Chapter 13 - Strange Bedfellows (Patreon)

It’s been three days, and he is convinced that Lao Yi is the physical embodiment of chaos. 

Oh sure, he may look like a kindly old man, spending his days caring for the poor and disenfranchised, but the reality is that he’s a little gremlin who delights in irritating innocent people. 

Zhujiao can almost respect it, to be honest. Several times now he’s seen Lao Yi make an off-colour or insulting comment to a patient, then act completely oblivious. The befuddled looks on his latest victim’s face is admittedly a little funny.

It doesn’t make the monotonous, irritating, or downright impossible takes any easier though. As he sweeps the floor for the third time that morning, he wanders idly if it’s a cultural thing. Something about giving a prospective student the worst possible tasks for a while, and if they can stick that out then they are worth teaching. 

The week running through the forest with Wei and Jin was horrible, and though running was a large portion of the day even after he’d passed the test, it had never gotten as bad as the first week.

He decides that it’s worth sticking out for at least a week. Honestly the tasks aren’t all that bad – it’s irritating more than physically difficult, and even on the off chance Lao Yi isn’t intending to teach him anything he’s smart enough to pick up the basics by osmosis. 

Probably, anyway. And if this is just a test, learning to be a healer here will be well worth the time and difficulty he has to go through. 

He’s pulled from the apparently essential task of keeping this particular five-by-five meter section of the floor clean (and Lao Yi had specifically told him to sweep this section and only this section) by the old man trying to sneak up behind him.

The man sags when Zhujiao turns and catches him halfway across the room, but he bounces back quickly.

“Zhujiao, my boy! It’s time for a special task today,” Lao Yi announced, his voice full of unwarranted cheer.

Zhujiao straightened up, wiping his hands on his already grimy tunic. “What’s the task, Lao Yi?”

The old man’s grin widened, and Zhujiao braced himself for whatever absurdity was about to befall him. “We’re going to restock the clinic,” Lao Yi said, rubbing his hands together. “And you’re going to help me carry the supplies.”

Zhujiao blinked in surprise and more than a little suspicion. Restocking the clinic sounded like a normal, even mundane, task. He nodded, keeping his expression even. “Alright, where do we get the supplies?”

“There’s a small warehouse down by the docks. We’ll head there together.”

The journey itself was uneventful, if you didn’t count the numerous detours Lao Yi insisted on taking. Every few steps, the old man would stop to chat with a shopkeeper, inspect a fruit cart, or make some obscure comment about the architecture. By the time they reached the warehouse, Zhujiao’s patience was hanging by a thread.

Either Lao Yi was the single most popular man in town, or the old man was messing with him. Again.

Really, it was much easier to appreciate the old man’s mischievous nature when it was aimed at someone else.

The warehouse was a dilapidated structure, its wooden beams creaking under the weight of years. There were two rough-looking men leaning against the entrance, though they just nodded at Lao Yi in greeting.

Security guards, then. Probably a wise move in the slums – plenty of desperate people here. Inside, it was dark and musty, filled with shelves of supplies and crates stacked haphazardly. Lao Yi led the way, navigating the narrow aisles with surprising agility.

Oddly enough, many of the crates bore the insignia of high-end merchants, the kind of shops that would never deal directly with a clinic in the slums. A crate marked with the seal of Jiao’s Fine Herbals, a renowned supplier whose goods were known for their exorbitant prices, caught his attention. 

Another box, labelled with the emblem of the Golden Phoenix Apothecary, sat precariously on a shelf, its contents partially exposed. Zhujiao’s brow furrowed. It was no secret that clinics like Lao Yi’s couldn’t afford supplies from such prestigious vendors.

The logical assumption was, of course, that the items were stolen, but something about that didn’t make sense. The warehouse was hardly massive, but it was well and truly big enough that the amount of theft to fill it would bring down attention from the city guard, possibly even cultivators.

Not to mention that while Lao Yi was an unrepentant troll, Zhujiao didn’t think he was the type to have dealings with outright criminals. At least… probably not? He wanted to ask Lao Yi about it, but the old man’s cheerful demeanour and quick movements gave him little opportunity.

All of a sudden he was distracted by a faint but distinct pulse of energy. It took him a moment to realise that it was his dormant Qi senses having apparently healed enough to make a nuisance of themselves. 

He glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source. His gaze landed on a small wooden crate made of high-quality wood with a strong lock on the front. It was out of place amidst the dusty, unremarkable boxes surrounding it.

Zhujiao slowed his pace, his curiosity piqued. He extended his senses, focusing on the crate. The energy emanating from it was subtle but powerful, resonating with a frequency that hinted at something significant inside. He stepped closer, peering at the intricate grain of the wood and the heavy lock securing it.

Lao Yi, who had been moving ahead, noticed Zhujiao’s interest. The old man’s eyes flickered briefly with something that could have been concern. He quickly shuffled back to Zhujiao’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, that one’s not for us,” Lao Yi said lightly, steering Zhujiao away from the crate. “We’re here for the essentials, nothing more.”

Lao Yi kept a hand on his shoulder as they moved deeper into the warehouse, past the more expensive looking items. He winced. Clearly Lao Yi knew something about that particular box, and had noticed his unusual interest. 

Either way worrying about it would change anything, so he forced himself to stop thinking about it and focus on the moment. The shelves started to be notably dusty, and the fancy looking insignias were replaced with hand-painted signs or even just blocky letters. 

Lao Yi stopped in front of a particularly large crate and nodded to Zhujiao. “This one’s ours,” he said, patting the crate affectionately. “But it’s such a large crate, and my back is so sore…”

Zhujiao rolled his eyes but obligingly picked up the loaded crate. It wasn’t too heavy for him, mostly just awkward.

The walk back to the clinic was mercifully short, in no small part because of the way some of the denizens of the slums were eyeing up their cargo. Once they arrived, Lao Yi directed Zhujiao to place the crate in a corner and then, much to his chagrin, sent him back to sweeping the same five-by-five meter section of the floor. The task had become so routine that he could almost do it with his eyes closed.

The day dragged on, punctuated by the usual stream of patients and Lao Yi’s ceaseless, cheerful meddling. Zhujiao tried to learn what he could by osmosis, paying close attention to the herbs and mixtures Lao Yi used. Even if the tasks were monotonous, there was still knowledge to be gleaned.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Lao Yi finally called it a day. He handed Zhujiao a small pouch of coins, the familiar clinking sound catching Zhujiao off guard. The weight of the pouch felt different this time, heavier than before.

“Here you go, boy,” Lao Yi said with a grin. “You’ve done good work this week. A little extra for your efforts.”

Zhujiao opened the pouch and saw more coins than he’d received in previous days. It wasn’t a fortune by any means, but considering his age and the fact that he was doing basic, unskilled labour, it was actually fair pay. He looked up at Lao Yi, a mix of gratitude and suspicion in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Zhujiao said, pocketing the coins.

Lao Yi’s grin widened. “Just make sure to hide it well, lad. The streets aren’t kind to those who flaunt their wealth, no matter how meagre.”

Zhujiao nodded, understanding the warning. He had seen enough of the slums to know that carrying visible money was asking for trouble. He tucked the pouch securely into his tunic, making sure it wouldn’t jingle or bulge.

Even better, Lao Yi hadn’t mentioned anything about needing to pay someone to show him back to the orphanage. He’d learned the route on the second day, but the old man had insisted. He figured it was probably a safety thing – a way to indicate he was off-limits to the people living in the slums until he had been around long enough that he didn’t look like an easy target.

He had noticed that there was an unspoken agreement around here. Considering the cramped and dirty living conditions, he would have thought that someone would be desperate enough to try breaking into the clinic and stealing something, but despite some hungry or desperate looks on some patient’s faces no one had tried anything.

Either Lao Yi was secretly enough of a badass for everyone to be scared of him, or they knew that if they screwed the one healer willing to work in the slums, everyone would come down on them like a sack of bricks. Sure enough, though he got some rather predatory looks, no one actually tried to stop him.

By the time he arrived back at the orphanage, the sun had almost set. He navigated the familiar narrow alleys and finally reached the weathered building he now called home. To his surprise, the head matron was waiting for him by the entrance, her expression stern but curious.

“Madame Liu,” he offered politely, trying to figure out if he’d done anything worth punishing lately. Nothing sprang to mind, but it was always possible one of the other children had tried throwing him under the bus.

“How are you getting on at the clinic?” she asked, her eyes scanning him for any signs of trouble.

“Uh, yeah, it’s fine,” he said, relaxing a little. “Just a lot of sweeping and fetching things, really. Lao Yi is…” 

The corner of Madame Liu’s mouth twitched in obvious amusement as he tried and failed to find the words to describe the mischievous old man.

“Yes, he rather… is, isn’t he?” She remarked lightly before pausing, choosing her next words carefully. “… I know that working in the slums can be… difficult,” she settled on. “Seeing what some people do out of necessity can be confronting. If you have any questions or observations that you are curious about, I would be happy to explain anything?” 

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, recalling the strange crate and the pulse of energy he had sensed. Clearly, she had some idea of how Lao Yi was able to sell his services so cheaply, and possibly even where he got his herbs and raw materials. 

For a moment he was tempted to ask some pointed questions, get to the bottom of the mystery that was gnawing at him. But he quickly decided against mentioning it. Bringing that sort of thing to light wouldn’t help anyone as far as he could tell, and would almost certainly get him in hot water with some people he couldn’t afford to offend. 

Besides, the more exclusive establishments could afford the loss of a crate or two of medicine or supplies, whereas for the people living in the slums, it was a matter of life or death.

Madame Liu’s noticed his moment of hesitation, and her gaze sharpened. “Have you seen anything... unusual?”

“No, nothing unusual,” he said, shaking his head. 

Madame Liu’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and she nodded. “Good. Keep your head down and focus on your work. It’s an opportunity many here would envy.”

“I know. Thank you for offering it to me.” 

The last of the tension seeped from her shoulders, and she reached out a hand to ruffle his hair. 

“Not many children here would have the patience to take advantage of it,” she said lightly. “Now, off with you. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk with this old woman.”

“Old? You couldn’t be a day over twenty!” The compliment was mostly automatic – it was no accident that Auntie Hua liked him so much. 

“Ha! Quite the little charmer, aren’t you,” she narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “I’m not so easily impressed.”

‘Liar’, he snorted in the privacy of his mind. 

The reception as he entered the room he shared with the half-dozen other children was significantly frostier. The other children were clearly unhappy about the opportunity he had received, one they likely saw as undeserved.

He was almost looking forward to when his grace year was up and he had to move into the paid dormitories. At least there he would get a little more privacy, and as far as he could tell the older kids were all too busy with their own work to waste time bothering him.

He still didn’t even have a pillow or blanket, for heavens sake. Every time he managed to get his hands on one or the other, it would last a maximum of a day or two. He’d mostly given up at this point.

His cultivation meant he could put up with the cool night air, and fortunately the region was temperate enough in spring that there was no risk beyond a little discomfort. If this kept up as it drew closer to winter though he would have to do something a little more drastic.

He rolled onto the hard wooden frame, curling around the small coin pouch he had yet to remove from under his shirt. He had to find a place to hide his hard won coin as well, but that at least was a good problem to have.

If he repeated it enough, he might even start to believe it.