Chapter 19 - Sneaky Investigation (Patreon)

Zhujiao really wasn’t sure what to make of his master. 

He had been all but certain he had sensed something weird about the old man the other day, a strange sucking void of Qi that had the hair on the back of his neck raising. 

Except… well, now he was sort of doubting himself. 

Experimentally, he focused, dropping into the strange sort of half-awareness that came with using his Qi senses. 

Nothing. 

Just the same steady, gentle presence of his master’s Qi, like the slow, rhythmic pulse of a quiet river. The old man didn’t have any more or any less Qi than the people around him, and Zhujiao couldn’t detect anything strange about the way it flowed through him or interacted with the ambient Qi surrounding them all.

It was perfectly normal. 

Still, he couldn’t forget what he had seen. Or felt, rather. Whatever the correct verb use was for a strange sixth sense, anyway. 

Then again… did it really matter? He was hardly an expert, after all, considering how most of his information on cultivation came from stories and experimentation. Hell, for all he knew, feeling a void was perfectly normal; or even a problem with him rather than Lao Yi.

“Slacking off, are we my boy?” Lao Yi asked dryly.

Zhujiao jolted upright from where he had been leaning against the wall. “Uh, no, sorry Master. Just…” he trailed off, not quite sure hoe to explain himself. “deep in thought?” he finished lamely.

Lao Yi arched an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps you should turn those deep thoughts to your tasks then?” 

He flushed at the lightly chiding tone. “Of course, Master. Won’t happen again.”

Lao Yi hummed dubiously at him but thankfully seemed content to leave it at that. Zhujiao gratefully returned to restocking the shelves in the small storage room, shaking his head at himself. 

Really, he was jumping at shadows here. What was more likely, that the kindly – if occasionally irritating – old man was hiding some strange secret Qi, or his stunt with the beast core had caused some kind of damage that he was still recovering from.

They had gone to that warehouse again this morning, and just like last time, Lao Yi had cheerfully chatted to everyone on the way there. Even if he was hiding something, a man who was that well known and loved by so many people was unlikely to have any secrets that would hurt anyone.

And his master was more than entitled to a little privacy. Zhujiao frowned a little. Even if he apparently had some shady dealings with probable criminals. The warehouse had been just as packed as last time, though with different items. Clearly they had a lot of goods moving through the warehouse regularly, though some had still been the same. That strange box from before, for example, had drawn his attention like a moth to a flame. 

He had no idea what was inside it, but whatever it was acted like a beacon to his Qi senses. Even Lao Yi had… noticed… the box.

Zhujiao’s thoughts trailed off. He had only noticed the box because of his Qi senses. If Lao Yi was also paying attention to what otherwise should have been an unremarkable package in a warehouse full of them, then…

He stole a glance over at his master, who was currently methodically grinding herbs into a fine powder that he knew would later be worked into a paste. Zhujiao had literally just decided to leave things be, but now his curiosity was already gnawing at him again.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just keep a casual eye on his old master? It might even help him learn more about healing! Zhujiao nodded to himself, satisfied with the justification. 

Besides, if he was going to be doing some cultivating of his own, he needed to figure out if Lao Yi would notice or not. One way or another, he would get to the bottom of this mystery.

The day slipped by in a blur of activity. Zhujiao fetched water for a new batch of herbal remedies, organised the shelves of medicinal ingredients, and assisted Lao Yi with the more routine check-ups. Every so often, he would take a moment to slip into his Qi senses, hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange void he had felt before, but each time he could sense nothing but the expected gentle flow of Qi.

By the time they sat down for lunch, Zhujiao was starting to feel ridiculous, not to mention he’d gotten distracted so many times that Lao Yi was actually starting to look concerned.

He toyed with the idea of just skipping the uncertainty and directly asking his master, but considering he didn’t even know if it was just an overactive imagination, he held off. It would be incredibly embarrassing if that was how he outed himself as a cultivator.

That said, it left him at something of a loss. He could always keep trying to figure out what the deal was with Lao Yi, of course, but it would quickly start taking up more time than it was really worth.

Not to mention he wasn’t sure he had the patience to stop himself from cultivating for however long it took to find out one way or the other. The two options were hardly mutually exclusive either – he didn’t know for sure, but it was a safe assumption that cultivating would be ‘noisy’ for Qi sensitive people.

If he started cycling and Lao Yi reacted, then that was sort of an answer in itself, right?

He carefully ignored the voice in the back of his head that was telling him he was being reckless again. This wasn’t like the last time – in the worst-case scenario, he might have some awkward explanations to give his master, but in the best-case scenario, he might even get a bit of advice or proper training.

He cast a cautious glance toward Lao Yi, who was still engrossed in his work, and took a deep breath. Slowly, he let his awareness slip into the half-focused state necessary for cycling Qi. It felt like slipping into a warm bath—familiar and comforting. He had missed this more than he thought.

His dantian hummed with energy, and he visualised the flow of Qi moving through his meridians in a steady, circular motion.

The first cycle was tentative, like a child dipping their toe into a pond, but as nothing unusual seemed to happen, Zhujiao grew more confident. He pushed a little more Qi into the cycle, feeling it circulate through his body. The sensation was exhilarating, a rush of energy that made his senses feel sharper and his mind clearer. For a moment, he lost himself in the rhythm of the Qi’s movement, marvelling at how natural it felt even after months of inactivity.

He was so engrossed in the process that he almost missed it when Lao Yi suddenly paused in his work and hummed curiously. Zhujiao’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly pulled back, letting the Qi flow dissipate. 

“Can you pass me that scroll?” his master asked casually, glancing over at him.

Zhujiao blinked at the unexpected request. Was… that just bad timing, or had his master sensed something? He looked at the scroll in question and sighed.

“The scroll on the bench right next to you?” he asked flatly.

“That’s the one! I’m so old, you see, I don’t want to strain myself.”

Zhujiao rolled his eyes but obligingly crossed the room to hand him the scroll that had been within easy reach.

“Anything else, Master?” he asked sarcastically.

“That depends, my young Apprentice. Do you have anything you wish to ask?”

Zhujiao hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to interpret Lao Yi’s request. The old man’s tone was light, almost teasing, which wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary. Still, there was something…

“No, Master,” he settled on. 

Lao Yi accepted his answer with a nod, then returned to his work without another word. Zhujiao watched him for a moment, waiting for some hint of acknowledgment or even a sly comment, but his master remained focused on the herbs in front of him. It was maddening. 

Was the old man genuinely oblivious or just messing with him?

Tentatively, he returned to his little work area, picking up the scroll he was supposed to be studying. It was talking about the various reactions between different types of herbs, which was way less interesting than it sounded. For a few minutes he worked diligently, occasionally stealing a glance over at his master. 

After a while, Zhujiao started feeling restless. He wasn’t usually quite this impatient, but he had always hated uncertainty with a passion. Better to try doing something and have it backfire than never try in the first place.

He hesitated, casting a quick glance at Lao Yi, who was meticulously arranging jars. The old man hadn’t seemed to notice anything the first time – not obviously anyway. 

He drew a deep breath and let his awareness slip into the familiar half-focused state required for cycling Qi. The energy began to flow, slowly at first, then with increasing ease. It felt good, familiar, like an old friend. 

When he’d first discovered this technique, running through the forest with Wei and Jin, it had taken most of his concentration to maintain. A few months of practice had helped significantly, and though he couldn’t keep it going permanently or anything, at the moment it was easy enough to juggle his cycling technique with reading the scroll.

Probably a good idea to make sure that Lao Yi hadn’t noticed anything first though. Still, it would probably look a little weird if he kept obviously turning around to look at his master, so best to be discrete…

Zhujiao yawned loudly, stretching his arms over his head theatrically and twisting in his seat. 

His stretch was cut short as he caught sight of Lao Yi’s expression. The old man was staring directly at him, his face impassive but with a hint of amusement in his eyes. He froze, caught like a deer in the headlights. The Qi flow stumbled, then stopped altogether as he hastily pulled back, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lao Yi continued to hold his gaze, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Feeling a bit restless, are we?” he asked, his tone dry. 

Zhujiao swallowed, his mind racing for a response that wouldn’t dig him into a deeper hole. “Just, uh, feeling a little stiff,” he managed, attempting to sound casual.

He had always sucked at coming up with excuses.

Lao Yi’s smile widened ever so slightly, and he nodded, finally breaking eye contact as he returned to his work. “It’s good to stay limber,” he remarked, his tone still light. “Especially when one is... experimenting with new techniques.”

Zhujiao cleared his throat awkwardly but chose not to respond. There was nothing incriminating about avoiding a leading statement, right? 

His master waited expectantly for a moment before heaving a sigh. 

“You know, I had this whole thing planned out,” he admitted. “I was going to spend the next, oh, several weeks messing with you a little – dropping my veil ever so slightly, just enough that you wouldn’t be entirely sure what was happening. It would have been hilarious.”

Zhujiao blinked. “Uh, sorry, what?”

Lao Yi ignored him, working himself up to a rant. “But no! My apprentice just had to ruin an old man’s fun. Here I was, looking forward to weeks of subtle hints and confusing you, only for you to go and bumble into things so clumsily that I have to step in. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Zhujiao’s eyes widened in confusion and growing alarm. Clearly, his master knew more than he had expected. It was probably too late to act like he had no idea what the old man was talking about, but maybe… 

“What do you mean, Master? I don’t understand—”

Lao Yi waved a hand dismissively, cutting him off. “Don’t play dumb with me, boy. Your cycling technique is atrocious. It’s like watching a drunkard trying to dance—horribly inefficient and embarrassing to witness.”

Zhujiao felt his face flush with embarrassment. This was clearly not his day – he had suspected his technique wasn’t perfect, but to hear Lao Yi describe it so bluntly stung. Not to mention, his efforts at being discrete were far less effective than he had thought. “I... I didn’t think it was that bad,” he muttered, glancing away.

“Oh, it’s worse than bad. It’s a disaster.” Lao Yi leaned back, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you haven’t hurt yourself yet. Where you came up with the idea that this was the way to go, I’ll never know.”

“In fairness, I was working off old stories,” Zhujiao pointed out somewhat weakly.

“I suppose allowances have to be made – you are only a child, after all.” Lao Yi acknowledged. “After all, an adult might read stories about cultivators using the power enough to sunder oceans and shatter mountains and think to themselves ‘Oh, I should probably be careful.’ Tell me, boy, did you even hesitate at all before you started playing with forces beyond your comprehension?” 

Zhujiao hunched under the criticism. The worst part was he really couldn’t deny any of it – after all, if he hadn’t rushed ahead blindly his mother might still be alive right now.

“That’s what I thought,” his master continued matter-of-factly. “I won’t lie to you, boy; the fact that you’re able to manipulate Qi at all at your age is a sign of talent. But talent is useless if it’s wasted and dangerous if misapplied. The Heavens favour those who work to better themselves and scorn those who rely on random chance to succeed. Right now, you’re definitely the latter – you’re lucky you didn’t end up as a crispy critter with the amount of energy you’re letting run rampant through your channels.”

As harsh as the tirade was, he knew he couldn’t refute any of it. He really had been lucky, and while he had managed to survive using the beast core, he didn’t really know how he did. The reinforcement technique was also apparently much less impressive than he had thought, which honestly could be due to a number of factors. 

The scroll he had been working off was hardly the easiest thing to understand, after all. But Lao Yi clearly had some idea of what he was talking about, and he was already the man’s apprentice, so…

“Thank you for the advice, Master,” he said slowly. “I would be honoured to recieve any further teachings you have to share?”

It was a little more pleading than he had hoped for, but it’s not like he had anything of value to offer the old man. Pride wouldn’t help him here – if he had to beg, then that’s what he would do.

Lao Yi chuckled, waving a hand dismissively at him. “You don’t have to give me the puppy-dog eyes, Apprentice, I’m not going to leave you to flounder. I’ve decided to take pity on you.”

Zhujiao’s heart leapt. “You’re going to teach me? Properly?” He could hardly believe it. After all his fumbling and guesswork, the idea of having real guidance was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Lao Yi tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Hmm, maybe. But only because it’s painful to watch you flail about like a headless chicken. And because I need someone to laugh at when you inevitably make a fool of yourself.”

Despite the teasing tone, Zhujiao felt a surge of gratitude. He bowed deeply, trying to keep his voice steady. “Thank you, Master. I’ll do my best.”

Lao Yi waved him off. “Yes, yes, don’t make it sound so serious. We’re just going to fix your awful technique before you hurt yourself or, worse, embarrass me.” He stood up, stretching lazily. “Now, off you go. We’ll start tomorrow. And do try not to do anything stupid until then.”