Unintended Cultivator Vol 11: Chapter 8 – Like A Merchant

“Is that— Is that— Is that your primary affinity?” said Jin Bohai, stumbling over his own words

“Well—” began Sen before he stopped himself.

First, he wasn’t sure that was information he wanted to share. Second, and perhaps more importantly, he wasn’t actually certain anymore. It was one of his stronger affinities, but was it his main affinity? Sen looked inward. Back when he’d still had a core, it had been easier to evaluate those kinds of things. Now that his nascent soul had merged with his body, his qi was all just sort of there, everywhere inside him, undifferentiated and omnipresent. On top of that, he wasn’t entirely confident about what, if anything, he might have absorbed in those last desperate moments of consciousness after his attack on the spirit beast formation. Anything he absorbed might have changed things.

He wasn’t sure it was even possible to sort out how much affinity he had for what anymore. Nor was Sen entirely convinced that affinities were as locked in stone as many cultivators believed. Early on, he’d struggled to summon lightning, but it was just so damned effective against so many things that he’d kept using it. Now, Sen thought he was closing the gap with Uncle Kho. He didn’t think that would be possible if affinities were something that was fixed at birth. Of course, he’d worked pretty hard at keeping his cultivation flexible and never entirely closing the door on anything for which he had even a minor affinity. That probably made it easier.

He was a bit unhappy that it was so widely known that he wasn’t stuck using just one kind of qi. It was the kind of thing that made for a nasty surprise, but he supposed that secret had been out for a while. Anyone who didn’t know before the battle at the capital damned well knew now. Ultimately, Sen just shrugged. He decided that a bit of uncertainty was a good thing for the more powerful nascent soul cultivator. Well, it was good for Sen. They were allies but the strength of that alliance was tenuous and untested. The less confident the Fu Ruolan’s master felt about a victory in a hypothetical fight with him, the more comfortable Sen would feel.

It was obvious the non-answer didn’t please Jin Bohai by the sour expression on the man’s face, but he kept any complaints to himself. As much as he might want to treat Sen as a junior and have Sen treat him as an honored teacher, that simply wasn’t going to happen. Sen would learn from the other cultivator if he could, but he’d never tolerate the kind of power imbalance that a master-student relationship would entail. It required too much trust. There wouldn’t be enough time for them to form that kind of bond. Sen had too much to do. Beyond that, they were both too powerful to relinquish that much control to another person. Jin Bohai would have to settle for being a peer and nothing more.

“I would be interested in an exchange of knowledge,” said Sen. “I have no doubt that you possess many valuable insights about the use of shadow qi. I’m just not sure what I can offer you in return that would be of equal value. Is there a particular pill or elixir that you require? I have been trained by arguably the two best alchemists alive. I expect I can meet any need you have in that regard.”

Jin Bohai seemed to like that even less. He clearly wanted to cultivate a personal relationship. Maybe even one that involved some kind of debt on Sen’s part. By framing it as little more than a business transaction with mutual and equal benefit at its center, Sen made it clear he had no intention of being put in such a position. The knowledge that Jin Bohai clearly had to offer about shadow qi was a temptation. Sen knew better than most the scarcity of such information. He also knew that he had only scratched the surface of what was possible with it. The opportunity to pose questions to someone who had worked with shadow qi for hundred or even thousands of years was something for which Sen would pay dearly and gladly, but he would not pay it in personal debt.

“Who trained this paranoia into you?” asked Jin Bohai. “To avoid even a hint of a personal obligation is… It is—”

“Wise,” interrupted Lai Dongmei.

“Easy for you to say when you already have such a potent string tied to the man,” snapped Jin Bohai.

Judging by the look of icy calm on Lai Dongmei’s face, it was entirely possible that he was about to witness an argument between nascent soul cultivators escalate into a violent conflict. He needed to cut off that possibility, and he needed to do it now. Sen doubted the capital would survive the fight. He hadn’t gone through all the trouble of saving the place just to let these two destroy it.

“Fu Ruolan,” said Sen quickly.

“What?” asked Jin Bohai and Lai Dongmei at the same time.

“You asked me who trained this paranoia into me. It was Fu Ruolan. She was very strident about it. Very insistent that I consider how people might use me. It’s almost as though she was once in debt to someone and lived to regret it,” said Sen while staring hard at Jin Bohai.

The man flinched a little under that stare. Sen didn’t think it was guilt, at least not the kind of direct guilt of someone who had abused their position in some way. But he thought that the man knew something about what had caused Fu Ruolan such deep and abiding pain. Perhaps Jin Bohai had failed to properly protect his student from someone in the far-distant past. Maybe he’d only found out about it after the fact, when there might be gratifying revenge to take but the damage was already done. Sen was a little curious, but he didn’t mean to extort Fu Ruolan’s history out of someone else. She’d tell him if she ever decided she wanted him to know. Jin Bohai’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but Sen waved a dismissive hand.

“I’m not interested in other people’s secrets,” he said. “Particularly secrets that don’t involve me in any way. You asked who trained me to be paranoid. I answered you. Now, back to the matter at hand. What do you wish in exchange for your knowledge? I’d be happy to have it if we can come to an acceptable accommodation.”

“I don’t mean to haggle like a merchant with you,” said Jin Bohai in a disdainful tone.

“Like a merchant,” repeated Sen in a very soft voice. “A merchant like my grandmother? Is that what you meant?”

Lai Dongmei took three swift steps back from the two men, although her expression retained that same icy calm expression. That move on her part, maybe even more than Sen’s words, seemed to tell Jin Bohai exactly how far he had stepped over a line. A line that wise people tread very carefully around. He lifted a hand as though to ward off a blow.

“I spoke in haste,” said the nascent soul cultivator.

“Yes,” said Sen as killing intent started leaking from him. “You most certainly did.”

When his killing intent touched Jin Bohai, the man didn’t fall into convulsions or start bleeding from his eyes as weaker cultivators often did. However, all of the blood drained from his face, leaving him with the countenance of someone who had only left their sickbed very recently. While Sen had never experienced his own killing intent, he knew what had gone into its creation. He hadn’t built it over long years of fights that were carefully managed by sect seniors. It had been made in the heat of lethal conflicts that he had survived. His killing intent was forged of implacable will and death.

Sen clamped down hard on his instinct to simply attack the man. Acting without thought had occasionally brought about victory but frequently at far too high a cost. Those hard lessons had taught him at least a little patience. Behind his anger, he also recognized that this was an opportunity. Jin Bohai’s ill-considered words had changed the landscape of their previous negotiation. He had been looking to indebt Sen to him, but now he was the one who needed to make amends.

“Lord Lu—” began Jin Bohai.

“You have insulted my family and their trade,” said Sen.

“They were but hasty words,” said the man, an edge of desperation in his voice.

“More than one person has died over such hasty words, and ones far less insulting. Haven’t they?”

Jin Bohai looked like he was trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t damn him immediately, but he offered a grudging nod.

“They have, Lord Lu.”

“So, how will you right this insult?”

Sen saw the moment when Jin Bohai recognized what was happening. It wasn’t subtle. It was basically blackmail, not that Sen felt even a smidge of guilt about it. He hadn’t been the one throwing around insults. He’d been negotiating in good faith. The other nascent soul cultivator looked briefly angry, then offended, and finally relieved. This wasn’t what Jin Bohai had wanted, but it was a way to avoid making Sen an enemy for life. More salient to the immediate future, it let him avoid making Sen’s allies his enemies for life. A life that might prove exceptionally brief depending on how those allies felt about Lu Jia.

“Lord Lu,” said Jin Bohai as he bowed, “perhaps I can interest you in some instruction in the use of shadow qi.”

Sen stared at the man for ten full seconds before he said, “It’s a start.”