still a distant dream for Sen, but he could recognize that he was a good distance farther down that particular road than most of the people at his stage of cultivation. When the big man saw Sen sitting there, giving him a bland stare, Changpu stopped short. A second later, there was the sound of one body bumping into another.

“Oooff. Keep moving, you big oaf,” said a feminine voice from behind the large cultivator.

When Changpu started to move again, the other sect girl caught sight of Sen. Her expression melted from vague annoyance into delight. Wu Meng yao came into sight next, herding the prisoners in front of her. To her credit, she looked embarrassed. She left the prisoners under the watchful eye of Changpu and came over to where Sen was cooking over a small fire. He eyed her, briefly, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he paid attention to his food. He saw her shift nervously a few times in his peripheral visions before she spoke.

“I didn’t know it was you,” she finally said.

“Yes,” said Wu Meng yao. “It really would have, but you have a knack for finding the best campsites.”

Sen lifted a shoulder in acknowledgment, trying to limit how much he engaged with these people. “I’ve had some practice.”

“Really,” said Wu Meng yao, curiosity burning in her voice.

Sen gave her a flat look that said, in no uncertain terms, he didn’t plan to elaborate on that statement. The young woman’s face fell, but her eyes kept drifting down to the food he was cooking. There was naked yearning in that gaze. Sen glanced around. Everybody was staring at the food over the fire. He realized that none of the sect members must cook well. They’d probably been surviving on travel rations for weeks, or possibly even longer. He supposed he should be grateful that they didn’t descend on the food like a pack of ravenous wolves.

Wu Meng yao forced her eyes back to Sen’s face. “Do you mind if we share your campsite? Just for the one night.”

Sen let an amused snort slip out. “Do you mean my campsite or my meal?”

Even in the dim light of evening, Sen could see the slight blush on Wu Meng yao’s face.

“Both,” she admitted.

Sen thought it over. He didn’t love the idea, but he probably had picked out the best spot for camping within a solid mile. I’ll have to set some ground rules, he thought.

“Rule one,” he said. “No questions about me.”

He saw something that looked almost like physical pain cross the faces of the sect members. They had clearly thought this was a golden opportunity to persuade him to talk to them.

“Agreed,” said Wu Meng yao with a disappointed sigh.

“Rule two, those prisoners are your responsibility. If I have to deal with them after they escape, I’ll be looking for people to vent my frustrations on.”

Changpu chimed in then. “We’ll keep them in line.”

“Final rule. I don’t do requests. I’ll cook enough for everyone, but it’s on you if you can’t find something you like in the choices.”

Wu Meng yao let out a soft laugh. “At this point, any kind of hot meal will be like a gift from the heavens.”

“Fine,” said Sen gesturing to a nearby spot. “You’ll probably want to set up over there.”

“Why?” asked Changpu, sounding a little suspicious.

Sen rolled his eyes. “The ground’s a little higher, and it’s going to rain later. But you can set up anywhere you like.”

“How do you know it’s going to rain later?” Wu Meng yao asked.

Sen looked at her for a moment, then smirked. “Didn’t take long to forget rule one, did it?”

The young woman threw her hands in the air and stalked away, muttering under her breath. Sen did his best to ignore the other people, and their constant glances at what he was cooking at the fire for the next hour. When considering the number of people, Sen had decided that simple foods were best. He pulled out his biggest pot and a tripod. He hung the pot over the fire, added some water, then started pulling ingredients out of his storage ring. Sen put together what he considered a merely passable pork stew, liberally fleshed out with root vegetables, and a combination of spices that he’d bought and harvested himself. When he deemed the stew cooked enough for human consumption, he called the sect members over. After a moment of quiet discussion, Changpu remained with the prisoners.

“I hope you all have bowls,” he said. “Otherwise, this is going to be a slow meal.”

The sect members dutifully produced enough bowls and spoons for themselves and even for the prisoners. Sen ladled a generous serving into each bowl and even served himself a small bowl. He’d eaten the food he’d made for himself earlier in occasional bites, but he was curious how the stew had turned out. It smelled good, but sometimes that didn’t equate to food that actually tasted good. He took an experimental spoonful and decided that it was simply passable. A good stew really needed to simmer for a couple of hours, and he suspected there might have been violence if he’d made them all wait that long. The sect members and prisoners seemed to be enjoying it well enough. There wasn’t a word passed among them while they ate. Sen did catch an occasional sound of pleasure from them.

“Good enough,” he muttered.

A little while later, the young man from the sect whose name Sen didn’t know came over to the fire. There was more embarrassed blushing that Sen pretended not to see.

“Is it alright if I have another bowl?” the young man asked.

“I made that for you lot. You should finish it up if you can.”

That announcement led to a semi-orderly stampede to the pot. Everyone got another bowl. Wu Meng yao even took pity on the prisoners and gave them a bit more. When the stew was gone, Sen casually reached out and grabbed the pot. He pulled it off the tripod and, which a quick flash of fire qi, turned the stew remnants into a fine ash. He turned the pot over and gave the bottom a smack to knock the ashes loose. He took a moment to bleed the heat away from the pot before he stored it and the tripod back in his storage ring. When he looked up, everyone was staring at him again. He could practically see all of the questions piling up behind their teeth. He just shrugged at them and sat back down by his little campfire. Maybe an hour later, the other sect girl came and sat down across from him.

“I’m Song Ling,” she said.

“Hello, Song Ling. Come to try your hand at asking me questions.”

She let out a little laugh. “I’m not going to ask you any personal questions. In fact, I’m not sure we really need to talk at all.”

Sen gave her a long, appraising look. She was pretty, with delicate features and something that reminded him a little of the fox, Laughing River, around her eyes.

“No,” he said, “I don’t imagine talking will really be necessary.”

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