The Middle School was a fief in itself, though its stewardship of many li of farms and towns was passed down not through ties of blood, but by the old monsters selecting one among their number to lead. Farms were necessary to feed those pitiful sect disciples who had yet to reach the core formation stage, while the tribute of the towns came in kin and kind. A sect had a voracious appetite for servants and all sorts of specialized goods necessary to further their cultivation arts.

Of course, if Daphne had to pick which of the two were more important, it was inarguably the towns. It was fine if the farms burned and others starved, but it was unforgivable to live in squalor without tribute.

It was to one such town now that Daphne traveled towards in her carriage, accompanied by her usual entourage of Tracey, Maid, and Broken Nose.

Daphne squinted at the man in question. His nose had actually healed quite nicely in the last few days since she’d done him the favor of aligning his crooked nose. Truly her magnanimity was without bound.

It did, however, present her with a perplexing problem. What ought she call him now? Broken Nose was no longer descriptive of his state.

Should I break it again? Daphne wondered to herself.

“Is there something on my face, m’lady?” the former bandit asked.

“I’m pondering what to call you now that your nose is fixed,” she said.

“My name’s Rhian.”

She blinked. “How is that relevant?” He was no hero, and he was definitely no jade beauty, thus he was entirely undeserving of a name. That he was even called anything was merely due to her bestowing him the grace of serving her.

“Do you hate me that much that you won’t call me my name?” he whined.

“I don’t hate you,” Daphne said. “That would imply you’re important enough in my life to hate.”

“My lady still calls me Maid,” Maid said helpfully.

“Her name’s not even Tracey either,” Broken Nose said, looking at Tracey.

“It is now,” Tracey said.

“Your protests are duly noted and ignored,” Daphne said with a wave of her hand. Could one’s opinion even be heard if they were neither hero nor misstocrat? Else how could one explain how heroes did not go deaf after so much screaming from so many young masters?

“Why are we going into town today anyway, Lady Daphne?” Tracey asked, utterly unfazed by her words. It was good that her protege was quickly learning her place in the world.

“We are going to a restaurant so that you might learn.”

Tracey tilted her head. “But I’m not hungry.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “You don’t go to a restaurant to eat.” Honestly, she sounded like an outer court disciple right now. After one reached the core formation stage, it was sufficient to nourish one’s body with alchemical pills and qi absorption. This wasn’t, of course, to say that young masters and jade beauties simply stopped going to restaurants, and one might argue that had never been the point.

Rather, they went either to court, or to court death.

In Tracey’s case, it was the former. “The true test of a jade beauty,” Daphne continued, “is to see if someone is willing to kill for you.”

“What.”

“Don’t worry,” Daphne said. “You’re still in training. I merely wish to see how far you’ve progressed in your cultivation.” She paused for a moment to think. “A mere maiming will suffice for today.”

Tracey looked uncertain. “This is also cultivation?”

“Everything I make you do is cultivation,” Daphne said. “There are many daos in the world, and who can say which dao is most right for them from birth?”

“Yes, Lady Daphne,” Tracey said.

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“It’s a shame Blaise couldn’t come,” Daphne said, looking out the window as they crossed into the town proper—with fields and orchards turning into wooden houses and small storefronts. Her cousin had begged off for the day, stating a need to practice his sword intent for the upcoming tournament. The sword dao was a fine path to walk, but it was not foundational in the way restaurant encounters were, and he was still sorely lacking in experience.

After all, every hero’s story involved at least one of those, but not every hero used a sword.

“The tournament is important to Lord Blaise as well,” Tracey said. “His performance will also reflect on House Greenglade’s standing.”

“A fair point,” Daphne said.

The carriage came to a halt before the Blue Rose, an establishment whose walls were more glass than wood. Being one of the closest towns to the Middle School, many students could be seen lounging inside the restaurant, each one dressed immaculately in their finest clothes for the peasants to gawk at.

Daphne wholly approved of the practice. It was not enough to be wealthy—others must be made painfully aware that one was wealthy.

As they entered the restaurant, the dim buzz of conversation quieted, with both the men and women staring at her. It was good that they knew how to appreciate beauty, but they were also toads lusting after swan meat.

“Everyone’s staring at you,” Tracey said, fidgeting.

“Good. That means they aren’t blind,” Daphne said. Staring at her was the natural state of most people in her presence. As soon as they were seated by a server, Daphne raked her eyes over Tracey’s form. “Now, while you might not do much eating in a restaurant, it is of utmost importance that you still adhere to the proper etiquettes. It is only through this that you might distinguish yourself as a refined jade beauty rather than an unpolished gem, of which there are many in the world.”

She unfolded her napkin with supreme grace to demonstrate her point, and was pleased to see Tracey imitating her actions.

Daphne spoke at length to Tracey while Maid and Broken Nose were seated at a side table to wait on them. They covered the correct use of silverware—such as using the outermost utensils first and working one’s way in, and the optimal way to hold a knife when blinding a toad to Mount Tai.

“One must be efficient and graceful in all things,” Daphne said as the salads were taken away and a dish of steamed fish took its place. The brown-skinned girl seemed to enjoy the food. Daphne thought it was just fine. “Killing is despicable. Looking good while you do it is admirable.”

“Yes, my lady,” Tracey said.

As they ate, Daphne spotted a carriage approaching rapidly from the corner of her qi-enhanced eyes. There were no old monsters nearby, but she knew what a panicked horse looked like even from a distance. “Excuse me for a moment,” Daphne said, setting the napkin on her lap to the side of her plate before leaving the restaurant.

She did not run so much as glide out though. People seemed to finally take notice of the carriage barreling down the dirt street uncontrollably, and moved out of its way.

Everyone save for a grandmother hobbling forward with a wooden cane.

Daphne took a step forward to grab hold of the wrinkled skin, before pivoting on her other heel to narrowly avoid being bruised by the rushing horses. Oh, and the grandmother was fine too, she supposed.

“You are not to die before I allow it,” Daphne said.

The grandmother blinked up at Daphne, looking quite shaken. “Countless thanks, my lady! My life is in your hands.”

Daphne nodded, a twinge of annoyance crossing her face at the obvious statement. She was a jade beauty, second only to the hero in the hierarchy of the world. Of course the woman’s life was in her hands—everyone’s was.

She glanced at the carriage and noticed that it carried the sigil of an anchor, but that was not any lordly house that she knew of.

“Lady Daphne!” Maid exclaimed as she rushed out of the restaurant after her. “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”

The grandmother looked frightfully pale at Maid’s words.

“I am unharmed,” Daphne said, flicking her hair behind her with practiced ease. As was befitting her status, there was even a slight gust of wind to accentuate the look.

A man came rushing forth and kowtowed before Daphne. Not a bow, or a curtsey, but an honest to goodness kowtow—forehead to the ground and all. It had been a while since she enjoyed one of those. “Syngian bless you for saving my mother! Syngian bless you!”

“Think nothing of it,” Daphne said. She turned to Maid. “Let’s return.”

“Begging for a moment please, m’lady,” the man said. “We’re but a poor family, and I know we have nothing of true worth to show our gratitude, but the Divine Syngian teaches us to do our best in this regard. Please, take this at least.”

In his hands was a crescent-shaped slice of fruit that Daphne would’ve recognized anywhere. It had a luscious green skin, while its insides were a juicy red.

“You sell these?” Daphne asked, accepting the fruit.

The man nodded hesitantly.

She took a small bite out of the watermelon, enjoying the refreshing and mild taste cleansing her palette. It tasted like the end of a scorching summer day, and of long hours toiled. It was cool as a village’s stream and sweet as Mother’s song. Daphne took another larger bite out of it.

“My lady? You’re...” Maid trailed off, as if not daring to finish her sentence.

Daphne blinked, wiping at her cheek with her sleeve. “It tastes like home,” she said softly.

“Watermelons aren’t native to Green Glade,” Maid said.

“I know,” Daphne answered sadly.