Zhao smiled as their host poured him another drink, letting himself sink into the luxurious pillows.

“I’m so glad you came, honored immortals,” Lau Ru, this village’s elder said. “If you’d waited a few more years, I might have had trouble on my hands!”

To Zhao’s left, Bai Chi sat ramrod straight, gracefully declining Lau Ru’s attempt to get him drunk in contrast to the rest of them.

‘He really is disciplined,’ Zhao observed dryly. After weeks in the hinterlands of their sect’s territory, relaxation was more necessity than comfort.

As their caravan rumbled into the latest moderately sized settlement with dozens of recruits in tow, all the disciples had been ready to drop from exhaustion. Though their cultivation bases kept physical fatigue at bay, traveling through the dozens of villages had become less adventurous and more routine the longer they continued.

Then there was the wrangling of their recruits, which was at least less burdensome thanks to the waived age requirement.

It was nice to take a break and forget about their mission for an evening. Even if that meant their casual actions shattered the village head’s image of immortals. Honestly, other disciples had probably already done that long ago.

Hopefully seeing Nan Xi passed out drunk at the table and hearing Tai Yang’s inebriated declaration that he was going to ‘wrestle a bear’ before storming off into the forest would be overlooked.

Zhao was relying on Bai Chi’s stoicism and Gu Hong’s youthful innocence to offset any negative impression, because he was too drained to scorn anyone for their behavior.

While he might not have been used to camping, having a nightwatch, or hunting regularly, Zhao would have been alright if not for the damned Myriad Voices art.

The strange spirit art had, over the course of their mission, heightened his mania to an indescribable level.

Zhao was constantly assaulted by a certainty that someone was watching them from deep within the forest during their trip.

Almost as frequently he woke up with the expectation that an attack was imminent. Though Zhao did his best to downplay his symptoms, he was certain that at least Che Fang had caught on.

Said prodigy was the sole member of their party who was acting like a proper disciple; partaking in the offered alcohol to give the village elder face without getting drunk and damaging the reputation of the sect.

“What do you mean by that?” Che Fang asked Lau Ru, causing Zhao’s groggy mind to pause as he recalled what the village Elder had said only seconds ago.

“Well,” the older man said licking his lips, “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Garnet Point’s land isn’t exactly fecund.” Everyone nodded to the obvious statement given that they were relatively high on a mountain top.

“To be blunt,” continued Lau Ru, “the people are. We have too many children for a trading outpost to sustain in the long term. Though we prosper, there is limited work available.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s tools,” Zhao recounted drunkenly, earning him odd looks from around the room.

“Yes, master cultivator…” Lau Ru responded after a pause. “A wise saying indeed.”

Realizing he’d let slip an expression from his previous life, Zhao abruptly departed after thanking Lau Ru for his hospitality.

Sliding the paper door closed behind him, he marched up the stairs slowly, climbing the pagoda that overlooked Garnet Point.

His room, which Zhao was immeasurably thankful for after spending most nights in a tent, was lit by a waning flame in a lantern that hung from the ceiling.

Though the only furniture was limited to a bed, a desk, and a chair, to Zhao it felt like the luxury of a five star hotel.

Stumbling over to the opposite side of the room let him proceed through another sliding door to his balcony.

Standing on the tallest building on the relatively thin mountain let him witness an amazing panorama. Even at night, he could make out the cluster of buildings on the mountaintop and the dim glow of the villages housed in the valleys on either side of their perch.

With a sigh Zhao slid the balcony door shut and collapsed on the bed. Silken sheets wrapped him tightly, and for the umpteenth time he was glad their first stop in this tiny outpost had been the only bathhouse they’d come across in their journey.

A peaceful sleep began to take him, only to be interrupted by a pang of unease. A moment later, words wormed their way into his ears. “It’ll be different tonight. Look, the village’s buildings provide more cover. We’ll have their heads on a spike before anyone can react.”

Zhao sighed.

“Not again,” he whispered to the empty room.

He lay there, stuck between drifting off and being startled awake by intrusive emotion.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

The purgatorial experience was brought to an end by a rap on the wooden door frame of his room. Stifling the protest that rose to his lips, Zhao used his Qi to dull both the alcohol and drowsiness that suffused his nervous system.

Stiff limbs brought him out of the bed towards his visitor.

Cracking the sliding door revealed Lau Ru, nervously wringing his hands. “Honored immortal, I apologize for waking you-”

Zhao waved his concern away.

“It is late. Please speak clearly,” he said directly, not in the mood for the wordplay that was common in this xianxia world.

Clearing his throat the village Elder began, “The last time your great sect recruited, my son was overlooked. I thought a man as discerning as yourself might see his true value…”

After trailing off Lau Ru slipped his hand behind his back to retrieve an oddly shaped root. Where he’d been hiding it, Zhao wasn’t sure.

A hint of Qi wafted off the cutting, emanating a sense of untamed freedom. Zhao recognized the natural treasure quickly: a wild russet rhizome.

The plant was a chaotic mess of interwoven rootstalks as thick as his forearm.

“An impressive size, isn’t it?” prompted Lau Ru with a twinkle in his eyes. Zhao spared a glance at him and shrugged.

With a passive expression Zhao shared his appraisal, “It is a rather large specimen. However I’m sure you know that the wild russet rhizome is widely regarded as trash amongst natural treasures by most sects.”

Plucking it from the wide-eyed Elder, he continued, “Fortunately the heavens have favored you, as I am predisposed towards accepting your son due to your generosity.”

With damp eyes, Lau Ru gave a wide smile.

“Thank you immortal cultivator!” he gushed. “This Lau Ru is but a humble servant. Please, let me know if there is anything you need for the remainder of your stay.”

With a tired smile Zhao accepted the offered kowtow, as if a middle aged man groveling before one half his age was normal. He slid the door closed before any further interaction could take place.

‘Petty bribery, huh?’ Zhao mused.

Weighing the bundle of roots in his hand, he chuckled.

If ever asked whether he was the kind of person who would accept a bribe, Zhao would have staunchly refused. Yet when faced with the opportunity, he hadn’t thought anything of it.

The immorality melted in the face of numerous rationalizations; that he would have let Lau Ru’s son in anyway considering the edict from Elder Shen, for example.

Too drained to let the corruption affect him, Zhao set the treasure down and made to go to bed.

The Myriad Voices had other plans, as a rising panic randomly emerged, shattering what little peace Zhao had managed to reclaim.

Zhao signed more deeply, rubbing the purple circles under his eyes.

When cycling the art failed to temper his nerves, Zhao threw open the door to the balcony and hurled himself over its edge and down the side of the building. Nimble hands arrested his momentum on the slightest handholds before he continued his descent.

His movements might have been called parkour on Earth, though each movement was more preternatural than practiced.

Once free of the pagoda, he made a quick circuit through the town in what was quickly becoming a nightly ritual every time their caravan stopped for the evening.

This particular village was rather pleasant to traverse, as it actually boasted a nightlife. Zhao enjoyed the opportunity to watch people go about their lives, even if he would rather be asleep.

On one corner drunk men gambled their wages away. He sat for a hand and lost a few copper taels.

A street over, a homeless man clutched a blanket far too small for his frame. Zhao placed a silver tael next to the slumbering figure.

Zhao spotted a teenager climbing down the side of one of the more ostentatious houses in the settlement. He caught the boy as he fell, sending him off with a grin.

It was all so ordinary.

Caught off guard by a pang of homesickness, Zhao wiped at his eyes before taking a deep breath to center himself.

His trip helped alleviate the sense of impending disaster, each step through the village pushing the feeling further away.

Upon his return, he found Che Fang waiting on his balcony.

“Is everything in order?” the other disciple asked politely.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Zhao grimaced. “Yes. For some inexplicable reason I find it easier to rest after a brisk journey under the moon.”

A slight nod came in response alongside an edge of hesitation. Che Fang pushed through it to speak, “I’ve noticed. As have others, though I have stopped any rumors from spreading. The recruits believe you are merely being prudent in your duties…”

“But our fellow disciples do not,” Zhao concluded. Che Fang looked away.

Sliding the door to his room open, Zhao said, “It is too late for me to step off the path I chose for myself.”

His companion shook his head. “True. But perhaps it would be easier to continue walking if you were not alone in your struggle.”

With widened eyes, Zhao turned to the former scion with a dark expression. “No!” he stated forcefully.

Che Fang smiled guiltily.

“Too late,” he said, a scroll sporting Myriad Voices in scholarly handwriting revealing itself from under his sleeves. “Together we will find a solution.”

“How could you possibly have gotten a copy?” Zhao questioned with knit eyebrows, racking his mind to find the moment Che Fang had an opportunity to sneak off and obtain the scroll.

Clearing his throat, Che Fang gave a small bow. “I merely transcribed the text from memory,” he informed Zhao, clearly thinking nothing of the statement.

With a start, Zhao realized that Che Fang had gone over the art briefly after they first obtained it, before he realized its deleterious effects.

Of course his companion had an eidetic memory. Being blessed with an ancestor to protect him wasn’t enough.

Struggling to control his expression, Zhao deflated. “As my sworn servant, aren’t you supposed to listen to me?” he asked defeatedly.

The other disciple chuckled. “It is my duty to serve,” Che Fang responded with a lower bow, thereafter leaving Zhao to return to his own room.

As he entered his room, Zhao paused as he glanced at the rhizome laying on his desk.

Absently, he decided to make a quick trip to the stables before losing himself to slumber. The building was near the pagoda that housed them, as there was little land flat enough for either building, so it only took him a handful of minutes to place the treasure before his horse.

Zhao didn’t bother to stay and watch whether the tawny creature would gain any benefit from the plant, as the potency of an unprocessed wild russet rhizome was abysmal.

Snorting at the absurdity of the bribe, Zhao clambered into his bed and finally managed to fall asleep.