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MA2, Ch 8.3: Ashes
🕑 Added 2025-11-10 06:09:14 +0000 UTCThe afternoon sun climbed toward its zenith, and the day grew warmer — a pleasant autumn warmth that held no trace of summer's oppressive heat but felt comfortable against the skin. Chen Mu moved through the forest with practiced ease, reading signs in the undergrowth, following the subtle indicators that spoke to recent deer passage.
And finally, after nearly two hours of patient tracking, his dedication was rewarded.
He found a deer in a small clearing. It was a magnificent buck—easily two hundred jin or more, with a full rack of antlers that spoke to age and dominance. The animal was browsing peacefully, unaware of being watched, its head lowered to crop at the tender shoots of grass that grew in the sunlit space.
Chen Mu observed it for a long moment, appreciating the creature's beauty with a mix of hunter's admiration and inevitable regret. It was a bit of a shame to kill something so beautiful. But the village needed food. Winter was coming. And a buck this size would provide meat for weeks.
He moved into position with glacial slowness, drawing his bow with flawless movements, as if he had done so tens of thousands of times. The arrow nocked. The string drawn. His breathing steady, his aim perfect.
It was a clean shot.
One arrow, perfectly placed behind the shoulder blade, angling toward the heart. The kind of shot that required countless hours of practice and an intimate understanding of anatomy.
The arrow struck with a meaty thunk that seemed too loud in the forest quiet. The buck's eyes went wide, its body tensing, and it took three stumbling steps before its legs folded. It died quickly — within seconds. With minimal suffering. As clean a death as ever was.
He approached the fallen animal respectfully, running his hand along its flank in a gesture he didn't remember learning but felt compelled to perform. "Thank you," he murmured, not sure if he was speaking to the deer, to the forest, or to whatever spirits or deities might be listening. "Your life feeds our village. Your death won't be wasted."
The next hour was spent in the meticulous work of field-dressing — a process that was bloody but necessary and strangely meditative in its focus. His hands worked with automatic precision, Bao's old hunting knife moving in practiced patterns that required no conscious thought.
Separate the hide from the carcass.
Remove the organs carefully, setting aside the liver, heart, and testicles (as these would be highly-prized delicacies!).
Drain the blood, which would be used for puddings and binding.
Prepare the meat for transport.
By the time he finished, he had at least sixty jin of excellent venison ready to carry. More than enough to supplement the village's diet, to give them variety beyond the endless spirit boar. The hide would make good leather. The bones and sinew would be useful for tools. The hooves could be boiled to make glue. Nearly every part of the animal would be used. Such was the hunter's code, the unspoken contract between predator and prey.
Chen Mu hoisted the dressed carcass onto his shoulders — noting (with a now-familiar mixture of wonder and unease) that something which should have been a significant, back-straining burden felt merely moderate. Manageable. His legs didn't tremble under the weight. His breathing didn't labor. He could probably carry this load for hours without serious fatigue.
He was getting stronger. There was no denying it anymore. No rationalizing it away as momentary adrenaline or one-time circumstances. His body was fundamentally different from what a normal human's should be -- or rather, perhaps it represented the very peak of what a normal human without a cultivation base could be capable of.
The question was: what did he do about it? And, more curiously: where would it end?
But those were questions for another time. For now, he had a deer to transport home and a village that was probably already anticipating fresh venison for dinner.
He began the trek back, following the trails he'd marked mentally during his outbound journey. The sun was already beginning its descent toward the western peaks. He'd need to move efficiently to get back before full dark.
The afternoon sun was painting long shadows through the spirit pine forest... when Chen Mu heard voices on the trail ahead.
He slowed instinctively, every sense suddenly sharpening to combat-ready alertness.
There were two voices, male, speaking in a heavy Southern accent. Their tone was casual, conversational, holding none of the deference or caution that characterized hunters or traders in unfamiliar territory.
By themselves, voices this far from any village were unusual but not immediately alarming. After all, hunters from other settlements sometimes ranged through these territories as well — the Whispering Peak mountains were vast, and game didn't respect arbitrary human boundaries. As long as everyone was respectful, observed proper etiquette, there was rarely conflict.
But something about these voices made the hair on the back of Chen Mu's neck stand up.
It wasn't anything specific.
Not the words — he was still too far away to make them out clearly.
Not the tone — they sounded relaxed, cheerful even.
But... there was some quality that his instincts immediately recognized as wrong, in the same way that they recognized the smell of the morning's smoke as threatening.
Chen Mu shifted the deer carcass slightly, adjusting its weight for quicker movement if needed, and continued forward with increased caution. His footsteps, already quiet, became nearly silent. His breathing controlled. Every sense extended outward, gathering information.
Two men emerged around a bend in the trail about thirty meters ahead, walking with the casual confidence of people who expected no opposition, who believed they owned whatever space they occupied. And Chen Mu's assessment shifted immediately from cautious to alert.
Martial Artists!
Not spirit cultivators — somehow, he was instantly and absolutely certain of that much. But these men were no less dangerous for it. They had undergone Xue Qi body tempering, and refined their Blood Qi through brutal conditioning until their bodies transcended normal human limitations.
He could see it in the way they moved.
Their gait was too smooth, too efficient: the economical motion of people whose muscles had been compressed and strengthened until every movement was optimized.
Their builds were dense, compact in a way that spoke to power concentrated rather than displayed. Their kind of build came from years of hitting wooden posts and iron plates; years of breaking bricks with various parts of their bodies; of tempering flesh until it approached stone in durability.
They were dressed in mismatched but practical clothing — twin leather armors that have seen better days, the surface scarred and stained. Sturdy boots that showed hard use. And... weapons that immediately drew Chen Mu's tactical assessment: one carried a straight sword at his hip, the blade's guard wrapped with dirty cloth. The other had a pair of heavy cavalry sabers crossed on his back, their scabbards rust-stained and battered.
Poor maintenance. That told him something.
Professionals kept their weapons clean and sharp because their lives depended on them. Bandits, however? Bandits often let their equipment deteriorate, relying more on intimidation and numbers rather than individual skill.
Their eyes locked immediately onto the deer carcass across his shoulders. Not onto him as a person. Not assessing him as a potential threat or ally. Just onto the meat. The way predators looked at prey. The way hungry people looked at food.
The way bandits looked at things they intended to take.
Chen Mu felt his jaw tighten but forced his expression into neutrality, into the slightly deferential posture of a common villager encountering his social superiors.
"Good afternoon to you, esteemed sirs. Just heading back from checking my traps." His voice was carefully respectful, holding exactly the right note of humble acknowledgment without crossing into servility.
"Well, well," the one with the sword said, "it looks like we found ourselves a hunter. And a successful one at that!" His eyes raked over Chen Mu with casual assessment, taking in the simple clothes, the lack of obvious weapons, the youth of his face — and clearly finding no threat.
Chen Mu inclined his head politely, maintaining the careful fiction of deference while his mind worked through tactical scenarios with cold efficiency. "Just a bit of luck with the deer, esteemed sirs. Right place at the right time."
"Esteemed sirs!" The one with the sabers laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that held no genuine humor. He elbowed his companion with familiar camaraderie. "Hear that, Xi? We'se 'steemed now! Maybe we should start bowing and scraping to each other, use fancy titles!"
"Don't be an ass, Lao." Xi — the sword carrier — stepped closer, his movements casual but positioning himself in a way that cut off Chen Mu's easy retreat back down the trail. His gaze was appraising, calculating, holding that particular quality of someone sizing up an opponent.
Or a victim.
"Say, that's a mighty nice lookin' buck you've got there, friend. Must have taken some real skill to bring down! What are you, a village hunter? Or one of those hermit types who lives alone in the woods?"
The question felt loaded. Why did it matter? Why would they care about his living situation? Normal travelers wouldn't. The question implied they were looking for something specific, seeking particular information.
Yes, something was very wrong here.
"I've been hunting these mountains for a while now, honored sirs" Chen Mu said carefully, choosing his words with the precision of someone navigating a minefield. "Gotten to know the good spots, the game trails. Where the deer feed in autumn, where they shelter in winter." He kept things conversational, but hollow.
The kind of answer that sounded responsive while actually communicating nothing of substance.
"These mountains, eh?" Xi circled slightly, his movements too calculated to be casual —positioning himself so Chen Mu would have to turn to keep both men in view. Classic predator behavior. Creating angles. Eliminating escape routes. "So you're local then? From one of the villages around here?"
And there it was. The pushy question that confirmed all of Chen Mu's warnings, that transformed vague unease into concrete danger. There was only one clear reason for them to be asking about villages.
They were bandits. Raiders, or worse.
And they were here, in his mountains, asking questions about his home.
"No, honored sirs," he said, adding a slight hesitation to his voice, as if embarrassed by the admission. "I'm... I live alone. A hermit, I suppose you could say. Just me and the forest." He gestured vaguely at the surrounding wilderness, painting a picture of isolation. "Built myself a small shelter in the caves just a little ways down. Don't really interact with villages much. Prefer my own company."
It was a gamble. The lie was plausible — hermits did exist in these mountains, reclusive individuals who'd abandoned society for various reasons. Indeed, there were even legends of spirit cultivators becoming hermits; isolating themselves from the world in order to seek enlightenment in the Dao. Although it was highly unlikely, it certainly wasn't impossible for Chen Mu to be such a reclusive expert -- particularly so close to the old Azure Cloud Sect territory.
"An 'ermit, you say?" Lao's eyes narrowed with evident skepticism, his gaze sharpening. "Little young for that, ain't ya? Most 'ermits I've met are old men who couldn't stand people anymore. Bitter types. Failures. But you're what, twenty? Twenty-five at most? That's prime age for fuckin' whores and enjoyin' life! Why would someone like you be out here all alone?"
"Personal reasons," Chen Mu said, keeping his voice neutral but adding a slight edge — the kind of defensiveness someone might show when discussing painful subjects. "And I prefer it this way. No responsibilities to others. No obligations. Just... peace."
The two men exchanged glances — some wordless communication passing between them, a conversation conducted entirely through eye contact and minute gestures. These two have been together for a long time, Chen Mu realized. It would appear they've developed some kind of nonverbal shorthand that could only have come from significant shared experience and mutual trust.
Or... at least mutual dependence. Trust was probably too generous a word for whatever relationship bound them.
Then Xi's expression shifted, his face splitting into a smile that didn't reach his eyes; the kind of predatory expression that wolves wore when cornering prey.
"Well then! Seein' as you'se out here by yourself with 'no obligations or responsibilities...'"
His tone became mockingly reasonable, as if he were proposing something perfectly logical. "...then you surely wouldn't mind sharin' that deer of yours, right? That's way too much meat for one scrawny person like you! And we've been goin' for days without a proper meal — just dried rations and whatever rabbits we could catch. So, why don't you 'elp us out, yeah?"
Chen Mu felt his jaw tighten, felt anger begin to kindle in his chest.
For now, he kept his voice calm, respectful, choosing his words carefully.
"I... appreciate the suggestion, honored sirs, but I need this meat for my own winter stores. I'm afraid I can't spare any."
"And we wasn't askin'!" Lao interjected in a sharp tone, dropping all pretense of friendliness like a discarded mask. He stepped forward aggressively, his hand moving to one of his sabers, and his face twisted into an expression of contempt. "Look, we know you'se from a village—"
"Lao!" Xi's voice cracked like a whip, sharp with irritation at his companion's verbal slip. His eyes flashed with anger at the carelessness. But Lao was already committed, already too invested in the confrontation to pull back.
"—so stop playing games! Da boss got big plans for this territory. Real big plans! Every family pays tribute! Regular taxes in food and goods, plus... special levies whenever we want them. It's happening whether you like it or not. So you'se might as well get used to the idea of sharing now, while we'se still being nice about it, ya chump!"
The confirmation hit Chen Mu like ice water poured down his spine. Bandits. They were bandits, and they weren't just passing through. They were claiming territory! Establishing control. And they were talking about his village — about tribute and special levies and all the horrors that came when violent men decided they owned a place and the people in it.
"I... see." Chen Mu's voice had gone very quiet, very calm — the kind of dangerous calm that Old Bao would have recognized as a warning sign... but these two were too confident, far too convinced of their superiority to notice. "So that smoke I saw to the northwest earlier... that was you?"
Xi's face split into a grin that was all teeth and no humor, clearly proud of whatever atrocity he'd participated in. "Ha! Yeah, that was us. Six Brothers Village today, and Five Pine Village two weeks before. Boss wanted to make an example, you know? Show these backwards mountain folk what happens when they don't cooperate. When they resist."
He paused, chuckling to himself as if remembering a particularly amusing anecdote.
"I hear them Five Pine cucks actually tried to fight back — can you believe that? Bunch of farmers and hunters thought they could stand against trained Martial Artists! Didn't go well for them, I can tell ya that!" He laughed aloud, the sound carrying genuine amusement at the memory. "They'll think twice before refusing to pay tribute now! Well, the ones that survived, anyway."
Chen Mu felt something cold and terrible settle into his chest — a sensation like touching ice so cold it burned. Five Pine Village. Six Brothers Village. They'd attacked two nearby villages. Burned at least some of the houses in them, if that smoke was any indication.
And now they were here, in his mountains, scouting his territory, making plans to do the same to his home?
To Old Bao, who'd taken him in without question, who'd shared food and warmth and called him 'son' without ever demanding to know his past.
To Xiao Hua, whose smile made the world feel less frightening, whose presence had given him a reason to want to stay in this peaceful dream.
To little An-An and her pet fox Yín Lìng, who asked him for impossible promises and looked at him with absolute trust.
To Chief Tian and Widow Lan and Da-Li all the others who'd woven him into their community so thoroughly that the thought of them being hurt made his chest physically ache.
No.
No.
"I think," Chen Mu said, his voice eerily calm despite the rage building behind his carefully controlled expression, "that we're done talking now."
He let the deer carcass slide from his shoulders, lowering it carefully to the ground. The movement was deliberate, economical, carrying no hint of panic or uncertainty. Just... preparation.
Both men tensed immediately, recognizing the shift in their target's demeanor -- even if they didn't fully understand its implications. Their hands moved to their weapons with practiced speed, drawing steel with the fluid motion of people who'd done it a thousand times.
"And what in the nine hells is this, boy?" Xi's sword came free of its scabbard with a metallic rasp, the blade catching afternoon sunlight and throwing it back in golden glints. "We're Muscle Refining Stage Four. Both of us! Been training since we were children. You'll be dead 'fore you even take a swing!"
Lao had both sabers drawn now, holding them in a defensive cross-guard that showed at least some actual training.
"Las' chance, boy! Jus' leave the deer and walk away. You ain't gotta die today!"
Chen Mu looked at them — really looked at them — with eyes that saw more than they should.
Saw the slight tremor in Lao's left hand that spoke to an old injury that healed imperfectly.
Saw the way Xi favored his right side, protecting ribs that had probably been broken at least once.
Saw the poor balance in their stances. The gaps in their forms. The inefficiencies in their positioning. The tells that every human body broadcast about its capabilities and limitations.
He saw them completely.
And found them... lacking.
"We'll see," Chen Mu said quietly.
And moved.
Comments
Trevayne
Good update. The timing problem is still there. The Azure Cloud Sect has been gone for only about 7-8 weeks, so why is it the old Azure Cloud?
Konstantin Parkhomenko
Right now, it's looking like he's going to die to the bandits. RIP. As they say.
DeadSlime
Lucky I decided to check Patreon otherwise I wouldn’t have realised you decided to keep going. Good to see you back on this series! Can’t wait to see how it progresses.
