Chương 52: Lìchūn: Expansion 2

"Would you mind if I asked something discourteous?" Tang Mingxia looks up from the tea pot. She has been measuring leaves into the little clay strainer, and Liu Yinhua suspects this is why Wu Cailan has taken the water jar outside the moment washing is done.

"That depends," Tang Mingxia says.

"Are you asking because you know it is discourteous and mean to ask anyway, or because you are hoping I will say it is not?"

"The first, I think."

"You're at least honest."

"I have many virtues," Liu Yinhua says mildly.

"They appear most often when there are witnesses." Tang Mingxia's mouth moves in the smallest possible way before she lowers her eyes back to the tea. The kettle has only just come off the hearth, and steam rises pale against the dim room. Outside, Wu Cailan moves somewhere near the side path, making more noise with the water jar than strictly necessary. Liu Yinhua does not look towards the door. Tang Mingxia pours water over the leaves.

"Ask." Liu Yinhua folds her hands in her lap.

"How does one avoid offending people here by accident?"

"That is a very broad question."

"I know."

"It is also a strange one for you to ask." Liu Yinhua lowers her gaze to the tea cups. There are three of them, though Wu Cailan has not yet returned. Tang Mingxia has set out the third without comment.

"Is it?" Tang Mingxia gives her a look.

"Liu Yinhua, you bow correctly. You speak correctly when you choose to. You know how to enter a room without blundering into the centre of it like a goat. Half the girls in our intake cannot manage that, and some of them have genealogies longer than the sect rule boards."

"That is kind of you to say."

"It is not kindness. It is an observation."

"Then I thank you for the observation." Tang Mingxia sighs through her nose and pours the first cup.

"You see? That. That is exactly what I mean. You do this very well, and yet you are asking me how not to offend people." Liu Yinhua accepts the cup when it is passed to her. The tea smells sharp and bitter, though not unpleasantly so.

"There are different kinds of education." For a moment, Tang Mingxia says nothing. Liu Yinhua keeps the cup in both hands, letting the heat settle into her fingers. Her hands still look too pale for the work of the last few days.

"My education in manners was not lacking," she says.

"My education in cultivation clans, sect ranks, old families, regional grudges, spirit beasts, bloodline arts, and which surnames should make me consider walking in another direction was less thorough." Tang Mingxia watches her over the rim of her own cup.

"Less thorough."

"Absent," Liu Yinhua says, after a pause.

"Ah." It is a small sound, but it carries a great deal. Liu Yinhua sips the tea. It is nearly as bitter as expected. Tang Mingxia, despite all sense, looks pleased by the expression Liu Yinhua does not quite manage to hide.

"I overheard someone say you were from a cultivation clan in the Blueglass Isles," Liu Yinhua continues.

"A larger one." Tang Mingxia sits a little straighter.

"The Tang family of the Luming Mountains is not one of the great houses, but yes, we are recognised."

"That sounds like the kind of thing I should know how to understand."

"It is the kind of thing most people here will assume you understand."

"Yes," Liu Yinhua says.

"That has been the difficulty." Tang Mingxia looks at her for longer this time. The house has gone quiet enough that Liu Yinhua can hear the faint shift of water outside as Wu Cailan sets the jar down badly. Or sets it down well and kicks it afterward for the benefit of those inside.

"Who have you offended?" Tang Mingxia asks.

"I am asking so I may avoid doing so."

"That was not an answer."

"No," Liu Yinhua agrees. Tang Mingxia sets her cup down with more care than the clay deserves.

"If you want help, you will have to be more specific." Liu Yinhua turns the cup once between her palms. The tea is too hot to drink quickly, and Tang Mingxia's eyes have gone sharp in the way they do whenever she suspects someone of being imprecise on purpose.

"I do not know enough to be specific," Liu Yinhua says.

"That is part of the problem." Outside, the water jar thuds. Tang Mingxia closes her eyes for a moment.

"Wu Cailan, if you break the jar, you will be the one explaining to the storehouse steward why our household requires another."

"I'm checking for cracks," Wu Cailan calls back.

"With your foot?"

"It's a method." Tang Mingxia's expression tightens. Liu Yinhua looks into her tea and lets the warmth hide the movement of her mouth. The door slides open a few moments later. Wu Cailan comes in with the water jar braced against one hip, her sleeves pushed to her elbows and a damp patch darkening the front of her robe where the clay has sloshed against her. She sets it down beside the hearth with enough force that Tang Mingxia's fingers twitch on the rim of her cup.

"It isn't cracked," Wu Cailan says.

"How reassuring."

"You're welcome."

"There is a third cup," Liu Yinhua says, before Tang Mingxia can begin another argument and lose interest in the matter at hand. Wu Cailan glances at the table.

"For me?"

"For the household spirit, presumably," Tang Mingxia says. Wu Cailan takes the cup and sits down anyway. She drinks, makes a face, and looks at Tang Mingxia with open suspicion.

"You do this on purpose."

"I do many things on purpose."

"This tastes like grass died in it."

"Then stop drinking it." Wu Cailan drinks again, less out of enjoyment than refusal to be instructed. Liu Yinhua watches the two of them over the rim of her cup and feels, despite herself, a little of the tension in her shoulders ease. They have known one another for less than a week, but she's no longer so sure one of them will spike her food. Tang Mingxia turns back to Liu Yinhua.

"You asked how not to offend people. That is still too broad, but I suppose we can begin with what you should have been taught before arriving."

"I would be grateful."

"You should not sound so grateful, it makes people wonder what you are hiding," she chides. Liu Yinhua lowers her cup.

"Should I sound less grateful, or simply be less grateful?" Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

"Both, if you can manage it," Wu Cailan says. Tang Mingxia ignores her.

"The sect is not only the sect. That is the first thing. The Vermilion Glass Sect has its own elders, rules, departments, histories, grudges, favoured arts, and internal factions. But every disciple brings something in with them. Family. Patronage. Old teachers. Marriage arrangements. Debts. Sibling ties. Regional loyalties. An insult made here may matter very little in the training yard and a great deal two peaks away, or in two centuries." Tang Mingxia speaks more easily once she has decided to instruct.

There is still exasperation in her voice, but beneath it sits a cleaner sort of confidence.

"Some of them have twenty generations of ancestors with enough money to make very little truly more than inconvenient," Tang Mingxia says. Liu Yinhua looks from one to the other.

"Then birth matters." Tang Mingxia's answer comes quickly.

"Yes." Wu Cailan's follows over it.

"More than they admit." Tang Mingxia gives her a narrow look, then continues as if she had not spoken.

"Cultivation is supposed to refine the self beyond mortal station. That is a principle. Principles are very beautiful. In practice, a child from a cultivation clan may arrive having already awakened their dantian, learned basic breathing methods, handled spirit stones, memorised the names of the great houses, and been warned which disciples to avoid by letter before induction. A common selection may arrive with talent and nothing else." Liu Yinhua looks down into the bitter green tea.

"The sect gives the same allowance to everyone."

"The sect gives a floor," Tang Mingxia says.

"Families build ceilings." Wu Cailan snorts.

"And walls." Tang Mingxia does not contradict her. The words settle between them. Liu Yinhua thinks of the red stone under her fingers that morning, of its warmth and the tiny dulling of colour after so much care. She thinks of the disciples on the right side of Elder Yun's hall, the quiet ease of their breathing, the way some had begun cycling before Elder Yun finished speaking. Not miracles. Not destiny. Practice, preparation, and resources. Things made invisible by being given early enough.

"What is a great house?" Liu Yinhua asks. Tang Mingxia's mouth tightens slightly.

"In the Blueglass Isles? There are old cultivation families recognised by the sect and by the regional court. Some hold spirit veins or mining rights. Some maintain beast contracts. Some produce talisman masters, physicians, formation scholars, or military cultivators. A few have bloodline arts. Their children are not all-powerful, but people behave as if they might become powerful, which is often enough."

"And your family?"

"The Tang family is recognised. We are not one of the great houses." Tang Mingxia's voice sharpens at the end, though Liu Yinhua does not think the sharpness is aimed entirely at her.

"We have served the Empire since the time of the Great Storm. We produce competent cultivators, minor officials, and occasionally someone who attracts elder attention. My father is a family elder in Luming. My eldest cousin entered the inner sect three years ago. That gives me standing, but it does not give me licence to behave like a fool." Wu Cailan tips her cup towards her.

"You manage anyway." Tang Mingxia turns her head slowly. Wu Cailan smiles into her tea as Liu Yinhua hides another sip behind her cup. The tea is still bitter, but less startling on the second drink.

"So when people ask where I am from, what answer are they truly asking for?" Wu Cailan rolls her eyes.

"They are asking for several answers," Tang Mingxia says, ignoring her again.

"They want to know your province, your family, whether your name belongs to anyone worth fearing, whether you have been recommended by a patron, whether you were trained before induction, and whether humiliating you will bring consequences. If you say only that you are from Suzhou, they will hear that you have no one." Liu Yinhua's fingers rest around the cup. The heat has faded enough that the clay no longer stings her skin.

"And if I invent someone?" Tang Mingxia's eyes narrow. Wu Cailan stops pretending not to listen.

"You should not," Tang Mingxia says, looking askance at her.

"I did not say I would. I asked what would happen."

"If you choose poorly, someone will know. If you choose well, someone will check. If by some miracle no one checks, it will only come to bite you later."

"Say as little as possible," Tang Mingxia says.

"Do not pretend to be noble. Do not volunteer ignorance. If someone asks directly, you may say you were selected after an awakening incident in Suzhou and brought under sect authority. That is true enough." Tang Mingxia watches her for a moment, then continues on past that topic.

"The second thing is rank. Outer disciple, inner disciple, core disciple, personal disciple, elder. Those matter within the sect. But they do not erase family rank. A low outer disciple from a great house may still be treated with more caution than a talented commoner who has no patron. A senior disciple may have authority over you in class but not necessarily the influence to protect you outside it. An inner disciple may notice you kindly and make your life worse simply because others notice that attention too."

Liu Yinhua thinks of Chi Yanluo's smile and Shen Yuanzhou's red ears. She does not say either name. Tang Mingxia does not seem to need her to.

"Boys?" Wu Cailan asks, with unnecessary brightness. Tang Mingxia gives her a look of deep fatigue.

"People."

"Mm."

"Romance is not forbidden here," Tang Mingxia says, and there is something in the way she says romance that makes it clear she considers it one of the less dignified troubles a disciple might inflict upon herself.

"But attachments are watched. You are very beautiful, Liu Yinhua. You do not need me to tell you that." Liu Yinhua's face remains still. Tang Mingxia's voice softens by a measure, though her words do not.

"That means people will decide they understand your motives before you have any. Some will assume you are seeking protection. Some will assume you are offering something in return. Some will resent you for attention you did not ask for." Wu Cailan's cup settles against the table with a dull sound.

"Some people are pigs." Tang Mingxia does not correct her, sipping her tea instead. Liu Yinhua looks into her tea. A few leaves have escaped the strainer and settled at the bottom of the cup, dark and soft with water.

"Then I should avoid being seen too often with anyone."

"No," Tang Mingxia says.

"You should understand the cost before you do so. Avoiding everyone useful is also a choice, and usually a stupid one. You are not a noble and you are not expected to play that game, for all you'll be judged by it."

"That is… comforting."

"It was not meant to be."

"I had begun to suspect," she says, somewhat dull. Wu Cailan makes a quiet sound that might be laughter. Tang Mingxia pours herself more tea, then pours for Liu Yinhua as well without asking. She does not refill Wu Cailan's cup until Wu Cailan pushes it forward with two fingers and looks deliberately elsewhere. They go on like that for some time. Tang Mingxia tells her about the great houses of the Blueglass Isles, not all their histories, but enough to understand.

Families with old contracts to spirit beasts are proud in a different way from families with mine rights. Merchant-backed clans can be mocked for vulgarity while lending stones to people who mock them. Military houses respect strength, or claim to, but even there old blood and old victories matter. Some families send children to the Vermilion Glass Sect because their arts match. Some send them because the sect's protection is useful.

Some send second sons, inconvenient daughters, promising branch children, and quiet embarrassments who will be safer behind sect walls than at home. Liu Yinhua listens until her tea cools. She learns that a disciple's robe can reveal more than colour and cleanliness. Embroidery might be personal taste, family habit, or a warning. A hair ornament can be a mother's gift, a betrothal token, a protective tool, or an announcement that the wearer expects others to recognise the workmanship.

Spirit beasts are not pets unless one wants to sound foolish before a beast that can eventually bite through stone. Some companions are contracted. Some are clan-bound. Some are young spirits being raised beside a disciple, which is apparently both an honour and a hazard to everyone's furniture. At that, Wu Cailan asks whether a furniture hazard counts as a spirit beast or a male disciple. Tang Mingxia does not answer. Liu Yinhua has the sense this is mostly because she cannot do so without smiling.

They speak of departments next. The Martial Terrace is obvious enough, though Tang Mingxia insists the sect does not divide itself so crudely as fighting and not fighting. There are alchemists and physicians attached to the medical halls, talisman students, formation assistants, beast handlers, archivists, logistics clerks, patrol disciples, and outer disciples who spend half their time sweeping courtyards while calling it contribution to the sect.

Work can earn small payments, merit marks, recommendations, or nothing but the right not to be noticed unfavourably by a steward. By the time the tea pot empties for the second time, the hearth has sunk low and the house has cooled around them. Wu Cailan has stopped pretending to be uninterested and is leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, adding comments whenever Tang Mingxia's explanation becomes too polished to be useful. Tang Mingxia corrects her constantly, but less often than before.

Liu Yinhua keeps her hands around her cup and arranges the new knowledge carefully in her mind. When the conversation finally breaks apart, it does so without ceremony. Wu Cailan rises first, muttering about sleep and bitter tea, though she takes the last roasted chestnut from the small plate before leaving. Tang Mingxia gathers the cups. Liu Yinhua helps without asking. Their fingers touch once over the clay pot, and Tang Mingxia looks as if she might say something, then decides against it.

"Thank you," Liu Yinhua says. Tang Mingxia rinses the pot with a little hot water.

"Do not thank me too much."

"I will thank you an appropriate amount."

"I doubt you know what that is."

"That is why I asked." Tang Mingxia looks at her, exasperated despite herself.

"Go before I regret teaching you anything." Liu Yinhua bows, slight and proper, and takes herself to her room. The little chamber is colder than the front room. Liu Yinhua lights the lamp, sets her mirror face-down beside the bedding, and kneels on the mat with the red stone folded in cloth before her. Her legs still ache from Elder Huan's terrace. Her shoulders feel better after the hot water but not by much.

When she settles her hands over her lower abdomen, she can feel the faint warmth of her dantian waiting beneath the skin. She does not begin at once. The house is quiet beyond her door. Wu Cailan moves once in her room, probably hiding the knife she thinks no one knows about. Tang Mingxia's steps cross the front room, pause near the hearth, then retreat.

Outside, the novice district settles in layers: a laugh quickly hushed, a door sliding shut, the low murmur of girls speaking through walls too thin to keep secrets for long. The sect has rules written on boards and rules no one writes down. Liu Yinhua knows that already. She has not known how many of the unwritten ones have names, surnames, cousins, ledgers, elders, marriage contracts, spirit beasts, old grudges, and storage chests full of stones behind them. Liu Yinhua breathes in slowly.

A floor is still something. She has slept on worse. She has also seen enough rooms to know that walls are not always as solid as they look, and ceilings sometimes leak if one knows where the cracks have begun. The stone warms under her fingers. She lets the thought go before it turns into planning. Elder Yun would correct that too, if she were standing there. First breath. Then thread. Then dantian. The rest can wait until she can hold qi without wasting it. Liu Yinhua breathes in and draws.