Unintended Cultivator

The mayor and all of the nobles stood straight again. Sen found a bit of grim amusement in their looks of discomfort. The mayor was fat, his belly straining the confines of the robes he wore. Supposedly, he’d been some kind of a warrior in his youth, but Sen found it hard to believe based on the sweat trickling down his face. Yet, all of the nobles looked strained, like they expected a disaster to fall on them at any moment. He decided that he couldn’t fault them for that. Cultivators could come as a blessing or a curse, so the stories said. Please a cultivator and they might rain down blessings on your house. Displease a cultivator and they might scour your entire line from the face of existence. You just never knew.

The mayor roused his courage enough to ask, “What brings you to our insignificant town, Cultivator Feng? Perhaps we could be of some service to you in fulfilling your goals.”

The cultivator just stared at the mayor for a long moment. “I come to take up residence on the mountain. Closed door cultivation.”

The mayor seemed to brighten at that. Sen reasoned that he was relieved that the cultivator planned on leaving soon and shutting himself away.

“I see,” said the mayor. “Do you require supplies? We will, of course, provide anything you need within our power.”

The cultivator appeared unmoved by the mayor’s words. Sen had a hard time keeping himself from laughing as the sweat running down the mayor’s face grew heavier. It was nice to see someone else so nervous. The cultivator finally sighed and nodded.

“Yes, I will take a disciple with me. Someone to attend to matters beneath me and, when I’m feeling generous, to receive my instruction. I’ll take someone from here.”

The mayor and all of the nobles started falling over themselves offering up their children. While no one wanted the cultivator to stay, they all wanted their children to benefit from attending to the cultivator. In the end, the cultivator ordered that all of the young men and women be brought before him so that he might choose the best from among them. Sen relaxed from his hiding. There were plenty of other distractions in the market to keep the cultivator occupied. The mayor tried to convince the cultivator to go to the palace and choose from the young nobles, but Cultivator Feng would have none of it. He asked that all of the youth of the town be brought before him in the market.

So, Sen watched in interest as the word went out. Young men and women from all over the town were rounded up by parents, by aunts and uncles, by teachers, and even by guards. The children of the nobles were given pride of place and paraded before the impassive cultivator. Their parents spoke of their many virtues. Sen snorted at that. Those brats wouldn’t know virtues if they fell over them in the bath. Once the nobles finished, things relaxed a little. Young men and women were marched in front of the cultivator. Half of them seemed confused, and the other half looked downright terrified. Sen wondered what their parents had said to them. It took a couple of hours before the last stragglers were set before the cultivator.

“Yes, honorable cultivator,” the mayor lied.

Sen knew for a fact that there were plenty of children from the poorest parts of town that had not found their way into the marketplace. He wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed. The cultivator frightened him. That focused, piercing gaze and that invisible presence, like a burden on Sen’s heart, had unnerved him. He knew that he didn’t want any part of whatever the cultivator had planned for his disciple. The cultivator nodded.

“Very well. I have made my choice.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that, Cultivator Feng,” said the mayor. “Which of our worthy youths will accompany you.”

Sen didn’t see it. He barely felt it. One second, he was hiding in the shadows. The next, he was dangling from the cultivator’s hand. Sen didn’t think. He just struck. His small fist crashed into the cultivator’s nose…and did nothing. More accurately, it did nothing to the cultivator. Sen felt like he’d punched a stone. His hand hurt so much that he wondered if he’d broken bones. The cultivator actually smiled at him.

“This one will do nicely,” said Cultivator Feng.

There was absolute silence in the marketplace for the space of three heartbeats. Then, the mayor exploded with rage.

“You mean to take this street trash over one of our children?” The mayor demanded.

“Why should I prefer noble trash over street trash? After all, I did ask that all of the youths be presented to me, did I not? Why was this boy not presented? For that matter, if I were to walk in that direction,” the cultivator pointed in the direction where Grandmother Lu lived, “how many more youths would I find that you conveniently forgot existed?”

“I, I...” the mayor stuttered, eyes darting around as if to find some escape.

Sen didn’t see it happen. He only saw the aftermath. The mayor went from standing there, red-faced and enraged, to sprawled out on the ground, spitting shattered teeth and blood from his destroyed mouth. The cultivator glared at the rest of the nobles.

“Leave my sight before I decide the rest of you deserve the same.”

The nobles ran away. If Sen’s hand had hurt less, he might have even enjoyed the sight. Mostly, though, he was desperately trying to figure out how he was going to run away from the cultivator. He’d been scared when the cultivator first seemed to notice him. Now, having been plucked from hiding in a move so fast he couldn’t even remember the details, he was positively terrified. Sen ran through his options. There were none. Unless the cultivator decided to let him go, Sen sincerely doubted he could escape. The cultivator looked over at him like he could read Sen’s mind.

“You don’t want me,” said Sen. “I don’t know how to do anything.”

If he could convince the cultivator, then maybe things would turn out alright. The cultivator snorted.

“You should call me master. Besides, you’re stuck with me now. If I left you here, one of those nobles would hunt you down and kill you. If not them, then one of their children would.”

Sen went very still. He hadn’t thought it all the way through. The cultivator was right. If he stayed, he was as good as dead. But, he couldn’t leave. Grandmother Lu might well starve if he just up and vanished. They’d never talked about it, but he suspected she depended on him at least a little to help her eat.

“I can’t leave,” Sen said, his voice firmer than he expected.

“Master,” corrected Cultivator Feng.

“I can’t leave, master,” said Sen.

The cultivator seemed to grow bored with holding Sen up and set him back on the ground. Those gray eyes bore down on Sen.

“Why?”

Sen took a deep breath and then explained.