47. Managing Loneliness and High-Speed Disciples

The road stretches east, toward the rising sun. Ling’er walks beside me, her Foundation Establishment aura carefully concealed, her bearing that of a servant girl accompanying her master; head slightly bowed, steps deferential, eyes downcast. Anyone watching would see nothing remarkable.

But I know better.

“Master? What’s Celestial Jade City like?”

“I’ve never been.” I adjust my pack, feeling the weight of Frostbite in my storage ring. “But Elder Frostheart’s journals describe it as a place where cultivators from across the Lower Realm gather. Markets selling treasures we can’t imagine. Libraries with techniques from lost eras. Arenas where the strong prove themselves and the weak are weeded out.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Very. But also full of opportunity.” I glance at her. “Stay close. Stay concealed. Watch everything. Learn everything. And if anyone threatens us—”

“I protect you.”

I smile despite myself. I correct her. “We protect each other.”

Our steps are measured. But something holds us back. A hesitation, a reluctance that neither of us voices aloud.

After what happened, after the bandits, after coming so close to losing everything, every step away from the mountain feels like a betrayal. But staying feels like surrender. So we walk. We make camp in a forest, miles from any town. The trees are old, their branches interlaced above us, blocking out the sky. I find a dry patch of ground near a stream and set up a small fire while Ling’er gathers kindling.

Route:

Day 1-7: Eastern plains, minor towns

Day 8-10: Mountain pass (guarded, requires toll)

Day 11-14: Central Provinces border, larger cities

Day 15-21: Celestial Jade City

The fire crackles. Stars emerge through the gaps in the canopy. Ling’er sits across from me, her eyes closed, cycling qi through her meridians. She opens her eyes.

“Master. Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

She doesn’t smile despite my joke. “Do you ever feel lonely?”

The question catches me off guard. I stir the fire with a stick, giving myself time to think.

“Sometimes,” I say. “Why?”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then she pulls a book from her pack. A storybook. The one with the brave rabbit. She’s read it so many times the spine is cracked, the pages soft.

“I write my name sometimes. Over and over. Ling’er.” She traces the characters in the air with her finger. “I don’t know why. It just… feels like something I should remember. Like if I stop writing it, I’ll forget who I am.”

I watch her. She’s twelve. She can shatter stone with her bare hands and freeze bandits solid with a thought. But she’s still twelve.

“I think it’s loneliness,” she continues. “The Bone shows me threads. Connections between everything. But the more I grow, the thinner my threads become. The other disciples… they’re only Qi Condensation. They can’t feel what I feel, see what I see. I can help them. I can protect them. But I can’t… be with them. Not really.”

She looks at me. “You’re the only one whose thread I can hold onto. It’s stronger than the others. But sometimes I wonder if you feel lonely too.”

I stir the fire. The wood cracks, sending sparks spiraling into the darkness.

‘Loneliness.’

I think about my past life. I had friends. My parents weren’t abusive. I made connections, built relationships, lived a life that was small but not empty. If someone had told me I’d never see any of them again, I would have been devastated. But here, now, I don’t feel a great desire to return. Some part of me does; some small, distant part that still dreams of hot showers and air conditioning and food that doesn’t taste like preservation techniques. I’ve rationalized that part out of my system. I’m trapped here for as long as I can see. There’s nothing I can do with a mediocre body, no way to find a path back without relying on Ling’er and whatever talents I can recruit. It’s a long, distant goal that may never happen.

So I focus on the now.

But the now is lonely in ways my past life never prepared me for.

Modern comforts, it’s a lie to say I don’t miss them. Modern sensibilities—I miss those more. The cultivation world was something I understood as an observer. I knew why people face-slapped. I knew why strength was paramount. I’d read a hundred novels where betrayal was expected, where bitterness festered, where the weak were devoured by the strong. But experiencing it directly is different.

Feng turning his blade on me because he felt entitled to what I’d found. Bandits attacking my sect, threatening children, because they saw wealth and decided it should be theirs. Taking my first life. Hunting beasts to acquire food. Relying on my instincts, the Gaze, and my readings of the genre to survive day by day. I’ve been internalizing the shock. I know that at some point, I’ll have to face it. The weight of what I’ve become. The distance between the person I was and the person I am now.

There’s nobody I can speak freely to. Not even Ling’er. She’s twelve. She’s carrying her own burdens; the alienation of strength, the loneliness of being something the world has no category for. What right do I have to add mine to hers?

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

So I say none of this.

“We’ll find more people,” I say. “People like you. Talented. Strong. People who can walk beside you instead of trailing behind. You won’t be lonely forever.”

She looks at me, her eyes gold-brown in the firelight. “And you, Master? Will you find people too?”

I smile. It feels thin on my face.

“Maybe.”

She nods slowly. “I hope so.”

Ling’er opens her storybook and begins to read. Her lips move silently, tracing the words. It’s not cultivation. It’s just a child, finding comfort in a familiar story. I watch her for a moment, then return to studying the map. The road ahead is long. We’ll walk it together, even if we walk alone.

The next morning, the road stretches empty through rolling hills. No travelers in sight. No villages for miles. Just grass, sky, and the distant mountains we’re heading toward. The sun is warm on my face, the breeze light, and the silence is almost peaceful.

But I can’t stop thinking about the bandits. About the sect, left behind. About every hour we spend walking at a mortal’s pace being an hour we’re not getting stronger.

I stop walking.

Ling’er stops beside me, tilting her head. “Master?”

“We’ve been dragging our feet.” I turn to face her. “Going at a pace that would be comfortable for mortals. Slow by our standards. And every hour we’re away is another hour something could go wrong back home.”

She waits. She’s learned not to fill my silences.