Chương 28: Lìchūn: Tempering 7

"These are not due," the sect worker behind the desk says, seemingly entirely bored with the exchange. Liu Yinhua pauses with one hand still resting over the slips.

"I was told my access was limited, Sect Brother," she says.

"For the first floor, yes. The slip restriction was copied wrong." He turns the ledger and taps one line with the back of his brush.

"Your access remains until the elder withdraws it. Do not remove them from sect grounds. Do not lend them to another disciple. Do not damage them."

"I understand," Liu Yinhua says, after a long moment.

"Good." He takes a sip of cold tea, grimaces, and writes something in the ledger.

"Then stop bringing them back until you are done with them." Liu Yinhua leaves with the three jade slips wrapped in cloth against her chest, feeling as if someone has handed her more rope and refused to say whether it is for climbing or hanging herself. By afternoon, she has settled again in her room with the door closed, the candle lit early against the grey turn of the day, and her bronze mirror catching a muted wash of light across the wall.

Dance of Falling Blossoms sits to one side, familiar now in the way a difficult song becomes familiar once the first phrases have lodged beneath the skin. Golden Speck Lure rests beside it, smaller and easier to hold in the mind. The third slip remains in her lap. Ninefold Shadow of the Purifying Sun. It is not like the other two. Dance of Falling Blossoms had opened beneath her attention in steps, each layer distinct enough that she could understand where she stood below them.

Golden Speck Lure had been tricky, but narrow. A useful little thing, precise in its appetite for attention. This art is larger. The first time she sinks her awareness into it properly, heat rises through her palms and the words inside the jade unfold in rings, one behind the other, until she has to pull back before the pressure of them makes her head ache. Shadow, penumbra, umbra, false umbra, sun-dogs, intersecting halos, inverted rainbow, white rainbow piercing the sun, and the corona that purifies shadow.

She only understands pieces, like glancing up into the noonday sun after a lifetime in shadow and she has to put it down for a few minutes. She has never studied astronomy beyond festival sayings and the practical work of knowing when guests wanted poetry about moons instead of poetry about rain. She knows the sun burns. She knows shadows hide. She has a feeling she is going to need to get very good at astronomy, very quickly. The first fold, at least, is plain enough to interest her, Shadow Births the Ray.

The instruction is not to make flame, and the distinction is repeated several times, and Liu Yinhua isn't keen to disobey that yet. Flame is hungry, broad and wasteful, but a sun ray is narrow. A sun ray is intent, held to a point. The fold begins with darkness gathered around heat, dantian fire drawn thin, compressed through the hand route and released as a small burning spark. A weapon. The manual describes its earliest form as enough to sting skin, scorch cloth, and interrupt. It is not impressive.

It is not meant to be impressive. She has spent the last month learning how to avoid being hit, how to dodge, how to run, how to bend around pressure, how to lure attention away from herself. Those things have kept her from looking quite as helpless as she is. They have not changed the simple truth that, if cornered, she has very few ways to make someone else stop. Liu Yinhua has lived too many moments of being unable to make another stop. Every clan child around her has a ladder already placed beneath their feet.

Tang Mingxia knows things because someone placed scrolls in her hands before Liu Yinhua knew such scrolls existed. Xie Lianqiu has bows and arts and a clan behind to bankroll her cultivation. Chi Yanluo carries the Crimson Wastes in the way he stands. Even Guo Meilin, with all her soft looks and softer threats, has a whole structure beneath her, hands waiting below should she slip. Liu Yinhua has three jade slips and a wooden token to a sealed gate she was too sensible to open. It is more than she had at the Tower.

It is still not enough unless she uses it, so she draws the slip closer and reads until the candle gutters low. The next day, Liu Yinhua begins working toward her right hand meridian. The decision is less elegant than she would like. Dance of Falling Blossoms wants her legs. Golden Speck Lure wants a hand. Shadow Births the Ray needs a hand route if she wants any hope of releasing it without burning herself hollow from the wrong direction.

The heart and throat routes are mentioned in the larger folds of the art, but she closes the slip very quickly after reading that section. She is ambitious. She is not eager to cook her own chest because an ancient manual promised great rewards. The right hand route is harder to find than her leg had been, which is beyond frustrated.

She sits through Elder Yun's lesson with her attention turned inward whenever the elder leaves them to practice, searching from shoulder to elbow, from elbow to wrist, from wrist into palm. The route feels thinner than the leg had, more restless, with several places where the qi catches and scatters before she can be sure of what she is feeling. Elder Yun corrects two disciples near the front and walks past Liu Yinhua without speaking until the lesson is almost over.

"Your shoulder is too involved," Elder Yun says. Liu Yinhua opens her eyes at once.

"Elder?"

"Hand routes do not begin by forcing the arm. If you bully the shoulder, your work will collapse." Elder Yun looks down at her with the same expression she gives crooked brushwork and poor breathing.

"Again. Liu Yinhua bows her head and starts again. Lighter does not mean weaker, and she is beginning to hate how often cultivation makes such distinctions. She draws qi from her dantian and guides it up slowly, not pushing into the shoulder but letting the warmth find the upper arm, then the elbow, then the narrow branch toward her wrist. It flickers away twice. On the third attempt, something answers in the centre of her palm, a pressure no wider than a grain of rice. There. Elder Yun has moved on by then.

Liu Yinhua keeps breathing. Her days narrow again. Elder Huan runs them until their legs tremble. Elder Yun gives them formation characters to copy and internal routes to trace. Tang Mingxia watches her ruin two sheets of practice paper trying to sketch formations. Wu Cailan laughs from the hearth and refuses to explain why that is funny. Xie Lianqiu asks to see the first fold of her art, then immediately takes two steps back when Liu Yinhua tells her it involves fire.

"Wise," Liu Yinhua says, for once not quite hiding her mirth.

"I am fond of my eyebrows," Xie Lianqiu says, cheerful and sincere.

"You may practice on the post first." The post survives the first afternoon untroubled. Liu Yinhua manages little sparks of heat. She manages several small flickers between her fingers that vanish before they leave her skin. Once, she heats the nail of her index finger enough to yelp and drop her hand into the water bucket Xie Lianqiu had thoughtfully placed beside them. By the third day, Liu Yinhua can hold the spark for one full breath.

It appears between her first two fingers, tiny and golden-white, less like candle flame than a pinhole of sun caught in the air. The heat of it is sharp, it makes the skin of her fingertips prickle and it burns the longer it is there. She holds it, heart beating too hard, and loses it the moment she thinks about throwing it. The qi snaps back into her hand and stings, and she hisses through her teeth. Xie Lianqiu lowers her bow from where she has been practicing herself, resting the butt of it against the ground.

"That was closer."

"It went nowhere," she grouses, unhappy and smelling of soot. She's very sure there's no fine hairs left on her hand now.

"Well, it went somewhere," Xie Lianqiu says with a grin. Liu Yinhua flexes her fingers and resists the urge to shake them like a child with a burn.

"That is very comforting," she says. Xie Lianqiu smiles at her.

"Of course it was," she says, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Liu Yinhua returns to the stance marked in the slip, rather than indulge the other girl's humour at her expense. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. The fourth day, she gets it to fly. The spark leaves her fingers with a thin, crackling sound and strikes the practice post low, where it scorches a black mark no wider than a palm into the wood.

It costs too much qi for the size of it, and her dantian stores dip low at once, and her right palm aches as if she has pressed it too hard against hot metal. Liu Yinhua stares at it, shaking out the feeling from her hand, and Xie Lianqiu is quiet beside her. For once, Liu Yinhua does not mind. It is a very small burn. Any serious cultivator would laugh at it, and it will not stop Chi Yanluo. It will not trouble Duan Xueheng. It would probably only make Guo Meilin smile. Still.

For the first time since entering the sect, Liu Yinhua has made something outside herself burn on purpose, for all it sets wild something childish and scared in the back of her head. She closes her fingers slowly, feeling the warmth still gathered beneath the skin of her palm, and looks down at her hand as if it belongs to someone she has only just begun to meet. It is not enough, but it is something. Xie Lianqiu ends up convincing her to go to the hot springs after they pack up. It is not immediate.

Liu Yinhua is still looking at the scorched mark in the post, feeling the sting in her palm and the hollow dip of her dantian, when Xie Lianqiu takes the bow from where she has left it leaning against the fence and begins putting everything away as if the matter is already settled. The arrows go back into their case. The string is checked. The water bucket is tipped out into the grass with a little splash, taking several flecks of ash with it.

"You need to stop for today," Xie Lianqiu says.

"I know."

"You say that now, but in a moment you will decide one more attempt is reasonable." Liu Yinhua flexes her sore fingers.

"I might not."

"You absolutely might." That is fair enough that Liu Yinhua does not argue. The little burn on the post sits black and real in the corner of her eye, and it takes effort to look away from it. Xie Lianqiu slings the bowcase over one shoulder and looks far too pleased with herself.

"Good. We are celebrating." Liu Yinhua blinks.

"Are we?"

"Yes. Lower hot springs. They are quieter around this time. Also, if you go back smelling like soot, Tang Mingxia is going to make that face. The one where she looks like she has found a dead mouse in a teapot." Liu Yinhua does know that one. She gathers the jade slip and wraps it in its cloth again, tucking it safely away before she wipes her fingers on a rag.

"I am not sure hot springs are a celebration."

"They are when your hand is half-cooked."

"My hand is not half-cooked," she protests.

"Quarter-cooked," Xie Lianqiu allows.

"Lightly seared." Liu Yinhua looks at her, and Xie Lianqiu smiles back, bright and completely unrepentant, and somehow Liu Yinhua ends up following her anyway. The lower hot springs sit on the eastern side of the novice grounds, tucked behind red-leaved trees and a crooked line of bamboo screens. Liu Yinhua has seen the path before and assumed it led to a storage yard or some other place that would require a task slip to enter.

Most things in the sect seem to require permission, payment, strength, or a combination of all three. There is a small pavilion near the entrance where a bored older female disciple takes their names and looks them over for injuries severe enough to cause trouble. She glances at Liu Yinhua's hand, then at Xie Lianqiu, and then waves them through. Xie Lianqiu accepts this with a cheerful little nod and pulls Liu Yinhua along before the older disciple can say more.

The springs themselves are nicer than Liu Yinhua expected. Stone pools step down the slope in shallow tiers, with steam rising into the cool evening air and formation lanterns glowing softly beneath the eaves. Bamboo screens divide the smaller pools. The larger ones have a few clusters of girls talking quietly, their damp hair twisted up with pins or left loose over their shoulders.

Xie Lianqiu chooses a smaller pool beneath an old plum tree, separated enough that their conversation will not carry unless someone makes an effort to listen. Liu Yinhua changes behind the screen with care, folding her outer robes and setting them where no steam can dampen them, before she cleans herself of dirt and sweat. The heat catches her breath, slipping into the water quickly.

She's no prude when it comes to her body, but her skin cools quickly after the quick scrub she had given herself, and she is eager to get into the warmth. It rises around her ankles, then her calves, then higher as she lowers herself onto the smooth stone ledge beneath the surface. Her opened left leg route answers almost at once, warmth moving through it in a lazy line, and the ache in her right palm softens under the water.

Her dantian feels emptier than she likes, but the spring has a quiet pressure to it, not enough to cultivate from properly but it is very relaxing. Across from her, Xie Lianqiu sinks into the water with a sigh and tips her head back against the stone.

"See?"

"I did not disagree," she says, and she keeps her eyes on the sky above, clouds drifting lazily.

"You were thinking about disagreeing." Liu Yinhua lets the water cover her sore hand.

"You sound very certain for someone who has known me less than a month."

"I am talented."

"At disagreeing?"

"At knowing things." Liu Yinhua hums, which is safer than laughing because laughing would encourage her. The steam gathers along the loose hair near her temples. She reaches up to check her pin, and Xie Lianqiu immediately opens one eye.

"That is going to fall out."

"It always falls out."

"Then why use that pin?"

"Because it is the only one I have."

"That is a sad reason," Xie Lianqiu says, sitting up enough to study her hair with obvious interest.

"You would look good with a higher twist. Something with more height here." She gestures vaguely above her own head, then frowns.

"No, perhaps not too high. It might make you look severe."

"I can look severe."

"You can look like you are pretending to be severe." Liu Yinhua gives her a mild look.

"I am wounded."

"You are fine."" Emotionally wounded."

"Also damp." Liu Yinhua does laugh then, a small thing that escapes before she can smooth it away. Xie Lianqiu looks pleased in a way she tries to hide by reaching for one of the little wooden cups stacked beside the pool and filling it from a cooler stone basin nearby.

"I am thinking of having a new robe made," Xie Lianqiu says, passing her the cup.

"For rest days, not training. My aunt keeps sending things in crimson and white, and I am going to go mad."

"Crimson and white suit you," she points out.

"They suit everyone from the Crimson Wastes. That is the problem," she complains.

"I want to stand out!" Liu Yinhua sips the water. It tastes faintly sweet, probably from some herb kept in the basin.

"What do you want instead?"

"I do not know. That is why I am asking you." That is enough to pull Liu Yinhua's attention properly. Clothes are easier than cultivation in at least one way.

"Your colouring can take stronger shades than mine. Deep green would be lovely, especially with gold if you want it formal. Not bright gold everywhere, just a narrow border and hair ornaments to match." Xie Lianqiu makes a face.

"Gold always makes people think I am trying to look important."

"You are important."

"I am not trying to look like I am."

"That is a different issue." Liu Yinhua studies her more openly, because Xie Lianqiu asked and because this, at least, she knows how to do.

"Then green with bronze. Or a dark teal, perhaps, with pale inner layers. That would still look rich, but less like you are arriving to command someone's army."

"I may wish to command someone's army one day."

"Then save crimson and white for that." Xie Lianqiu grins.

"Dark teal, then. Maybe with cloud embroidery."

"Clouds are overdone," she remarks.

"They are classic."

"They are overdone because they are classic."

"What would you put instead?"

"Reeds," Liu Yinhua says, after a moment.

"Or narrow leaves. Something that moves. You use water, but ponds. No lotuses unless you want people to think you are delicate."

"I am delicate."

"You shoot people," she says.

"And grin while doing it."

"Delicately." Liu Yinhua looks at her, and Xie Lianqiu laughs, sinking a little lower into the water.

"Fine. Reeds. I like reeds." She lifts a wet strand of her own hair and peers at it with some dissatisfaction.

"What about hair? If I wear teal, I cannot use the red ribbon."

"You can, if you do it right."

"What does that mean?"

"It means everyone will think you are making a statement."

"I often am."

"Are you trying to make one with your hair ribbon?" Xie Lianqiu considers this, then splashes water lightly at Liu Yinhua.

"Annoying."

"Correct?"

"Annoyingly correct." Liu Yinhua smiles into her cup.

"Silver pins, and if you want ribbon, use pale green or white, but not both unless the robe is very plain. A half-up style would suit you better than a full knot if you are not training. It would soften your face." Xie Lianqiu touches her cheek.

"Does my face need softening?"

"When you are aiming a bow, yes?" Xie Lianqiu leans back again, looking pleased in a warm, idle sort of way.

"You know, if cultivation does not work out, you could make a terrifying amount of money telling noble girls they have chosen the wrong shade of yellow."

"I would rather cultivation work out," she remarks, dry.

"Well, yes. But you could do both."

"I will become an immortal consultant of ribbon colours."

"I would pay."

"You would argue."

"I would argue, and then pay." The water shifts quietly around them. Somewhere beyond the bamboo, another group of girls bursts into laughter over something Liu Yinhua cannot hear. It fades quickly, swallowed by steam and evening insects. Liu Yinhua turns her cup between both hands and lets herself sit there, warm and tired. Her palm still stings. Her dantian is still too empty. The scorch mark on the post is still small.

Xie Lianqiu is now explaining, with great seriousness, that coral might be acceptable if paired with grey but disastrous with the wrong shade of red, and Liu Yinhua cannot help correcting her because coral is not the problem. The under tone is the problem. Xie Lianqiu accuses her of making up words. Liu Yinhua tells her that this is because Xie Lianqiu has been tragically neglected by her tutors. Xie Lianqiu says she will inform her father at once. It is easy. Not simple, exactly. Nothing in the sect is simple.

But for a little while, sitting in warm water under the plum tree while steam curls around the lantern light, Liu Yinhua talks about hairpins, sleeve widths, border colours, and whether Xie Lianqiu's aunt can be trusted with embroidery choices.