Book 2: Chapter 9: The Road South (4)

Book 2: Chapter 9: The Road South (4)

Sen was pleasantly surprised to discover that Bigan was far less chatty the next day. It seemed that the young man was struck by an unusual case of reflectiveness. It didn’t have the same kind of lost-to-the-world quality that his former daydreaming had, which gave Sen some tiny shred of hope that Bigan might make a breakthrough of his own. It wouldn’t be a cultivation breakthrough, for the young man truly was beyond any real hope of that. A small touch of enlightenment, though, that was always possible so long as body held breath. Sen didn’t push the boy to discuss his thoughts. In fact, Sen fervently hoped that Bigan would continue to remain abstracted and quiet. Yet, that reflectiveness did translate into a few minor benefits.

Bigan was up early and had the ox hitched to the wagon by the time Sen took down the tent and formation flags. Sen did take a moment to restore the soil that he had artificially raised to its former position. He wasn’t above making his own life a little more convenient, but that was no justification for permanently disrupting the local environment. Granted, it would be a small disruption, but Sen had an intuition that small disruptions had a way of cascading into larger disruptions. Assuming he had the opportunity to do so, it was better to leave things as he found them.

Bigan also pushed much harder on the road than Sen had expected. It was as if the young man were determined to catch up with his uncle that very day. It seemed unlikely to Sen. They simply had too great a lead barring some accident or disaster of their own on the road ahead. What did worry the cultivator was the well-being of the ox. In his experience, oxen were good at maintaining a steady, plodding pace. They could do it all day, provided sufficient water and food. Anything faster than that, though, and they were likely to tire or injure themselves. When it became clear that the young man wasn’t going to ease up, Sen finally spoke.

“You can’t push the ox that hard all day.”

Bigan snapped out of his reflective mindset for a moment. “What?”

“The ox. You’re pushing it too hard. It’s going to end up injuring itself.”L1tLagoon witnessed the first publication of this chapter on Ñøv€l--B1n.

Bigan looked like he wanted to tell Sen to mind his own business, but then the young man turned his eyes forward and studied the ox. He grimaced a little and pulled back on the speed.

“Sorry,” Bigan muttered.

Sen offered the boy a sympathetic smile. “You weren’t hurting me, but I suspect you’ll want that ox in good health later.”

Sen encouraged that panic by unleashing the tiniest bit of his killing intent. The handful of bandits who hadn’t simply panicked when Sen revealed himself as a cultivator let out terrified screams and fled into the forest. The only one Sen had, with a great deal of effort, excluded from his killing intent was the bandit leader. The man’s face showed disbelief, outrage, fury, and, when he turned to glare at Sen, an ugly hatred. Sen had no idea what that hate signified. Was it hatred for Sen for disrupting the robbery? Hatred at a more powerful cultivator for interfering in the affairs of mortals? Or, maybe it was simpler than that, and just the pure envious hatred of someone with little talent for someone else with more talent. Sen decided that it didn’t really matter.

He reached over and gently pulled back on the reins. The ox was happy enough to comply and drew to stop just short of the bandit leader. Sen hopped down off the cart. He walked toward the bandit, stopping for a moment to pat the ox’s head on his way. When he faced the bandit, he didn’t say anything, just stared at the man. Sen wasn’t surprised by what happened next. It all happened far too slowly to come as a surprise. The bandit leader jerked out a knife and tried to stab Sen in the chest with it. Sen watched the dull blade approach with an almost clinical disinterest before he reached out, wrapped his hand around the knife, and stopped it. Sen felt the knife’s edge trying to cut him but finding no purchase on his cultivation-hardened skin. The bandit leader snarled and tried to push the blade forward. He might as well have been trying to move a mountain.

“This is over,” said Sen.

“The hells it is!” roared the bandit leader.

“Are you so determined to die today?”

The bandit stared at Sen’s calm face, then his eyes drifted down to the immobile knife grasped in Sen’s hand. The bandit seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then, with a look that suggested he didn’t quite believe what he was doing, released the hilt of the knife. The bandit stepped back.

“No. I can wait to meet King Yan.”

“Wise. You should join your men,” said Sen, gesturing to the forest.

The bandit took one last look at the knife Sen held, then ran into the forest. With a sigh that was part relief and part annoyance, Sen looked up. There was still enough daylight left for them to travel a bit farther. He climbed back onto the wagon, ignoring the flabbergasted expression on Bigan’s face, and gestured down the road. Bigan hurriedly urged the ox into motion again. As they moved away, Sen tossed the knife over to the side of the road.