The next morning, Dàilán faced her friend across the sand garden once again, breath misting faintly in the early chill. The sand was cold beneath her feet, gritty where it had already clung to her ankles. She growled low in her throat, frustration knotting between her brows. Despite the crisp air, sweat clung to her temples; her chest rose and fell too quickly for so early in the day.
"Since when can you hit so hard, Chénli?" she huffed, breath sharp in her throat.
Her maid only shook her head, braids swaying, and came at her again with that silent, implacable focus. The air whistled as Chénli's heel swept past Dàilán's ribs.
"Turtle-spawn—" Dàilán swore and flipped out of range, sand spraying. She had finally curbed her instinct to strike directly; the choker limiter at her throat made any real counter‐force impossible. Chénli could overpower her every time.
Speed, then. React first or lose.
She darted, feet whispering across the cool sand, the faint mineral scent of morning dust rising with every shift. She still held the edge in agility and reaction, weaving just out of the older girl's reach. If only she could land a single touch—one precise hit on a critical point—she could finally claim a clean victory.
She knew physically this was the correct training: larger opponent, stronger opponent, faster opponent. All sensible.
But by all the gods, it was infuriating.
A cold prickle ran down her spine, the hairs at her nape lifting beneath the edge of the choker-limiter. Danger. She back‑spun hard. Chénli's strike—swift as a serpent—cut the air where her throat had been.
Dàilán blinked. Had Chénli just become faster?
A brief stumble in Chénli's footwork—so small it barely shifted the sand—was all the opening Dàilán needed. Her body moved before thought caught up. The twin training daggers swept upward; small-lightning inscriptions flared.
Snap—! Essence cracked against Chénli's protective shield.
The maid spasmed and went down, limbs twitching as the small-lightning rendered her 'dead'.
Dàilán threw her arms up. "Hah! Finally!"
"Dog… female… dog… gods—rut—neck—egg‑laying—" Chénli groaned into the sand, slurring as the aftershocks rolled through her muscles.
"Bah! You have slain me mercilessly for days with this awful choker‑limiter." Dàilán poked her friend's cheek with a dagger hilt, ignoring the sand sticking to both. "And I recall someone insisting we spar with lightning. What was it you said? Ah—'train how you fight. Failure has painful consequences.'"
She tapped her lips theatrically. "Perhaps I should test that again—to ensure it was not a fluke?"
Chénli coughed, glowering. "So cocky after one victory… In real life you have died so many times."
Dàilán's ears warmed. "Yes, well…"
The maid sat up slowly, breath finally settling. "More importantly—how under the heavens did you avoid my last strike?"
"Eh? What do you mean, how? I have always been faster than you." Dàilán frowned.
Chénli rolled her eyes. "Training against a stronger opponent means training against a faster one too. Master gave me greaves with a speed enhancement—along with the limiter."
Dàilán shot upright. "You have been wearing speed‑enhancement armour — heavy even with their inscriptions active — and suppressing my Essence Techniques?"
"Do not act offended," Chénli replied firmly, now on her feet. "Given the current situation, you must learn to evade opponents stronger, faster, and more ruthless than you. This is not about face. You know that better than most."
"That… you did not tell me," Dàilán muttered, kicking a divot in the sand.
"I am sure your enemies will graciously explain all their techniques before they kill you," Chénli said dryly. "Now answer me. How did you evade?"
"I… am not certain." Dàilán narrowed her eyes, thinking. "I felt you were suddenly faster… but I also knew the direction of your strike before you threw it. My body moved ahead of my thoughts. Then you stumbled—because of those cheating greaves—and I took the opening."
Chénli's expression sharpened, her breathing steady despite the faint metallic clink of the speed‑greaves at her shins. "You have been harder to catch all morning. Almost as if… you have broken through."
"Impossible," Dàilán protested. "I have not had a proper Cultivation session in weeks."
Chénli stepped closer. "What about yesterday? Here, on that boulder."
"I was playing the bāwū!" Dàilán snapped. "Is it your place to interrogate me?"
The maid froze—then bowed deeply. "Apologies, Mistress. I overstepped. But as your sister‑friend and your bodyguard… I am worried."
Dàilán bit her lip. "I know. But I was only… it was something about the nature of Essence I read in that old book I got from the pawn shop."
Chénli paled. The colour drained from her face. "Mistress… you cannot attempt an untested Cultivation Technique."
"It is not a technique," Dàilán insisted. "Not exactly. It merely said to follow the natural flow of Essence. I only watched my Essence move with the music. It was like meditation—"
"No," Chénli whispered. "I saw your Essence moving the instrument. You must promise not to do it again—"
Dàilán staggered back a step, sand crunching underfoot. "No! It helped. For the first time in weeks, my Essence felt—right. And you said I have improved! I beat you even with the choker‑limiter and your cheating speed greaves!"
Chénli moved faster than thought. She seized Dàilán's arm and pushed her Essence into the Heiress' meridians.
Cold, sharp qi washed through Dàilán's channels.
She froze.
A heartbeat later, Chénli recoiled and dropped to her knees. "Forgive me, Mistress. I had to be certain."
Dàilán could not speak. A tremor moved through her hands. Without trusting her voice—or her temper—she turned and left the Meditation Ground.
That evening, as the Golden Crow dipped behind the mountains and the cooling air carried the distant scent of pine and cooking rice, Dàilán lay curled on her bed. Her eyes burned; her breath came unevenly.
Chénli had forced her Essence.
Forced it.
Without permission.
Even with good intentions… such a violation could condemn a person to death. Any other maid would already be executed.
She pressed a sleeve to her eyes. Her pulse throbbed painfully at her temples. She felt betrayed—and ashamed for feeling betrayed.
A knock broke the silence. "Who—"
"Lán'er. It is your Father. May I enter?"
Relief caught in her throat. "Please, Honoured Father…"
The door slid open. Her father stepped inside, closing it with deliberate calm. The soft click of the door settling closed echoed far louder than it should have. Authority pressed against the room like a weight.
"Chénli is confined," he said. "I administered ten strikes."
Dàilán gasped. "Father, no—she—"
A heavier pressure rolled from him—Clan Elder, not merely Father. "She informed me of what occurred. She also explained her reasons. That is why I was lenient." His eyes flicked to Dàilán's. "Give me your hand, Heir."
Her breath caught. Then she bowed her head and obeyed.
A cool ripple of his Essence brushed across her meridians—light as silk yet carrying the weight of mountains; nothing invasive, only the diagnostic touch of a seasoned Elder. After several long breaths, he exhaled and released her.
"No deviation. You are fortunate." His expression cooled. "You will hand over all materials related to this technique immediately."
Dàilán's composure collapsed. "Father… the Guan Technique hurts. It feels wrong. Yesterday was the first time my Essence has flowed naturally in weeks—please…" She drew a shuddering breath. "Honoured Father, please do not destroy the book. Examine it first. You will see—it is not a technique, merely a different way of observing Essence."
For a heartbeat, she felt again the quiet resonance from her bāwū practice — that strange sense that the world had breathed with her."
"You know better than to employ an unknown method without supervision," he said sternly. "If it had crippled your Cultivation—"
She dropped to her knees into sān‑kòu.
Receiving no answer, she rose, crossed to her desk, and gathered the bamboo strips and her translated notes. She placed them into his waiting hand.
He nodded once. "Remain here and reflect. There will be no dinner tonight."
He left without another word.
Dàilán bowed toward the closed door. Her stomach ached from exertion and hunger, but the knot of emotion made eating unthinkable.
As the last of the light faded, she shut the window shutters and looked up at the rising stars.
Her voice cracked to a whisper. "It was my wrong, Chén'er… forgive me…" Her breath fogged softly against the shutters in the cooling night air.