Unintended Cultivator - A Xianxia-inspired Cultivation Novel

“Are you kidding me?” asked Sen. “He’s here?”

Lo Meifeng narrowed her eyes at him. “Explain.”

“Oh, right, you weren’t there for that part. Short version is that Chan Yu Ming is a princess. She’s got at least one brother who, somehow, knew I was coming. He sent me an invitation to visit, which I, and I cannot stress this part enough, politely declined.”

Lo Meifeng was perfectly still for most of a minute. Sen became oddly fascinated as the woman didn’t even so much as blink. Then, she blinked, let out a low moan, and buried her face in her hands. When she finally let her hands drop, she looked at Sen as though she’d very much like to punch him. Sen lifted his hands defensively.

“Hey, it’s not like I knew about any of this. The prince’s people ambushed me when we were in line at the gate. That’s when I found out she was a princess. I would have told you about that if I knew. Just as a defensive precaution if nothing else.”

“I know,” said Lo Meifeng, sounding drained. “These are complications we, you, don’t need.”

“It’s not like I anticipated the whole prince thing. How could I have?”

“That’s a fair point. Listen, we’re going to have to talk about all of this later, but, for right now, you have to meet with him.”

“Do I?” asked Sen. “I mean, really, what reason would I have to do that?”

“Because he came to you. Declining when a messenger comes around is one thing. Especially if you really were polite. When royalty shows up in person to meet you, you meet with them. Otherwise, you create a political incident because you’re essentially saying he’s not important enough for you to waste your time on him.”

“I thought cultivators didn’t do that kind of thing.”

“It’s not usually an issue. For the most part, mortal royalty don’t care to involve themselves with cultivators. You’re just going to have to take my word for it that you must meet with this man. And, in the name of all that is sacred, don’t agree to anything. If he asks you to do something, say that you need to meditate on it.”

“Fine,” said Sen, standing up and stepping toward the door.

“Wait. Are you going dressed like that?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want to…,” she started saying before giving him an amused look. “No, actually, this is better.”

“I’m glad you approve. You should probably go tell Chan Yu Ming that her brother is downstairs if she doesn’t already know.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Lo Meifeng.

Sen eyed her suspiciously but left his room and walked downstairs. When they had come in, the bottom floor of the inn had been noisy with activity and guests. Now, there was nothing but silence. As Sen reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw the staff all kowtowing near the common area. There wasn’t a guest to be seen. He carefully threaded his way through the bowing staff until he saw a tall figure in extremely fine robes of deep blue with complex embroidery on it. Sen abruptly understood Lo Meifeng’s amused advice. Sen’s robes were meant for hard travel. While the material was high-quality and comfortable, it wasn’t fine. The man was curiously studying a painting on the wall. Sen glanced at it. It appeared to be a river with trees overhanging it painted in muted shades of blue and green, with occasional flashes of bright red flowers that drew the eye. Sen liked it, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good painting or not. Art wasn’t one of the things that his teachers had spent much time discussing with him.

The man finally noticed Sen standing there and turned to look at him. He had the same dark eyes as Chan Yu Ming, although his features weren’t quite as fine as hers. There was a very faint scar above one of his eyes and his nose was a little too narrow for his face, but Sen could almost feel the intelligence radiating off the man. Sen tried to remember if Master Feng had ever discussed the proper protocol for a cultivator meeting someone of a high mortal station and came up empty. With nothing to go on, Sen offered the man a formal bow, but not an especially deep one. He certainly didn’t drop to the floor. He saw an amused glimmer in the prince’s eyes as he returned the bow to precisely the same level as the one Sen had offered. Rather than speak, the man returned to his study of the painting. Not sure what else to do, Sen walked over and stood next to him.

“What do you think of it?” asked the prince.

“The painting? I like it.”

The prince laughed. “No thoughts on the composition or the use of color?”

“I have no training or experience in such matters. The only measurement I have for art is simple. Do I like it, or do I not like it? I like this painting.”

“If I asked that question of a noble, they would have spoken to me for an hour about it without ever actually telling me what they think. They would be afraid to say they liked it, for fear that I would not like it.”

“Do you like it?”

The prince laughed again. “And they never would have dared ask me that question. I do, in point of fact, like it.”

Sen glanced over at the staff who were still crouched on the floor, including a few elderly men and women. Sen recalled all too well how much Grandmother Lu’s joints had pained her before Master Feng had intervened with his pills.

“Do you mean to leave them like that?” asked Sen, gesturing at the inn’s staff.

The prince followed the direction of Sen’s gesture. He looked a little surprised, although Sen couldn’t tell if it was by Sen’s question or the fact that the staff were still there.

“You may go,” the prince said to the staff.

Sen walked over to the oldest-looking woman, who appeared to be in intense pain.

“Let me assist you, grandmother,” said Sen, offering her his hands.

He gently helped the woman rise to her feet. A quick scan with his qi told him a lot about what was ailing her. Sen didn’t have exactly what she needed on hand, but he had something that should help alleviate some of her worst ailments. He summoned a stone vial from his ring and closed her hand around it.

“This should help,” he told her. “Take it before you sleep tonight.”

The old woman looked at him with wide eyes. She nodded and then retreated from the room, clutching the vial to her chest. Once the staff were gone, Sen turned back to the prince, only to find the man studying him. It wasn’t a hostile gaze. It was more that the man couldn’t seem to decide what he was looking at.

“What did you give her?” the prince finally asked.

“A minor elixir. She’s very old and suffers great pain in her joints. It should help with that.”

A series of emotions played across the prince’s features before he schooled his expression back into a studious neutrality. Still, Sen had seen quick flashes of understanding, then guilt, and something else that Sen couldn’t quite identify.

“You could sense all of that with your qi techniques?” the prince asked.

“Yes, although it didn’t take any special knowledge. It’s a common enough affliction in the elderly. I could see the pain in her face.”

The prince nodded. “That was thoughtless of me. I shall have to make amends to her.”

“I’m sure she’ll be,” Sen paused, “overwhelmed.”

“Perhaps so.”

When the prince didn’t speak again, Sen let the silence play out. He had spent long hours on the mountain, sometimes entire days without speaking. Silence didn’t bother him. Instead, he let his eyes go back to the painting. He tried to figure out what it was that he liked about it and came up empty. He knew that he liked it, but couldn’t figure out why. It was something below the level of consciousness. The silence stretched out several minutes before the prince spoke again.

“You are an unusually disciplined man,” said the prince.

Sen glanced back at the prince. “Am I?”

“I have known people who have learned to endure such silences, but you are indifferent to it.”

“I’m a cultivator. Silence is nothing new to me. If anything, I prefer it to the constant noise of this city.”

“You don’t like it here.”

“I do not.”

“You are not like other cultivators I’ve met.”

“In what way?”

“You declined my invitation. Might I inquire as to why?”

“My teachers advised me to steer clear of mortal politics. I’ve found it sound advice.”

“Yet, you arrived at this city in the company of my sister, a princess. Many would interpret that as a political act.”

“She did not see fit to inform me that she was a princess. Your messenger let that secret slip.”

The man threw back his head in laughter. “Of course, she didn’t. Oh, Yu Ming. I presume you asked her about me.”

“I did.”

“What did she tell you?”

“That she loves you.”

There was another momentary crack in the prince’s control. That time, he looked shocked.

“I see,” said the prince, catching his equilibrium. “I expect she told you other things.”

“She did. She said that you’re complicated and smart.”

“I’d ask if she told you not to trust me, but I doubt you’d answer.”

“I would not. Since you’ve gone to all of this effort to meet me, I’m curious as to why. I’m more curious to know how you knew about me in the first place.”

“Would you believe that I’d heard the tales of the legendary Judgment’s Gale and wanted to meet the legend?” asked the prince.

“Probably not. We’re at too far of a remove for those stories to have spread this far, I think.”

“You might be surprised. In any event, though, I was told you were coming. I was also told that you have little love for nobility.”

“A very accurate statement,” said Sen, unable to bury the ice that crept into his voice.

“Ah, so not just disdain, but earned disdain.”

“I think so. Others might see it differently.”

The prince returned to his quiet contemplation of the painting. He spoke without looking at Sen.

“I was told that your entry into my life could harbor great fortune or great disaster. I, of course, prefer the former. So, I wished to start us out on friendly terms. Assuming such a thing is possible.”

Sen took a firm grip on his knee-jerk reaction. He was determined to learn from past mistakes. “So, you want something from me? Need me to do something?”

The prince frowned. “No. At least, I wasn’t told of anything specific. I was simply warned, repeatedly, not to make you my enemy. Given your feelings about the nobility, I hoped that simply telling you what was happening might help us avoid misunderstandings. Beyond that, I was curious about you. You have been traveling with my sister, after all.”

Sen made a valiant effort to suppress a sigh and failed. “I wish she’d been this straightforward.”

The prince made a sympathetic noise. “Yu Ming has always been…”

“Always been what, Jing?” said Yu Ming.

Sen and the prince turned to face Yu Ming, who apparently had made an effort to look the part. She was wearing ornate red robes. Sen didn’t think the color flattered her particularly well, but he kept that thought to himself. She was giving her brother a challenging look as if daring him to say something negative.

“Lovely,” said the prince smoothly.

“I thought so,” she said before turning her gaze on Sen. “Well?”

“Well, what?” asked Sen.

“Don’t you think I look lovely?”

“Yes, but that’s always true.”

Chan Yu Ming beamed at Sen, who felt like there was some undercurrent at play he didn’t understand. That feeling turned into certainty as the prince looked first at her, and then at Sen, and then lifted a hand to cover his eyes.

“Oh, Yu Ming. Tell me you didn’t go falling in love.”