A wooden sword.
It seemed almost mocking. I had asked for a lighter blade, and he brought this—a toy which children used for training when real steel was too heavy.
"I bought a light one," Renshu said cheerfully, lips curving into a faint smile.
Yes, he was mocking me.
"It will do," I answered curtly.
He raised the wooden blade with both hands at the hilt and began slashing through the night air.
My eyes stayed on him, studying his movements. His greatest weakness was clear, speed.
With the lighter sword, however, he was different. No longer relying on slow, heavy blows, he struck faster, the wooden blade darting and swishing with surprising agility.
His focus shifted from brute force to precision, as if speed itself might save him where strength could not.
An hour passed before he finally lowered the blade and sat down, sweat shining across his forehead.
"Did I improve?"
There was a spark in his eyes—rare, fleeting. Each day his emotions changed like shifting skies.
Some nights he was silent, others sulky, others cold. I sometimes wondered if there was a storm inside his head.
"You're more agile with the wooden sword," I said truthfully. "But the only way to know if you've improved is to spar with someone."
"I can bring someo—"
I stood before he could finish. "You can spar with me, if you wish."
His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. The answer should have been obvious, who else but me?
"We can do it now, or later—"
"No."
He broke eye contact, gaze shifting to the pond Infront of us. I had expected eagerness. Instead, there was a jarring silence, heavy and strange.
"I will not fight a woman," he said at last.
A frown tugged at my lips. "A few weeks ago you—"
"I know what I did. I do not wish to do it again." His tone was final.
He rose and walked toward the waters, wooden blade dangling loosely in his hand. "We'll finish the lesson here. Next time, I'll bring another sword."
I was about to leave. Sleep called to me after the long day. But then—
"Stay. I want to talk."
A warning bell rang in my chest.
"What was Bharat like?" he asked suddenly.
Of all the questions… I had not expected that one. It seemed like he was trying to make conversation.
"It was a good place," I said slowly. "I was treated well. Better than here."
Perhaps I should not have spoken so bluntly. His expression hardened instantly.
"China is far better than Bharat," he snapped, his tone steeped in pride.
To argue with someone of his rank could be dangerous. Still, my lips moved before I could stop them.
"Perhaps. But as one from the south, I am treated worse here due to—"
"That is the worst lie I have ever heard!" His voice rose, sharp and accusing. "You claim Bharat treated you better, yet was it not your own family who tried to kill you? At least here, people are not so cruel!"
Hands strongly gripping the sword and a cracking voice. He was raging.
But his words struck a nerve. I could endure insults to myself, even to Bharat. But to ignore the cruelty I had endured here? That, I could not allow.
"Are you saying the Chinese are not cruel?" I asked.
"Not as much as those from your country!"
"No," I said firmly. "You're wrong."
"Oh really?" His lips twisted. "And what would you know about my country?"
Mockery dripped from his tone, but I did not falter.
"When I was first found by the people of China," I began, voice trembling, "they looked at me with fear. With disgust. At first, they thought me just a peasant too tanned from the sun. But then they saw my features were different.
"They stared, whispered, sneered… until the scrubbing began."
His brow furrowed, but I continued.
"For hours, they rubbed at my skin with rough cloth, as if the color could be washed away. They scraped until blood flowed. Only then, when crimson stained their hands, did they realize—beneath it all, we all bleed the same."
Silence.
Cao Renshu's eyes widened, shock breaking through his arrogance. Yet for once, I felt no satisfaction. Only those cruel memories, raw and unyielding, rushed back like a tide I could not stop.
"What do you mean, scrub your arms?" His voice faltered. "There's no way—"
"They used water and cloth." My reply was bitter, each word sharpened by anger.
My chest rose and fell sharply. To show rage in front of him was reckless. I knew this. Yet the words left me anyway.
"I can forgive arrogance," I said lowly. "But I can never forgive ignorance."
I turned my gaze away from his, heart pounding. What was I doing? To speak like this, in front of a man who could order my execution? Had I lost my mind?
I opened my mouth to apologize, but he spoke first.
"I… understand."
His eyes were lowered, his voice subdued, almost childlike. It was the tone of someone who had erred, not a proud son of the empire.
"I must leave. My apologies for lashing out."
He didn't look up, not once, as I walked away.
And though I should have felt victorious, what lingered in my chest was something else—guilt.
---
Back in my chamber, I lay down on the hard mattress, restless. Sleep would not come when I needed it the most.
It wasn't Bharat, nor my family haunting me this time. It was him.
I had to understand how I was to feel about Cao Renshu. I had many flaws, one being my need to see the world in black and white. To believe people were either good or evil. It was simpler that way. Safer.
Lianyu, Yichen, Ariya—they were good. Shuyin too. Lanling was still too young to fall into any category.
Lady Qinglan was cruel. The people in the streets were cruel.
And Cao Renshu?
He knew too much about me. Far too much in so little time. Cold, emotional, angry, vulnerable, he wore every mask, never burying his emotions as I did mine.
Unlike the cruel people, he expressed himself. But he was not as kind as Lianyu or Shuyin.
Yet, till now he apologized. Something that I would never expect from a cruel person like Qinglan.
I pulled the blanket over me, drowning in thoughts of him, of what I had said, of what I should not have said.
At last, exhaustion claimed me, and I slipped into uneasy sleep.