Dean sat cross-legged on the wagon bed, facing the receding countryside, his eyes closed. “Ohmm…” He hummed.

“Ohmmm…” The two children, Bobby and Mary, hummed along, one to each side of him. He peered at one, then the other from the corner of his eyes, his lips curling into a smirk before throwing his arm up in the air and laying back in feigned indignation. Bobby and Mary looked at each other before mimicking Dean with a giggle. “You sure you ain’t a cultivator?” Jeb shouted over his shoulder from the front of the driving box. He had tied back the curtain that separated his position from the covered wagon, allowing him easy access and communication with Dean and his kids. “Naw Jeb, I promise am naw a cultivator,” Dean replied. “I just feel like I should try meditatin’ but I d’ken what am doin.”

“You speak funny, mister Dean,” Mary chuckled, looking up at him, who now sat leaning on his left arm. His right arm, while healing well from its dislocation, was yet unable to support much weight.

It had been a few days since Dean’s initial encounter with Jeb and his family where, despite a rocky start, they had accepted his company happily. Jeb had spent much of the time hunting, armed with his trusty bow. Dean had marvelled at his companion’s skill with the primitive weapon when Jeb had offered to show Dean the ropes. “I’ve been learnin’ to track and hunt since I was a boy, around Bobby’s age. It’s a shame he has no int’rest in it, unlike Mary, but that ain’t something a girl should be doin’.”

“Oh, aye? Why’s that, big man? Afraid she’ll run yoos outta the job, eh?” Dean jokingly rebuked, having seen the young girl’s preternatural talent with the bow.

“Perhaps!” Jeb had chuckled. “But it’s not right for a girl to take on that line of work. It’s fine as a dalliance, but once she’s grown, she’ll be expected to marry, becoming a wife and mother. She might be allowed to work her husband’s business if he so permits, but that ain’t always the case around here, Dean.”

Dean had scoffed at that. “An’ wot if she became a cultivator? What kinda life would she lead then?”

“Thas different. Normal folks who stumble ont’ the path of ‘csend’ncy ain’t normal no more. They can do what they want then, ain’t no one but a stronger cult’vator gonna be able t’ stop ‘em,” Jeb explained, his attention only half paid to the conversation. “But a cultivator’s life ain’t easy, y’know? Every wakin’ moment’s got t’ be spent growin’ in strength and skill or ‘ttainin’ enlight’nment while always lookin’ ov’r yer shoulder. It’s too dangerous for m’ little Mary. I say the life of a mother will do ‘er best.”

The rest of the hunt had been spent in still silence, except for the occasional heads up that Dean would give Jeb once he had sensed movement.

It was late in the afternoon, just as the sun started to bleed across the horizon when the environment began showing evidence of civilization. It started with the odd farmland, soon followed by a ranch or farmhouse, and then it was not long before the wagon came to a halt. Clambering through the canvas covering, Dean sat down at the driver’s box alongside Jeb.

They had arrived at a large wooden gate surrounded by equally large palisades stretching far around the settlement within. A bald, dark-skinned man with a large waxed mustache and rounded gut approached Jeb’s side of the wagon, his chest puffed out and eyes locked onto Dean as he spoke, “’Lo there, Jeb. Fine, evenin’, hmm? Looks like y’ picked up a trav’ler. S’pose you are doing just fine, and I’ll find the kids safe in th’ back?” His voice was hoarse and full of suspicion for Dean.

“I’m fine, Rod. So are the kids. This is Dean; he helped us out with some trouble on th’ road. He's no trouble – Are you, Dean?”

“Aye, I am on my best behaviour!” Dean promised with his best shit-eating grin.

With a quick glance at Jeb, who nodded, Rod let out a sigh, his large pot belly releasing with it. “Welp, no harm bein’ cautious! I’m Rod, and that’s Tim,” he motioned, pointing back at a lanky teen who suddenly stood to attention by the gate, nervously looking between Dean and his guards-mate. Both men wore a uniform of sturdy denim jeans, a woollen shirt under a blackened leather vest, and a heavy duster patched with metal plates that covered their joints and vital parts. Dean immediately wanted one. Additionally, they were equipped with a long, revolver-looking shotgun slung over their backs and a short spear, which was more often used as something to lean on during the uneventful stretches of watch duty than in actual defense of the town.

“Welcome to the town of Twi- sorry, Lonely Hill!” Rod declared, sweeping his hands back across the walls. “Anyways, I don’t reckon you got papers of ident’fication do ya? On the off chance y’do, you’re free to come and go as you please. But if y’don’t then I’m ‘fraid Tim’s got to escort ya t’the magistrate’s office where you can get all that stuff sorted.” He looked at Dean expectantly, who just smiled apologetically back. “Ver’ well then. Timothy, be a gen’leman an’ escort mister Dean over here to the magistrate’s office.”

“Oh, but Sarge! It’s almost time to swap out wit’ the late crew. Can’t they just do it?” Tim protested, but already knowing the answer, he approached Dean’s side of the carriage. To Dean, this was all a bit exciting. It was the first time he’d been into a settlement since arriving in this world. He was eager to meet this magistrate and learn what was to be expected of him. He jumped down from the carriage as Mary and Bobby stuck their heads out of the caravan, curious about the goings-on. Their father explained where Dean was going, and they waved him off with a “Come see us soon, mister Dean!” he waved back, promising to see them all again.

Despite partly being under construction, the town was surprisingly clean and well-organized. Tim explained that the magistrate had gone to great lengths to ensure that the plans for rebuilding what was destroyed in the cultivator brawl were as neat and efficient as possible. While much of the aristocracy of Lonely Hill may look down on the magistrate due to his mundane upbringing, the remaining citizens seemed to appreciate his dedication to their town greatly.

As they walked, Tim was greeted by passers-by, who would gossip and ogle at Dean, he would smile or ignore them in turn. He noted the buildings were an eclectic mix of wooden false-fronted abodes and businesses, the occasional pavilion or garden, and stone Siheyuan that resided closer to the lone hill that gave the town its name. Atop the steep hillside was a squat pagoda; it became apparent that the pagoda was their destination. “Tim?” Dean asked, looking toward the rather impressive architecture.

“Yes, mister Dean?”

“What’s with the pagoda? Is it the magistrate’s house or something?”

“The mag’strate and his clerks work in the pagoda, but they don’t live there. It’s also where the Captain has his office and the Daozhang, too. It’s like a council buildin’, I guess,” the escort explained as they began climbing the stairs leading up the hillside

“Right. Good to know, I suppose. Cheers.” Dean stated in thanks. They continued on until they had reached just past halfway up, pausing to catch their breath. “Why. Is. It. So. Steep?!” Dean complained, panting with each syllable.

“Don’t. Know? Culti-vators. Prob-ly,” Tim heaved, hands on his knees as he fought to breathe through his words. Clearing the last of the steps, Tim continued, “Cap’n says the pagoda was a temple used back in the old days before the rise of the cultivators.”

“So, is cultivation a new thing? Like, people just appeared outta nowhere with whacky powers?”

“C’mon, Dean! Didn’t you pay attention in your classes? Go ask the priest - er, Daoshi; he can remind you,” Tim admonished as he pushed open the large double doors to their destination, leading into the bustling reception area. Now, walking with a swagger, he went to a tall desk where a young woman was busy marking and organizing papers and leaned against it, “A mighty fine evenin’, Li-Li. Might I say you are undoubtedly the fairy of the municipal office-” he began.

“What is it, Tim? I am busy,” Li-Li snapped without looking up from her paperwork.

“Oh, um. Ahem! This is Dean. He needs to meet with Mr. Zhang for his introductions and papers,” Tim replied, attempting to recover from the blatant dismissal. In response, the young woman finally glanced up before returning to her work. She was slight, wearing a neat, black ruqun, with her raven hair pinned up high. It drew attention to her contrasting pale skin and dark brown eyes. “Tim, you know I am not his secretary. Speak to senior Josephine for appointments.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Tim's bravado immediately deflated at the mention of the magistrate’s rightful secretary, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Y-you know she doesn’t like me here, Li-Li…,”

“I wonder why…? I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that her son insists on bothering every ‘fairy of the municipal offices’ while they are hard at work,” she mocked, causing Dean to cover a snicker.

“It’s awrite, lad. I’ll find my way from here,” Dean volunteered, with a smile at Tim.

“Thanks, Dean,” Tim thanked, already leaving. “Come by the ol’ Jade Barmaid once you find yourself done here; I’ll buy you a round!” With a smile and wave at the departing man, Dean turned to the woman who was squaring away her papers. “Am sorry I know I said I’d find my way there, but I don’t ken where to start...”

“Allow me to guide you to Senior Josephine; she is the chief clerk and the Lord magistrate’s secretary,” Li-Li offered with more than a hint of insistence.

After navigating the veritable maze of corridors and stairways, Li-Li guided Dean to a large desk ornately carved with a mural depicting a great battle between twirling dragons. Behind the desk was a beautiful woman in her fourties with curly auburn hair and bright blue eyes. Dean expected Josephine to be some wicked crone or a strict headmistress, but to his incredulity, she was the farthest thing from it. Unlike the other women that Dean had seen in the building, Josephine wore a western-style blouse that clung tightly to her ample body and a long flowing skirt.

“Ah, my sweet Li-Li!” the older woman beamed as they arrived, giving Dean a long up-and-down, “it seems you’ve brought me a handsome young man to whisk me away from all my troubles,” she cooed.

“Madame Josephine!” Li-Li blushed, “I have brought Mister Dean for his introductions to the Lord magistrate and to get his papers.”

“Oh, of course, sweetheart! I won’t steal your man from you…” She bantered, giving Dean a wink as if he were in on the joke. “You leave him with me, and I’ll make sure he gets back to you safe and sound. Don’t suppose Tim’s been botherin’ you? That boy can be a real pain in the backside; just give me the word, and I’ll hand him a whoopin’.” Li-Li simply chuckled as she bowed and then left Dean in the secretary’s care.

Josephine directed Dean to the nearby bench that was positioned opposite the large desk and the comparatively plain door to the magistrate’s office. As he sat, Dean noticed the woman glancing at him. After the third or fourth time, Dean spoke up, “Everything awrite?”

“I’m sorry, darlin’… It’s just… You remind me of my late husband when he was young… He had the same hair as you,” she divulged, embarrassment and mourning shading her face. “He passed a few years ago in the cultivator battle that destroyed the town. He was on patrol when it happened, running all over, rescuin’ those who were injured or trapped. I don’t think anyone knows exactly what happened, but the last anyone saw, he was running to the crater of the old hill.”

“I… am sorry for your loss, Ms Josaphine, I really am,” Dean consoled, giving her a sympathetic smile.

“Hush now, it's all in the past! And besides, you can call me Josie,” the kindly woman allowed, wiping a tear from her cheek and returning the smile.

It was a while later when Dean’s keen hearing could pick out a heated conversation behind the office door before it swung open. An older, muscular man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a pang suit, charged out, followed by a shorter young man in a fine silk changfu. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous, Minhui. If we organize now, we can find out what’s causing it and cut it off at the source,” the older man shouted, turning to face the other before realizing they weren’t alone. In an effort to keep face, the domineering man straightened his shirt before bowing cupped-handed and walking off with a final, “A fine evening to you, Lord magistrate. May we continue this topic another time.”

The magistrate sighed while removing his glasses to wipe them and saw Dean sitting, watching the whole event. “My apologies for that. What brings you to my office so late, mister?”

“Dean. I’ve just sort of arrived and ‘ave been told to come here for papers or some such?”

“Ah, I see. Very well, this matter can be addressed now. Ms Josephi—” He cut off abruptly at a look from his secretary, “Josie, I can take it from here. You can take your leave for the day. Have a good evening.” With a nod, a smile, and a wave to Dean, she collected her things and quietly left. “Please, follow me into my office, Dean,” the magistrate implored, holding the door wide for Dean.

“May I offer you a cup of tea?” the stately man enquired once they had both entered the room. "Though my attendants have left, so I’m afraid the tea may not be as fine as it normally is,” he chuckled. “Please, take a seat.”

As Dean took the chair offered, he looked around the room. It was not what he expected from the man who ruled this town and surrounding lands. Compared to the rest of the building he had seen, this room was unassuming and reserved. The walls were bare but for a painting of an old man dressed in great regalia—the Emperor, Dean presumed.

On the two adjacent walls were shelves of books, scrolls, and other such things. In front of one of those walls was a chaise longue stacked high with pillows and a small side table where the magistrate made tea. The desk that stood in the center of the room was unadorned like Josie’s but piled high with papers and open scrolls.

But most of all, it was the magistrate that surprised Dean. He was far younger than he had anticipated, in his early thirties at most, not much older than himself. He had short brown hair that was greased back, not a single hair out of place. Clean-shaven and pale-skinned, he wore rounded spectacles over his intelligent, amber eyes, and the black changfu he wore was embroidered with a black crane in flight that Dean hadn’t noticed in the dim light of the waiting room.

“Thank you,” Dean said as he accepted his tea. “I’m afraid I don’t know your customs, so I apologize if I’m doing things wrong.”

“Ah, it’s perfectly fine. Do you mind if I open the doors? I like to gaze out at the scenery below while I process the day.” Dean shook his head in response, and the magistrate pulled back the sliding doors that lined the wall behind the desk to reveal a breathtaking vista. Standing from the chair for a better view and walking over to the balcony, Dean could see far out over the land. Amber lights stippled the town below, and a vast lake lay stretched out just beyond that, reflecting the crescent moon as it passed from a solitary cloud.

After a long moment of placid silence, the magistrate spoke, focusing on the sight before him. “Great changes often bring disaster. But once the dust of change settles, new beauty can be discovered.” After another period of stillness, he continued, turning to Dean, “the lake below was once the twin to this lonely hill we stand upon, but following a minor misunderstanding between two drunken cultivators, it became naught but a memory. Hundreds upon hundreds of lives were lost that night, and we are still repairing the damage 7 years later. Despite all this, we have had to move on. The hill that housed many of my people is now home to an abundance of new life. I am willing to welcome you into my town, Dean, regardless of your past. I do not care if you are running from debt or a sect out for blood; whatever it may be, I permit you to live and work within the town so long as you are willing to help your neighbours when they need it and protect those who need protecting, should the need ever arise.”

“Thank you, mister magistrate. I, uh, appreciate the generosity,” Dean replied with an awkward bow, attempting to mimic the large man who had spoken with the magistrate prior.

“Very well!” the lord said with an abrupt clap. “Please, join me while I go over the paperwork.”

It was nearly an hour before Dean completed the necessary paperwork and received the all-clear, though his Identification Token would take a few days to make. He was shown out of the building by the magistrate, whose name was Zhang Minhui, Dean had learned, and was now making his way to the Jade Barmaid, having gotten direction from a passerby. He had been to some seedy pubs back in Glasgow, but this one was the worst by far. Long before he even entered, he could tell which building it was. The whole place smelt like a noxious mix of beer, piss, and vomit. It was also loud, far louder than he was expecting. It was also packed full. Heavin’. He found Tim and Rod at a large round table with a few other men and women in uniform. Rod was hooting and hollering while Josephine, of all people, accosted Tim. She was rosy-faced with drink and had her son in a weak headlock while rubbing her knuckles into his hair. Tim managed to pull away, ripe with embarrassment, followed by cheers as he and Rod caught sight of the newcomer. Drink soon flowed through Dean, providing plenty of liquid courage to befriend all the remaining tavern-goers.

Later, after returning to the table with an armful of pewter mugs overflowing with ale, he struck up a conversation with Tim. “Ish bin sooo long since I had a good pint Tim my lad. Lasht time I drank like thish was when i found, uh, Soph! and Rob! Fffuckin’! That really fffuckin’ hurt me, man. D’youu have a girlfriend, Tim? I bet you doo~! Heheh. Don’t! Don’t let ‘em fuck yer bes’ friend, okay? You, you, you’re my best friend, Tim. Y’know that?”

“Noo~ You’re MY beshtest friend! But I don’t got no girl, Dean. Ish just me and ma mom now. Heheheh. She getsh all defenshive now thatsh I work like dad did. She finks im gonna go an' die! Ders been noo baddiess for, like, forever!”

“You’re no gonnaw die! You’re my besht friend! Ah will protect you,” Dean commanded, full of sincerity.

“Dean?” Tim questioned.

“Yesh, Tim?” Dean replied.

“Pleash don’t fuck my mom.”