Unintended Cultivator - A Xianxia-inspired Cultivation Novel

It was either late afternoon or early evening, depending on how generous one felt, when Sen finally settled on his next destination. As he considered the position of the sun in the sky, he decided that he simply wasn’t in the mood to spend yet another night camping. Sen didn’t have the natural aversion to camping that some people possessed and took a little quiet comfort in being away from the ever-present smell of garbage that came with town life. Yet, even in the caravan that he’d traveled to the city with, some of the people seemed to detest being outdoors once night fell. He’d found himself wondering why they’d chosen a life that required it of them so much of the time and almost asked a few of them. Then, he reconsidered.

They may have simply been born into it and found themselves trapped in a life they largely disliked but couldn’t escape. After that, Sen took a care to not forget that, despite the many pitfalls of the cultivation lifestyle, it also came with the benefit of substantially more choices. He could take a job as a farmhand or a caravan guard if he so chose. He could also seek a position as a scribe or even train to be a scholar, and no one would question it because he was a cultivator. Cultivators pursued strange interests for even stranger reasons, or so the general public seemed to think. It was in that very gap between the reality of cultivation and the perception of it that Sen intended to live, at least for a while.

Before any of that, though, Sen intended to find a place to get a meal and a decent night of uninterrupted sleep. Even as he walked back toward the city, though, he couldn’t help but stare back at the ocean with regret. He tried to convince himself that he could always go back the next day and see if the heavens favored him. Before the thought had fully formed, though, instinct told him that whatever opportunity had been here would not return. He wondered about what he might have learned and where it might have taken him, but quickly cut off that line of thought. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. He couldn’t expect every opportunity or possibility to yield results for him. All he could do was make the best use he could of the ones that did work out.

Passing through the gate, he found the same guard on the inside. The man looked tired, but he mustered the energy to smile at Sen. Sen smiled back and, after a moment of thought, walked over to the guard.

“It seems as though the ocean cast a bit of spell on you. Most folks don’t spend quite that long looking at it,” said the guard.

“Yes, I guess it did capture my attention there for a while. I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“What’s that?” asked the guard, perking up with curiosity.

“I’m looking for a place to stay for the night. I’d prefer a place that’s quiet, but mostly what I want is to avoid trouble. If I can get a decent meal there, as well, that’d be great.”

The guard idly scratched his chin while he thought it over. “Well, there’s The Crow’s Nest. It’s not too far from here. Popular with the sailors. It’s not too quiet, but the worst trouble you usually see there is a couple of drunken idiots blowing off steam with a fight outside. Food isn’t bad. There’s also the Sunset Inn. It’s more expensive, but the food there is good and the owner doesn’t tolerate no foolishness.”

“That sounds like the place for me. Where I can find it?”

The guard provided Sen with surprisingly detailed instructions to find the place. It made Sen suspicious that the man was getting some kind of a fee for steering people that way. Still, he decided to take his chances and go there. When he arrived at the Sunset Inn, Sen started feeling a bit more charitable toward the guard if he was getting a cut. The place was clean and looked to have been built to withstand some truly terrible weather. It was made almost entirely of stone, with only the occasional wood highlight here and there. Even the roof was covered in clay tiles. Those had been exceptionally rare back in Orchard’s Reach, but even in the bigger and presumably richer Tide’s rest, thatch was still more common than tile. Inside, there was a steady murmur of noise from the ground floor, where people sat around small tables eating meals or occasionally nursing a glass of something. The sense that Sen got from the place was that it existed in a bubble of strenuously enforced calm.

The curt woman who checked him in relayed the rules of the inn in a no-nonsense or else tone. He was told that they would not tolerate fighting, shouting, or, if Sen planned on personal company in his room, loud nighttime activities. Sen shook his head and told the woman that all he planned on was a meal, a bath, and a full night of sleep. She gave him an approving nod at that, as though she thought he uttered truly profound wisdom. He showed him to his room, gave him a key, and told him that he could get a meal downstairs as part of the not-insubstantial fee he’d paid for the night. He thanked the woman and headed downstairs.

It took him a little while to understand how ordering was done in the place. He was used to cooking his own food or at least assisting with the preparation and serving. Here, it seemed he was expected to sit, and someone would come to him. He found an empty table away from the other guests and waited. A bare minute or so later, a pretty young woman came over to his table. He listened as she started to tell him what food was available, but her words just sort of trailed off in the middle of telling him about some kind of pork dish. He looked at her, only to find her staring at him, her mouth slightly open, and her cheeks turning pink. He suppressed a sigh. At least she wasn’t turning bright red. He gave her a smile and immediately regretted it as the pink turned into that tomato color he’d hoped to avoid. He mentally ran through the list of food she’d managed to mention before going mute.

“Chicken and broccoli, please. Rice wine, as well,” said Sen.

She continued to stare at him for an overly long moment before years of experience seemed to trigger her into motion. Her head jerked a little, then she offered him a smile so big it looked painful to Sen. Then, she was gone. He hoped that they’d send a boy out with his food. Sen didn’t mind that women found him attractive. He actually rather enjoyed it, although he didn’t plan on doing anything about it with anyone anytime soon. There were plenty of pitfalls to being careless in those ways that he knew he was ill-prepared to face.

He would make a terrible father, with no skills to pass on save the sword and cultivation. He suspected he’d be an even worse husband. What woman would want to compete with the promise of immortality for a man’s attention? He supposed those women existed, in the way that he supposed dragons existed. They were out there in the world, somewhere, rarely, and only found at great difficulty and through great peril. Of course, the thing he truly minded was the idea of that girl bringing his food back, and then just standing there with it in her hands while she stared at him. She could stand and stare if she really wanted to, but he wanted his food. Fortunately, she seemed to have mastered herself by the time she got back. She deposited his food and wine on the table and only stared for a few seconds before hurrying away.

Sen settled in to enjoy his food and sip his wine. Sen found the food passable, but he knew that wasn’t really fair. He’d simply been corrupted by years of truly magnificent food made by Auntie Caihong. He’d caught himself daydreaming about her food more than once since he’d left the mountain. He sighed, resigning himself to the dread fate of not eating her food for several years. He was about halfway through his meal when a man sat down across from him. Sen thought the man looked to be about his age, but he was finding that to be the case with almost every cultivator that reached foundation formation or higher. The man gave Sen a bright smile, which Sen very pointedly did not return. Instead, Sen stared at the man while sipping the wine. The wine he made no offer to share with the unwanted guest at his table.

“My name is Cai Yuze,” said the man.

Sen did not introduce himself. He said nothing, looked at the man, and then looked over at the door. The man’s smile turned a little brittle, but he ignored Sen’s silent invitation to go away. Sen felt his expression go harder, and the other man winced, but he did not leave.

“I can see you’re not much of a talker.”

Sen lost what little patience he had left. “Leave.”

“Don’t be hasty, friend.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You haven’t even heard what I’m here about. As I said, my name is Cai Yuze of the Stormy Ocean sect.”

For a moment, rage welled inside of Sen, and then, just as quickly, it receded into an icy, deadly calm. The man seemed to realize he’d made a terrible mistake when Sen stood. Sen never broke eye contact while his hand dropped his jian. All Sen had wanted was a simple meal. That was all. Yet, it seemed that this sect could not leave well enough alone. He had tried to walk the better road before, sparing not one but two of their murderous disciples. If mercy wasn’t sufficient incentive to leave him be, perhaps death was the only language they understood.

“Just wait,” said the man. “I only want to talk.”

“Everyone from your sect is the same. All that matters is what you want.”

Sen heard Cai Yuze mutter under his breath. “Damn that girl.”

“Don’t blame her. She only did what you taught her,” Sen said, baring an inch of the jian’s steel blade. “Now, for the last time, leave.”