Xu Zhong left the tent, feeling like the whole world was ever so slightly tilted, as the caravanners shuffled around setting up their sleeping arrangements or cleaning up the remains from the battle. It was an odd thing to see the morning when one was certain death had arrived at one’s door. But death had not knocked. Instead, it smashed the door to pieces, loitered by the threshold, peering curiously at the living as it leveled the blade for a killing stroke, and was then abruptly, suddenly interrupted by a bizarre twist of fate.
A shiver ran up his spine in spite of his deliverance. After gazing into a demon’s jaws and feeling the hot stink of its fetid breath swamp against his skin, about to be bitten into like an apple, Zhong found it hard to shake off the chilling touch of mortality. His hand instinctively went to the jade pendant around his neck, fingers tracing its smooth surface as a talisman against the darkness that had nearly swallowed him whole. The night’s events replayed in his mind like a scroll unfurling - the clash of swords, the cries of men, and that monstrous figure whose presence seemed a nightmare made flesh. A shiver ran up Xu Zhong's spine, despite the warmth of the morning sun on his back.
Yet no one faltered.
The desire to run in the face of those things pouring from the shadows like a disturbed hive of bugs had been overwhelming yet one of the oldest men with the caravan, Long Ru, a simple cook who was providing his services in exchange for transport to Ever-Reach with no reason to take up arms for the Firebird Caravan, had leapt forward to fight, brandishing nothing more than a well-used cleaver and a heavy frying pan.
Even Xie Kang, one of the guards Zhong had grown up with, had his leg twisted at a gruesome angle only minutes before, now walked with a pronounced limp with the splint, but walked, nonetheless. Last night when one of the demons, a great ox-like thing with the head of a snake and the eyes of a fish trampled him, he thought the man dead. After the cultivator arrived, he never thought Kang would walk again but there he was, helping his little brother, Yunru, up into the trade sledge like his leg hadn’t been crumpled like reeds under a bolder.
The day was eerily quiet, even for the steppe, a stark contrast to the chaos mere hours earlier. Women patched torn canvas with steady hands while men inspected horses and mules for injuries inflicted during the assault. Those with no work rested where they could. The animals were jittery, skittish at every shadow that moved, their flanks slick with sweat despite the coolness of the dawn air.
The demonic presence lingered in the air even though the creatures were long defeated. ‘Thrown,’ he corrected himself, ‘tossed like toys many li away with the ease of a child throwing an unwanted doll out a window.’
That wasn’t to say the price of survival hadn’t been steep. Two of the trade sledges had been badly damaged. They had to use one to shore up their rough defenses and it was smashed to kindling by the worm like demon. The second caught fire, too close to the bonfires they had set in their panic, taking valuable goods with them. The scent of charred wood and scorched earth hung heavy, a reminder of their narrowly avoided demise and the cost, though he could not complain that he was alive to complain.
Everyone was. People spoke softly amongst themselves, their voices a mix of awe and disbelief. The children returned to their games, albeit closer to the skirts of their mothers than before, their laughter tinged with a hesitance that had not been there the day prior.
His father clapped a hand on Xu Zhong’s shoulder, pulling him back to the moment. Under the thick beard grown bushy and bristlier with heavy days of travel, he could tell his father was beaming under it.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Xu Dingxiang’s eyes followed the cultivator as the strange man shut the tent flap behind him, not wanting to disturb the other cultivator. “Never seen anything like it. The way you mended those wounds… astounding! We are grateful that you chose to use your gifts to help our humble caravan. We are in your debt, Master…” He trailed off, realizing he’d never gotten the man’s name and neither had Zhong.
“Sè Piān,” the man supplied easily, brushing down his splendid crimson robe. There was an odd hesitation when the cultivator said his name, not from the cultivator but… Zhong wasn’t quite sure what it was. For a split second, he was certain he’d heard something else. “My full name is -" What came out of the cultivator's fanged mouth barely seemed to qualify as language, but each word, sound, and utterance came out his throat as easily as if he were speaking his native tongue. ”-but Sè Piān is fine, and it was the best I could do.” He rubbed the back of his head like he was embarrassed. “I’m not a physician after all.”
Again, Zhong wondered, how he was still alive. When he’d seen the cultivator strike his father with a hammer, he was certain his dad was dead. It would have been too cruel of the heavens to deliver them from demons of the pit only to shove them in the arms of a demon of a different sort. Cultivators by their nature were hard to understand at the best of times, quick to anger at the worst of times, and lethally decisive all of the time. With them, legends of unimaginable nobility and incomprehensible cruelty were often entwined like the roots of an ancient banyan tree, impossible to separate. His own experience came from traveling all his life with his father in the Firebird Caravan, the few he’d seen in the Stellar Wing Empire had more in common with walking statues and just as expressive. The smaller sects in the Ever-Reaching Steppe behaved like the common bandits in the old stories, the kind of cultivators who would be slaughtered by the righteous blades of the former.
He hadn’t simply courted death by aiming steel at the man, he embraced it like a lover. To defend his family, he was more than ready to try and ultimately fail to cut him down. Yet instead of swatting him aside like a bug, murdering everyone for the insult, and continuing on his way unchallenged, this Sè Piān, with his bizarre methods and cryptic utterances, was clearly an exception.
The cultivator had merely fixed him with a questioning gaze that seemed to strip his soul bare. It was as if he had understood, instinctively, that fear and desperation had driven Zhong's actions, not malice. He’d not only spares his father but began to work miracles the likes of which not even the stories told over the campfire when he was a child.
It was when he made his rounds to catalogue what the caravan lost and getting to witness Sè Piān’s hands closing wounds, attaching limbs, mending flesh and bone as if time itself reversed that the full magnitude of the power he challenged impressed itself upon Xu Zhong’s mind— it was a stark reminder that life and death were mere playthings to people such as Sè Piān. Each act of healing, each tender gesture from his hands was like a brushstroke in a divine painting, turning the grotesque and hopeless into scenes of mundane morning activities as if by denying the demons, death, and the heavens their due. He offered smiles like gifts, a fierce tiger baring its fangs in joy.
To think that the man who tossed demonic creatures like ragdolls, made healing alchemical brews that made one breathe fire, and spoke of reattaching limbs and blessing his best friend’s brother, Xie Jing, with new eyes out of stone ‘the best he could do’ was both humbling and terrifying. It meant in some way; he could’ve done better. Even his tone carried what he said with the casualness of a farmer discussing the weather
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Zhong wondered how a man could possess such duality—how one who wielded such immense power would choose mercy over wrath, generosity when it gained him nothing, especially in an age where the latter seemed far more common.
Almost right away, his thoughts fell on the other cultivator and sour guilt surged up his throat. ‘Such thoughts are unfair.’ he reminded himself. The ‘Bronze Cleaver’ - and what a name to hear from his father’s mouth in the middle of battle - had yanked him from demonic jaws ready to rip and tear. Cultivators might’ve had the same goal to break the heavens, but like his father once told him, ‘There are many roads to a single place.’ At least, these two happened to be on distant roads.
Zhong’s father, ever the professional, recovered quickly. “Master Sè Piān,” Xu Dingxiang corrected himself with a slight bow of his head. “Please, if you’ll follow me to this Xu Dingxiang's tent.”
Zhong watched his father disappear into his tent, motioning for the cultivator to follow. A faint smile touched Xu Dingxiang's lips, a rare sight these days given the perilous nature of their trade route. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to a cushion within the spacious tent, designed for comfort during long journeys across the Steppes.
Sè Piān, instead of seating himself like a normal person, idly bounced on the balls of his feet, looking around the tent curiously. It was then that Xu Zhong noticed that, even now, as still as he stood, the man seemed to vibrate with an unseen energy. Like a tightly wound spring, or a cat ready to pounce.
“Ah, thank you, thank you.” Sè Piān suddenly stopped bouncing, plopping himself onto the cushion and setting his… bag next to him. It was as if he had not a care in the world, a stark contrast to the vigilant demeanor one would expect from a cultivator. He crossed his legs, looking entirely too comfortable for a man dressed in the height of cultivator fashion, but then again, nothing about the man was normal. “Very comfy. So, where were we?"
His father, ever the consummate host, poured a cup of fragrant tea and offered it to Sè Piān. "A small token of our gratitude, Master Sè Piān. It's a blend of herbs and spices from the far reaches of the Stellar Wing Empire." He held his breath as his father offered the cup to the enigmatic cultivator, Sè Piān, hoping that this small gesture of gratitude would be pleasing.
Sè Piān's yellow eyes lit up as he took the cup, his long, slender fingers wrapping around the delicate handle with surprising grace. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip, his eyes fluttering closed in delight his cat ears going erect. "Delightful! I've never tasted anything quite like it."
Xu Dingxiang beamed with pride. "I'm glad you enjoy it. Now, if I may, I'd like to discuss the matter of compensation for your invaluable assistance to my caravan."
The cultivator waved a dismissive hand. "No need, really. I was just passing by and saw a group in need. Thought I should help."
Xu Zhong's jaw almost dropped. The cultivator spoke of their harrowing encounter with such nonchalance, as if it were an everyday occurrence.
Sè Piān continued, "Besides, I'm on a bit of a journey myself in fact, I’d also like to ask,” He continued, rummaging through his robes, “do you by any chance have a phone? Or maybe a map? I need to figure out how to get back to the U.S. of A.”
Xu Dingxiang's brow furrowed in confusion at the mention of 'the U.S. of A.' Zhong had heard and seen of many lands in his travels and dealings alongside his father, but this was not one he could recall and it seemed his father didn’t either. "A map we have, though I am not sure how helpful it will be for such a destination," he admitted, retrieving a rolled parchment from a wooden chest. He spread it out on the table, showing various known regions and trade routes, none of which bore the name Sè Piān was asking for.
Sè Piān leaned over the map, his eyes scanning over it briefly before he chuckled lightly. "Ah, no, this won't do. But thank you anyway. It seems I'm a bit further from home than I thought." The casual statement made Xu Zhong wonder where the cultivator had come from. He was clearly not part of the woman cultivator’s sect and certainly not of the White Oasis. His jaw tightened ever so slightly; those robbers would’ve tried to charge them an imperial ransom per demon limb before throwing a punch.
“Perhaps there are other ways we can assist you in finding your way?” Xu Dingxiang offered cautiously, evidently trying to bridge the gap. His father’s voice was polite, but Zhong could easily catch the undertone of a plea hidden beneath the courteous offer. He quickly picked up what his father was trying for, to get the cultivator to stay with them for as long as possible. With demons roaming this far in Ever-Reaching Steppe and the other cultivator injured, the Firebird Caravan was faced with three choices without him, turn back to the Stellar Wing Empire’s frontier, make for the White Oasis compound and pray to the Spirits they wouldn’t strip the sledges to the paint for the privilege of their protection, or try for Ever Reach City as fast as they could and hope no more demons followed in their wake. “We’re only about six days from Ever-Reach Gate City.”
“Almost a week, huh? Think I could find a payphone there?” Sè Piān appeared to consider the offer, his head tilting slightly as if weighing unseen factors. Zhong and his father shared a look, wanting to ask what a ‘Payphone’ was but not wanting to interrupt the cultivator’s thinking, lest he get annoyed. "I suppose," he said slowly, each word rumbling in his throat and dripping with amusement, "there could be a way you might assist me. But not in the way you might think. Tell me more about this Ever Reach City and your route."
Xu Dingxiang nodded gratefully. Any assistance in safeguarding their journey would be invaluable. "We would be happy to provide whatever you may need," he finished earnestly. "The road to Ever Reach City is fraught with peril, and while our caravans are well-guarded, the demons seem unusually relentless this season." As his father explained the dangers of the Ever-Reaching Steppe, the cultivator listened intently, nodding occasionally and stroking his chin. Every so often, His gaze drifted towards the flaps of the tent as if he could see beyond their current predicament, into the myriad possibilities and dangers he was listening to that lay ahead.
The cultivator made to check his wrist, froze, then sighed in disappointment. At first, Zhong thought it was because of father may have pushed even the great patience of this strange cultivator too far, but then Sè Piān chuckled softly and shook his head. He gestured at the leather band around his wrist, gesturing to a creation of metal with cracked glass. It was so small, Zhong couldn’t begin to figure out what use such a thing could possibly serve.
"Forgot my watch isn’t working — no matter, it's not as if I have a schedule to keep. And you all know this place better than me.” Then jumping to the next topic like what he said made sense, the cultivator raised two fingers, “First, is there a town around here and second, do you have any coffee?”
Zhong shared another look with his father, seeing the confliction on the older man’s face as his hand idly tugged on his beard. The younger man began weighing their options. The Firebird Caravan was known for its honesty and integrity, but the idea of mentioning their strained relationship with the White Oasis Faction did not sit well with him. Sighing, he relented. "Yes, there is. Oasis Point is halfway between here and the city, but I must warn you that it's under the protection of the White Oasis Faction." He left out the part about the hefty toll they were sure to charge, not wanting to sour the mood or deter Sè Piān from accompanying them.
Zhong knew as well as any, cultivators considered matters of money beneath their contempt. It was what made them either the best or the worst customers.
Sè Piān nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing the information. "Well, I appreciate the heads-up. And I can get you there a little faster after some breakfast." His eyes drifted to the entrance of the tent. "Now, about that coffee..."
After a moment where Zhong wasn’t sure he heard right, he bowed apologetically. “Please forgive this Xu Zhong’s ignorance but… what is this ‘coffee’ you speak of?”
Upon hearing his confusion, the cultivator went noticeably still. His tail froze in mid-sway, his ears stood taller and while friendly smile on the cultivator’s face didn’t break, but it grew stiff. Zhong would almost call the look desperate.
Xu Dingxiang coughed into his hand, hoping to recover the situation. “I know esteemed cultivators such as yourself may have different names for items of interest. Perhaps you could describe it to us?”
Master Sè Piān's expression relaxed, and he chuckled softly. “You know… coffee? A cup of joe? Espresso? Caffeine in its most delightful form?” He paused, seeing their expressions of genuine confusion. “Americano? Latte? Mocha?” As he rattled off a few more variants, hoping one would strike a chord, and clearly not, a wild glint entered his eyes. “Cappuccino? It’s a dark, often bitter beverage, brewed from beans? The drink of the gods?”
Zhong blinked. ‘Drink of the gods? Then we certainly don’t have it.’
After a moment's silence, where the very air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of Zhong's next words, he finally spoke, his voice cautious but curious. "I believe we do not possess this... this coffee you speak of, esteemed cultivator. However—”
Interrupting him mid-sentence, Sè Piān dove into his bag like a man possessed. After a palpable moment of tension, he pulled out a small packet, his relieved sigh diffusing into the quiet. He tilted his head, those odd yellow eyes widening slightly, those cat-like ears of his twitching. “It seems my foresight hasn't failed me yet; I did remember to pack my instant… Know where I can get a kettle around here or a pot or a cauldron? I got some Boiler Compound to make.”