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36. Ulterior Motives
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 22:00:17 +0000 UTCZhang Shuren watched Jiang Tian from the corner of his eye as Elder Tao explained the Seven Virtues of Cultivation. The mandatory morning lessons were… well, Zhang would be generous and say they were aimed at those without previous instructors.
Most of the Outer Disciples he associated with had been taught similar lessons for years, and while it was never a bad idea to revise… it did occasionally get a little boring. Still, Zhang could see the wisdom in making the lectures mandatory. Better for some disciples to be bored than allow ignorance to fester in the Sect.
Unfortunately, the disciples for whom the lessons were most useful were often the ones who didn’t understand the necessity in the first place.
Take, for example, Jiang Tian.
The boy had very clearly not been taught anything about comporting himself as a cultivator and yet was equally clearly paying the bare minimum attention to the lessons every morning. He sat at the edge of the group, gazing vaguely in Elder Tao’s direction, posture polite enough not to draw censure but slack enough to suggest he wasn’t listening.
It was… irritating.
There was no shame in ignorance—nobody was born knowing everything, after all—but there was shame in refusing to better yourself. Even worse, by showing such open boredom, Jiang was disrespecting the time and instruction of Elder Tao and, by extension, the Sect as a whole.
Why Elder Lu thought the boy was worth sponsoring, Zhang had no idea.
Oh, certainly, the boy had a measure of talent—his cultivation had advanced at least once already, and there were rumours that he had recently broken through again, though Zhang wasn’t sure if he believed them. Even if they were true, talent was not everything.
Cultivators were more than just the power they wielded, and those who didn’t understand that had no place in a Sect.
Zhang allowed himself a quiet breath through his nose and shifted his gaze back toward Elder Tao, who was now speaking about discipline and propriety. Important topics. Foundational ones.
The kind Jiang Tian continued to ignore.
Even if Elder Yan Zhihao hadn’t instructed him to ensure the boy understood he wasn’t welcome in the Sect, Zhang would have probably done it anyway just on principle.
Although, admittedly, he wasn’t having much luck in that endeavour.
It had started off well enough. Zhang had avoided acting overtly. Nothing that could be traced back to him, of course—he wasn’t so sloppy. A few words here, a well-timed comment there. A suggestion that Jiang thought himself above the rest. That he was too proud to accept advice, too stiff to make friends. It hadn’t taken much. Cultivation was a solitary path, yes, but social order still mattered. Hierarchy. Respect. Knowing one’s place.
Even now, the boy was sitting alone, surrounded by a pointedly clear space, all but shunned by his fellow disciples. It was the same thing at mealtimes, as he walked through the Sect; even during his assigned tasks, nobody spoke to him. Zhang wouldn’t be surprised if he was told that Jiang legitimately hadn’t had a single conversation with his fellow disciples in days.
And yet, the boy didn’t seem to care. He didn’t push back, didn’t protest. Didn’t even seem to notice. The isolation, the losses, the whispers—none of it landed. Zhang had watched carefully, waiting for the boy to reach a breaking point. But there was never anything to see. Jiang just… showed up. Trained. Fought. Lost. Got back up. Repeated the process.
He didn’t get angry. He didn’t retreat. He didn’t learn.
It was like trying to bend a piece of wood that didn’t even realise it was supposed to be flexible.
Zhang’s fingers tightened slightly in his sleeves.
The purpose of pressure was to identify weakness. To reveal the fault lines where something could be reshaped—or shattered, if necessary. But Jiang Tian was proving difficult to read. Difficult to push.
Clearly, this approach wasn’t working. Elder Yan had instructed him to apply pressure, to test the boy’s limits, demonstrate that he had no place in the Sect. Zhang had done so. Subtly, precisely. He prided himself on that. But Elder Yan had been… quiet, lately. Watching, waiting.
And Zhang had no progress to report.
That wouldn’t do.
The lesson ended, and he rose from the bench and dusted off his robes, absently noting how one of his fellow disciples immediately challenged Jiang. If nothing else, Zhang could at least mildly respect the fact that the boy hadn’t refused any duels, not since the first, anyway. Still, if pressure didn’t work – and it clearly didn’t – then perhaps it was time for a different tactic.
He needed to understand Jiang, to see what made him tick. What he feared. What he wanted.
And for that, distance would not suffice.
Zhang’s mouth curled into something faint and sharp.
Yes. A more personal approach. Framed properly, it wouldn’t raise suspicion. He would offer to “exchange pointers”—not a duel, no, that would be gauche. Their skill gap was too broad, and everyone knew it. But framed as mentorship, even briefly, it would look benevolent. Generous, even.
Let the others see Jiang struggling under his guidance. Let them see Zhang offering him advice, correction. Let them see where the boy truly stood.
And in the process… Zhang would get a better look at the foundation beneath that placid mask.
All the better to break him with.
— — —
Jiang had noticed the disciple staring at him during the morning lessons. It wasn’t tough – the guy wasn’t terribly subtle. Of course, it helped that Jiang was starting to be able to… almost feel people’s gaze. It was hard to explain, even to himself, but it wasn’t directly connected to his Qi senses. More just… like a sixth sense of sorts.
He’d initially thought it was just his imagination, but the sensation had been getting steadily stronger as he advanced, so he figured it was just one of those ‘cultivator’ things nobody had bothered to mention.
This particular disciple’s gaze felt heavier than the others, though. Like a hawk trying to decide if something might be worth the effort of hunting. Jiang had felt it before.
Usually, right before someone tried to punch him.
So, when the guy approached him in the afternoon after he’d finished his assigned task for the day, walking with the crisp, measured gait of someone both important and aware of it, Jiang didn’t bother waiting for an introduction.
“Alright,” he said, stepping away from the training dummy and brushing the dust off his palms. “Let’s get it over with.”
The disciple blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Pardon?”
Jiang tilted his head, already glancing around for open space. “You’re here to challenge me to a duel, right? No offence, but I’ve heard the usual spiel so much it’s popping up in my dreams.” He waved a hand impatiently. “I’m sure I’ve offended you in some way that can only be fixed by punching me in the face, so let’s just skip to that part.”
A complicated look passed over the disciple’s face. “Actually, I’m not here to challenge you.”
Jiang blinked. “You’re not?”
“No. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Oh.” Jiang scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t suppose we could just forget that whole thing, then?”
The corner of the disciple’s mouth twitched. “Sure,” he said easily. “My name is Zhang Shuren.”
“Jiang.”
“I… know who you are.” Zhang seemed like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. Jiang was getting used to the expression, though most people generally seemed to default to offended. “I came over to speak to you for a reason, after all.”
Jiang waited, eyebrows raised. He knew that Zhang’s words had been an invitation for him to ask what the other disciple wanted, but even if this guy didn’t want to punch him in the face, that didn’t mean they were friends. Jiang certainly wasn’t going to go out of his way to follow the expected social rules in this situation – especially because he was starting to realise acting like he didn’t know what was going on could be useful.
The expectant pause stretched onward as the irritation on Zhang’s face grew more obvious. Eventually, the disciple seemed to mentally discard whatever script he’d prepared in his mind, correctly deducing that Jiang wasn’t going to play along.
“I wanted to offer,” he said with a sigh, “to trade pointers with you.”
Jiang frowned. “What does that mean?”
Zhang blinked. “You’ve never—” He caught himself, schooling his expression back into something mild. “Trading pointers is… sparring is probably the closest analogy. An opportunity for a cultivator to test themselves against a stronger opponent.”
“…So, a duel.”
“Not a duel,” Zhang said, just sharp enough that it made Jiang tilt his head. “A spar. Instructional. The goal is improvement, not victory.”
“Ah,” Jiang said. “So a duel where you pretend it’s not about winning.”
To his surprise, that actually got a laugh out of Zhang. Not a loud one—just a soft, almost surprised breath. “Some disciples may view it as such,” he said carefully, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Jiang’s opinion. “But in my case, I’m offering to help you improve.”
“You’ve been getting challenged constantly,” Zhang added after a moment, with the air of someone trying not to sound like he was stating the obvious. “I thought something a bit more… constructive might help. Let you refine your technique without having to worry about putting on a show.”
It wasn’t a bad idea.
Which was part of what made Jiang suspicious.
He didn’t know much about Zhang Shuren, but he’d seen enough. The guy moved like someone who’d been trained since childhood—posture always crisp, movements always deliberate. Jiang didn’t think he’d ever seen the guy raise his voice. He was polite and restrained, the kind of disciple who never needed to say he came from a “good sect family” because it radiated from every inch of his robes.
In short; exactly the kind of person who’d go out of his way to avoid people like Jiang.
So why now?
Why this?
Jiang crossed his arms, not bothering to hide the scepticism in his voice. “And you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”
Zhang’s expression flickered.
Just for a second.
It was subtle, but Jiang caught it—the slight tightening at the corners of his mouth, the faint downturn of his brows. Not enough to count as a full scowl. Just enough to register as insulted.
Interesting.
Zhang recovered quickly, posture smoothing out like nothing had happened. “I’m offering because I think it would help,” he said evenly. “You can accept or decline. Up to you.”
Jiang gave him a noncommittal grunt and turned slightly, eyes flicking out across the training field. He wasn’t sure if Zhang’s sympathy was genuine, rehearsed, or weaponised, but he didn’t particularly care. If Zhang had wanted to insult him, he could’ve done it from a safe distance, just like everyone else. If he wanted to beat Jiang up, he could’ve just issued a challenge.
And yet, here he was. Calm. Patient. Pushing through Jiang’s rudeness with the kind of polite perseverance that almost made Jiang feel like the jerk in the conversation.
Almost.
Still, it wasn’t like he could afford to turn down the offer. He knew he was improving—he could feel it, in the way his strikes landed truer, in the way his instincts moved faster than thought—but knowing wasn’t the same as proving. He didn’t need people to believe in him. He needed to win.
And he was smart enough to admit that Li Xuan’s occasional instruction—while helpful—was like being taught to swim by a fish. The Inner Disciple was incredibly talented, and clearly didn’t understand how other people could possibly struggle with something he considered basic.
So maybe Zhang wasn’t being honest. Maybe this was another trick. But even if it was, so what? He wasn’t going to learn by standing still.
“Alright,” Jiang said. “Let’s do it.”
Zhang gave him a long look, an expectant look in his eyes. Probably waiting for a sign of gratitude – but Jiang wasn’t going to thank him for something that hadn’t happened yet. Finally, the other disciple gave up.
“Very well, then,” he said. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”
