Flying Sword 8 (Patreon)

Chapter Eight

Leander studied the list of plants and herbs, slightly horrified. “Master Yang,” he said slowly, “how many of these do you expect me to find today?”  Leander stood in the front yard of Master Yang’s house while the pill master stood on the porch glaring down at Leander.

“All of them,” he said. “I pay you to find, enrich and harvest all the plants listed on the paper.”

Leander gritted his teeth and swallowed a hundred synonyms for stupid that were trying to come out his mouth. “No doubt you know these mountains well and you could find these herbs within the allotted time,” Leander said slowly, carefully feeling his way around the language and avoiding anything that might be taken as an insult. He was going to break his brain trying to be nice to stupid people.  “But I am a stranger with a poor knowledge of the mountains. If you send a guide who knows where these plants may be found, I can enrich as many as possible before my own chi falters, but without a guide, I can only walk in a random direction and find as many herbs as possible. I fear it will be too few.”

Yang Xiangren snorted. “You are worthless if you cannot find the ingredients I need for the pills that have been ordered.” Given that Master Yang was only paying 35 yuan an hour, he deserved to get near-uselessness back from an employee, but Leander was trying to make a good impression.

“Every person has their own skills, Master Yang. Mine lays giving plants additional chi, not in finding plants in mountains I have never walked. Or ridden.” Leander eyed the tall donkey that had been tied to a post in the yard. He appreciated that China embraced traditions–the magical community even more than the mundane one. The flowing green robe he was wearing was testimony to that. However, giving him a donkey when he’d passed two people riding mopeds on his walk from Heng’s house to this one… it seemed stupid. Dunderheaded. Obtuse. Short sighted. Pointless. Inane. Illogical.  For someone who was skilled in a profession that required a nuanced understanding of ingredients and incredible control over huge magical reserves, Yang Xiangren was a complete moron.

But Leander kept his gaze on the ground and swallowed his pride.

“Useless outsider. Li Daiyu cheats me with your services.” Out of the corner of his eye, Leander saw one of the servants flinch. Apparently insulting Auntie Daiyu was going one step too far for them.

“I can offer chi to any plant I am shown, skilled Master Yang.” Technically, he could give chi to the harvested ingredients sitting in Yang’s storeroom, but now that he knew what sort of an ass the man was, Leander planned to take that secret to his grave. Walking unfamiliar mountains with unknown dangers would be a blessing compared to getting trapped in a room with Yang Xiangren.

“But I must find the plant for you, like you are a child who requires an adult to hold his hand and walk him to the riverside.” Yang spat the words. “Useless. Why do I pay you at all? If you can only do part of the work, you should only get part of the pay. I will give you twenty renminbi an hour, and no more.”

Leander was surrounded by plants and imbued with an unholy urge to call the vines out of the earth and choke Yang to death with his own ornamental plants. He bowed. “I do not want to bother Master Yang with my incompetence. I will leave and not return.”  He had enough savings to survive for a significant amount of time, and he could find some other way to make money. He started backing away. At the same time, he sent magic into the ground and found the most stubborn, the strongest, the nastiest weeds he could under Yang’s property and fed his magic into the seeds, urging them to the surface. He couldn’t do too much without Yang getting suspicious, but a couple of hungry vines that wanted to kill everything and that had sticky, toxic sap could make the yard a little less pleasant.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t work here. You will work for twenty yuan an hour,” Yang said, his voice loud and commanding. 

“Good Master Yang, I dare not offend Auntie Daiyu by changing the agreement she made. It is far better for me to leave your employment and return when I have corrected my own ignorance of the local area.” Leander tried to keep his face impassive, even as he secretly crowed at the look of constipation on Yang’s face. The asshole wanted Leander’s chi-infused ingredients, he just didn’t want to pay for them. 

Leander kept backing away from the porch, projecting the same sort of timid persona that had kept Druwolf’s enforcers placated for so many years.  People who wanted to be feared could be easily manipulated, assuming a person was willing to sacrifice their egos, and Leander had given up ego long ago.  “I hope Master Yang has a successful day,” Leander finished before he turned away.

“Ten remnimbi per plant you improve and harvest,” Yang shouted.

Part of Leander was offended. He could end up getting paid less than Shanlin for the day’s work. Some of the herbs would be difficult to find, and even if he found fifteen or so herbs required for him to earn the salary he’d already been promised, this new deal would mean that he would make no money if Yang didn’t need supplies on a certain day.

On the other hand, this would give him an excuse to walk the hills and forests and even trek up into the mountains without anyone questioning his motives, and he could set the trees to guard the perimeter for him while he explored and harvested whichever plants he found.

“You are generous,” Leander said, his expression bland, even when Yang’s face reddened with anger. Leander probably shouldn’t poke this asshole, but it felt good to get a little sarcasm in there.  “Does Master Yang have a harvesting basket?”

“Are you so incompetent that you don’t even have simple tools?”

“Good Master Yang, I came here with only clothes, and I thought I would work in fields or with your normal harvester. I didn’t think to ask Auntie Daiyu where I could purchase a basket,” Leander said with feigned innocence and another bow. Choke on that asshole. Leander was very happy to carry tales back to Auntie Daiyu if he pushed too hard, and she seemed the sort that could damage a man’s reputation.

Yang turned even more red. Leander needed to stop poking the man, but he was using his position to cheat Leander. “Get the incompetent outsider a basket,” he bellowed before he disappeared back into his house.  

A young woman with light brown eyes came over, a look of hatred on her face. “Return this undamaged, outsider,” she ordered. She wore the simple dress of a servant, but she had a gold hair crown and a necklace that drew attention to her cleavage. Maybe she was a favorite mistress because Leander couldn’t imagine any employee defending this asshole.

“Of course,” Leander agreed. He took the basket from her and then eyed the donkey. He did better with plants than animals, but he disliked the idea of walking for hours. His butt might regret this later, but he took the reins and walked the animal toward the path that led away from the lake and the streams that fed it.

His robes swished oddly against his legs, and getting on the donkey was going to be embarrassing, so Leander led the creature over the bridge and into the hills below the Flying Swords school before even trying to climb on.  Either donkeys were horrible beasts or someone had given him a disagreeable monster because he couldn’t get the donkey to hold still long enough to climb aboard.  Leander was tempted to walk it back to Yang Xiangren’s house, but that felt like defeat. If Yang’s people thought the donkey had been useful, their petty attempt to sabotage him… actually, it would still work, but Leander preferred that they didn’t know that.

“Stupid beast,” he muttered. At least he tied the basket to the saddle so he didn’t have to carry it. Then he tied the beast to a low branch and sat down to center himself in his magic. He let his magic unfurl and tangle with the grass under him before drifting out into a spiral, searching for anything interesting.  He could identify footpaths through the woods by the pattern of plants. Well-trafficked areas were stripped of valuable plants. He didn’t know the Chinese names of all the plants on the list, but he knew most of them and marked them on mental map he was forming of the area.

He found clusters of wolfberries and abrus and mugwort. He would be able to get most of their vegetables out of the hills, meaning they would only have to purchase rice, which was cheap, and meat, which was not.  Leander sunk deeper into his magic as he searched for clusters of plants that would reveal caves or ideal hiding places.  He found a grouping of wild ginseng that would have been harvested if anyone knew it existed. That hinted at a good hiding place. He also found new streams, their banks defined by birch and salt cedars and a small berry bush that he didn’t recognize, but he could feel the plant’s deep thirst. It would only grow near water.

Magic relaxed Leander the way few things did. Well, sex used to, but it had been a long time since he had indulged.  Magical tangling worked best when he touched a plant, but he used his connection to all the plants across the mountain to find the oldest trees. They were steady and disliked change so much that they made good sentries.  Leander set them the task of alerting him if unfamiliar humans walked through an area. He would touch the trees over the next few weeks to reinforce the tentative connection, but at least now he felt safer. They would get warning if new people tried to approach them through the mountains. Officials could still drive a car up the road without setting off Leander’s alarms, but if the people hunting them were officials, Leander had no illusions about escape.

Leander sucked in a deep breath as he fought his way back to consciousness, but his eyes had barely fluttered open before he shot to his feet. His heart beat so fast that he thought it might fail, and it took a couple of seconds to realize Heng stood in front of him, resplendent in a white and gold robe with his hair pinned back by an elaborate hair crown that looked like a pair of wings.

“Heng!”

“Lian!” Heng returned in the same tone.

“How… The plants should have warned me.” Magic had never failed him in the past.

Heng gave him a small smile. “If I were standing on the grass, it would have warned you, but I remember your great skill. I am standing above the grass.”

“You’re flying?” Leander knew that Chinese could learn to fly–hypothetically–but he had thought it would take longer to learn the skill.  When they’d both been young men studying together in the city, Heng had talked about flying as something old men and heroes could do.

“Hovering,” Heng said. “I will have to cultivate my own magic much longer to properly fly.” He lowered an inch, and now Leander could feel the grass protesting the weight as the blades redistributed power to preserve as much lifeforce as possible.

“Impressive,” Leander said. He stood and brushed off the dirt and dried leaves that had stuck to his robe. “Thank you for the robes.”

“Of course. It is nice to see you looking like a proper magic user and not a homeless American who has wandered into the village.” He smiled and took a step closer. It meant they were too close for casual conversation.

Leander backed up a step. “I seem to remember a young man who liked blue jeans.”

Heng shrugged without denying it. He might look like a historical painting of some mystical prince right now, but Leander remembered him as scruffy. “Master Teacher Wang Bo felt a magic user, so I volunteered to investigate.”

“Master teacher?” Leander’s stomach churned. If he had offended someone that powerful, their days in the village were numbered. “I apologize for…” Leander wasn’t sure what he had done to offend them. He couldn’t offer to refrain from using his magic. He wouldn’t.

“Master Wang was not offended, only curious,” Heng said. “Your magic is much stronger than it was when we studied together.”

“I’m older now.”

“Most do not cultivate stronger magic without having teachers who can guide one to meditate or unless they have a powerful pill master willing to make them master pills.”

“I certainly don’t have any pill masters who like me,” Leander said dryly.

Heng laughed. “You’ve met Yang Xiangren.”

“I work for him,” Leander said.

Heng’s mouth fell open.

“Auntie Daiyu arranged for the job,” Leander said.  He walked over to the donkey who had ripped his reins free of the tree and was munching on grass.

Heng looked thoughtful “Either she hates you or she hates Master Yang and she knows you will make him miserable.”

“I’m too old and tired to make people miserable.”

“You are still a child compared to most magic users,” Heng said.

“Maybe in China where you cultivate magic and live longer, but I’ve outlived most of my friends. I feel perfectly ancient.”

Heng’s expression turned sympathetic, and anger rose like a dragon in Leander’s chest. He didn’t need anyone to feel sorry for himself, not when he’d made his own choices, and so had all his friends. Except for Creek whose teacher had taken that choice from him, but he had also chosen to cooperate, so he’d made a choice too.

“I need to get to work. I have a list of plants to find and strengthen with my chi before I harvest them.”

“Lian,” Heng said softly.

Leander stopped, caught in some distant past where he’d heard that voice whisper his name from the other side of the bed. But the name had been different then, as had Leander. Their time was over. He remembered an old saying he’d heard once. Distance tested a horse’s strength; time tested a person’s character. His character had significant cracks. He no longer believed in some mythical love that would make the world better, and he couldn’t afford to indulge in some fantasy that he and Heng could rekindle a relationship. All Heng had for him was pity, and all Leander held in his heart was regret.

“I am making a life for myself and my son. I must do that without you because your path is at the school.” The state of the house made it clear that Heng never came to the village.

“I asked Master Teacher Wang to test you for admission.”

“You know how unlikely it is that an outsider would be allowed to join.”  Their shifu in Chongqing had never given either of them his name because he considered teaching outsiders shameful. He had been dismissed from some sect, or that was the rumor, and he taught outsiders because the alternative was to starve. However, a reputable sect would never accept Leander as a member.

“I know how unlikely it is that an outsider possesses enough magic for Master Teacher Wang to notice him as he meditated in the hills,” Heng countered.

Leander sighed. “Do not risk your reputation speaking for me. You have done enough, and I am capable of creating a life for myself and my son, without bringing shame to you.” Leander turned to the donkey and gathered the reins. A few plants were close enough for him to gather as he walked toward the water source he had felt.  There would be reeds there, and the basket he’d been given was going to fall apart if he put anything heavy in it. He needed to weave a new one.

“Leander,” Heng whispered. He caught Leander’s arm and they stood so close their breath mingled.

Leander smiled sadly. “I will always appreciate what you have done for me. I owe you my life. I will do everything I can to repay that.” He pulled back and Heng let him go. It hurt, but Leander turned his back on his old friend, his old lover, and walked the donkey away. 

The stream was easy to find. It must spill into the main river farther down, but here it was a slow moving snake winding around trees and spilling over rocks.  Leander gathered his robes and held them close so he could squat and touch the tender reeds standing at the edge of the water.  

Why had he been such a fool as a young man? What made him think he could change the world? Leander tangled his magic with the reeds and caused them to start weaving around each other.  The work was simpler than he’d expected. When Heng had first offered him sanctuary, Leander had been offended. He was going to go home and make the mundanes respect magic users. Druwolf would lead a revolution. Even without stepping foot in America, Heng had seen a truth that Leander had been blind to. The reeds twisted into a circle and started filling in the bottom of the basket in a complex weave. Where would his life have gone if he had chosen better back then? The sides of the basket rose and began to twist into wings and then crane bodies. Leander hadn’t intentionally chosen the pattern, but it mirrored the wings on Heng’s hair crown.

“I’m pathetic,” Leander whispered.  He was tempted to go back and burn Master Yang’s house down just because he was in a bad mood. Instead, he moved several feet down river and started a new basket, guiding the reeds into a wider base before weaving the sides with dragons that could destroy villages. No. Countries. Leander’s fantasy dragons could destroy entire countries. They would swallow them whole, erasing them from history so completely that all the mistakes, all the regrets, all the memories vanished too.