As was her custom, Guan Dàilán rose early. She liked the peace and stillness of the house before it began to bustle with servants and attendants. She was exceedingly glad that Father had always allowed her to stay in the separate residence maintained for the Third Line, rather than forcing her to live in the main pavilion with her cousins under the supervision of Grandmother Guan.
Apart from the endless stir of the main house, Grandmother's insistence on "proper decorum" and her focus on daughters learning the "Womanly Virtues"—in Dàilán's opinion, little more than weaving and household management—meant that life in the female courtyard was mired in politics and shrewish behaviour she despised.
Climbing out of bed, she crossed to the curtains on bare feet, opened them to let in the dawn light and air, then stepped to the broad empty space at the foot of her bed for her morning tàijíquán exercises.
Letting her worries flow away with the movements, she slipped into memories as she moved through the forms.
"Lán'er, follow Mother, hm? Hands like this… and feet… Hehe… Lán'er is so cute! Put your feet like Mother… yes…"
"…eh… difficult… foot. Will I become beautiful and strong like Mother someday?"
"If you do your tàijí exercises every morning, Lán'er will become even more beautiful, and much stronger."
"En… I will do… tai… taj… the pretty dancing! Every day… Lán'er promises!"
"Aii, so cute… very well, it is a promise! But it is a secret for Mothers and Daughters, hm?"
"Cannot tell Father? Or Chén'er?"
"Chén'er is all right… she learns this too. But it is not for boys to know… nor anyone outside Third House."
"OK… I would not tell them anyway. They are mean!"
Dàilán let the memory fade with the final sweep of her morning forms, a quiet smile on her face as she opened her eyes. "Good morning, Mother," she whispered softly. A cool morning breeze brushed across her heated brow in reply.
A quiet knock sounded at her bedroom door. She looked up to see her maid walking in, dressed in sensible training clothes, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. "Finished with your warm-up, Mistress?"
"As always." Dàilán accepted the cup as Chenli went to the wardrobe, pulling out her training outfit.
"We are stepping up training?" Dàilán asked between sips of the honeyed tea.
"Teacher says it is wise," Chenli replied as she laid out the clothing. "We should hurry if we wish to avoid attracting attention."
"Very well." Putting the cup aside, she changed swiftly out of her sleeping robe into training clothes. Chenli tightened her Mistress's belt with a critical eye, then slipped out the door. Dàilán followed quickly.
The two girls faced each other across the private cultivation ground her father had constructed at her request. She doubted he had known she would use it for combat practice, but the rocks, trees, and sand of the meditation garden made an excellent sparring ring.
A flat floor was useless anyway—no real fight would ever take place on level ground.
Chenli leapt into the air from the rock she balanced on. A trap. Chenli had told her often (and painfully shown her) never to leave the ground, for midair was conceding control to one's opponent.
Dàilán lunged left, flicking a handful of wooden training needles upward. Faint inscriptions etched along their tips sparked as they cut through the air. Chenli unsheathed the wooden training sword strapped to her back; the Essence inscriptions carved into its surface flared, scattering the needles in a crackling wave as Dàilán pushed off her own rock.
The Guan heiress spun, landing lightly to avoid the rebounding projectiles, sliding inside Chenli's arc as the maid curled tight behind her spinning blade. Sand sprayed; Sword Essence erupted from the inscribed wood and struck the rock she had left.
Dàilán absorbed the shock of landing with bent knees, redirecting the force into a backward flip. Grinning, she drew her pair of wooden daggers, their etched inscriptions glowing faintly, and struck downward as she passed above Chenli's crouched form—only for wood to meet wood as Chenli's sword rose to block.
The impact of the inscribed sword against the daggers jolted Essence through both weapons, the backlash snatching the breath from Dàilán and flinging her into the sand.
She rolled, trying to scramble away—only to freeze at the cold press of the wooden sword against her neck, faint sparks prickling her skin with the promise of a painful jolt, the sharp scent of ozone stinging her nose.
"Yield."
She made a sour face. "I yield."
The sword withdrew. Chenli crouched, studying her sand-caked expression. "This is a rare sight."
"Pfah." Dàilán spat grit. "The binding band is unfair. How am I supposed to fight with Essence bound inside me?"
"You did well enough until you went strength against strength," Chenli said reasonably, though her eyes twinkled. "Every shock of the inscriptions reminds you: a real blade would mean death. To falter here is to falter in truth."
Dàilán coughed, wiping blood from grazed skin. "Point. And that is why Teacher is having me do this? To learn to survive against stronger foes?"
Chenli shrugged. "We cannot bring in other sparring partners without drawing notice. This is the only way. Binding bands are common in sect training halls, but rare in noble clans. You should be grateful."
Grinning impudently, Dàilán shook sand from her clothes. "If I beat you, you wear the band—until you can still defeat me with it on. You must learn too."
Chenli scoffed, stepping back warily. "I always fight stronger opponents. And Essence fortifying your body is hardly 'without Essence.'"
"Not power—just endurance. Yes, I know it mimics fighting above my grade… it still feels wrong."
Chenli's smile was sharp. "Imagine how surprised your foes will be when they cannot stop you, even if they are stronger."
"En, I understand, Chén'er." Dàilán shifted into stance. "Still, I think you would not beat me with the band either. You need the practice as much as I do."
Chenli frowned, then shrugged. "If you insist. But first you must beat me."
Determined, Dàilán braced herself—then frantically redirected Chenli's sudden screaming lunge with a tàijíquán movement.
Four kè later—nearly an hour—Dàilán collapsed, panting. "It… is getting… late. Must wash and change before anyone…"
Chenli nodded, breathing just as hard. "I will wash first. Then cultivate."
Dàilán pulled the binding band from her neck, grimacing. She pushed Essence into the meditation ground's maintenance formation, watching the garden mend itself—rocks reset, sand smoothed, trees straightened.
This was why the place was perfect for training. The same type of formation was used in sparring rings, though those could "remember" multiple states. Dàilán had been studying formations in secret; she hoped to upgrade this garden herself.
When the grounds stood serene once more, she sank into cultivation, forcing her exhausted body to strengthen her Essence. Only by burning the body does Essence temper true.
Her meridians burned like wires dragged through flesh; her breath came ragged; the taste of copper filled her mouth. She forced her Essence through a single circuit of the Guan family method. Fighting with the binding band had taxed her differently than usual; her dāntián quivered like an overfilled vessel, one crack away from shattering.
She stopped, afraid of deviation. The bottleneck loomed.
Cultivation had once come easily, the first layers of her "Mountain" rising swiftly. But after passing into Earth layer, every level grew harder to form. For a year now, her dāntián showed signs of fracture.
She had told no one. Father bore enough burdens. His strength partly rested on her own reputation. To falter might break him. If word of her faltering spread, Second Uncle would wield it like a blade.
The Guan libraries held nothing new—only endless variations of Guan methods. Relics found in the market were worthless fakes or scraps. Tales of pedlars with ancient treasures were only commoners' fantasies.
Men praised women as flowers, yet kept them from the sun that tempered blossoms into fruit. The thought bit deep, and she ground her teeth.
She considered confiding in Chén'er. But her sworn-sister would take it to her Master. Dàilán's only memory of that Master was a tall, cloaked figure whose voice was as soft as mist yet cut through the hall like steel. She had been barely three summers old, dazzled instead by Chenli's - your sworn sister now, my litle orchid - presence by her master's side.
Yet Chenli's loyalty was clear. The Master's, less so. And Mother's words still echoed: "It is a secret, for when you are older." That day would never come now.
A faint breeze stirred the curtains again, cool against her cheek, faintly scented with orchids though none grew nearby, as if her mother still urged her onward.
The young heiress sighed bleakly. A decision had to be made soon.
Chenli returned, hair damp from the bath. "Mistress, the bath is ready."
"Thank you, Chén'er." Dàilán tried to rise, but her limbs trembled. Chenli was at her side instantly, slipping beneath her arm. "Come, Mistress. If we are caught like this, there will be no end of loose tongues."
"It might end this marriage nonsense," Dàilán muttered.
"More likely you would be married off faster—to any man willing to take a wife with 'strange tastes.'"
"Ugh…"
After cleaning up, the two shared a leisurely breakfast in Dàilán's rooms.
"Shall we go hunting the market again, Mistress?" Chenli asked between mouthfuls of rice and pickles.
Dàilán blinked. "Is it wise to go out?"
Chenli raised a brow. "Is it wise to break your habits? You are not in danger of assassination—yet. Your death would ruin Second Uncle's schemes. He needs you alive, to barter away."
"Are you trying to kill my appetite?" Dàilán grumbled, snatching a bun.
"Clearly not," Chenli laughed. "Eat like that and you will be the Boulder of Guan, not the Flower—and then you must marry Heir Ji."
"Ha! You eat more than I. Perhaps Fatty Ji will need a concubine?"
"I cannot grow round. I must slave endlessly for my Mistress."
They caught each other's eyes and burst into laughter.
When it faded, Dàilán smiled gratefully. "I needed that, Chén'er. Thank you."
"My honour, my sister."
Dàilán's expression sobered. "I am having problems with my cultivation."
Chenli froze. "That explains much. Shall I ask Master?"
Dàilán wrung her hands. "If I cannot cultivate, would your Master still let you stay with me?"
Chenli stilled, eyes wide. "…I had not considered that."
"It seems unwise to show weakness now. But you needed to know. I have no one else."
Chenli's eyes narrowed in thought. "Then for now we tell no one. We prepare contingencies. At least I know why you haunt Market Street—hoping for a story to come true?"
"The library holds nothing."
Chenli snorted. "The Guan are like their name—unyielding rock, blind to anything beyond themselves."
Dàilán rolled her eyes. "Second Uncle is a cracked rock. My cousins, then—pebbles? Mud?"
"The moss on a slippery stone. Pebbles scatter in a storm; mud washes away in the first rain."
"Ha!" Dàilán laughed, though despair underlay it.
Chenli grew contemplative. "Your mother named you 'Mountain Mist Orchid' for a reason. You are half her. The Mountain may be your core—but the rest?"
Dàilán stilled. Quietly: "If your sect holds her clan's methods… would they know?"
"This… I must ask."
"Understood."
They finished the meal in silence.
"I do not wish to go out today," Dàilán said at last. "If I face those silkpants in this mood, blood will flow."
Chenli giggled. "Then you study calligraphy. I have errands."
Dàilán smiled. "Thank you, sister."
Chenli swept the bowls onto a tray, rolling gracefully to her feet. With a bow: "Mistress."
Left alone, Dàilán sighed to herself. "Yes… a day within. A mountain may stand firm, but mist must bide its time. Mist may drift, orchids may wait—but both endure. And one day, they bloom."