Shadowwwing
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48. Big Bad Cultivator
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 22:00:05 +0000 UTCThey didn’t travel far after the attack.
The wounded were loaded into the rear wagons and laid out on bedrolls with whatever spare blankets could be found. The dead, of which there were three, were wrapped in canvas and lashed to the flat top of the rear-most cart. No one said anything about it. There wasn’t anything to say.
It took over an hour to unhitch the dead ox and redistribute the load between the remaining animals, and another to drag the now-useless wagon clear of the snow-packed choke point. While it would have been possible to replace the dead oxen with one from another wagon and simply accept that they would be moving slower, Han seemed to prefer having each remaining wagon take a portion of the goods.
By the time they were moving again, the shadows were slowly starting to grow longer as the sun began the second half of its trek across the sky. They pushed on until the trees started to thin and the road widened into a broad, uneven clearing, then stopped. Apparently, this clearing was usually used to stop in for a quick meal before pushing on, but considering the wounded guards and the nervous travellers, Han had made the decision to stop there for the night. It meant losing a half-day of travel, but it also meant it was easier to tend to the injured.
The wagons were drawn up in two curved rows, one slightly ahead of the other. From above, it would have looked like a crude figure eight—tight enough to use the bulk of the wagons as a makeshift defensive wall, yet loose enough to move within. One ring was for the oxen, lashed to posts hammered into the frozen ground, the other for the passengers and guards. Fires were kindled quickly, though only a few. The smell of cooked grain mixed with boiled snow and blood.
Jiang sat on the roof of one of the far wagons, borrowed bow across his knees. It was the one he’d taken from the guard, though he’d offered it back once things had settled. The man had refused, his expression unreadable, then nodded awkwardly and walked off without another word.
He still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.
The bow wasn’t anything special—short, sturdy, serviceable—but it was better than nothing. Not to mention, it was free. He ran his fingers along the grip, checking for cracks, and plucked briefly at the string before setting it beside him.
Behind him, he could hear the oxen shifting in their makeshift pen, snuffling through the layer of snow to get at whatever grass they could find underneath. Further away, within the other ring of wagons, the members of the caravan were bustling around, tending to the injured or sharing food near the large fire that had been built in the centre of the cleared space.
A few moved between wagons with buckets of snowmelt or bandages, but for the most part, the caravan was settled. No one approached him. A few had looked his way earlier—one woman had even stepped toward the wagon before stopping herself—but none had spoken. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
The blood on his clothes - not his blood, thankfully - had mostly dried into stiff patches across his sleeves and chest. It itched faintly. He was used to the feeling; most hunts ended with blood seeping into seams and creases no matter how careful you were, but used to didn’t mean comfortable with. He scratched at a line of dried red near his collar, then gave up and dropped his hand again.
One of the downsides of stopping early was that their camp for the night didn’t have a stream nearby, so they were stuck using stored water for drinking and cleaning wounds. Compared to that, washing his clothes wasn’t important enough to bother asking for a spare waterskin.
He shifted, adjusting his weight, and scanned the treeline again. Nothing moved. The tension in the air that had settled over them after the attack had eased a little, but not fully. However aware people were of the potential dangers of travelling in winter, most were unprepared to actually encounter them. Hell, even he wasn’t prepared for it, and he was both a cultivator and a hunter.
A thump sounded against the side of the wagon, breaking him from his pointlessly maudlin thoughts, followed by the creak of someone climbing. Jiang turned slightly, hand resting lightly on the bow until he saw who it was.
Han hauled himself up with more ease than a man his age should’ve managed and dropped onto the roof beside him with a faint grunt.
He carried a battered tin flask, which he waggled once in Jiang’s direction before taking a long drink.
“Figured you might be hiding up here,” Han said, capping the flask again and tossing it over. “You look like you need a drink more than I do, and that’s saying something.”
Jiang caught it automatically and twisted the cap off after a moment’s hesitation. His own waterskin was still full, and he wasn’t terribly thirsty anyway, but he wasn’t rude enough to refuse the offer. Besides, Han was the only person who still acted the same way around him, and he wasn’t about to jeopardise that.
He took a generous sip. The burn hit his throat first, then climbed to his sinuses and spread into his chest like fire. He coughed hard, eyes watering.
That… wasn’t water.
Han laughed at his expression. “Hah! Well, if I wasn’t sure how old you were before, I am now! Suppose I should have warned you – it’s strong stuff. Doubles as disinfectant, not to mention you want it to last for a long trip.” He swiped the flask back and took a quick swig from it. “Small sips, see?”
Jiang cleared his throat again, rubbing his chest with the heel of his palm. “You could’ve just said it was liquor. I wasn’t expecting to drink something that tastes like someone set fire to bad vinegar.”
Han snorted. “Wouldn’t have helped. Everyone reacts the same first time. But it works, doesn’t it? Warms you up, clears the edge off your nerves. You’ll hate it until you don’t. Trust me, on a long road like this, a sip of something strong does more for morale than all the tea in the Empire.” He leaned back, resting his arms on his knees. “Besides, seemed like you needed it. Most people who’ve just saved a caravan full of strangers get at least one free drink out of it.”
Jiang looked away, gaze flicking over the camp. And here he’d been hoping that the conversation wouldn’t get awkward. “I didn’t save anyone.”
Han made a low sound in his throat. “No? Funny, from where I was sitting, you did more than half the work. And I had a front-row seat.”
“I helped,” Jiang allowed. “But it’s not like I took on the whole pack by myself.”
“You’re underselling it. If you hadn’t been there, we’d have been in real trouble. Those spirit beasts weren’t normal threats. They cut through our line like a hot knife through butter.” Han sighed and looked out at the treeline. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t skimp on my guards. Some caravans will take anyone who looks big and mean enough, but that’s stupid. My guys are well-trained, have good gear, and have all seen some serious shit in their time. Against spirit beasts, though? They may as well be children.”
He shrugged, looking down at the flask in his hands consideringly before regretfully tucking it away into his coat. “Nothing anyone can do about it. Part and parcel of life, really – always going to be something out there that’s bigger or stronger or faster than you are. For us mortals, that’s, well… most things. But complaining about it doesn’t help anyone – the only thing you can do is prepare as best you can, grit your teeth when things go wrong, and hope that you have the chance to do things better next time.”
Jiang shifted uncomfortably under the caravan master’s gaze. “I just reacted. They came at me, I fought back.”
“And that’s all it takes sometimes,” Han said. “It’s not about some heroic ideal. You held when the line broke. You killed two of those things and chased the third off. The rest of the wolves scattered after that. You think that’s a coincidence?”
“I guess not,” Jiang muttered. “It just doesn’t feel like I did anything that special.”
“That’s because you’re used to the idea that special has to mean flashy,” Han said, voice calm. “It doesn’t. To a man stranded in the desert, a drink of water is the most special thing he can conceive of. To someone drowning, it’s the opposite. What makes something special is entirely circumstantial – and today, you were faster than the wolves, strong enough to kill one outright, smart enough to survive two more. That’s special. That’s what people are seeing.”
Jiang hesitated, then glanced at him. “And what if I don’t want them to see that?”
He didn’t even really know what he was asking, or why. It wasn’t that he hated the idea of being recognised for his work or skills – quite the contrary, he took pride in his abilities. Back in Liǔxī, he’d worked hard to prove himself, and the gradual respect in the eyes of the other villages felt great.
But this… felt different somehow. Maybe it was the way that people’s gazes were tinged with awe or that they acted like he was inherently better than they were. It had been bad enough trying to talk to the servants at the Azure Sky Sect, but at least they had the excuse of working around the actually impressive cultivators, like the Elders or Inner Disciples.
Han shrugged. “Then you need to figure out what you do want them to see when they look at you. I’m not going to lie; you’re probably fighting an uphill battle. Cultivators…” the caravan master trailed off, searching for the words to explain his point as his hand drifted almost automatically towards the pocket where he’d put the flask. “Cultivators are basically like myths,” he said eventually. “The kind of thing that you tell stories about, how your great uncle’s best friend once saw one passing through a village. They’re not the kind of thing that you ever expect to actually see, and if you do, it’s generally a sign that things have gone badly wrong.”
“So I’m just going to have to live the rest of my life being looked at like I’m either a harbinger of doom or some kind of mythical figure, come to save everyone?”
“Not necessarily,” Han refuted, though it was a little weak. “And not forever. But it’s something you should get used to. You can’t walk into a fight like that and expect to disappear into the crowd afterwards. People talk. Word spreads. And whether you like it or not, you carry that weight now.”
Jiang was silent for a while. The fire in the main ring crackled in the background. Someone laughed too loudly, the sound a little forced. Han didn’t push, seemingly content to sit in silence.
Jiang almost didn’t break the silence, but in the end, he couldn’t help himself. “You’re not treating me any differently.”
It wasn’t quite an accusation.
Han shrugged. “I’ve dealt with cultivators before. One of the perks of the job travelling all over the province like I do – hell, it’s half the reason I started in the first place. Don’t run into them often, mind you, but enough that I’m not so awestruck I can’t recognise that, at the end of the day, they’re just people. Some good, some bad, some with too much power and not enough perspective.”
Jiang sighed, frustration seeping into his voice, vaguely wishing the top of the wagon was large enough to pace across. “So… what do you suggest I do? Hide? Try to lay low? Not sure if you’d noticed, but I tried that, and it isn’t working out so well for me.”
Han shrugged again. It was a very unhelpful gesture, and Jiang scowled at him.
“Look,” the man chuckled, raising his hands, “I’m not saying I have all the answers here – and even if I did, you probably shouldn’t listen to me anyway. My answers work for me. That doesn’t mean they would work for you. The point I’m trying to make is that you need to come up with some kind of answer. If that’s hiding, fine. If it’s acting like you’re Heaven’s gift to mankind, whatever. But whatever your answer is, you need to commit to it.”
Han sighed and looked back out at the treeline. “Just keep in mind that there is no perfect decision. If you had decided to hide – properly hide, I mean – then you wouldn’t have helped us out against those spirit beasts. You would have stood by and pretended you were as mortal as the rest of us; let us die to keep your secret.”
Jiang twitched, offended by the insinuation, but Han continued before he could say anything. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that you did help out. But you have to understand that when someone sees a cultivator, they don’t think, ‘Oh, I bet that man’s trying to live a quiet life.’ They think, ‘he’s here for a reason, and if I’m lucky, it’s not me.’”
He chuckled dryly. “And then, most of the time, they’ll start inventing other reasons in their minds, sharing it with their neighbours, and before you know it, everyone’s talking about you. You need to learn to manage how people see you before they start making shit up. Once that happens… it’s already too late.”
Han shrugged again, pulling his flask out and taking a guilty sip. “It’s just plain marketing, when you get right down to it. Trust me, I’m great at selling things.”
Jiang didn’t reply right away. He shifted, gaze still locked on the flickering campfire at the centre of the clearing, then let his eyes wander to the people sitting around it. No one was looking at him now, not directly. But he could feel it anyway—that awareness, the space that had opened between him and the rest of the camp since the fight. Was Han right? Were they already coming up with reasons a young-looking cultivator had joined their caravan?
“I didn’t ask for that,” he muttered.
“No one ever does,” Han said. “But you’ve got it. Which means you have a choice—either you figure out how to live with it, or it keeps following you around and making your life harder until you do. Sooner you learn how to manage it, the better.”
Jiang let out a breath through his nose. “And what, you think I should start practising on your people?”
“Why not?” Han asked easily. “They’re grateful. Scared, sure, but not of you. Not really. They’re wary because they don’t know how to act around someone like you—and let’s be honest, you’re not exactly making it easy on them either.”
“I’m not good at talking to people.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Han said. “You don’t need to be good. You just need to try. From the way you’re acting, I’m guessing you want to come across as normal – or, at least, as normal as a cultivator can be. Try asking if the food’s any good, or complaining about the cold or something.” He paused. “Actually, do you even feel the cold, or… you know what, never mind. Not important.”
Jiang didn’t say anything. He watched a guard walk past the fire carrying a small pot, steam rising off it in thick, lazy curls. A few heads turned. Someone laughed, this time not quite so forced.
“And if I don’t?”
Han gave a half-shrug. “Then you sit up here and keep being a mystery. The big bad cultivator who swoops in like something out of a story and vanishes just as quickly. Nothing wrong with that, if that’s the way you want things to go.”
Jiang let the silence settle again. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
“Thanks for the drink.”
Whatever else could be said about the man, he knew how to take a hint. Han stood with a grunt, brushing snow from the seat of his trousers. “Anytime. You know where to find me if you need another.”
He climbed down the way he’d come, not waiting for a response. A few moments later, Jiang heard the man’s voice mixing into the background noise of the camp, casual and calm. Jiang stayed where he was for a few minutes, watching the treeline.
Finally, he cursed to himself, slung the bow over his shoulder, and dropped down from the wagon, walking towards the fire.
Time to face the music.
Comments
Shadowwwing
You're not wrong—Jiang’s shadow affinity could develop in a direction similar to an assassin’s, but right now, it’s more of a general stealth and misdirection affinity. The way affinities and alignments work will be explored more deeply later in the story, but the short version is this: most affinities start broad and gradually narrow in focus as a cultivator advances. The rarer the affinity, the more specific it tends to be from the start. That doesn’t necessarily make it more powerful, just more specialized. For example, someone with a common fire affinity could, in theory, develop techniques with stealth or illusion elements—likely by drawing on the idea of heat mirages distorting what people see—but doing so would be much harder compared to someone whose affinity is already aligned with those concepts. Hope this explains things!
Hermes
Am I wrong to say that Jiangs "shadow" affinity is akin to an assassins?
Raymond Mouton
Thanks for the chapter.
