Unintended Cultivator

Book 2: Chapter 7: The Road South (2)

Fixing the wheel turned into a much longer production than Sen had originally intended for it to be. Initially, he’d been set on just doing the work himself. After all, the faster it got done, the faster that Sen could just hand this kid back off to his Uncle. The image of Bigan just sitting in the road, staring at the wheel with that helpless expression on his face nagged at Sen. Sure, he could just fix the wheel himself, but that would only help the kid learn to wait for other people to solve his problems. Or, Sen could limit himself to merely helping the kid fix the wheel. There were parts of the process that Bigan legitimately couldn’t do on his own. While they could use green wood to fix the wheel, Sen knew enough to know that was a bad fix for the problem. Sen could use his qi techniques to dry the wood. Sen could, however, make Bigan cut down the tree they would use. The kid could also cut the pieces of wood they would need or at least the rough shapes.

Making the kid do that work would force him to consider what actions he could have taken before Sen showed up. It would show him that he could be proactive in bad situations. It just meant investing a lot more time than Sen wanted to invest. Especially if people are out looking for me, Sen thought. Of course, they probably wouldn’t be looking for him helping to fix a wagon wheel. They would likely consider that kind of work beneath a cultivator’s dignity. Still debating with himself internally, Sen led Bigan a little way into the woods and pointed to a tree.

“That one,” he said.

Bigan blinked at him a few times. “What about that one?”

Sen took a deep breath. “Cut it down.”

Bigan looked at the tree and then down at the axe in his hands. Then, he looked at Sen with a hopeful expression. That hope died a swift and terrible death when the kid saw the look on Sen’s face. Mumbling under his breath, the kid went over and started hacking at the tree. It was pretty clear that Bigan had never cut down a tree before. Either that, or he very much wanted Sen to think he had no experience with cutting down trees. Given how often the kid snuck looks at him, the latter seemed more likely. In fact, Sen had the sneaking suspicion that Bigan wasn’t actually stupid, so much as he was lazy and had been permitted to be lazy too many times.

After five full minutes of doing the job badly, Bigan seemed to realize that Sen wasn’t just going to take over the work. His swings took on a steady rhythm and a wedge shape of missing wood appeared in the tree. Sen waited until Bigan had cut that wedge shape around two-thirds of the way through the tree, then called for him to stop. The kid stepped back, wiping sweat from his face on a sleeve and then giving the wet patch a disgusted look. Sen took a little amusement from that. He walked over, examined the wedge, and then casually gave the tree a little push. It snapped off at the spot where the kid had cut the wedge and crashed to the forest floor. Bigan’s eyes went very wide and he dropped to his knees, pressing his head to the ground.

“Honored cultivator, forgive this Chu Bigan!”

“For being lazy or for trying to trick me?” Sen asked.

Bigan stammered and tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t damn him in the cultivator’s eyes. Realizing the trap that Sen had set with his question, the kid pressed his head even harder into the ground.

“Both,” he whispered.

“We’ll see,” said Sen, content to let the kid languish in that fear for a while.

Sen thought that it might teach the kid a lesson, although he wasn’t holding out much hope of that. Maybe if Sen had a couple of months, or years, to work with the kid, it might help. He expected that Bigan would revert to form the very second he left Sen’s sight. Oh well, thought Sen, it’s not my job to fix every wrong in the world.

“Get off the ground,” ordered Sen. “You can’t work while you’re down there.”

Bigan jumped to his feet and gave Sen a fearful look. Sen had moved on from the kid and was considering the tree. He had some ideas about how to dry it, but he didn’t think most of them were safe to do in the forest proper. Reaching down, he seized one of the thicker limbs and proceeded to drag the felled tree out onto the road. Once it was away from all of those other fuel sources, Sen gestured at it.

“Cut all the limbs off and set the larger ones over there,” said Sen, pointing to a nearby spot on the road.”

Sen was amused to note that Bigan was suddenly very eager to be helpful and productive. That lasted for all of about ten minutes before the kid started grumbling about doing all of the work. Sen let that one go. He was making the kid do all of the work or lion's share of it at any rate. Removing the limbs took Bigan until the middle of the afternoon. It wasn’t that work was necessarily difficult, so much as Bigan needed to take frequent breaks. He clearly wasn’t used to that kind of sustained labor. The kid probably would have grumbled less if he knew how utterly frustrating it was for Sen to not intervene. It was an endurance test for them both, if of different kinds. The work was eventually done, much to Sen’s relief. He told Bigan to go rest and eat something.

It took Sen a little while to work out exactly how to do what he needed to do. In the end, he found himself alternating between using his water qi to draw moisture out of the wood, using his fire qi to heat the wood, and wind qi to help carry the excess moisture away. That last bit was harder than he would have liked. The air was already heavy with moisture as the likelihood of rain turned into a near inevitability. While he didn’t get the wood as dry as he would have liked it, it was more than dry enough to use for repairing the wagon wheel. He strongly considered making Bigan resume doing the hard work, but a quick glance at the sky told him that was just asking for trouble. Grabbing the axe, he sliced off a couple of neat rounds with a few deft swings. He grabbed the rounds and took them over to Bigan, who was staring at Sen in complete awe.

“Starting shaping a replacement for the outer part of the wheel,” Sen ordered, dropping the rounds and the axe at Bigan’s feet.

Then, Sen turned his attention to the limbs. He picked out a few likely candidates and, having worked out the essentials of the process on the larger log, he proceeded to dry out the limbs. He had a small hatchet in his storage ring and pulled it out. He used the hatchet to clean up a few of the limbs and then shape them into replacement spokes. He only needed two, but it never hurt to have an extra part or two on hand. Having completed his self-assigned part of the work, he turned his attention back to Bigan. The young man seemed to have realized that there was rain coming based on the way he was alternating between hurrying on the work and staring up at the darkening sky. Even so, the work was proceeding far too slowly for Sen at that point. Teaching the kid a lesson about laziness was one thing, but fixing that wheel in the rain would just be Sen punishing himself. He took over the work at that point, completing in a few minutes what might have taken Bigan another hour.

He didn’t let Bigan off the hook entirely, but Sen had always known he’d have to do most of the work once it came to fixing the actual wheel. Sen cut another chunk off the log and used it to support the wagon while he affected repairs on the wheel. He did make Bigan hold and hand him things while he fitted the pieces into place. It did require Sen to heat and bend the iron tread out of the way so he could slide the spindles into place, then slide the outer wheel piece onto those spokes. Miraculously, Bigan did have some nails in the wagon, so Sen was able to fix the outer wheel piece in place. There were even holes in the iron tread that seemed to be for that exact purpose. Sen wouldn’t mistake this patch job for masterful work, but he thought it would hold up for long enough to get the wagon to a town or city.

“Get the ox harnessed again, while I deal with the rest of the wood,” Sen ordered.

For once, Bigan didn’t even grumble. He just jogged over to the ox, who had been watching them with a curious expression for a while. Sen used the axe to break down the rest of the log and pile it by the side of the road. Maybe some passing caravan would find it and pick it up. It seemed that caravans were always in dire need of dry wood for fires. Pausing to consider that, Sen dropped a few rounds of dry wood into his storage ring. It never hurt to have fire-ready wood on hand, especially when rain was on the way. Sen walked over to the wagon and climbed up into it. Bigan stared at him.

“What are you doing?” the young man asked.

“I don’t work for free,” said Sen. “You’re giving me a ride.”

“A ride?” repeated Bigan, as though the words were from a foreign language.

Laughing on the inside, Sen asked, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to negotiate the price upfront?"

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