As usual, dawn stirred Chún awake with renewed vigour, along with the clash of percussion instruments and horns in his Essence sense. By the steadily brightening light of the Silver Sapling, he carefully moved around the cave, collecting those things he planned to trade – the panther fur, boar hide and tusks – and wrapped them into a tight bundle with his old rope.
He paused a moment, resting his hands on the bundle and drawing a steady breath before continuing.
He carefully dressed in his best set of clothing – but quickly realised that he must have had a growth spurt, as the previously baggy cast‑offs were now tight around his chest and shoulders and left quite a bit of stomach showing. The trousers were tight around his legs, only reaching to mid‑calf, and he did not need the rope to keep them fastened around his waist.
"I need clothing for more than one reason." He frowned down at himself. Clearly the repeated tempering of his body by Essence had fixed at least some of the issues caused by a childhood of little or no food.
He sighed, resigned to the fact that there was not much he could do about it.
Picking up the sack and his staff, he trotted out the tunnel into the morning light. Not being sure how long it would take to ignite, harvest and complete the Dao pattern, he wanted an early start so that he arrived in the village in good time.
As the vines covering the entrance moved aside, a fruit fell towards his head. Chún caught it without breaking stride, spinning around to walk backwards through the dew‑wet grass towards the edge of the clearing as he bowed. "My thanks for providing breakfast, honoured one!"
As he crossed into the forest, he squared his shoulders in determination. "Very well then, Mountain – show me where to go next."
Several shí later, Chún sat with his back against the large boulder in the Geese Pasture where his adventure had begun, drinking water he had drawn from the stream the same way as the old man had done and munching on the Vine fruit.
"I wonder where you are now, Teacher? Wherever it is, I hope you are well." He tipped a little of the water out as an offering to the Heavens, thankful that the old man had chosen to talk with an orphan boy.
Finishing the fruit, he sighed and got to his feet. "This is the last one in the pattern, Mountain – ready?"
His locus had asked him to hold a connection to the Essence generated at each ignition point or plant he had boosted until the next point – connecting each point in turn with the next. With each point added the amount of Essence flowing through the connection grew. Chún felt a pressure building in his body as if he were trying to cross a swift river – and by now the weight felt like hundreds of catties trying to break free.
Thankfully most of the Essence was actually going into holding the pattern, the Mountain had explained – otherwise he would have been literally burned from the inside out with the accumulated energy.
If he had not felt so tired, he would not have stopped for a break. But his focus was starting to suffer and he did not want to go up in a blaze of fire by mistake, so he sat and ate despite the pressure.
As usual, the Vine's fruit made a large difference – the pressure was still there – but he felt alert and strong.
The Mountain's response was eager, so he stepped towards the very first plant he had helped directly, smiling at the tall, lush, silvery‑purple stand of grass rippling in the breeze.
"Hello, old friend. Ready for a boost?" With barely a thought, he slid into Essence sense and felt for the pulse of the grass, sliding into it with the ease of much repetition.
As his own pulse slowed to match the plant's, he opened the connection to the pattern, pulsing his own Essence into the plant at the same time. The energy from the connection followed the pulse and connected solidly with the grass, which immediately glowed with a searing brightness to his Essence sense, a sound like a roaring wind filling his mind.
Following his locus' guidance, he relinquished the end of the connection to the grass and quickly dropped out of Essence sense.
There was a soundless thump he could feel in his chest even without his sense and for a moment Chún could see the pattern flare across the Mountain.
Then it all vanished and suddenly it felt like the Mountain had turned insubstantial for a moment, before his link to his locus stabilised.
Chún sighed in relief as he bent down to harvest a few stalks of Thousand Year grass. "Finally. And my sack is full of herbs – hopefully someone will be willing to trade for them."
---
Four kè or so later, Chún trotted down the main road that led to the village. After some consideration he had decided not to come too obviously from the Mountain behind the village and circled around to intercept the main path that the majority of travellers generally used.
He was coming from the northern side of the village path, which was generally accepted as leading off into the wilderness. It would be easier to pass as a Jianghu Relic Hunter this way – the wandering Consumer he had once spoken to in the village had been one of these – so he had some idea of what was expected.
Relic Hunters were usually wandering – meaning independent, with no great talent – Consumers, who roamed the land in search of lucky chances and encounters that might win them recognition from a Clan or Sect. In the past, a few such wanderers had stumbled upon inheritances or hidden treasures that brought them power, wealth, or status, especially once they agreed to join a powerful group and pass on what they had found. Most of the Established Clans and Sects jealously guarded the secret worlds or ruins first uncovered by Relic Hunters like these.
Of course, many established powers sent out their own people on Journeys to find their own Dao and so on in Jianghu, and they sometimes also found things – but the Consumers who specialised in hunting for treasures tended to have more luck.
That was the exception, rather than the common custom, however. Most Relic Hunters were unsuccessful and survived by trading wild Essence herbs, plants, stones, beast remains and the like that they discovered in their wanderings.
It usually took a proficient Consumer to survive in the wild; but skilled experts usually had other ways of making a living. Groups who tried to set up relic hunting teams rarely lasted; mostly because no one could be trusted not to stab you in the back once anything valuable was found.
So Relic Hunters were usually low to mid‑level Consumers who spent years alone in the wilds and preferred it that way. They brought back resources that could not be grown or farmed domestically – things too dangerous for most to bother with, yet not valuable enough to draw the eye of the great Clans.
It was the perfect character for Chún to play. No one would be surprised that he came to the nearest Market Village with goods to trade instead of returning deeper into civilisation; that he had little money; or that he wished to exchange low to mid‑level Essence plants and pelts for basic everyday items to replace those he had lost, worn out, or destroyed while hunting.
Chún had made sure to keep the plants and herbs in his sack alive and healthy by keeping threads of Essence pulsing through them, sustaining their life away from the soil. He would put them in pots next time if he managed to make some, but he could pass it off as a technique he had developed for keeping Essence plants alive.
The Mountain had also reminded him to disguise his status as a True Cultivator, the way Yijing had shown him. His Essence felt odd restricted to his meridians and dāntián like that. He also noticed the Essence flows were much brighter and more solid than the last time.
Finally, he had applied the Dao Pattern of Unimportance – he still was not sure what to call it – that he had worked so hard on, to himself. Hopefully it would keep anyone from recognising him. His wish not to be noticed by anyone he did not want to talk to was so heartfelt, that the pattern spun out of his Dao almost without need for his assistance.
The village stockade came into view; designed to keep out bandits or the occasional Essence Beast. Chún suppressed a chuckle at the thought of any of the creatures he had run into on the Mountain even noticing the tree‑trunk wall was there.
Walking confidently through the gate, he was struck with how small the communal market area seemed – even counting the majority of households living further out within a two li circle it seemed tiny; it also smelt bad. A drawback of bathing daily, he supposed, never having noticed the issue before.
The air here was thick with scents: smoke from cooking fires, the acrid bite of tanneries, the pungent press of sweat and unwashed bodies, the earthy tang of animals penned close. Shouts of hawkers overlapped with the clatter of carts, children's shrieks, and the low hum of bargaining voices. Mud clung to his feet, and the rough cloth of passing villagers brushed against him as they moved about their business.
He suppressed the sudden urge to turn around and leave immediately; at least his distaste would fit the general image of Consumers, and he headed for the village well where he knew the town gossips would be found.
"You there. Does this town have a furrier? I have furs to trade," he said brusquely to the first villager he came across. He took distinct satisfaction in being abrupt to those who had once bullied and cursed him.
"Ah… ah – yes, honoured Cultivator… It is just outside the wall to the east – because of the smell of the tannery…"
"The smell? Ah… truly a wise decision," replied Chún with mock approval, inwardly wondering how anyone could tell the difference as he made a short nod of thanks and strode off towards the tannery.
He knew everyone would know about the 'Wandering Cultivator/Relic Hunter with trade goods' within less than a few kè. Hopefully people would be more inclined to trade with an itinerant person when they might be willing to trade for less than market value.
About a shí later, Chún strode off back out through the wilderness entrance clad in a waterproofed robe, carrying an assortment of cooking utensils, spices, oil, eating utensils, some dòufǔ beans, several extra spare sets of basic clothing – used but not threadbare – clean leather foot wraps, basic medical supplies, an axe, shovel and sturdy woodsman's knife.
The furrier and apothecary had been quite impressed with the panther Essence Beast fur and various Essence herbs respectively and offered what Chún actually considered good prices – they kept mentioning that the village was a Market Town and thus would be the only place for several hundred li able to accommodate his needs – and pointed him in the direction of villagers who did side business as tailors and in sundry goods.
The tailor, a young village wife, reacted rather strangely when he enquired about clothing. She seemed to take an inordinate amount of time measuring him, the faint scent of fresh‑cut cloth and soap clinging to the air, dust motes drifting in the crow-light that filtered in through the oiled paper covering the window. Cloth rasped lightly over his skin as she worked, her measured breathing the only sound in the quiet room.
Chún, long without decent clothing, had quite forgotten the custom against undressing before strangers despite his shyness around the Heaven and Earth Vine. It was only when he heard a soft gasp behind him that he realised the woman was still there. He apologised at once, but she lingered slightly longer than courtesy required before leaving the room.
Chún still preferred the awkwardness and odd behaviour of the tailor over dealing with the burly Village Blacksmith.
The forge pressed heavily on his Essence‑heightened senses: hot and loud, filled with the steady ring of hammer on metal, the hiss of quenching iron, and the metallic tang of worked ore clinging thick in the air, coating his tongue with the taste of iron as he bargained. He forced himself not to react, though it was a struggle.
There were no sewing needles to be had, so he placed an order to collect at the next Market Day in a couple of weeks.
The smith had acted unimpressed with the boar tusks, but the flicker of avarice in his eyes could not be concealed from Chún despite a casually dismissive tone and heavily muscled arms crossed over his chest. Chún cut the bargaining short to leave the forge quickly, paying for a knife with some of the coins he had earned from selling herbs.
He thought the villagers might be more inclined to view him favourably if they knew he could be a new source of Essence items and steady income, rather than a once‑off they might fleece. He should probably bring less next time – and of lower quality – lest some people's greed outweigh their sense of self‑preservation.
---
The room was dim, its shutters drawn against the bustle outside. Thick curtains muffled the noise of the village, leaving only the low murmur of two voices. The air smelled faintly of oil‑lamps and stale incense. One man stood by the window, looking out though there was little to see; the other lingered behind him, waiting.
"He left?"
"Yes, chief. Xiao says he placed an order for next Market Day."
"Hmm. Leave him alone for now – perhaps he will bring more without us pressing."
"It might have been a single lucky kill… the boar pelt was quality but nothing special, according to Gan. And Duan says the herbs are good but nothing he could not find if he was willing to travel a few li outside the village."
"Duan exaggerates. Just wants to sell on the herbs himself. It does not matter. Keep an eye on him for now. Pity that orphan boy got himself killed wandering off – he would have been ideal to watch for this Relic Hunter."
"You thinking he might have found something?"
"Hmmm. That Essence fur does not have a mark on it – so if that Hunter killed it, he must be either very strong – or something else. And did you notice that staff of his?"
"Xiao says it is just wood from some sort of tree – laughed when I asked if it was metal. But… no one else noticed anything about him. Even our men kept insisting there was nothing special – I had to ask the same questions again and again."
"And you think so too?"
"Just another Wanderer. Nothing special." The words lingered in the air a heartbeat too long. Silence followed, carrying a faint unease neither man chose to name. The lamp smoked faintly, adding the acrid tang of burning oil to the stillness.
The man by the window shifted slightly, his tone measured. "Perhaps… though best we do not overlook him."