Chương 15: Lìchūn: Expansion 4

Her dantian burns fuller and fuller every day, growing like a hearth in her stomach. It is more than a little disconcerting, if Liu Yinhua is honest with herself, the heat always an uncomfortable reminder of old fires and melting silk. In that same moment, it reminds her that Suzhou is only weeks away from this sect. That room must have been worth more than her entire pay for the last debut year. The silk alone was more than two hundred silver.

Madame Xue, she is sure, was riding a great deal on her debut, and rebuilding parts of the tower would be an extra expense. She is not sure even Madame Xue and the patron would push against a sect, but she is certainly not going to dismiss the possibility of what the madame would do for money and the promise of more. There is, too, the lingering issue of having power enough to sit under should anyone find out her exact past.

She is under no false impressions about the moral thinking around the profession she was born into. Courtesans, even the well-paid, ornate, companionship ones, were never going to be acceptable in society. So when, not if, it becomes known, Liu Yinhua must be able to support herself in this world, or be well-off enough to exist in the world outside with little help. From what she has gleaned from Tang Mingxia, that means reaching the third realm this year: Foundation.

She has no idea, truly, what that means, but she knows enough now to know this is no easy task. Many cultivators stumble and halt well before that, stumble into tribulations and blockages, trying to break through far too early and breaking themselves, losing their lives in many ways. But a Foundation realm breakthrough for a former mortal, in this sect and in this land, means a title. And she knows, above all else, that a title protects.

She knows even mortal nobles were always handed far more lenient punishments, if any, for the damage and harm they wrought at the Tower. She can assume under good chances that immortal nobles are the same. With it, she will be above the reach of anyone who comes from her past, and she can work out where she sits in the world of cultivator nobles later. Satisfied with her thoughts, she breathes out long and steady, and opens her eyes as the second bell chimes overhead. Time for class.

The courtyard outside the instruction hall is littered with small pockets of chattering disciples leaving Elder Yun's class as Liu Yinhua emerges. She had stayed back to ask a small question on a section of the sect's founding art, and with the explanation tucked away to consider later, she glances up with a squint to check the time. The world becomes far more vivid, if a little overwhelming, the longer she spends cultivating and circulating the warmth of her qi throughout her body.

For all that she has no meridians open yet, she can still feel the passages she will need to push through, the same way she knows the shape of a room in the dark by tapping and trailing her fingers along it. The grass is bright, and the whole world sits sharp in her focus. It has taken a few days to get used to it. The first time she opened her eyes after a successful circulation, it felt as if she had never seen the world before, clear water compared to a muddy puddle.

She shakes herself free of the thought as she glances back to the courtyard and begins to take the path down towards one of the farther training grounds. Chi Yanluo had offered more training today, though she has a suspicion this will be far more physical than the short cultivation-focused advice he has given throughout the last week. She is also a little more trepidatious about his mention of a larger group. Liu Yinhua, despite her new goals and plans, knows she is far behind.

She cannot quite sense what realm or level the people around her have reached, but she can tell when they are far superior to her, even by small steps. Tang Mingxia moves faster than Liu Yinhua can properly follow when she trains, and watching Chi Yanluo run through weapon stances, wind flittering and tugging at the world around him, has made the gap between her and true safety all the more obvious. Even here, she is not without enemies.

She catches sight of strawberry-blonde hair in a small crowd of jewel-toned robes and female disciples. She is not entirely sure what Guo Meilin's issue with her is, but Liu Yinhua is not so silly as to believe there is no issue at all. Beauty has always been a curse in its own way, but she suspects it is not so simple as that. She shakes herself free of that thought too as she approaches the training ground ahead, where Chi Yanluo's bright hair stands out against the packed brown earth. There are others with him.

She recognises Shen Yuanzhou, but the rest are new to her. A lean, willowy boy with hair like ice, tinged pale blue, is sparring almost faster than Liu Yinhua can keep track of, though she is fairly sure he is not even going at full pace. Ice-blue robes flutter around him as he ducks and dodges the unarmed blows of his foe.

His opponent is a short, slender girl with pale skin and long dark hair tied back, robes neither quite feminine nor quite masculine in style, layered in dark green, dark purple, and pale earthy tones. Liu Yinhua is reminded very much of the more undecided branches of the qinglou district and those who resided there, for all she will never say such a thing out loud. The exchange does not end quickly. The icy-haired boy gives ground by half-steps, never quite where his opponent expects him to be.

His face remains calm, almost remote, though Liu Yinhua sees the brief narrowing of his eyes before each turn. Frost gathers under his feet in faint, pale marks that vanish almost as soon as he moves on. The girl pressing him smiles as she attacks. It is a lovely expression, bright and open, and somehow much worse for it. Her palms snap out in quick, graceful strikes, sleeves sliding back from narrow wrists.

She moves lightly enough that the dust barely stirs beneath her shoes, but there is a hungry precision in the way she follows every opening. When he slips to the left, she is already there. When his sleeve lifts, her fingers chase the gap beneath his arm. Shen Yuanzhou watches from the side with his arms folded, looking far too pleased.

"Brother Duan is going to lose," he says, not bothering to hide his glee.

"I am not," the boy she assumes to be Duan replies, without looking away from his opponent.

"You keep saying that!" The girl laughs softly and darts in, and for an instant, Liu Yinhua is certain her palm will land against his ribs. he turns with a clean, sharp motion, his sleeve flaring and a thin crust of frost catches along the edge of the girl's outer robe and drags her momentum aside just enough for her strike to pass empty through the air. She stops with her fingers spread, looks down at the frost, and sighs as if deeply wounded.

"That was unkind."

"You overextended," he says.

"I trusted you," she says, and Liu Yinhua can hear the playful pout in it.

"That was unwise." Shen Yuanzhou laughs outright, and the girl turns her head toward him, sweetness returning all at once.

"Shen Yuanzhou, if you enjoy yourself too much, I will ask you to demonstrate next." He lifts both hands in mock surrender.

"I said nothing."

"You laughed."

"A natural bodily response!" He protests.

"I can stop several of those, if you'd like?" Liu Yinhua pauses at the outer edge of the packed earth as the pair begin to bicker playfully, and Chi Yanluo sees her then. His gaze finds her across the training ground, steady and unsurprised, and he gives a small nod. She remains beside one of the wooden posts marking the edge of the yard, hands folded inside her sleeves, and watches. The sparring pair separates, the boy's robes settle around him in neat ice-blue lines.

He is a little flushed from effort, though the colour is faint beneath his pale skin. He looks at the frost melting from the edge of the girl's robe, then inclines his head.

"That was a poor use of qi on my part." The girl brushes at the damp fabric.

"It was a very rude use of qi," she says, somewhat mulishly.

"It was inefficient."

"Both may be true." He considers this for a moment and then nods once, as though she has made a reasonable scholarly point. There is nothing mocking in it. His coolness sits on him like good cloth, natural. Chi Yanluo crosses the yard toward her, offering a bow.

"Liu Yinhua," he says.

"You came."

"I said I would," she says, raising an eyebrow but he merely offers a smile. He turns back to the others.

"This is Liu Yinhua, an intake from Suzhou." The girl with the dark hair lights up first.

"Oh," she says, and the sound is warm enough to feel practised and genuine at once.

"I have been wondering when Chi Yanluo would bring you over! He always keeps fun people to himself." She turns a raised eyebrow of her own to Chi Yanluo, who merely grins back at her. Liu Yinhua bows.

"Then I hope the wondering was not unpleasant."

"Not at all. I enjoy wondering." The girl bows in return, graceful and exact.

"Xie Lianqiu." Up close, Xie Lianqiu is softer than she had seemed while sparring. Her face is fine-boned, her mouth quick to curve, her eyes dark and bright beneath the fall of her lashes. The prettiness of her smile does not hide the appetite beneath it. The pale boys steps beside her and bows with the same precise courtesy.

"Duan Xueheng."

"Liu Yinhua," she says, returning the courtesy.

"It is an honour." Duan Xueheng's gaze moves over her face, her stance, the plain knot of her sash. He does not linger where others sometimes linger.

"Chi Yanluo says you learn quickly," he says.

"He's not one to give idle praise." Liu Yinhua glances at Chi Yanluo, who looks entirely untroubled.

"That is generous of him," she says, turning back to Duan Xueheng.

"It was not phrased to be so," Duan Xueheng replies.

"He said you correct errors after fewer repetitions than Shen Yuanzhou." Shen Yuanzhou makes an offended sound.

"Why was I used as the measure?" Xie Lianqiu presses a sleeve over her mouth, though it does little to hide her smile. Liu Yinhua finds the current of the group easier to understand now that she is closer. Shen Yuanzhou is warmth and noise, though there is discipline under both. Duan Xueheng is cool attention, not unfriendly, only pared down. Xie Lianqiu stands with her hands folded and her eyes alive, taking in everything with visible pleasure.

Chi Yanluo is the centre they all turn around without seeming to notice they are doing it.

"You wanted to see how she moves?" Duan Xueheng asks, and Liu Yinhua is suddenly reminded of cattle bids, selection panels of hungry eyes. Chi Yanluo nods.

"If she is willing." All of them look at Liu Yinhua then, and she shifts her weight before she inclines her head.

"I can try." Xie Lianqiu's smile warms again.

"I can go lightly." Chi Yanluo says, far too quickly, "No." The word is calm, and it lands more firmly than Liu Yinhua expects. Xie Lianqiu blinks up at him innocently.

"I said lightly." He just glances down at her.

"I am wounded by this distrust."

"You were aiming for Duan Xueheng's ribs three breaths ago." This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"He is difficult to damage," she says, pouting. Duan Xueheng says, "That is not an argument." Chi Yanluo looks to Duan Xueheng as he speaks.

"You first. No arts." Duan Xueheng accepts this with a nod, neither pleased nor displeased. Xie Lianqiu looks at Liu Yinhua with sympathy, then steps back to stand beside Shen Yuanzhou. Liu Yinhua is not sure whether she has been protected or punished. Perhaps both. She moves onto the packed earth. The ground is dry beneath her cloth shoes, hard enough to remember every fall that has happened on it.

She stands where Chi Yanluo indicates, facing Duan Xueheng across a short distance that feels both too close and too far. Her palms are faintly damp inside her sleeves. She lowers them before anyone can notice. Duan Xueheng waits.

"Have you sparred before?" he asks.

"No," she admits. Chi Yanluo stands a few paces away, close enough to intervene and far enough not to hover.

"It's no problem," he says.

"This is more just about finding out how to move, where to go. It's training, yeah?" Liu Yinhua lowers her hands from her sleeves and settles her feet the way Elder Huan has been trying to hammer into her for days now. Not too narrow. Weight under her. Knees soft. The warmth in her dantian is steady, low and full. She draws a thread of it down into her thighs, careful with it, trying to remember how to keep it there. Duan Xueheng says, "Forward." He moves.

Even announced, the motion is quick enough that Liu Yinhua's body reacts before thought catches up. She steps back too sharply. The warmth she has gathered low in her belly slips into her thigh and breaks apart halfway down. Her heel drags against the earth, balance tilting. Old lessons save her before sect ones do. There are habits from the Tower that never quite leave the body. The turn of a hip under layered skirts. A half-pivot to keep balance while avoiding a hand where it should not be.

A quick back step without tangling cloth around the ankles. She uses all of it now, gracelessly but usefully, and Duan Xueheng's second strike misses her ribs by a fingers' breadth. Duan Xueheng is already in front of her again. His strikes come cleanly, not hard, but with enough speed that each one might as well be. Shoulder. Side. Arm. She ducks the first strike aimed higher than the others and turns under it, hair slipping loose at the nape of her neck. Dust scuffs under her heel.

Duan Xueheng changes direction neatly and taps two knuckles against the outside of her upper arm before she can recover.

"Too slow," he says. Liu Yinhua grits her teeth and circles away. This time she sees more of the way his shoulder shifts just before the strike, his weight settles on the back foot and then pushes forward. She moves earlier and nearly clears the blow cleanly, but not quite. The heel of his hand lands light against her side and sends a dull shock through her ribs.

"Again," Duan Xueheng says, circling back. She lifts her guard a little higher, trying to focus on keeping her eyes on him and not just on his hands. Duan Xueheng advances. Liu Yinhua gives ground, but not blindly this time. She turns with him, using the edge of the training ground to anchor herself. One step back, one to the side, duck, turn. Her sleeves flare around her wrists.

He reaches for her shoulder and she slips past the hand with a movement taught once for dance, meant to make silk ripple prettily beneath lantern light. Shen Yuanzhou makes a small sound of approval, and Duan Xueheng presses harder. Maybe she should've just let herself get hit. Liu Yinhua has to stop thinking in ordered sequence, and simply move after that. He comes at her in short, measured bursts, never wasting a step, never overcommitting.

She retreats, pivots, ducks under one sweeping arm and nearly runs straight into the next. It clips her across the shoulder and jars down to her elbow. She stumbles, catches herself, and keeps moving. Dust has begun to cling to the hem of her robe. Sweat beads at the back of her neck and slides down between her shoulder blades. Hair has escaped properly now, several strands plastering themselves against her cheek and temple. Her breath has lost its evenness. Duan Xueheng's has not. He feints left.

Liu Yinhua moves right and hates herself for it the instant she does. The real strike comes low and catches her at the waist. Duan Xueheng waits until her stance is settled again after she bends to relieve the ache of that hit. He is giving her that much, at least. Liu Yinhua drags a breath into her lungs and tries to quiet the heat skittering in her limbs as Duan Xueheng steps in once again. The strike comes toward her left shoulder.

Liu Yinhua drops beneath it and slides one foot across the dirt in a half-circle, turning out of the line cleanly. Duan Xueheng's sleeve brushes her hair instead of her skin. She almost laughs from the force of relief. He follows at once, palm snapping toward her right side. She twists again and he only catches the edge of her outer robe.

"Better," he says. They continue. She is hit in the shoulder again, then the upper arm, then across the side when her foot catches in loose earth and her balance betrays her. By the time she avoids the next three strikes in a row, her chest is heaving and the thread of qi in her legs feels thin as old silk. She keeps moving anyway. Elder Huan's lessons are in her calves and hips now. The Tower lives in the turn of her waist and the way she can fold herself out of reach.

Duan Xueheng drives her back across half the training ground, and it's less a dance than it is a mad scramble to avoid him. Liu Yinhua ducks one strike, spins too wide on the next, and nearly collides with him chest to shoulder. He turns with impossible neatness and checks her in the back with one palm. She pitches forward two steps, catches herself with a hand in the dirt, and scrambles up before the sting in her palm has properly registered.

Her braid has half come undone, and sweat runs down the side of her face. Dust marks one knee and the hem of her robe. One sleeve has slipped nearly to the elbow. She pushes it back with the back of her wrist and lifts her head. Duan Xueheng watches her, waiting.

"Again," she says. Something shifts in Xie Lianqiu's expression at the edge of the yard, bright and intent. Shen Yuanzhou grins despite himself, and she finds some small edge of the grin contagious, sneaking onto her own face. Duan Xueheng inclines his head and comes in once more. Liu Yinhua sits on the edge of the training ground with dust on her sleeves, sweat cooling beneath her collar, and a water flask held carefully between both hands. Her hair has come loose from its pins. Not entirely.

Enough that several long strands have escaped along her cheeks and the side of her neck, sticking where sweat has dampened the skin. Her left shoulder aches where Duan Xueheng had caught her twice in almost the same place, and there is a dull line of soreness along her ribs that she suspects will darken by morning. Her legs feel hollowed out, as if Elder Huan has taken all his usual cruelty and passed it politely through Duan Xueheng's hands. The water tastes faintly of metal and dust.

Across the yard, Shen Yuanzhou is arguing with Duan Xueheng about whether warning someone before striking them is honourable or not, with Duan Xueheng maintaining, in his even voice, that it is. Chi Yanluo stands beside them, listening more than speaking, his bright hair loosened a little from practice and the faint wind around him tugging once at his sleeve before stilling.

"You are very pretty even when exhausted," Xie Lianqiu says, almost bemused. Liu Yinhua lowers the flask and looks at her. Xie Lianqiu has settled beside her on one of the stones. Her robes are arranged prettily around her knees, dark green and purple falling in soft layers, and her hands are folded in her lap with all the grace of a girl waiting for tea rather than one who had tried to put her palm through Duan Xueheng's ribs not long ago. There is still dust along the edge of one sleeve.

"That is a strange thing to say to someone covered in half the training ground," Liu Yinhua says, dryly amused with it.

"It is the truth." Xie Lianqiu smiles at her.

"It's almost annoying." Liu Yinhua looks down at the dirt on her robe.

"I will try to take that as praise." Liu Yinhua takes another small drink to give herself a moment. Xie Lianqiu's sweetness is not false, which makes it harder to dismiss.

"You are quieter than I expected," Xie Lianqiu says.

"I have been hit several times."

"Duan Xueheng did not hit you very hard."

"I will tell my ribs they have misunderstood." Xie Lianqiu laughs, soft and pleased.

"I like you." Liu Yinhua is not sure what to do with that, so she looks back toward the yard. Shen Yuanzhou has begun demonstrating something with his hands, too wide and too earnest, while Duan Xueheng watches with the patience of an old tutor and the expression of a boy who has never had to raise his voice to be obeyed.

"You all know each other well," Liu Yinhua says.

"Some of us." Xie Lianqiu follows her gaze.

"Chi Yanluo and I have known each other since we were children. My mother says I bit him once." Liu Yinhua glances at her at the glee in it.

"I was four," Xie Lianqiu says, untroubled.

"He had taken a carved horse that I wanted."

"Did he give it back?"

"No. That is why I bit him."

"That seems clear." Her smile widens a little when she looks at Chi Yanluo.

"He was very solemn even then. Very beautiful, very serious, very convinced that if someone had handed him a wooden horse for safekeeping, he was 'honour-bound' to keep it safe from thieves."

"You were the thief?"

"I was the rightful owner in spirit." Liu Yinhua lets the corner of her mouth move before she can decide against it, tucking her water flask into her lap.

"And Shen Yuanzhou?" She asks. Xie Lianqiu's hands remain folded, but something in her expression settles.

"He and Chi Yanluo became close after Shen Yuanzhou's father died." Liu Yinhua looks toward Shen Yuanzhou. He is laughing at something Chi Yanluo says now, loud enough that a few disciples at a nearby ground turn their heads. There is nothing obviously orphaned in him, she thinks.

"Was his father a soldier?" she asks.

"An officer attached to one of the Wastes commands," Xie Lianqiu says.

"Marquess Chi Yanzi was saved from a wound by Shen Qing's death, and it was an honourable thing to take in his family following it." Liu Yinhua rests the flask against her knee, thoughtful.

"And Duan Xueheng?"

"His father is Marquess Chi Yanzi's right hand."

"That sounds important."

"It is." Xie Lianqiu tilts her head.

"Duan Xueheng was raised half in his own house and half in Chi Yanluo's shadow, though I would not say that to him unless I wanted to be corrected very thoroughly. He does not resent it. I think he finds proper places comforting." Liu Yinhua considers the pale boy across the yard, the way he stands with his robe neat again despite the dust, his attention precise even when he is doing nothing.

"He is not unkind."

"No." Xie Lianqiu's smile returns, smaller.

"Just a little chilly."

"And you?"

"Me?" Liu Yinhua could almost laugh at the easily faked innocence.

"How are you placed among them?" Xie Lianqiu looks delighted by the question.

"I am the ornament, naturally." Liu Yinhua only looks at her. The delight deepens.

"The beloved menace. The civilising influence. The reason Shen Yuanzhou has not yet been allowed to wear orange and red together."

"He would?"

"He has tried."

"That was good of you, then."

"I know." Xie Lianqiu adjusts one sleeve, smoothing dust from the cuff with her thumb.

"My family and Chi Yanluo's have been entangled for a long time. More… cousins. My family threw their lot in with his many, many years ago." Liu Yinhua accepts that silence because she has many of her own. After a moment, Xie Lianqiu leans back on her hands, face turned toward the late light.

"What about you? Suzhou, was it?"

"Yes."

"I have never been," Xie Lianqiu says.

"I hear it is very beautiful. Water streets, silk, painted boats, lanterns in the rain. Is that true?"

"It can be."

"Only can be?"

"Most cities are beautiful when one has enough money to stand in the correct part of them." Xie Lianqiu is quiet for a beat.

"That is a very Suzhou answer from someone who does not sound as if she misses it." Liu Yinhua's fingers tighten slightly around the flask, then ease.

"There are streets worth missing."

"And people?" A few names move through Liu Yinhua's mind. A girl who had brushed her hair too roughly, then tucked an extra sweet into her sleeve after. An older woman with tired eyes who had taught her how to pour wine without looking afraid. Madame Xue's fingers pressing against her chin, turning her face toward the light.

"Some," she says. Xie Lianqiu does not press at once. Across the yard, Shen Yuanzhou calls something to Chi Yanluo, and Chi Yanluo answers with a shake of his head.

"The Crimson Wastes," Liu Yinhua says, before the silence becomes awkward.

"People keep saying it is some… lawless wasteland."

"That is because most people here have never been and prefer stories that make them feel wise." Liu Yinhua glances at her. Xie Lianqiu smiles without as much sweetness.

"It is harsh. There are fortress cities and temple ruins, sun-baked roads, red dust, families with too many dead, and children taught early that loyalty is not a pretty word. There is cruelty there, yes. There is cruelty everywhere. The Wastes are simply less able to hide theirs." Liu Yinhua looks toward Chi Yanluo. He is standing in profile now, listening to Duan Xueheng, face calm beneath the pale gold fall of his hair. A boy shaped by inheritance.

"Guo Meilin called him a scion of the Crimson Wastes," Liu Yinhua says. Xie Lianqiu's gaze sharpens.

"Did she?"

"At the task board."

"That must have been unpleasant."

"It was… educational." Xie Lianqiu's mouth curves.

"I really do like you." Liu Yinhua drinks the last of the water and sets the flask beside her. Her shoulder aches more now that she has stopped moving. Sweat has dried tacky at the back of her neck, and the dirt on her hem will take effort to brush out before Tang Mingxia sees it and says something precise. Xie Lianqiu studies her for another moment, open and bright and far too interested.

"Guo Meilin likes arranging rooms so there is nowhere comfortable for other girls to stand. Do not let her choose your corner for you." Liu Yinhua looks at her.

"Is that advice?"

"Yes."

"What does it cost?" Xie Lianqiu smiles, pretty as a painted screen.

"Less than you think, if you are sensible." She rises before Liu Yinhua can answer, brushing dust from her robes with a few quick motions. When she offers a hand down, Liu Yinhua looks at it, then takes it. Xie Lianqiu's grip is warm and surprisingly strong. She pulls Liu Yinhua to her feet with no strain at all.

"Come. If Chi Yanluo is left alone with Shen Yuanzhou too long, he will start explaining why throwing someone into a wall is not a suitable beginner exercise."

"Is it?"

"No," Xie Lianqiu says, and her smile turns lovely again, the girl seemingly have no qualms hooking her elbow through hers.

"But I enjoy hearing Shen Yuanzhou defend lost causes."