The Villa of Swords, which housed Li Family’s Jade Dragon branch, sat outside the city walls amid an artificial lake which drew its waters from the White River. Fingers of mist spread over the lake’s surface, veiling the Villa, but Ruyi could see its shadowy outline—a five-floor pagoda.
The wooden plank path up to the island villa was too narrow and frail for carriages; she and Mother had to dismount.
“The path itself is a test,” said Mother. “Only those with a swordsman’s balance can keep from falling in. Would you like me to carry you, or…?”
It was a nice way to phrase it, Ruyi knew—a way that wouldn’t upset her. What Mother really meant was, ‘how many times will I have to watch you dunk yourself in the lake before you let yourself be carried?’
Ordinarily Ruyi might’ve given it a go. But she didn’t want to show up all drenched, not when she’d gotten her hair done just for the occasion. And Mother had picked out a sable dress, longsleeve, of course, that showed her off nicely. It’d be a shame to ruin it.
As a test she slid a foot onto the first plank, shifted her weight onto it a tad, felt a sudden lurch—she stumbled back, hissing. The plank’s end bobbed back up. Some things were worth fighting for, she decided. This was not.
“Don’t drop me!” she said, and hopped on Mother’s back. The way Mother strode across you’d think the planks were nailed to the ground.
The pagoda was white-walled with ice-blue eaves, the colors of the Li clan. Supposedly only the elite, the Young Masters and Mistresses, were allowed in. Planks ran out from it, ending at platforms where shadows—swordsmen—balanced atop giant lily pads, running through long chains of Techniques in careful slow motion. Each strike sent a clear line through the mist. When the sun filtered through, you could see it’d already been sliced to ribbons.
“Where is this girl?” muttered Mother, scanning the lake. “She said she’d be waiting—she’s not on one of the pads, is she?”
Ruyi saw a flash through one of the upper windows, a whirl of straight black hair. She only caught its passing; it vanished as soon as she looked. “There—that’s her! She’s inside.”
“Are you sure?” Mother had caught it too.
“Trust me,” said Ruyi. She was already striding for the door. She was a connoisseur of Sen’s face. She’d studied it awake, she’d studied it sleeping, she’d even made a drawing of it—she probably knew it better than Sen did. It was honestly getting kind of creepy. She should stop.
“Sen?” she shouted. Her voice echoed down the bamboo room; an official behind a marble desk blinked at her.
“Miss?” said the bushy-bearded man, cringing. “Would you kindly keep your voice down? There are Masters at study above. What is it you need? I’d be delighted to help you.”
“Bring me Sen Li,” she said.
“The North Star?” said the official. This seemed to trigger something in him. He leaned over the desk, towering over her, and his bushy brows drew together. “Miss, are you affiliated with the Li clan?”
“Excuse me?”
“Would you show me your badge?” He started moving out from the desk.
“What badge?”
The official’s expression turned bleak.
“Visitors to the Villa are strictly prohibited,” he said. His voice took on a growly tone. “I must ask that you step—”
“She’s with me!” Mother came striding up.
“Ah—Mistress!” The official scraped back, blinking between the two of them. “I… Yes, I see the resemblance. My sincere apologies. It has been a long week, shall we say?”
“Sen has many fans, some very devoted,” said Mother. “I expect poor official Bao’s been fending them off all week.”
Bao nodded miserably. “Come,” said Mother, wrapping an arm around her, guiding her away. “You said she was upstairs?”
Upstairs was one big straw mat. Training dummies popped up here and there, and swords racks lined the walls. Sen was nowhere to be found. “Sen?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
One of the windows had been thrust open with haste; the blinds hadn’t even been pulled fully aside. Ruyi ran to it and saw a figure slinking out the front yard. She had a scarf wrapped around her face, a poor attempt at disguise, but Ruyi would recognize those legs anywhere. She might’ve been a connoisseur of Sen’s face but she was the world’s foremost expert on Sen’s legs.
“Sen!” she shouted. The girl froze. Ruyi tumbled out the window and sprinted after her. “Sen!”
Sen turned slowly, tense. She unwrapped the scarf to reveal a wincing face. She couldn’t meet Ruyi’s eyes. “How did you know it was me?”
“Nevermind that,” said Ruyi hastily. “Why haven’t you been replying to my letters?!” Sen twirled her scarf round and round her fingers. “Um. I didn’t… think you wanted to hear from me. Anymore.”
“Then why would I write you a letter?”
“Um,” said Sen. “Um.”
Ruyi marched up to her. For a moment there was a look of sheer panic on Sen’s face. Then she hugged her.
“Um,” croaked Sen.
“You are not allowed to feel guilty,” said Ruyi, muffled by Sen’s robes. “And you are not allowed to apologize to me. If you say one more word about how you’ve failed me I’m going to beat you up.”
Sen swallowed. “But I—”
Ruyi punched her in the arm.
“But—”
Ruyi punched her again.
“…”
“This is what we’re going to do,” breathed Ruyi. “We are going to go inside. You are going to show me how you play with your little swords. And then you’ll give me a tour of the villa. And then, if you do well, you might just earn yourself a kiss for good luck. Got it?”
Sen’s face was very red. “Okay…” she whispered.
“Good.”
***
The North Star was famous outside the Sword Villa; she was infamous within. She was so called for her constancy—she woke, ate, slept at the same time, every day, and when you spoke to her she always wore the same expression, so that you always felt those piercing dark eyes held you in mild disdain. Still this hadn’t stopped about half the swordsmen of the Villa, and quite a few women, from propositioning her. She’d shot them down with the same cool gaze; that gaze had made quite a few Young Masters cry themselves to sleep.
Incidentally, if you would have asked Sen she would’ve been baffled at this. She thought she was always polite about it—it was only that her polite face and her disdainful face were almost the exact same.
So it was a small crowd that gathered to see her led around the Villa by a smiling girl who wouldn’t shut up. Their jaws dropped to see her—was Sen blushing? This was a shock since it was rumored the North Star had no blood at all, that mountain ice ran through her veins.
The leading theories were she’d been drugged. Or perhaps this was some long-lost twin, come to visit at last.
The tour was coming to an end. They pressed up against the windows of the upper floors, these Young Masters and Mistresses, craning their heads over one another, straining to to see and hear the two whispering to each other in the courtyard. The shorter girl leaned in. They only saw it from behind—was it a kiss? On the cheeks? On the lips, even?! But no one saw clear.
They scrambled down the groaning bamboo stairs as Sen ambled through the door, a shy little smile on her face.
A gasp ran through the crowd. It was the first time most of them had seen her smile. Even official Bao was dumbstruck.
Then Sen caught sight of them.
“What?”
They flinched as one.
***
Sen finished off the Cai Liushen, the Sword of the Dusk, in three strikes.
It was published in the Post the next day—the headline referred to it as the ‘crowning performance of the undisputed #1 of her generation.’ Ruyi didn’t hear it from the Post, though. She read it from Sen, since Sen wrote her right after it had happened in stiff formal prose, singed ‘Sincerely yours,’ just as Sen had been writing her every afternoon since her visit. Her first letter had been, ‘Greetings. This is Sen Li. It was pleasant seeing you and I should like to meet again. Sincerely yours, Sen Li.’ It read like it was the first letter she’d ever written.
When Ruyi replied, she could expect to get a letter back within hours. Sen seemed incapable of playing games; she had no guile in her. She was totally earnest all of the time. It was probably what’d made her so easy to bully, but it was one of the things Ruyi liked most about her.
Sen’s letters grew longer as the days went on. Sen didn’t seem to understand what letters were for. Hers would include things like what she ate every day—soy milk, congee, steamed buns and tofu. She closed each letter by asking a question. Sometimes it was how Ruyi was, or how her day was, or how she was feeling. She seemed scared that Ruyi would stop responding if she didn’t prompt her, which Ruyi found endearing. It was nice to be wanted.
Some of the happiest moments of her days were getting Sen’s late afternoon letters. One time Sen sent her a gift—a cool bug she found on the ground, which she thought was something rare and magical on account of its violet shell; Ruyi didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a common beetle.
***
In the middle of week three, Ruyi finished her Mystery Elixir with what little Moon Serpent venom she had left.
She drank the thing. It was surprisingly painless, though it did give her crippling fatigue for a full two days. She fell asleep at the dinner table and dunked her head in blood pudding; Mother and Jin didn’t question it. They were used to her shenanigans by now.
It wasn’t that it gave her more essence—rather it made every bit of essence she had count more. Drinking it granted her almost twenty percent boosts to speed and a little over ten for endurance and strength. She pulled 650 jin without blowing out her back this time.
The more flesh she took in the less linear her progress got. At first she’d been giddy each time she tested her blood and found it a smidge pinker; now she was impatient for pink to tip into Feral red. A month in and she was antsy. Before, she’d thought just becoming a demon would satisfy her; anything more was a bonus. Now Feral, she thought. If she could just hit Feral, and be as strong as most Foundation cultivators—stronger than the vast majority of people—she’d be happy.
Well—maybe not happy—but certainly satisfied. Anything more would be a bonus.
…Oh, who was she kidding?