Unintended Cultivator

Sen had returned with Master Feng from the wilds to find a subdued Ai waiting with Auntie Caihong. They went through their usual routine of Sen asking Ai about her day, and her regaling him with tales of birds subjugated to her imperial will and yucky bugs slaughtered at her command. She brightened up while telling him about her adventures, but there was something underneath it all. A kind of melancholy that seemed odd and out of character for his daughter. When it was finally time to put her to bed, Sen broached the topic.

“Are you sad, Ai?” he asked gently.

She had a blanket pulled up over her chin and mouth, so it felt vaguely like the bed itself was staring at him with her expressive eyes. It was a disconcerting impression. She started to shake her head but stopped when he lifted an eyebrow at her. She thought for a few seconds before she pulled the blanket down from her mouth.

“You have to go away again,” she said.

It wasn’t a question. It was Sen’s turn to be thoughtful for a moment. He’d resolved a while back not to lie to her. He knew that some parents did it with the best of intentions. He even understood. They wanted to shield their children from the ugliness of the world, even if that shield was both weak and temporary. Children would inherit all of those adult responsibilities soon enough. So, why burden them before it was absolutely necessary? On the other hand, the world was tearing itself apart around them. That madness hadn’t found its way to their home, yet, but it was only a matter of time. He could possibly push off that moment, but it would mean going away. He’d have no choice but to leave if he acquiesced to Master Feng and Uncle Kho’s mad scheme. Wincing inside, he nodded.

“Yes, I’ll probably have to go away again,” he admitted.

“Why?” she asked.

He could see that she was fighting the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, and it broke his heart. She’s trying so hard to be strong, he thought. Did I do that to her somehow? Infect her with the idea that she can never feel weak? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, but he didn’t think he’d done it intentionally. He’d certainly never said anything like that to her. He’d felt weak and helpless all the time when he’d been her age as he hid in dark corners and prayed that there would be enough food or that it wouldn’t get too cold at night. He’d shed more than a few tears in those long-ago days. They’d been silent tears. It was a harsh necessity to avoid drawing attention, but he’d shed them all the same. He reached out and brushed a few stray strands of hair from her forehead. He was trying to buy time to measure just how much to tell her. He wouldn’t lie to her but there were some truths that no child needed to know.

“There are some very bad things happening right now,” he said before hastily adding a follow-up thought. “They’re far away, right now, but a lot of people are getting hurt. I want to make sure that those things stay far, far away from you. To do that, I have to go away.”

She stared up at him, and he was struck by how small she really was beneath those blankets. With his oblique talk about war hanging in the air, she looked even smaller to him. She’s so fragile, he thought. Even if he wasn’t a cultivator, he could have picked her up with almost no effort. As a cultivator, she was a feather in his arms. It was all too apparent to him that it would take nothing at all for her life to be snuffed out. One careless act, an accident of negligence, to say nothing of an intentional effort, would be sufficient. The thought alone was enough to make it feel as if she would shatter like glass at the barest pressure. He could almost see her thinking with the way her face scrunched up. It was usually such an adorable thing, but she was so serious that it made her look old beyond her years.

“Will you help them? The hurt people?”

He did his best to push away the thought of all the people who were already beyond any aid he could offer. He could draw people back from the very cusp if given a chance and the right alchemical ingredients. Once they passed beyond the threshold of death, though, he was as powerless as any mortal to restore them to life. That thought usually served to keep him grounded and remind him that, for all the power cultivators possessed, they truly weren’t gods. At least, they weren’t those kinds of gods. If someone claimed they were deities of death and destruction, he might have to listen to those arguments with an open mind. He chose to keep those thoughts to himself. They weren’t answers to Ai’s question.

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“If I go, I’ll try,” he said.

He was still of two minds on the subject. Part of him wanted to go along with the plan because at least then someone would be doing something. The widespread inaction on the part of humanity and the sects, or at least their inclination to defensive action alone, made him want to scream. No warrior neglected their defense. It was crucial. Yet, no warrior could ignore the value and necessity of pushing the enemy onto the backfoot. That was crucial, too. It was a lesson that seemed to have been lost on the rest of the kingdom. He also found himself falling back into the mindset of a student who simply obeyed when his master spoke. Something that was made even easier when the master in question was someone as powerful and experienced as Fate’s Razor. It was difficult to think that he might know better than Master Feng.

For all that, though, he had a very compelling reason not to go right in front of him at that very moment. He wanted to focus all of his time and attention on making sure that she was safe, even if he knew that was shortsighted. Yes, he could probably protect her here, but what kind of world would she grow up in? Was he ready to forsake everything else and let the boundaries of her existence contract to whatever territory he could hold with the help of Master Feng, Uncle Kho, and Auntie Caihong? He wasn’t sure what that would look like, but he was fairly certain that it wasn’t a place that he’d like. So, it stood to reason that Ai wouldn’t find it particularly appealing either.

“Will you get hurt?” asked Ai in a quavering voice.

The tears she’d been so valiantly keeping at bay finally spilled from her eyes. The desire to lie roared back to life inside of him. It would be nothing, nothing at all, to speak comforting words and reassure her. Her tears would dry, and she’d fall asleep believing that all would be right with the world. He opened his mouth with every intention of doing it, but the words caught in his throat. He could see the trust in her face. She would believe whatever he told her. He couldn’t bring himself to deceive her.

“I might,” he said quietly. “I’ll try my best not to get hurt, but I might have to fight. If I fight, I might get hurt. Sometimes, that’s the only way to help people.”

A very complicated look crossed Ai’s face then. Sen had never seen such an expression on her face before, so he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Will there be bad people?”

Sen blinked in confusion and asked, “Bad people? What do you mean?”

Then, understanding struck him like lightning. She hadn’t said anything about the destruction of her village or the deaths of her family in a long time. Sen had hoped that she’d been young enough to forget about it. It seemed that life hadn’t seen fit to visit that kindness on her.

“Like the ones who hurt me?”

Sen had to repress an old anger that threatened to overtake him even as he tried to think of the best way to explain it. He didn’t think that the situations were really the same, but he also didn’t know if that distinction was one that would matter to his daughter.

“Sort of,” he muttered. “There are spirit beasts, bad ones, hurting people.”

Ai’s face scrunched up again, this time in mild confusion, before it cleared up. Ai knew that spirit beasts had attacked the town even if she hadn’t seen it. There was no way to keep stories like that from children. Adults talked, and children heard. He knew that well enough from his own childhood of eavesdropping, and from the sometimes bizarre questions that she asked him. Those questions inevitably stemmed from some comment she’d heard or occasionally misheard someone say. Sen watched as the steady trickle of tears from her eyes slowed and stopped. She sniffled a few times.

“You should help,” she said, even if she didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it.

“I should?”

“You said we should help people if we can,” she told him.

She’d used a voice that suggested that he should remember since he’d said it. He probably had made some offhand comment like that to her. Of course, he’d said a lot of things to her on a countless number of subjects. He thought it was decidedly unfair that she expected him to actually remember all of it.

“I suppose I did say that, didn’t I?”

Ai nodded at him with a serious expression.

“Alright, little orchid. I think it’s time to sleep.”

Her hand snaked out from under the blankets and grabbed his arm.

“Tell me a story,” she half-demanded, half-pleaded.

He smiled at her and stroked her hair.

“A story? Well, I can probably think of something.”

He started making up a silly story about a huge bird that carried a little girl to the moon. Before he’d gotten very far, her eyes slid shut and her breathing fell into a steady rhythm. He sat there for a long time, staring down at his little girl and trying to decide what to do. You should help, she’d said. It was a kind thing of her to say, but she didn’t know what it would mean. He didn’t know what it would mean in practical terms. But, he thought, what’s the alternative? Tucking the blankets around Ai a little more, Sen left her room. He walked over to the table where Master Feng, Uncle Kho, and Auntie Caihong were having a quiet discussion. He gave them all a serious look as he sat down.

“So, explain this plan to me,” he said. “How do you see it working?”

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