Unintended Cultivator

Chapter 27: Killing Intent (2)

Sen was both fascinated and a little shocked by the display before him. Uncle Kho was shouting at Master Feng. He had never so much as heard Uncle Kho raise his voice, let alone descend into full-throated shouting. Yet, there it was. The kindly old cultivator who patiently taught Sen to read, who had guided Sen after his disastrous first attempts at writing, who had shown him the essentials of cooking… that man was just gone. This Uncle Kho looked the way that Sen had always imagined powerful cultivators would look. Qi was radiating off the man in nearly tangible waves of blue-white. Lightning crackled up and down his arms. His eyes burned with a fury so pure that Sen was certain he had never felt anything so deeply. This Uncle Kho looked like he could face down an army and win.

“I won’t allow it, Ming!” Uncle Kho shouted, stabbing a lightning-wreathed finger at Master Feng as though he meant to skewer the other man with it. “Take the boy to some city if you must. Let him teach some sect brats a lesson. The heavens know most of them probably deserve it.”

“And he won’t learn anything!” Master Feng shouted back. “Tell me honestly, Jaw-Long. What outer sect disciple could actually stand up to him after more than a year of jian training with me?”

“Then find him an inner sect disciple,” growled Uncle Kho through clenched teeth. “Sending him out onto the mountain alone isn’t teaching. It’s practically murder!”

“Alone?” Master Feng scoffed. “Please. He won’t get five hundred steps without that cat shadowing his every move.”

Those words seemed to cool a bit of Uncle Kho’s ire. “I suppose that much is true. She always has kept a suspiciously close watch over him. Still, Ming, he’s not ready for what you’re proposing. Even with the cat watching over him, he’s still more likely to die than survive. It’s a pointless exercise.”

At that, Master Feng sighed. “Is it? Do you really think there’s a better way than mortal peril to teach him this? Do you really think pitting him against some poor inner sect disciple will do the job as it needs to be done? How many would he have to fight to half learn what this mountain will burn into his soul in a day or two?”

“A better way? Ming, assuming he survives, he’ll have a killing intent like a hundred-year-old expert. He could literally scare people at his own level to death! What’s the advantage in that?”

“I’m not worried about people at his own level. You know what it’s like for a wandering cultivator. You were one for long enough. I’m thinking about those people above his level who will see him as easy prey. How eager do you imagine they’ll be to fight when he unleashes a killing intent that turns their bowels to water? They’ll think they’ve stumbled across a hidden master.”

Uncle Kho made what looked like an almost physical effort to reign in his anger. “You aren’t wrong about any of that, but the risks.”

“I know. If we had thirty years, I’d do it another way. You know we don’t have that kind of time.”

Uncle Kho looked over at Sen. The young man felt like he was standing on a scale, but he had no idea what he was being balanced against. The bearded cultivator frowned, and then his shoulders slumped. The qi and lighting that had cast the man in an otherworldly glow faded away.

“I know,” admitted Uncle Kho. “It’s written all over him. Another, what, two years do you think?”

“I’m hoping for three,” said Master Feng.

Uncle Kho reached up and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows for a long moment before he spoke again.

“Fine, I won’t try to stop you, damnably foolish though it is. But hear me, Ming. If he dies, I will not simply let it go.”

Sen felt his blood run cold as something vast, and unyielding, and utterly terrible filled the room. It seemed to Sen like every hope of survival had been chained and summarily executed right before his eyes. All that was left was a desolate wasteland where nothing, nothing at all, could live. As for anything or anyone foolish enough to test itself against that wasteland, only destruction awaited them. Under the onslaught of that implacable, impossibly heavy presence, Sen wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. Is this Uncle Kho’s killing intent, Sen wondered. Even worse for Sen was the knowledge that he was not the target. He suspected he was only on the very edge of the true experience. No, Master Feng was the target. To his credit, Master Feng didn’t flinch. Sen did see the man’s face go pale, though. It was a testament to how utterly oppressive Uncle Kho’s killing intent truly was. Then, like a shadow in the moonlight, it was gone.

“I understand,” said Master Feng.

“Good,” replied Uncle Kho. “One other thing.”

“Yes?” Feng asked.

“You’ll put this off until tomorrow, or the day after.”

“Alright. There are preparations to make anyway. Why, though?”

“Caihong is almost here. I’d like her to at least meet the boy and get a chance to talk to him before you send him off on this suicide mission.”

“Suicide mission?” Asked a woman’s voice from the door. “What suicide mission?”

Three sets of eyes swung to the door where a slender woman stood, staring back at them with curious eyes. Sen watched as her dark eyes moved across the small group. She frowned a little at Master Feng and Uncle Kho before she turned her gaze on Sen. She studied him. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to decide if she should know who he was, or if she saw him as some kind of odd but harmless animal that had accidentally found its way inside. Then again, she might just have been tired. Sen honestly didn’t know. She looked young to Sen. Not as young as him, but probably not more than ten years older. Yet, the way she’d studied him made him feel like she was much older than that. He felt a moment of relief when she turned her attention back to Uncle Kho and Master Feng.

“Hello, Ming,” she said in a decidedly neutral tone. “Hello, Jaw-Long.”

Sen noticed that there was considerably more warmth in her greeting and her eyes when she addressed Uncle Kho.

“Hello, dear heart,” said Uncle Kho, beaming at the woman.

It took Sen a little longer than he thought it should have to put things together. This woman was Uncle Kho’s wife. He hastily offered her a deep bow.

“I see we have guests,” she said, shooting an amused smile at Sen.

“We do. You know Ming, of course,” said Uncle Kho. “This young man is Lu Sen. He’s proven himself rather helpful for the last year or two.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lu Sen. I am Ma Caihong.”

“I am honored to meet you, Ma Caihong.”

“So,” she said looking back at her husband. “I have questions. First question, what kind of labor have you been imposing on this young man?”

Uncle Kho smiled and tossed her a ring like Master Feng’s storage ring. She caught it, frowned down at it for a moment, and then lifted an eyebrow.

“The boy put in most of the labor if I’m being honest. I’d planned to do it myself, but he took to the work right away. I thought it would be a nice surprise for you.”

Ma Caihong gave her husband a bright smile which she turned to Sen. “Thank you both. I wasn’t relishing the thought of replacing all of those plants and herbs myself. Now, second question. Why in the world are you two fools playing at being old?”

“I am old,” said Feng, shrugging.

“We both are,” said Kho.

“Of course, you are, but why do you look old?”

Feng and Kho traded a look before Kho spoke. “I just wondered what it was like.”

Ma Caihong rolled her eyes. “Final question, what’s this suicide mission?”

Uncle Kho gave Master Feng a decidedly smug look that said, "Go on. Tell her." So, Feng explained his plan. Then, Sen watched as Ma Caihong started shouting at his master.

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