“The Butcher requests an escort.”

Sen sheathed her blade. She wrenched off her sweat-stained blindfold; the hay dummies before her lay scattered in a loose circle, split clean down their centerlines.

A balding official bowed just outside the straw mats. “She requested you specifically, my lady. I don’t believe she knows of your match. Shall I decline?”

“No. I’ll go,” said Sen without hesitation.

“My lady—” The official seemed scared to speak his mind with the weight of her gaze on him. Sen found she had that effect on people—between hits of pipe Father used to say she had a gaze like a drawn knife, that no boy would want a girl like that. Father had grand plans to marry her off to the village chief’s son; he’d spoken of it the same way he spoke of selling his cattle.

That was when Sen was seven. At nine she was the best swordsman in the village. At eleven she was called up to the main branch, deep in the Dragonspire Range. At fifteen she was the best of her generation. She still was—and she was two weeks out from proving it against the Sword of the Dusk, Cai Liushen, in front of a crowd of twenty thousand.

“Forgive me, but, ah, is this wise?” said the official. “Liushen is not to be taken lightly. To break up your training at this juncture—”

“I swore to Mistress Li I would be there whenever she needed me,” said Sen. That was that.

Within the hour she was upon her dragonblood stallion, riding north.

***

Years ago, when Sen was first called up to the main clan, she’d wondered if it was an awful mistake. Each night she slept in fits, tossing over some fresh welt and jolting awake. In training it seemed she could do nothing right. Each day the main clan children would raise new welts—they were nobles with years more training, who drank qi elixirs with every meal when she was lucky to get clean water.

She was a quiet, angry-looking branch girl with weird eyes. She was obsessed with the sword. She kept to herself; people made her nervous. These things all meant the other children were merciless to her. She was a good target: when they hounded her she wouldn't lash out; she would simply get more and more anxious until she burst into tears.

Once they nearly poked out her eyes with chopsticks—‘devil-eyes,’ they’d named her. They knew the adults would do nothing.

One day, after one of her worst nights, she dragged herself up to hear the Interim Head of the Li Clan give a lecture on the Dao of the Sword.

She remembered it as clearly as if it was unfolding before her now. It was by the Serenity Pool, a lake whose surface was like one long stretch of pale glass. Mists rolled over it, their tops dappled orange by the rising sun. She felt the kiss of the cool dawn air—something about it felt magical, a time out of a dream.

“Swordplay is simple,” Mistress Li had said. “Your enemy is a puzzle.” She drew her blade and the sun’s rays caught it just right, so its edge burned a reddish gold. “When you see your enemy, you must think in lines. You must find the line that solves them.”

She brought out a demonstration. A caged Feral-class demon, twice the size of a man, with goats’ horns and slitted eyes, roused to a slobbering rage. It charged her.

One slash, shoulder to waist. And one body became two halves.

From a name like the Butcher Sen had expected an eruption of blood, but no—it was so clean, so elegant. Sen hadn’t known such a thing was possible. It left her breathless.

The blood only seeped out after the halves had fallen.

“Every living creature is a complexity, a chaos of flesh and mind,” Mistress Li had intoned. She gestured to the fallen demon, whose intestines spilled out like rotten sausages, the muscles sliced in half, limp against its bones.

“It is the noble art of swordplay to draw out the simple from the complex. To simplify infinity to one line; to simplify being to nothing.”

The scene was burned into young Sen’s mind.

Afterwards Mistress Li gave pointers to every single attendee, from dawn to dusk, one by one. When it came Sen’s turn, the Mistress had said, “Sen Li, was it? From the Far Reaches?”

Sun stared.

The Mistress said again, smiling uncertainly, “Err—that is your name, right?”

Numbly, she nodded.

She hadn’t thought anyone in the main clan knew who she was. She almost cried then. When you felt so small, little generosities meant so much.

In that moment she would’ve given her life for the Mistress.

Over the years the Mistress had become something of a mentor. Sen still would. She was still weird like that--only no-one dared bully her for it anymore.

***

Sen never liked noble houses. Even the waiting room she sat in now was too much. The chairs were skinned all plush and bulbous, and when she sat on them it was an effort to keep her spine straight and head up. The tables were polished to an alien shine. Above, light ricocheted off a thousand crystal beads to dance across the room, and for what? She was used to rooms where things served purposes, but this room’s sole purpose seemed to be to impress. Everything in it did its job poorly.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She chose to sit on the floor, which was thankfully hard, crossed her legs, and waited for her summons.

Voices drifted through the bamboo door.

“… don’t need a sitter,” a girl, all whiny.

“An escort,” corrected Mistress Li.

They were talking about her.

“Why don’t you let me decide what’s for my own good?”

“Please don’t make this difficult, dear…”

“Why must you be so controlling? Just—just let me be!”

“This isn’t a matter of debate.”

“Yes, it is.”

This was Mistress Li's daughter? This sulky brat?

Sen could hardly believe it. How could she treat the Mistress this way—her own Mother?

At one point the girl said “Mooootherrrrrrr,” in a voice so whiny Sen’s teeth clenched.

Sen would’ve given anything to have a mother like Mistress Li. All her swordplay was from stolen textbooks, or watching the boys drilling in the yard and miming the moves in the biting cold, after she was sure her own Mother had drugged herself to sleep.

“Whatever. You can send them with me if you like. I’ll just lose them in the mountains,” said the brat.

This was what Sen had pulled out of training for?

“Sen? Would you come out, please?” called Mistress Li.

Once Sen was sure she’d schooled her expression, she stepped out. The instant she did she locked eyes with the brat, daring her to complain. The girl looked down, flushing.

“This way, mistress,” said Sen. “The carriage awaits.”

***

Ruyi flitted out the door, a tingling in her chest. Sen strode proud as a queen at her side. Ruyi could’ve watched her walk around for hours—she was so fluid, and the way those legs just worked…

She nearly slapped herself.

Sen was her escort. On a mission. Why was she like this?

Was she even ready to meet someone else? She still cried over Tingting far more often than she wanted to admit… sometimes she still felt scraped raw.

But maybe she could try making a friend. Friends sounded fine, didn’t it? She felt hopeful.

The Alchemist’s Guild had sent a lovely little carriage for her, red elm body on a gold frame towed by two geldings with coats pure as fresh snow.

“Please—you first,” said Sen. Her voice was so smooth, and low, and lovely. Ruyi sighed happily. The Heavens really had given this girl everything.

She was struck by the horrifying realization she was developing a bit of a crush.

…Why was she like this?

***

The ride began.

Ruyi snuck glances every so often, just to see if the other girl was glancing at her.

Sen was not. Sen was reading a book.

***

“Hi,” said the brat.

Sen stifled a sigh. “Yes?”

“What book is that?”

“It is a work of fiction, mistress. You won’t have heard of it.”

“Oh—you can call me Ruyi!” the girl seemed quite happy for no apparent reason.

“I prefer mistress.”

“Oh… okay…”

Sen went back to reading. For all of three breaths.

“I, um, also like novels.” Two big doe-eyes blinked at her from across the carriage.

They stared at each other in awkward silence.

“So,” said the girl, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear. “I hear you’re quite the swordsman—”

“I’m comfortable in silence,” Sen told her. “There’s no need to make conversation.”

Sen savored the look of shock on her face. You could tell she wasn’t used to being told no. Back to her book Sen went.

***

For a while Ruyi stared out the carriage window in silence. The Dragonspire Range went on for hundreds of li, but she was only going near the base, to a mountain called Kunshan.

At first there were flat fields and a dotting of trees. Then trees swallowed up the fields until that was all there was, streaming past, taking on darker tones as day gave way to dusk. The roads were getting bumpier, she saw, riddled with sharp stones, yet the carriage went smooth as ever.

'Why am I so bad at talking to people?' she thought miserably.

“Do you think there’s some kind of array on the carriage?” she tried.

It took a full breath of staring before Sen acknowledged her.

“Hm?”

“I don’t know… because it doesn’t feel bumpy? And the road looks bumpy. So… maybe there’s some kind of array, on the wheels, or something…”

“I suppose.”

Was Sen just shy? Ruyi could almost believe the girl didn’t like her.

She wished she had more practice at this. Father never let her go to a banquet, or try anything social; he’d hid her away out of shame. Growing up, Jin got all the practice talking. She never learned.

“I like your hair,” said Ruyi, since she wasn’t one to give up. “How do you get it to look like that?”

At Sen’s flat stare—“Like, all straight and flowy and pretty…” She trailed off. “Um. So I was thinking—”

“You shouldn’t speak to your mother like that.”

Ruyi wasn't sure she'd heard right. “…what?”

“Your mother. You shouldn’t disrespect her like that,” said Sen.

“What are you talking about?”

But Sen just shook her head and went back to reading.

“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Silence. She put her hands on her hips. “You can’t just say that and not—”

“Your mother is a legend.” Sen spoke each word with harsh precision. “You are a brat, and a spoiled crippled brat at that. One would think you would know your place. Instead, a legend bends over to serve you, and you show not the slightest appreciation. Does that not strike you as odd?”

“I—“ Ruyi flushed. “What? You don’t know me! And how I talk to my mother is frankly none of your concern!”

Sen went back to her book. It was like Ruyi faded out of existence for her.

“Hmph!”

Ruyi went back to staring out the window, but she wasn’t seeing anything, not really.

For an hour she was furious. After that she was just hurt.

It seemed, once again, she was totally delusional.

Why would she assume anyone would like her—would want to talk to her? She was such a fuck-up. There was a reason she had no friends.

She blinked tears out of her eyes. Honestly she liked it better this way.

Mid-ride she pulled out the raw fish mother had packed and started chewing in sullen silence.

“Sorry.”

Ruyi jerked up. The sound came from the other side of the carriage—it was Sen, looking at her hands, this twisted look on her face. “I’m not good with… feelings. I… your Mother—Mistress Li—she means… a lot to me. I got frustrated. You’re right—it's not my place to speak about your family. So… I’m sorry.”

“No,” mumbled Ruyi. “I should be better to Mother. I know I can be petulant. I keep asking people to not treat me like a child, and I keep acting like one. Weird how that works, isn’t it?” Sen said nothing.

She swallowed. “And I am a cripple, after all. So you said nothing wrong either.”

“I shouldn’t have called you that.” Sen looked so guilty it was like she was in pain. “That was cruel. I know what it’s like to be called names.”

"Blegh. I'm used to it... Wait. Has that been bothering you all this time?”

Miserably, Sen nodded.

Ruyi got the sudden sense that maybe Sen didn’t have much practice talking either.

The realization warmed her a little.

It was a good few breaths before she felt she could speak again. The atmosphere in the carriage felt strange, brittle—but not cold anymore.

“So… what book is that?” said Ruyi, since she just couldn’t seem to give up. Even when she really should.

Sen blinked. She eyed Ruyi like she was afraid this might be some kind of trick. Then to Ruyi’s surprise, she said, hesitantly at first, “It’s about a toy golem. Named Weng. It comes to life and develops feelings, and makes friends. And… goes on adventures.”

Then Sen looked at her feet, this slight hunch in her shoulders, like she was waiting for Ruyi to make fun of her.

“I think that’s lovely," said Ruyi.