It was still dark when she woke. She fumbled her way off the bed, threw open the closet, realized she couldn’t see anything, flickered on the qi lamp on her nightstand. It was a simple enough room, sparsely populated, but everything from the sofa to the bed looked expensive in an understated way. The air was cool and clear, though she still felt the wetness of it on her skin. Outside she heard the murmuring of water.

They’d given her robes, expensive-looking light blue ones. How nice of them. She put it on mindlessly, then realized she had nothing to do. Mother said she’d fetch Ruyi in the morning. She didn’t feel like exploring. She flopped back onto the bed; it was so fluffy it took her a few seconds to sink to a halt. Then she just stared at the ceiling. She was parched, but there was nothing to drink. They’d only left her water.

The wood planks of the ceiling were gray, then light-gray, then reds started creeping in. She wasn’t sure how long she’d lay there before Mother came knocking.

“Morning!” said Mother outside the door. Ruyi didn’t hear her the first time. She picked herself up, stumbled to the door, wrenched it open, blinked away the harshness of the sun rising over Mother’s shoulder.

“Do you want to get breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.” She felt tired, even though the day had just begun. She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered waking up. Only yesterday she’d been so excited to explore, but now even the thought of going to the mess hall made her wince. She didn’t want to be seen right now. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t make herself cheer up—what was wrong with her?

“Oh,” said Mother, hesitating. “Is everything alright?”

“Just fine.” She made herself smile.

“The Patriarch wants to give you a tour later this morning. But he’ll give you the tour he gives all the foreign dignitaries. If you like, I can show you my favorite spots first.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling so well,” mumbled Ruyi. She felt bad but she didn’t want to waste Mother’s time dragging her around. “I didn’t sleep so well last night… maybe some other time?”

Mother understood.

***

Ruyi was feeling a little better when mid-morning came. She felt alright enough to go out and be ‘on,’ if only for a few hours. A huddle of gray and white heads greeted her on the walkway outside her hut, all of them in blue robes embroidered silver, all strangely eager to meet her. They half-bowed and said their titles and names, Martial Elders, Elders, Overseers… she wasn’t sure a single one stuck in her head. The last man was the Patriarch, the tallest of the lot. He was thin but wiry, his hair falling in long dark sheets. He was a very pretty man, if sharp-featured.

“We are delighted to have you here,” said the Patriarch. His smile was politely friendly, if a little too practiced for her taste.

“I’m delighted to be here,” said Ruyi. She hoped she sounded enthusiastic.

The Patriarch’s eyes drifted over her. “You look just like your Mother when she was young.”

“You knew her?”

“I fought her. Many a time. You might say we were rivals, but it is difficult to call someone a rival when you’ve never beaten them.”

“Oh, I’ll have no false modesty from you. You were very good,” said Mother.

“I never claimed otherwise,” said the Patriarch, smiling wanly. “Call it a compliment disguised as self-deprecation. They tell me you have as much talent with the stirring rod as your mother does with the blade.”

“If I say no,” said Ruyi. “Mother will chide me for false modesty.”

The Patriarch laughed. He didn’t find it very funny, but she could tell he had that laugh in his back pocket. “I like you. Shall we?”

He treated her kindly enough, and he seemed reasonably friendly. He said the things he should say, and she said the things she should say, and they smiled empty smiles at each other, and laughing politely at the right moments, each playing a strange character, as though for a show—she wasn’t sure who the audience was. The elders? Mother? The disciples who saw them pass?

He showed her the Path of Ten Thousand Steps, the obstacle course she’d seen last night only briefly, half-revealed in the moonlight. Ten thousand logs stuck out of the water, and the farther you went the less stable the logs got, the more arrays reared out of the water or down from the sky, trying to knock you off. She watched a disciple get a few dozen steps in before a scythe of wind-qi took him in the gut, knocking him backwards into the water. In the past three decades only Mother had passed it all the way. She made the appropriate oo-ing noises. There were the Archives, which seemed like a giant vase, the dueling platforms where disciples won grand prizes for winning streaks—a hundred wins meant an automatic Elder’s position.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

He pointed to steam rising above a distant Outer Clan river and said that was where their Artificers quenched their steels. He gestured to a cluster of islands next to them, where patches of dull gray broke the soil. That was where they were making their Alchemy factories. She could feel her smile waning, but she managed to hold on. She didn’t want to be here, but she felt she owed it to Mother to be good.

By the end she felt she’d hardly got to know him or the Clan at all. She felt she’d been shown a gallery of flat, pretty pictures. She felt hollowed out; she desperately needed a nap.

***

They concluded with a lunch at the Patriarch’s Estate—a floating village he’d carved out just for himself. Their lunch was in the ‘village square,’ a central grassland laid out with a long table steaming with fish. She had run out of things to say. She had nothing left so she resigned herself to nodding, which seemed to work alright. The Patriarch introduced her to his son, a very pale, stick-thin shaking boy who couldn’t meet her eyes, even to say hello. It suited her just fine.

***

Later that afternoon she stood on the one of the largest of the islands in the Outer Clan, called Egg Island on account of its shape. Ranged before her were a horde of Li Clan Alchemists with their square Alchemists’ hats. A good half of them had brought their apprentices too; most of them were about her age—most of them seemed a little older. They stood a good ways behind their Masters, staring at her every movement, wide-eyed, as though trying to etch her permanently into their memories.

There were the military advisors with their assistants, clad in tunics. They wore ceremonial swords at their waists with pommels wrapped in red sash. Father wasn’t there.

Her demonstration went by in a haze; it felt like a swamp in her head. She was here to demonstrate the factory setup, showing how to fit the oversized lodestone cauldrons special arrays and the adjustments needed to brew at scale. She managed to forget to light the cauldron before starting the brew. She threw her ingredients in in the wrong order. She had to apologize at least thrice, feeling angrier and angrier at herself, but even that couldn’t make up for how drained she felt.

This whole trip was an awful idea. This was a rare chance, and she didn’t know when she’d return to this place, and there was so much she knew she’d find cool about it in another time. But right now she just wanted to go home.

***

After she was finished, one of Father’s advisors, big mustache angry eyes, told her he was waiting for her. The advisor requested she follow. She figured she might as well get it over with. She walked the log path in silence.

They’d put him up in a villa much like her own, though on the far side of the mountain; she had to cross quite some distance to get to him. The advisor knocked, and she heard his voice—

“Yes?”

“I’ve brought the girl.”

“Very good. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Sir.”

He stalked off, leaving her staring at the door.

“Well?” said Father’s voice. “Do you plan on coming in?”

She did.

He was sat behind a desk lined up against the wall, piled neatly with letters. His bed was perfectly made, the covers squared off. They stared at each other.

“You’ve changed,” he said at last. “You’ve grown.”

He had lines and bags under his eyes, so deep they almost seemed bruises. He looked dead tired, yet when he looked at her he seemed faintly amused. He seemed almost frail. She’d imagined him as firm and stone-faced as ever. She hadn’t known he could get tired; it put a crack in her composure.

“Sit,” he said.

He’d laid out a chair for her.

Mechanically, she did. He turned to face her.

“You’ve done well for yourself in my absence.”

“I have,” she said. She managed to keep her voice calm.

“Do you have anything to report? Anything you’d like to say to me? It has been some years, hasn’t it?”

He was speaking to her like she was a soldier of his.

“It has,” she said. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Nothing?”

“Why did you summon me?”

He arched a brow at her.

“Because you are my daughter,” he said. “Must a man need a reason to speak to his daughter?”

“You seem to need one.”

“You’re angry at me.” He pursed his lips.

“I am,” said Ruyi coldly.

“Why?”

Ruyi was silent.

“Your Mother mentioned you were moping,” he said, lips pursed. “But I hadn’t believed it. Why? Because I did not send for you the moment you made landfall? Because I did not rush out to greet you on the shore? This… is not how I expected you.”

“Who did you expect?”

“Someone more mature.”

She stared at him.

“What?” she croaked. She hadn’t meant to croak; she’d meant to stay cool, stay composed and dignified. She’d wanted to show him he had no hold on her anymore.

“There is a war underway. A war which threatens the very existence of our species. I spent all last night and this morning reviewing battle plans for a battle which may prove decisive. You are nearly grown. I am the General of the Song Armies. The Dynasty is my responsibility—was I to cast the realm aside to suit your whims?” He sighed. “I was wrong. In some ways, you have not changed at all.”

“Excuse me,” said Ruyi, turning away from him. Her eyes squeezed shut. She sat there, hearing her ragged breaths rattling in her ears. She swore to herself she wouldn’t cry.

Then, carefully, she stood.

“You’re right,” she said calmly. “I’ve been childish. You are a general, and you have your duties. I shouldn’t have expected anything more from you.”

She walked out of the room, chin held high.