She did not know exactly when she began to allow herself to feel hope again. Selling the ribbon and the coffer. Trading shining silver for dull and weathered strings of copper coin, one or two at a time. She was careful. As temperate as she could be. First was rice and dried vegetables. Simple cheap food that she could afford. She spent her evenings taking the work in the streets. Hauling trash, cleaning gutters. Every duty she could take.

The only indulgence that she allowed herself was ceasing to seek new customers. She answered the calls of the handful of repeat clients she had cultivated, but no more.

Food, new straw for their bedding. She purchased cloth, and spent some days indoors, painstakingly stitching new clothing for herself and Biyu, warmer clothing that might help with the chill of winter. She spoke privately with her landlord, paying her rent well in advance, with a little extra for discretion. She was awfully busy, shoring up the foundation of their lives. That is why she took so long to reply to the letter. Yes, that was why.

She could almost believe it.

But eventually, she had run out of excuses. She’d bought paper and a tiny inkstone, and made herself think of what to say. Ling Qingge was ashamed to say that she could only fall back on formality, on saying the obvious things one should say, and little more. She did not even dare mention Biyu, knowing that it could only come across as begging for more handouts. Appealing to filial duty to which she had no right.

The response came. It was an awkward thing. Two near strangers corresponding. Her Ling Qi…. Ling Qi was still an unsociable girl. That was what she read in the letter. She spoke of fantastical things, but still seemed so young. Ling Qingge did not know if she was fooling herself.

But Ling Qi’s letter came with more silver, though Qingge had barely spent a fraction of what she had been given. The letter did not even mention it. There were no words about gifts, not even an acknowledgement of how much she was giving.

Ling Qingge did not know what to think. She knew Immortals, even low ones were never truly poor in mortal funds. She remembered her He clan. She knew vaguely that spirit stones were what mattered to them, rather than coin. But she knew too how grudgingly those stones were hoarded. Even releasing a single stone to be converted into coins was a matter of much discussion.

So too with the soldiers who had shared her company. They received pay in stones and coin. She had never known one to change one for the other. The Great Sects, the Argent Peak especially, were legendary. Was her daughter so far above those concerns? Did she not understand how distressing it was to see that growing fortune of silver and hide it away?

The letters flew, and she began to understand something of what her daughter was involved with. She felt her heart seize as her daughter spoke casually of upsetting a member of the Bai clan. That Bai clan. Even her family, servants of the Liu Viscounts, had heard that name. Their masters knew it, and spoke it in whispers, in the same tone one spoke of the Duchess Cai.

But somewhere, somewhere, she found herself relaxing. She found a new pattern. She did not count the grains of rice at night. She did not fret over the rent of their rooms, and scraping together the copper at month's end.

Even being so temperate, she felt so much lighter. It was as if an immense weight that she had long forgotten she carried, had suddenly disappeared. For the first time, since she had been told that that man and his caravan were gone, she went to sleep with an uncreased brow.

But, it was a mistake to forget her position.

“Two pair of sandals. Child and adult. That’ll run thirty five coins,” The shoemaker eyes her up and down warily. His grayed mustache twitched. Ling Qingge kept her eyes below his. She was known in the market, what she was, the displeasure that followed those who were too friendly with her. “If you want winter shoes as well, it will be another sixty, and it will be ready in a month. I cannot put you ahead of my other customers. Half of that cost up front.”

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It was much more than she could have afforded, since leaving the brothel, but working outside so much more, she despaired for not having proper shoes come winter. Ones which would not leak or let in the mud. It was an investment. She would not be able to work near as much if she suffered such again. “Of course, Sir. I understand. That is a generous offer.”

It was not. She was being overcharged by a third or so, by her observation of his other customers. However, Ling Qingge did not wish to chance her luck haggling. She withdrew a rawhide cord from a pouch at her waist, clinking with fifty round copper coins.

The shoemaker took it from her, and weighed it, muttering under his breath as he counted in front of her. Ling Qingge kept her eyes down, and did not allow the insult to bother her. It was such a small thing. She wordlessly counted out fifteen more coins to finish the transaction.

“That will do, you may return tomorrow morning for the sandals,” the man said, satisfied with her money at least.

She gave a respectful nod and turned, reaching for Biyu’s hand… and came up empty. Her head shot up as she turned, gaze darting along the dusty market street. She had only let go for a moment. Where…?

“Mama!”

Her eyes fell on her daughter, and relief washed through her. It only lasted an instant before her eyes fell on the man holding her hand.

He was much taller than her, broad shouldered and muscular despite the protrusion of his belly. His face bristled with whiskers, and his bald head showed several scars. She knew this man, after a fashion. Both as a client, in the past, and…

‘Crusher’ Chang, a petty kneebreaker, for the mortals who needed such, and the man who had been hired to… observe her, by whatever minion of the Liu was in charge of her situation this year.

“There you go lil one, go back to your mum,” the man said in a deceptively jovial tone. He gave Biyu a pat on the back and the little girl ran back to Ling Qingge, all smiles as she collided with her legs. She put an arm around her child instinctively.

“You’d think you’d know that you gotta keep an eye on the little ones, eh?” Chang said conversationally.

Ling Qingge stared at him and did not speak at first. “Thank you, sir. That was kind of you. Biyu, I have told you to stay by my side.”

“But Mama, flowers!”

Her eyes tracked to see a flower seller stand across the way. Of course.

“I hate to interrupt, but I have a message too,” the big man standing across from her continued. “You wanna walk, so we’re not taking up the street?”

She nodded tersely and gathered Biyu up in her arms. The little girl looked up at her face and seemed to detect her unease with the way she quieted down.

They began walking, closer together than was seemly perhaps, but it was not as if she had any reputation to ruin.

“So He Ping, our friend in commerce. He noticed something unfortunate,” Chang said amiably.

A cousin once. The one in charge of her situation now. “I see, what is that?”

“See those loans you took, back when the lil one got sick. You’ve just not been paying them, and the interest has gotten all out of hand.”

Ling Qingge’s face was stone. Back then she had all but begged on her knees to borrow even a few coins. She’d been refused.

“And he’s afraid that we really can’t put off paying anymore, eh Ma’am? Sir He’s been more than generous,” Chang said. “Can’t go setting a bad example for the girl now, eh? Who knows what might happen.”

Someone had reported her. Was it the landlord, someone in the market? Maybe simply Chang himself observing. She hadn’t been careful enough.

It was funny, Chang was among the men who might have sired Biyu, by her reckoning of times. She wondered, even if that was true, and he knew it, would that have changed a thing?

No, of course not. That was how men were. “I understand. How much?”

“Well, I’m a simple guy, but sir He says we gotta ‘review your assets’, figure out a fair plan. Ain’t that nice of him? But you know and I know numbers can get squiggly, sofor old times sake, maybe I can put him off a bit, give you time to get things in order.”

His hand, rough and calloused, fell on her shoulder. Biyu looked up at her with concern. She stroked her daughter’s hair.

“How generous, Sir Chang.”

“You always was good at making a man feel high and mighty,” Chang chuckled.

She had no doubt every coin would be lost if her home was searched and every one that followed too. Eaten up by ‘payments’ that would never end.

But what could she do?