Occasionally, Wu Ying considered joining them. But even if he wasn’t dressed in his Sect robes, the gulf between the soldiers and himself as a cultivator was too vast to breach. He was different from them, and his presence would be anything but relaxing. His imposition would be unwanted, and even if they chose not to say anything, he would know. Better to let them enjoy their evening, to spend it in their own company, and rest before their long march.
Strolling through the inner part of the army encampment, Wu Ying found himself in a portion of the encampment he had not visited. Here, a large tent dominated, lights still on, a quipan and other instruments playing to draw in visitors. Like a moth to the flame, Wu Ying joined the slow trickle of curious individuals approaching the tent.
To his surprise, the brightly colored tent’s front awning flaps were open, the waiting vestibule glowing and allowing the visitors to enter its welcoming, warm embrace. Not just lamplight, but the occasional spirit lamp was lit, dispersed to ensure there were no shadows here. As the main tent flap was pushed aside, Wu Ying felt a blast of warmth that brought the smells of well-spiced, well-cooked meat, of spilled alcohol and delectable foods within. His stomach rumbled, and hunger joined curiosity in demanding Wu Ying explore.
Once inside the tent proper, Wu Ying was surprised to see that it was actually larger on the inside than he had expected. He let his chi billow out, sensing the ambient flows of energy within, curious to see if it was a formation or a trick of the light. Instead, Wu Ying sensed something else and retracted his aura.
His gaze darted past the cultivators, mercenaries, and soldiers who sat around rough wooden tables, drinking and gambling and talking to the servers and companions. The servers were beautiful men and women sliding in and out of reaching hands, smiling as they deposited food and wine, never staying too long. Wu Ying’s gaze tracked across the various servers, surprised that all of them, from serving wench to cooks, were cultivators in the Energy Storage stage at the least, most in the mid-level.
Even more surprising were the working women—and the occasional man—who sat and nuzzled, who laughed at the lewd conversations before they led their temporary companions into another room. These women and men of the night were dressed even more scandalously than the servers, their tops thin—or non-existent—their skin oiled and glistening, sleeves barely hanging on to heaving bosoms, slits on the sides reaching up to their hips, or all too tight pants. It was enough to make Wu Ying blush.
“Move it!” A voice behind Wu Ying woke him from his stupor, making him take a couple steps forward.
Not fast enough for the other, as Wu Ying was pushed slightly aside as the speaker brushed past without another word. Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed before he dismissed the provocation. He was no impatient noble, worried about his honor. A little rudeness did not merit a big fuss.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” a familiar voice called to Wu Ying on his opposite side.
He turned, spotting Lady Pan, and only then realized that the musicians in the corner were headed by her companion. Yan Qing lounged in the corner, his bow dancing across his erhu.
“Is this yours?” Wu Ying asked.
Lady Pan laughed. “As much as anything can be considered to be owned, it is mine. Now, since we have fought together, I must make sure you have a good time. What can I get you? And don’t worry, nothing that happens here will get back to your Sect mates.”
“I didn’t know what this was,” Wu Ying quickly explained, trying to fight down the rising blush and her implications. “I’m not really here for any…”
“Food? Drink? Company?” Lady Pan laughed, placing a hand on Wu Ying’s arm and gently guiding him deeper into the tent. Her laugh was so unlike Li Yao’s—full-bodied in the same way, but deeper, more seductive. “Come. You’ve come to visit me, it would be rude for me to let you go without at least a drink. Everything else, you can decide if you will partake of later.” As Wu Ying’s mouth opened to continue his protests, she added, “Or not.”
Forced forward by her gentle but unyielding pressure, Wu Ying traversed the large tent. He was not even surprised to see Bai Hu curled up in one corner with a young lady on his lap, murmuring besotted words into her ear. Deposited in a chair himself, Wu Ying nodded in greeting to the other two occupants of the table. They flicked a glance at Wu Ying and nodded companionably to Lady Pan before they turned back to their own conversation.
The female owner of the tent smiled and gestured to one of the passing waitresses before turning to Wu Ying. “Can’t sleep?”
“I didn’t realize this was even here,” Wu Ying said. “I’m so surprised. It’s not what I expect in the middle of an army encampment.”
Lady Pan shook her head, clearly amused. “You didn’t notice the tents at the edges of the encampment? The ones the common soldiers spend time and coin at?”
“Of course I did. I know about that. But this, this is a little more…”
“Opulent. Professional. Luxurious?” Lady Pan teased, placing her hand on his arm again. He felt the heat of her hand as it traversed the thin silk of his robes. It felt… nice. “Thank you. It’s taken me many years to build this.”
Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed as he considered the lady. She looked young, but so did most cultivators. Once you began cultivating in earnest, especially if you reached the higher stages, aging slowed down significantly. A Body cultivator could expect to live to a hundred, hale and healthy. An Energy Storage cultivator could easily double their lifespan and look young for three quarters of it. As for Core cultivators, they counted their lifespans in thousands of years. As lifespans increased, it was hard to tell the age of others, other than through mannerisms and what they said. He wondered how old Lady Pan really was. Forty? Fifty? Probably no older, for she was only late high Energy Storage and he got the feeling she was not one to stall there.
“Good. So many of you youngsters, so rude, asking the age of those they just met.” Lady Pan turned and took the wine jar from the server before serving herself and Wu Ying. “Come, let’s drink.”
Wu Ying picked up the cup, raising it to her as well. “What are we drinking to?”
Lips twisted in a smile, she stood and raised her voice. She was not shouting, but every word she said carried through the tent, drawing everyone’s attention. “To surviving and taking another step on our path to immortality.”
The words brought a roar of approval from the cultivators within the room, drawing shouts even from some of the soldiers themselves. Other soldiers, their heads lowered, looked embarrassed as the cultivators quaffed their drinks and slammed the cups down in approval. The servers spun around, quickly refilling empty cups where tables had no pots of wine or liquor open.
Wu Ying hid his smile while his own cup was promptly refilled by Lady Pan. He lowered his voice as he leaned forward. “You make that toast often?”
“Often enough,” Lady Pan said with a slightly smug tone. “It is a good toast. And one we all believe in.”
“We all?” Wu Ying asked, glancing around the room. One thing he had noted was the absence of anyone from a sect. At least, by their robes. They could be like him, hiding in plain sight, but he was certain that none of the Verdant Green Waters Sect members were part of this group. Those he knew by sight.
“Independent cultivators. The heretical, the unusual, the ones who do not believe in your straight and narrow path.”
“The Sect offers many paths. That’s why we have multiple cultivation methods, multiple styles, even Elders who teach different philosophies,” Wu Ying said.
“You only think you do.” When Wu Ying straightened in anger, she shook her head. “Will you listen? Before you judge.”
Wu Ying’s lips twisted, but eventually he nodded. For a moment, he wondered if she was going to make a pitch for something more dangerous, more heretical. If so, he would need to escape, inform the general. But then he dismissed the notion. Somehow, he did not think that the general, or Elder Pan, would miss something like that in the middle of their own encampment. Fanciful thoughts.