Part 2
The disciple seated at the desk outside Elder Tola’s office and laboratory in the Tower looked at Meishen with barely veiled disdain. He was an artisan-type, but also a regular competitor in the annual contest held for all Outer Disciples - a combat heavy event. He obviously did not approve of grimy, bedraggled cultivators who focused on their own artisanry to the almost complete exclusion of fighting skills. Especially when such cultivators arrived barely within the elder’s stated visiting hours unannounced and uninvited.
Meishen thought for a few long minutes that the older boy would refuse to even ask if the elder would see her, but with a scowl he eventually told her to stand right where she was and not touch anything. He went to the double doors of solid, gleaming Amber Mahogany that warded the way into Elder Tola’s office, knocked briskly and upon the muffled sounds of response from inside, opened the door just a crack and slipped inside.
He slipped back out in much the same way just a moment later, looking as if he’d bitten into a lemon. A shame, Meishen thought he would be rather popular with the girls in the Thicket if he just refrained from looking so sour. Tall, gleaming bronze hair, he could have passed for dashing before, but that expression was just unpleasant.
He didn’t even say anything to her, just waved her over to the doors with a flick of one hand and a glare.
Meishen tried not to think about the muddy prints her boots were probably leaving over the spotless hardwood floors, she just knocked on the door and listened for the muffled invitation to enter.
Elder Tola was a tall woman, voluptuous but commanding in every aspect. Elaborate black robes made her silver-white hair, cropped to above her shoulders, seem to glow by contrast. Her pale eyes suggested a loss of vision but everyone knew that Tola saw better than most with functioning eyes, her Arts made her more perceptive than even her fellow sect elders. Meishen had been on one end of a firm look or glance of disappointment more than once from her herbalism mentor and would vouch under oath that Elder Tola did not need to ‘see’ to see. In fact, Meishen dreaded to think how agonising it must have been for the woman’s students when she had still had undimmed vision. How piercing such a gaze must have been!
Her office was no less imposing, floor-to-ceiling bookcases carved from more Amber Mahogany timber lined the walls, the shelves crammed with expensive, ancient and rare tomes, scrolls and specimens. Meishen always struggled to not start tallying up probable costs of just the items of display. The lush carpets, the exquisite table and sofas for entertaining guests, the elaborate hanging lantern casting impossibly even light across the entire room, Elder Tola did not work in squalor that much was certain.
“Disciple Torrinden.” The elder was seated at her desk, a sheaf of papers in one hand, a brush in the other. Meishen had evidently interrupted her writing.
“Elder Tola,” Meishen gave a deep bow. “I apologise deeply for interrupting you, but I have come to-”
“Yes, yes,” Elder Tola waved her papers. “The interruption has occurred, this is done. What I would like to hear is why it has occurred.” Straight to the point, as always.
“I need your advice, honoured elder,” Meishen began, “I found a young Dewdrop Mint plant in the Leafbone Grove and wanted to cultivate the plant.” That was all she could really say, she knew the very basics of growing spirit plants: they needed their environment to provide a certain level and mix of qi, they needed to be kept away from things that gave off the wrong elements of qi. How this was usually done was not something covered by the fundamentals Meishen had studied so far, however. She didn’t even know if she could provide the required growing environment or whether the tools and devices involved would be beyond her reach.
“Ah.” Elder Tola put her brush down and set her papers back on the stack on one side of her expansive ebony wood desk. “Show me the plant,” she said, gesturing Meishen closer.
“Here, Elder Tola.” Meishen withdrew the plant from her storage ring and was not all surprised to see it looking exactly as it had when she collected it, hours ago. The talisman responsible drifted down to the floor, vanishing into a little plume of dust that too disappeared as it fell. Meishen offered the pot up like a shrine offering, feeling much like she was propitiating some eldritch spirit of herbalism and not her mentor in that school of study.
“Hmm.” The older woman flicked her hand and the pot simply lifted free of Meishen’s hands and drifted over to her like a tamed cloud. It turned this way, then that, tilted to one side and then the other, the delicate fronds waving with the motion. Elder Tola considered the mint plant for a few minutes in silence. Meishen felt sweat start to bead on her back, it had only been a few hours between now and digging up the verdant little plant but she was suddenly, improbably attached to it. She had no idea what she’d do if Elder Tola didn’t agree to help, but letting the leafy mint just wither and die was suddenly and unequivocally not on the cards.
“This is an excellent find.” Tola announced after her deliberations had lasted long enough to have Meishen’s overworked legs almost trembling after standing so still for the duration. “A good choice for your first spirit plant, even if it is a little early.” She tapped her lacquered fingernails on her desk for a moment, thinking. “I shall give you a pot inscribed with an array to modulate the elements of qi the plant is exposed to, but you will have to maintain the correct levels of qi. You will need to be take care to not let the qi in the pot grow too weak, nor to feed it too much at once.”
“Yes, honoured elder,” Meishen gave a grateful half bow, “thank you, Elder Tola.”
“You will maintain this plant for the next three months,” the woman continued, “after that time, if the mint is still healthy, I will teach you to repot it into a vessel that will not maintain the qi mix for you. You will then have to do so yourself. Return here after your lesson from Farafiti on the third Heavensun this month, I will give you the potted plant, a book on maintaining qi mixtures for plants, and a tool to help you practice. Our lessons for the time being will also cover spirit plants and their cultivation.” With a flick of her graceful fingers, Elder Tola sent the mint zipping away towards the door at the far end of the room that led to her greenhouse. Meishen had seen into it only twice, but she had seen enough to know that the plain wooden door lead to a veritable jungle of plants.
“Thank you, Elder Tola,” she said again, “I am grateful for your assistance in this, I shall return as you have directed.” And she was truly grateful. To be given such concrete assistance was always an unexpected boon. She expected more vague tuition and not such material aid. The vagaries would come later, she was sure, Elder Tola was a firm believer in leaving her disciples to learn independently and Meishen could already feel the painfully hard wooded seats of the Archives bruising her back side. Hours, she’d be spending hours in there no doubt. But her new mint plant would live! It would live and she vowed to herself that she’d master the qi levels for it to thrive, no matter what.
And that was that. The Dewdrop Mint would live, and Meishen would have her first spirit plant to grow. To cook with. She managed to walk demurely out of the offices, passed Mr. Scowl without more than a polite smile, and held in her hum of delight until she was halfway back up to Blossom Hill.
Her legs ached, her meridians were tingling with phantom itches after holding multiple Arts all day on top of her little diffuse qi trail trick, her back was sore and she was covered in sweat and grime, but Meishen still hummed a happy little tune all the way home. Little Verdure, coiled about her neck would have joined in no doubt, but he was already fast asleep. Meishen would have to give him a little extra breakfast the next morning. Before that, though, her bathtub, her bed and a sound night’s sleep awaited her.
Very much reinvigorated, Meishen spent the next morning visiting the Archives in search of books or scrolls on managing qi levels in inscribed arrays. She suspected her guidance from her herbalism mentor would focus on qi mixtures and elements, not intensity. Best to make a start on that already. The Archive was relatively quiet, only a few outer disciples and two inners who each had an entire table to themselves as no-one else dared sit near, but Meishen had heard via Mifi that a swathe of assignments had been handed out recently. She supposed most of her peers were tending to such duties and not ruing the wretchedly hard seats in the Archives. How was anyone to learn a thing when the only prevailing thought was that a cushion would be amazing?
She spent a while in both the Scrolls and the Tomes buildings, even dipped into the section at the back of the Scrolls building that held the jade slips not qualifying as Arts (which would not be in these Archive buildings, Arts lived in the Tower of Revelation, next to the Tower of Inquiry) but not capable of being transcribed onto paper or parchment either. There was one helpful text, a scroll debating the merits of this or that inscription for storing qi for slow release and how easy they were to use. Not exactly a manual on the requisite techniques but it went into great detail about ease of transfer, holding capacities, release rates and so on. Meishen paid 20 stones to a clerk to have a copy made and sent to her cottage. Not cost-efficient, but she cared more about time efficiency. She had another batch of stew to make and then hopefully a few nighttime hours of meditation as well.
The Thicket was as verdant and cloying as ever, always something of a obstacle course to pass through. Meishen understood that it was to encourage constant improvement of one’s qi and physique, but sometimes she wished she needn’t allot so much time out of her day just to leaving home or returning back. The worst of the vines were dying back at least, as the autumnal weather worsened and the frost-proof shrubs and bushes took over. A small mercy and a minor benefit to winter’s cold, icy greyness.
Once back from the Archives and ensconced in her kitchen again, Meishen first set about cleaning - she never cooked in a kitchen that hadn’t been cleaned. Soapash was a much larger monthly cost for Meishen than most other outer disciples. Only some of the alchemists using particularly sensitive reagents for their concoctions cared so much about keeping their equipment absolutely spotless. Once, as a girl, as mortal kitchen assistant had spread sickness via their food despite the basic precautions in place to prevent such. Care had perhaps lapsed, higher realm cultivators did not fear any mere common illness after all. Her parents had not felt the slightest discomfort of course, but Meishen had never been so ill before or since. Her kitchen was clean, always.
Her stew recipe was mostly complete but she was still refining the proportions of certain seasonings and the ratios of water to flour etc., so this one was made using one of her remaining two rabbits. The meat, seared and braised, would have both a wonderful tender texture whilst keeping its wild, gamey flavour. A flavour that the mint and herbs would elevate and complement. Meishen had the basic qi infusion sorted too, it warmed the eater and warded off chill temperatures as well as rendering their muscles and bones more readily permeable to qi, making physical cultivation more efficient.
Suffice to say, Meishen had the half-formed idea of, after perfecting the dish, bringing in a little extra funding by selling the dish to her warrior friends. Anyone would benefit, but fighters using weaponry or their bodies and not just qi-powered Arts relied more on their physical cultivation than anyone else. More efficiency in using qi to accelerate recovery and healing as well as their physical cultivation was a valuable benefit and one worth a few spirit stones a meal.
A steady income, if not an instant fortune. You could overdose on qi-enriched food and beverages, just as you could with elixirs and pills. Too much in too short a period of time would result in an unwanted accumulation of foreign qi and interfere with normal circulation. So no selling an entire batch instantly to someone desperate to increase their physical cultivation, but Meishen dared to imagine a batch sold every month and a reduced financial burden as a result.
It was all a pipe-dream without the complete recipe in hand. Meishen chopped, sliced, peeled, seasoned, spiced and stewed for hours. The entire rabbit was gone by the end, except the bones and offal which went to make a strong stock and down Little Verdure’s gullet respectively. The resulting stew certainly smelled appetising, the scent was enough to drive someone to raid the stew pot early. Someone. Meishen was long used to the urge. She loved food, that was true, that was why it was such a core part or her cultivation, but she wasn’t a rampant glutton. She tasted as needed for seasoning, for testing, but she’d wait until the meal was cooked before digging in.
Her patience was rewarded, the few mouthfuls she sampled of the small batch were indeed delicious, but then she had to analyse the results rather than eat them. The qi content, the effects and their potency, their duration; as well as flavour, texture, consistency, mouth feel and so on. Meishen stored a great deal of the stew, a few solid meals would go to pay Naruki back for delivery of the stag and Meishen did like to do what she could to help her friend prosper, even it was only something small like some hearty food. The rest went to the testing pot. An expensive and intricate device but not one she could go without, as a mere first realm cultivator she hadn’t the senses and Arts to test her creations for anything qi-related reliably. Simple qi infusion could be done by feel, qi testing was much more tricky.
Hence the little cast iron pot. A round bellied miniature cauldron in appearance, it was home to a complicated qi array and embedded with tiny fragments of various materials embodying a single element each. The shards were contained in miniature spirit stone cages and then set in a spiral climbing up the outside of the black iron pot from the base to the rim. A jade ring was seated around the widest part of the pot’s circumferences, inscribed with a sequences of numbers and characters. Five unaspected spirit stones were also set into the pot’s rim and it was these into which Meishen infused her qi. In response, the pot appeared to begin to warm up, a dull red glow spreading from its base. In reality, this was just excess energy, there was no heat, just a horrifically complex mechanism of qi taking the sample of food inside of the pot apart down to the very essences. Characters on the jade ring lit up, each one glowing a slightly different colour and each one glowing identically to a number on the ring. Meishen’s measuring device was far and away the most expensive, irreplaceable treasure she possessed, and it never left her sight when it was outside her interspatial ring.
The budding gourmet spent several hours carefully testing a number of samples of the stew, methodically noting down the results of each. Did it contain more earth qi when there was a larger proportion of root vegetables? Would a larger proportion of meat instead produce a higher concentration of fire qi? Would the trace amounts of blood qi change also? How did this batch compare to her last?
The sun had long since slunk away beyond the horizon before Meishen packed up her testing apparatus and put her kitchen entirely to rights. She gazed out the window before she left the room, still brightly lit by the hanging light - qi powered of course, but by the sect’s ambient qi and not Meishen’s. It was a great help when the days were shorter but it also led far too often to the young woman losing complete track of time. Case in point, the waxing moon hung low in the sky, aglow on a backing fabric of darkest night, save for pinpricks of starlight.
To spend an hour or two more in cultivation, or to get an early night? A long sigh, and Meishen closed the shutters in defeat. The question was a non-starter. Only a fool begins a venture they know will yield no profit. She had an important day tomorrow, good impressions to make and so on. A late night and the resulting wan face and puffy eyes would not help her in achieving such impressions.
She sighed again and trudged off to the bathroom to wash and get ready for bed. How she envied Little Verdure some days. He could sleep all week and it’d only help his cultivation, the lucky thing.
Tucked up warm and comfortable in the still, quiet dark of her bedroom, it was only through meditative breathing exercises that Meishen could set her nerves aside long enough to fall asl-
I will not check my hair, my braids are fine, I know they’re fine. I know my robes are fine, I will not check them, I will not appear nervous. I will comport myself- Meishen kept the litany up non-stop as she reached the edge of the Thicket where Felli shared a cottage with Nina. The two women were only a year apart in joining the sect five and four years ago respectively but had only lived together for around two years, since the inception of their formal alliance. Nina would be out, of course. She trained constantly, often with her fellow alliance members, and worked the rest of the time to cover her living and cultivation costs.
Unfortunate that Nina wouldn’t be around, really. Meishen kind of liked the determined fighter. Her determination and willpower, her absolute refusal to stop striving for her goals no matter what, Meishen found her terribly admirable. She was a little intimidating though, so on second thoughts perhaps her absence was not so unfortunate. At least Felli was only as tall as Meishen and rather cute when she pouted, which made the elder disciple much less scary now than when they’d first met through Layfon.
Which was just as well, it would be bad enough having to try and discuss her idea with such an influential figure as Inner Disciple Loss alone, Meishen would rather not have any additional sources of intimidation and anxiety around. Felli had a terrifying reputation as a genius with a terrible personality but Meishen knew her better and counted her as a true friend. The petite silver-haired woman was no longer even vaguely scary, except for when Layfon was inadvertently stoking her temper.
I wish Little Verdure was with me. At later stages in their mutual cultivation, Meishen would always be able to speak mind-to-mind with her bound companion, but as she rounded the final corner to Felli’s home she was alone. Little Verdure was asleep in his warm den back home, just northwest of the Thicket’s centre. Felli’s residence by contrast was located right where the Thicket ended at the very northernmost point. The unassuming cottage sat alone, overlooking the Wellrun and the Tangle that stopped outers from crossing the river to the Inner Disciple’s Glade on one side and looking at the Ichor on the other side.
If she had timed it right, Meishen would be able to drop off the scroll she had borrowed and then catch Inner Disciple Loss up on his walk back to the Blossom Hill. Inner Disciples could cross the Tangle and the Wellrun to just hop back on back to the Glade of course, but it was frowned upon, and so such a well-known figure as Karian Loss would probably walk back. Besides, he’d never pass up the opportunity to gather intelligence on the current crop of outer disciples, surely?
It was with outward-only serenity that Meishen knocked on Felli’s door. I will not fidget, I will not fuss, I will no-
“Meishen, hello.” Felli’s soft voice was as monotone as ever, but her lips held the faint signs of what, for her, was a real smile.
“I hope I’m not here at a bad time,” Meishen held up the scroll in one hand and a bundle of biscuits in the other. “I just wished to return your scroll and thank you for lending it to me.”
Felli shook her head, her silver hair swirling about her with the motion. “Not at all. Though I regret I cannot invite you in,” and the little moue that appeared on her perfectly formed face really was one of regret. “I promised Nina that I would attempt to open another meridian soon, but I haven’t had time to try at all recently.” A flicker of another expression, this time perhaps of frustration. Meishen was still learning to read Felli’s barely-detectable emotions, sometimes she just had to guess.
“Then we can take tea another time,” the younger disciple said, brightly, and she meant it. In truth, she’d been counting on the refusal. Even if no-one had mentioned it two days prior, the alliance was the only hope for Felli, Nina and a few others to prove their worth and earn their graduation into the Inner Sect before reaching the six year limit and being relegated to the position of permanent member of the Outer Sect only. The alliance was eyeing up the rapidly approaching annual tournament at winter’s end as their collective ticket into the Inner Sect but needed to pull all the stops out if they were to throw off the burdensome reputation resulting from three, four, five years of underperformance.
“Perhaps we can meet for tea at the next market?” Felli suggested, meaning the next week after the monthly Moonrise Market, the day set aside for all disciples to try and hawk their wares, pitch their inventions, sell their creations. One day, Meishen would have approval from Farafiti to set up her own stall there.
“Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea. I could invite Naruki and Mifi as well, if you’d prefer?” Meishen agreed without hesitation.
“But of course.” Felli gave her another ghostly-faint smile. “I shall confirm the time with you three nearer the date.”
“I look forward to it already.” Meishen assured her, and knew that for all the two of them could not seem to break out of their habitual polity, at least both knew that the other valued their friendship.
It was but a few more moments to say their goodbyes, and Meishen set back off, less the weight of a scroll and some sweet treats. She had originally thought to catch Inner Disciple Loss on his walk back through the Thicket, but looking at the overgrown pathways, she realised any obvious trace of him had vanished in the time taken to chat to Felli. He was not some blundering oxen to leave a path of trampled greenery in his wake, after all.
Meishen stood frozen for a moment, how was she to find him amidst the labyrinth of cottages and vegetation then? The Thicket was designed to be a challenge to navigate and traverse, it did not lend itself to tracking and chasing, unless you had specific skills to utilise. Which, obviously, Meishen did not have.
Then again, few needed to in the Thicket, there was only one exit so you could just-
Stone-qi, earth-qi and a little fire, all thrust down to the few meridians Meishen had open in her legs and feet. Iron Hoofs has the Faithful Mule, a miner’s Art to power and toughen the legs. Costly, for a mere second-year disciple with little by way of qi reserves and only a few of the more optimal meridians available, but it was a brute-force Art. No flashy effects, no subtle weavings or fancy implementation. Meishen wouldn’t even have enough qi left to cook an infused meal for over a week unless she spent hours extra on recovery, but with this she could simply bull through the low-level effects that normally made circumventing the Thicket’s maze-like alleys more trouble than it was worth.
She felt her bones creaking as she leapt up to the roof of the next nearest cottage, she felt her meridians creaking even more as the Thicket’s woven net of obstructive qi tugged at her, trying to trip her up, to pull her back down to the ground. She stuck her landing and leapt to the next roof. Miner-cart mules were sure-footed, she would not wouldnotwouldnotohpleaseohpleasedon’tletme fall. The next roof, another leap, tiles grinding under the force of each impact and each take-off. Soft hide boots suddenly more like steel armour. Another leap, another, another. Meishen felt her dantian draining, so quick! She had never used this art for more than one swift jump or even one mediocre kick in combat training. Her reserves were vanishing with every jump but already she could see the distant edge of the Thicket’s wild greenery giving way tot the austere edifices of the Cherry Hall and Blossom Hill.
Leap, crunch, leap, crunch. Her legs hurt fiercely, her dantian was emptying out, her meridians were starting to twinge. And then, then there was no other roof, no next cottage. Meishen hit the ground with both feet and nearly fell face forwards into the ground. She barely managed to convert her momentum into a graceless stumble but she made it. A quick glance around showed no spectators to her stubborn rush across the Thicket, or her ill-done landing.
Nor were there any silver-haired cultivators by the name of Loss. Meishen looked about, thinking, even as she tried to haul air back into her lungs and redistribute what qi she had left. Assuming, and what an assumption this was, that Karian was still in the Thicket and hadn’t used the superior skills of an inner disciple to slip through the Thicket with ease or leap the river to the Glade, then he would need to pass around Cherry Hall, or behind the Commissary or the Office of Appointments to take the ‘proper’ path back to his own accommodation, or to anywhere else in the Sect.
Still panting, her chest heaving like bellows in a busy forge, Meishen positioned herself at the corner of the Cherry Hall that afforded her a view of the Commissary and Hall’s rear pathways both. She’d just need to hope her target didn’t go around the Office instead.
As it was, she was nearly too distracted by getting her breathing back under control to see Loss appear out of the overgrown alleys like a wraith emerging from the shadows. He truly was Felli’s brother. The same ruler-straight silver hair hanging down his back in a curtain of perfection. The same lean physique, just on the border of being too thin but instead appearing ethereal, graceful. The same air of unconscious authority and competency.
One quick check that her robes were neat, her hair still in its many braids and the rest flowing down her back as it should, and Meishen made her approach.
“Excuse me, honoured Inner Disciple Loss.” She began, dropping into the respectful bow that inners expected of outer disciples, as Loss looked over at her. He simply nodded in return and said nothing, gazing down at her dispassionately. He wore finely-wrought silver frames holding corrective glass lenses that lent him an air of sophistication whilst doing nothing to hide his high cheekbones and piercing grey eyes. Truly, Meishen could see why half the women (and some of the men) thought him the very picture of the perfect man.
“My name is Meishen Torrinden,” Meishen continued, too committed to this to stop now because of a cold look. “I was hoping that I might have but a moment of your time, honoured senior disciple, and ask you for your advice on a matter of bureaucracy.” Kind of, it was kind of a bureaucratic item. Maybe.
Karian Loss said nothing for a long minute, and Meishen felt her anxiety rising like the tide. Finally, he adjusted his glasses minutely, and gave her an appraising look. “You must be the Meishen that my sister has spoken to me of. Well, for someone that Felli considers an ally, I can spare you a few minutes perhaps.” His low, velvety voice was not toneless like Felli’s, rather it was uniformly cool. Karian, it seemed, was very comfortable in his superiority among the sect disciples of all ranks.
“Thank you very much,” Meishen bobbed into another quick bow, aware that a little subservience was probably something a disciple like Karian expected. “I was reading the regulations on commissions by disciples, and it appears to my untrained eyes that while the Sect sets the tariffs and values of all commissions set for completion by outer disciples, the same commissions for inner disciples are not valued by the Sect. I find myself seeking clarity, does this not mean that an inner disciple might take commissions from outer disciples for a lower cost than the Sect would designate for the same task?”
“Ah.” Karian’s voice, and his fine-porcelain face, showed subtle signs of amusement. “Yes, you are correct that the Sect levies no additional costs on those commissions given to inner disciples, but they do monitor all assignments and will simply reject all those priced below what the Commissary considers a reasonable rate for the work required.” He titled his head and watched Meishen for a moment, perhaps looking for some sign of the turmoil his words had spawned in her chest. Spirits above, was there no way at all she could procure affordable supplies? No way at all? Inside, she wailed in frustration, but outside, Meishen kept her face still and fixed in an expression of polite, earnest attentiveness to her senior disciple’s words.
“Tell me, what work is it that you require doing that you cannot afford the normal tariffs?” Karian asked her, equally polite, a senior showing token interest in the matters of his juniors.
“I require regular resupply of spirit beast meat, of various types. The costs for any commission involving the Leafblood Grove are high, the Commissary imposes a high tariff due to the risk and the need for an inner disciple to be present.” Meishen replied. A cursory explanation of her woes but she did not feel genuine concern from Karian. He would give her this conversation because she knew his sister but he cared not a whit for the ultimate outcomes.
“Hmmm.” He adjusted his glasses again, looking thoughtful for a second. Meishen tried not to stare at him in consternation. What had she said that could possibly be unusual here? Had she said something she shouldn’t have?
“The Sect allows inner disciples into the depths of the Grove only on training missions, assignments and such. The same restrictions regarding free access only to the edges of the Grove apply to us as apply to you.” He informed Meishen. “You might find an inner disciple willing to agree to a lower rate if they needed to have regular access to the Grove and your commissions would provide that for them.”
Meishen waited for the catch in this. Nothing too helpful comes free. Words she had heard and heeded many times before.
“Of course, you must get this rate agreed with the given disciple and formalised contractually for the Commissary to accept it, and they will only accept it for tasks covered by the contract specifically.” Karian elaborated without being asked to.
Meishen’s last embers of hope puffed out of existence like wisps of smoke before a gale. She held her expression of attentiveness and was about to bow again when Karian turned his head towards the Thicket.
“Do you think there are many who would strike such a bargain, Vance?” He asked nonchalantly. Meishen fought not to gape like a landed fish. She did not understand how she could not have seen Karian’s right-hand man approach to within a few full spans. He was just there, where he surely hadn’t been before, leaning against the trunk of one of the Thicket’s bordering trees.
Karian Loss was famous in the sect, the heir of a middling clan but one putting his all into accruing power through all means possible: cultivation, alliances, information, assets. He was a rising star at the Sect of the Deepest Earth and already held the office of Head Disciple of the Sect Hall of Administration. His two partners both also well known: Formehd Guran - a Disciple of the Sect Office of Justice, and Vance Hardy - holder of no particular titles but infamous amongst all disciples for two things. One, he had already mastered a number of weapons, and was well underway to mastering more. A force to be reckoned with in combat, he was known for using his qi only to enhance his physical capabilities and his weaponry. No external Arts or fancy enchanted equipment. Just him, his weapons and his skill with them. An unusual combat style for such an advanced cultivator but then again, if anyone could pull it off, it would be Hardy, after all there was point two still to consider.
Two: he was foreign born. There were a few children of the desert tribes in the Sect, as there were all over the Empire. There were even two inner disciples from the eastern isles with their more coppery-toned skin and their close bonds to the spirit realms. There was only one disciple in the Sect, and perhaps in the Empire, who was from across the western oceans. The sea raiders came often to the western coast in their strange ships but their visits were violent and brief. None stayed except as prisoners or indentured servants and use of their unnatural magics was banned in the Empire, few of them had ever chosen to settle in the Empire. Meishen had heard that Hardy was the first of their kind to ever learn to cultivate qi.
She understood, as the man in question stood up from his casual lean to walk over to stand behind Karian’s shoulder, why he could rely on his physical might so much. He was a towering figure. He was not just tall but also broad across the shoulders and chest, even across the thighs, like a bull ox. Meishen had met Inner Disciple Luckens once, he had come to the Thicket seeking Layfon. She had thought that Luckens was the biggest man she’d ever see. Hardy had a handspan of height on him and more muscle besides. To make it even more obvious, his tunic was sleeveless, showing the heavy muscles of his arms rippling beneath his warm bronze skin.
His features were also unusual. Unrefined, nearly. Like they had been carved from stone but with a rough, flat chisel and the craftsman had never gone back to smooth out all the edges and creases. His swept-back hair was an odd colour too, wheat-gold on the top of his head but darker, an oak brown down around his ears. His eyes beneath heavy brows were like shards of ice - a startling, stark pale blue.
If Guran was Karian’s right-hand man for matters involving money, information and influence, Hardy was Karian’s choice for anything involving the most fundamental form of power: strength of arms.
Those icy eyes were fixed on Meishen. She felt like a rabbit pinned down by the glare of a hunting hawk and tried very hard not to look away, not to quail before the strange disciple.
“There are only two who would benefit.” His voice was lower than Karian’s, but not so smooth and not half as erudite. A biting, burning rice wine compared to an expertly blended and brewed tea. He looked over at his fellow inner disciple and gave a half-shrug.
“Two? One more than I expected.” Karian shared a glance with the looming warrior disciple before turning his attention back to Meishen. “I hope this has given you the enlightenment you sought about the Commissary’s handling of inner and out disciple assignments.”
“I understand the commissions system much better now, thank you most sincerely for your explanations honoured Inner Disciple Loss.” Meishen knew dismissal when she heard it, and made the appropriate bow of farewell, again a little deeper than it strictly speaking should have been. Karian deigned to give her a familiar nod of acknowledgement, before turning to walk off towards the Springdeep Waters, his associate walking just behind him.
Meishen watched them go, not sure whether to laugh or to just crumple where she stood to weep. She needed ingredients, and the best available came from the Grove and its spirit beasts. Without ready access to them, how was she to continue along her chosen path? And all of this trouble over tariffs and commissioning fees.
She stared blankly in the direction the two men had vanished for a long while.
Then abruptly turned away to return to the Thicket.
There is more than one way to cut a gem.
The second, or third, or fourth way to cut this particular gem did not reveal itself to Meishen that evening as she attempted to meditate. It did not come to her in a dream while she slept or bloom in her mind while she cultivated the morning after, desperate to recover some of the recklessly spent qi from her race across the Thicket. It did not leap out at her from the paper of the scroll she had had copied from the Archives that evening. It did not show itself at the weekly class on physical cultivation or at the Requisitions Office when she went to collect her monthly stipend. It was not available for purchase at the end-of-week market as she traded and bartered for herbs and ingredients with the Leafstag deer parts for currency nor did it accompany any of her friends to the tea house where they sat and chatted over fragrant drinks after a morning spent bartering.
It waited a week before it knocked on her door as Meishen was just taking another batch of rabbit stew off the stove.
“I’ll be right there!” She called, and hurried to put the stew pot down safely, tug off her heat-resistant gloves and dash through to the front door. She was halfway there before she remembered Little Verdure napping around her shoulders, but it was too late to take him off, she was already at the door. Oh well, not like Mifi and Naruki, or Felli, or whoever it was, hadn’t seen her with her companion beast slung about her neck like a very much oversized necklace before.
Meishen pulled the door open to the dusky twilight of the Thicket and looked up at her visitor. And looked up some more, and then a bit more still. Stood not more than a full span away, Inner Disciple Hardy seemed even taller than he had appeared the other day. Meishen was only of average height, she had to crane her neck back to look the other disciple in the face. Abruptly, she remembered her manners and flung her head back down in a bow.
“Honoured Inner Disciple Hardy, what an unexpected privilege for you to visit.” Meishen blurted in a rush, mind a-whirl with questions. Why was he here? Now? Had she somehow offended Karian Loss enough for warrant a visit from his warrior retainer?
“Fellow Disciple Torrinden,” Hardy’s deep voice was as dry as the northern deserts. He quirked an eyebrow at her as she looked back up at him, amusement perhaps?. “No need for such formality with me.” He then added, leaving Meishen frantically trying to work out whether this was because of her connection to Felli or because Loss had in fact taken a shine to her, or some other reason she could not parse. Well, if in doubt, be polite either way and you shan’t get in too much trouble at the end.
“As you wish, Disciple Hardy.” Meishen erred on the side of caution. “Is there some matter that I can assist you with?” What could bring him to her door, if they wanted work doing it would have been much easier to go through the Commissary surely?
“Commission rates.” The older disciple stated simply, cluing Meishen in only a little on the purpose of his visit. Still, it wouldn’t do to leave him on her doorstep.
“Of course,” she feigned understanding and then stepped back to beckon him inside. “Perhaps we could discuss over tea?”
The looming behemoth of a man had to duck to step through the doorway. In the relatively spacious main room of the cottage - a decent size for a single-person dwelling in the outer sect - he seemed comically huge. Meishen wondered if there was a way she could offer him a second cushion to sit on without being rude, as she went through the typical song and dance of offering tea and so on.
“Is that your qi-rich cooking I can smell?” Hardy declined tea, but he did enquire after the savoury scent filling the cottage.
“It is, I have just finished a test batch of stew.” Meishen explained. Was he just here to get a free meal? He was doubtless able to afford better from the few chefs employed to cook for those inner disciples and sect elders who still needed or desired food.
“Ah, an example of why you need regular deliveries of spirit beast meat?” Hardy asked.
“Yes, although I have not yet perfected this particular recipe quite yet.” Meishen confirmed, a little wary of what her senior was getting at.
“Then, perhaps we might share a meal before we discuss said deliveries?” Hardy quirked his eyebrow again, this time definitely in query.
Discuss what?! Meishen barely kept her jaw off the floor. Did he mean-? Or perhaps actually…
“I shall fetch some, and some wine. The two go well together.” She added, aware that she was on the brink of starting a ramble about the ideal pairings of food and drink to bring out the best of either. But her guest probably cared little for such details. She hurried back into her kitchen instead of standing about chattering away, and fetched two bowls of stew, some soft, dark bread and a suitably dry wine.
“Is it dinner time already?” A small voice piped up as she got back to the table, reminding Meishen that she had forgotten still to take a certain Rootwyrm off from his resting place around her neck.
Meishen narrowly avoided dropping everything, and waited a few seconds to set everything down before she replied.
“I’ve left some meat aside for you, but you’ll have to wait a little,” the nerve-wracked cultivator told her companion, belatedly realising that perhaps introductions were in order. “Disciple Hardy, this is my spirit beast companion, Little Verdure.”
Said companion uncoiled himself enough to crane his head for a good look at the newcomer. Not that he was easy to miss. “Little Verdure greets honoured Disciple Hardy,” the wyrm said, tongue flickering out to taste the air even as he spoke.
“A pleasure to meet you also,” Hardy dipped his head in greeting, unexpectedly gracious towards such a lowly spirit beast as an adolescent Rootwyrm not even grown to a complete handspan in thickness.
Carefully, Meishen lifted Little Verdure off from her shoulders and placed him softly on the cushion set back and away from the table behind her. He coiled back up neatly and stayed silent. She sat herself down to eat with her guest and didn’t need to turn back around to know her companion was watching the stranger in their home with an unblinking gaze. The wyrm may not be able to do anything if Hardy decided to cause trouble, but he’d try. For Meishen, he’d try.
“Please, dig in. I hope it is to your taste,” Meishen exhorted, mulling over the possibility that this was a test of some sort from Karian. If the meal was good enough and the qi-infusion provided sufficient benefits, would that result in some sort of commissions contract like those the silver-haired man had informed her about?
Hardy didn’t waste time, he had his chopsticks in hand even before Meishen had finished speaking. She’d heaped his bowl much higher than her own, having some familiarity with how much physically-focused cultivators could devour in one sitting but even then she was impressed at how quickly the other cultivator demolished the stew, even going so far as to mop up the remnants with the bread rather than dipping it as was considered the proper way in sophisticated circles. Still, Meishen felt that he enjoyed the food in its own right. She’d something of a sense for those who genuinely enjoyed their meals rather than just ate for the sake of necessity or polity and Hardy was almost certainly the type to still find some pleasure in a delicious meal.
“Thank you for the meal,” were his only words on the dish, but Meishen would have bet her last spirit stone he had enjoyed it. If this was a test of her skills as a budding immortal chef, she was confident she had passed.
It was only after, the dishes waiting in the kitchen to be cleaned, the two of them sipping at their wine, that the topic of deliveries and hunting commissions could be broached. Meishen braced herself to start fumbling through negotiations from the position of someone with shockingly little to offer the other party beyond below-market-rates remuneration, only for the senior disciple to open proceedings instead.
“I need access to the Grove,” he stated simply, with the ghost of a shrug, “if what you need hunting is not too difficult to procure, I’m willing to agree to a regular delivery schedule at low rates so long as it is regular.” His emphasis made it clear what he really cared about here. Evidently a monthly visit would not be enough. Which was just as well, it would not be enough for Meishen either.
“I do not think my requirements too challenging,” Meishen began, unsure how to categorise the various edible beasts in terms of difficulty of procurement. “I currently only require spirit beasts that you might class as game beasts: rabbit, stag and the like. In a few months and certainly into next year I will require different beasts, perhaps Four Blessing Elk, Rockbears or Tree-eating Vipers, but if there are any beasts that may not be retrieved easily, I would always be willing to instead work with an alternative.” At her level, she was not working with such precise balances and intensities of qi that only one particular beast would do. There were always other ways to get the same end result.
“How much do you need a month?” Was the next question.
“Rarely less than two hundredweight in meat a month,” Meishen mused aloud, totting up how much she’d spent on this month’s dish, how much last month’s sautéed poultry dish had required before she had brought the recipe up to Farafiti’s standards. “Sometimes up to four hundredweight if I am working on something that demands a lot of meat.”
“What if you are assigned a recipe that does not need any?” Hardy asked.
“I often require herbs and vegetables, other foragables from the Grove and some of it is much easier to find deeper in, beyond the edges.” But would he be willing to look around for mere greens? Meishen didn’t outright ask, she didn’t dare.
“So an average of a full hundredweight in meat a fortnight, or else, how much forage would it be?” Apparently yes, yes he would be willing.
“Still a hundredweight a month if I’m using mainly foraged ingredients,” Meishen answered, “but that much would require multiple trips to procure.” The Leafblood Grove’s plant life grew rapidly and it was a place of plenty - enough to supply thousands in hunted and foraged weight monthly due to the upwell of qi that enriched the area - but that did not mean that harvested greens would grow back instantly.
Hardy pondered this for a moment in utter silence, unmoving as stone. “I’ll agree to an excursion a week minimum, up to twice a week when scheduled a month or more in advance. To deliver no less than twenty five-weight in forage or game each week, or no less than a hundredweight of the same across the month depending on what you require at the time.” Clever, to work on the basis of minimums rather then try and agree to a range of quantities for delivery. It also gave Meishen the guarantee of a certain amount of ingredients of any sort and ample scope to arrange larger deliveries if needed.
Which, well, wasn’t that an absurdly good offer? How much would he expect in return, already knowing that Meishen could not afford the going rate? “That would be most acceptable for me,” she began, “but I would only be able to pay a hundred spirit stones a month for two hundredweight, or twenty-five a week even if you were to bring back fiftyweight a week.”
Another faint shrug. “So, fifty stones per hundredweight delivered?”
“Y- Yes?” Was he checking the averages with her or-?
“Well then.” Hardy drained the last of his glass of wine. “No less than one delivery of hunted or foraged items as required a week, the minimum weights as already said, to be paid for at a standard rate of fifty stones per hundredweight. Larger quantities and more frequent deliveries by particular arrangement at the same rates?” He summarised things concisely, obviously not one for undue eloquence.
Meishen just blinked at him for a moment, running the numbers through in her head again. It was too good to be true but it would have to be written up, signed and reviewed by the Sect, how could he catch her out? If, indeed, that was the aim here? She couldn’t imagine anyone, not even Karian Loss, sneaking something exploitative passed the Sect’s bureaucrats. They had standards to uphold even if some of their disciples might not have received that message just yet.
A moment passed while Meishen turned the offer over in her mind, and its potential ramifications if it went sour for her later. “Yes, that is acceptable,” she confirmed, not entirely how to proceed beyond that.
“Have you time now to draft a written agreement?” Hardy asked, seemingly unconcerned with the absolute bargain and lifeline both that he was handing Meishen on a platter.
“I do,” Meishen said. Had she any good paper or parchment lying around? She used quite a cheap paper for her normal work and notes, lists and such. Good quality sheets were expensive and she had cooking to fund.
“Good.” Hardy flicked one hand and produced a roll of smooth, pale paper and an inkwell and brush from his storage ring. A few paperweights followed and once he had the paper laid out flat he immediately set about transcribing exactly the agreement they’d just discussed in concise, accurate terms.
Very competent penmanship, Meishen observed, unlike every other warrior-disciple I’ve known. Artisans needed good writing skills, for drafting writs of sale and production orders and such but combat-focused cultivators not so much. Hardy’s writing was plain and without added flourishes or fancies yet it was textbook perfect. Much like the wording he was using to outline their as-yet-informal commission agreement. Not very mercantile of him either though, Meishen had seen many a merchant writing up contracts and supply arrangements. Usually both sides would try to squeeze in a clause or a phrase here or there, some sly wording to benefit one side over the other in some way. Never to illegal extents but such wordplay was always there to a small degree. Hardy’s draft was proceeding as a very dry, simple document disclosing precisely what he would provide at a minimum per week or month and the rate that he would be paid for it, with some minor limitations on what Meishen may or may not request he hunt or gather for her, with how much notice she might make certain requests etc. All very straightforward and balanced. Not a single character written with anything but factual intent. Not mercantile in the slightest.
Perhaps Karian Loss’s pocket warrior was also his pocket bureaucrat? Meishen couldn’t understand why else Hardy - such an obviously physical person - would be so technically proficient at something like contract writing and formal paperwork. He certainly wasn’t in the habit of writing up such procurement contracts in particular or he’d be writing this one using much less egalitarian language.
“There.” Hardy set his brush down, checked his work closely, then removed the paperweights to offer the sheet of paper with its neat columns of even, regular characters over to Meishen to read.
As if she couldn’t read a simple contract upside down? That had been considered a basic skill back home. She read through it again anyway, to show that she had checked the document herself.
“Thank you for drafting this out.” She pulled her own brush and ink out of her interspatial ring and signed her name in the labeled space, then passed the sheet back with thanks. She could draft a contract herself but considered it laborious work.
Hardy didn’t respond, he was too busy writing a most unusual signature out. No characters here, this was a small row of what Meishen only vaguely recognised as the runes the sea raiders used. They were simple marks, using harsh strokes but very striking with their bold shapes, even writ as small as Hardy was having to write them in order to fit the chain of figures in the space typically used for but a few characters.
Once he was done he tapped the end of his brush on the sheet, activating a minor Art for drying ink instantly - a bureaucrat’s most often used Art - and then set about rolling the sheet up and tying a delicate ribbon about it in a very specific knot. Meishen recognised the golden glint of the Sect’s Binding Cords. Used to seal up documents, containers, parcels and so on such that only Sect bureaucrats and officials with the appropriate authority could open the sealed item. Not something a mere Disciple member of any office, no matter how lauded, could misuse.
“Here. It needs to be delivered to the High Commissary.” He offered Meishen the bound document without fanfare. “If you can get this submitted within the next week, I can get to work the week after.”
“I am grateful for this opportunity for co-operation,” Meishen bowed over the document in her hands, by now willing to believe that maybe, just maybe, he truly would help her without some hidden trick. “You have my sincere thanks.” She said, suddenly choked with emotion and struggling to keep a level voice.
Hardy just nodded his head in acknowledgement of her gesture. Then his eyes flicked over to look beyond Meishen at Little Verdure, napping away on his little cushion. “If I may, will he not be able to hunt for you when he’s grown?” He asked, sounding a little curious and not so dry for a moment. “Rootwyrms are usually capable ambush hunters once mature.”
Meishen looked at the older disciple, then at her sleeping companion, then back again. Few bothered to learn about such non-aggressive spirit beasts as Rootwyrms, they were not noble serpents or almighty dragons, they were of little note at all. Yet Hardy knew about expected changes with growth? “He will, but only once he is mature, as you say. That, and he needs experience, which I alone struggle to give him. My skills are largely defensive and I have no gift for tracking or traps, I am not suited to hunting.” She explained, too used to her own limits to still be embarrassed at only being a mediocre performer in these more combative fields.
Hardy made a noise of understanding, and then made to stand. Meishen scrambled to her feet also, to see him out. He looked down at her, again with that raised eyebrow. Amusement again? Meishen wondered why all her seniors had to be so inscrutable with their expressions. She had excellent control of her own expressions but she did wish fewer of her seniors had the same. It made reading these peoples' emotions and reactions so much more difficult.
“I look forward to working with you, and thank you again for the meal.” Hardy said, simply, as Meishen saw him to the door.
“May this new undertaking bring prosperity to us both,” Meishen replied, using a traditional merchant’s saying for such occasions as new business deals.
Hardy said nothing more, he but nodded in farewell and then turned to walk off into the deep murk of the Thicket at night.
Meishen managed to shut the door before her legs gave out. Great spirits but she had not been expecting that evening. She hadn’t been prepared for anything like that! Not that Hardy had been cruel or oppressive, some cultivators would readily use their higher-realm qi to pressure lower-realm cultivators, but even without a hint of qi in the air, his sheer mass had made for an intimidating presence. And negotiating always made her so anxious.
She sat with her back to the door for a while, getting her heart and breathing back in line, letting her nerves and tension dissipate gradually. In their place, excitement and anticipation started to creep in. Those were shut out mercilessly. It would do her no favours to get jittery now, that could come after she had her first delivery or two and knew for a fact that she had secured this immense part of her path for the time being.
To start with, she had to go and clean her kitchen. Then test the stew to get the detailed measurements of its qi characteristics, even though she could feel the effects on her own body already beginning - a gentle warmth and a feeling of easy movement around her dantian. Nebulous feelings were not enough for Elder Farafiti, she considered the work of an immortal chef to be as much akin to alchemy as to art. Measurements and ratios, these were the foundations of any functional recipe, and only with these firmly in place could a chef begin to improvise and innovate to reach new heights. Meishen had a few hours of tuition with Farafiti the very next day, it would not do to be a set of measurements short of what the elder would expect from her. Not with this recipe so close to completion.
Between the measuring and the storing of the leftover stew, the cleaning, tending to her small collection of potted plants and a few hurried last-minute additions to Meishen’s notes on the stew, and also to her notes on qi-storage in arrays for Elder Tola, Meishen spent a few hours more than she would have liked burning the midnight oil. The late hours did not weigh on her as much as they normally would have, though. Despite her resolution to remain calm and detached until she could see her tentative delivery arrangement at work, her buried elation still buoyed her up, lending fresh energy to her ink brush as she toiled by lantern light to finish her work.
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