Shadowwwing
patreon
20. What Not to Do
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 06:03:52 +0000 UTCBy the time the laundry was done, the servants had relaxed enough around him to resume chatting with each other, and even occasionally making the effort to include him. It had taken longer than he’d thought to complete the laundry – he’d clearly underestimated the number of people living in the Sect. It may have only taken a couple of hours back in the village, but then Liǔxī was only home to a couple of hundred people.
From the number of robes he’d washed, either the Sect was home to thousands, or everyone had at least three outfits, which was, in his mind, pointlessly lavish. It was probably a mixture of the two.
Still, the hours passed pleasantly enough. As much as he hated that the washerwomen were, not afraid, exactly, but cautious around him, he had to admit that the sudden lack of teasing was a relief. Though oddly enough, a couple of the bolder young women seemed to be more interested in approaching him, rather than less.
The way the Matron shooed them away with a stern glare and warning meant he didn’t have the opportunity to figure out why, but he wasn’t too bothered.
They finished packing up shortly afterwards, each washerwoman shouldering a large woven basket heaped high with folded robes and linens. Jiang had insisted on carrying two himself despite the Matron’s disapproving grumbles. The baskets weren’t exactly heavy—certainly nothing compared to hauling fresh kills through knee-deep snow—but they were awkward and bulky, blocking his vision of the path in front of him enough that he needed to walk carefully.
The late afternoon sun painted the stone path in deepening shades of gold, shadows spilling long and lazy from the Sect’s buildings. He trailed slightly behind the others, listening to their easy chatter, letting the mundane conversation wash over him, thinking about how he was going to be able to collect enough points to pass the exam. Considering he’d spent almost five hours to receive only three points – transferred by tapping his token to an engraved block of wood carried by the Matron – he would clearly have to find some more profitable tasks.
That peace lasted until he heard footsteps approaching from ahead, quick and sharp against the stone. The Matron stopped abruptly, causing the women behind her to bunch up uncertainly.
“Oh! Young master,” the Matron said, her voice carefully neutral. “Pardon us, we’ll move aside at once.”
She motioned hastily to the women, stepping aside herself. Jiang followed, eyeing the source of the disturbance curiously. Standing there in the middle of the stone path was a young man, perhaps four or five years older than Jiang himself, draped in immaculate robes of azure silk. His posture was rigidly upright, eyes narrowed as if inspecting something distasteful. Jiang recognised him vaguely from the entrance examination—one of the richly dressed aspirants who had watched Jiang arrive late with Elder Lu, whispering disdainfully amongst themselves as if he’d offended them personally.
The aspirant’s brow furrowed as he met Jiang’s gaze. After a brief hesitation, he spoke again, his voice a shade more brittle.
“You… I recognise you. You are an aspirant, aren’t you? The one that arrived late.”
“That’s right,” Jiang replied, wondering what the man wanted.
The young man in question frowned, eyes flicking briefly toward the washerwomen, who had fallen quiet and now watched the exchange nervously. Jiang thought he saw faint color rising in the aspirant’s cheeks, though he clearly tried to hide it beneath an air of lofty disdain.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing, then?” the aspirant demanded, nodding pointedly toward the baskets in Jiang’s arms. “You lower yourself—and, by extension, the rest of us—by engaging in servant’s work. Have you no pride as a cultivator?”
Jiang blinked. This… had something to do with that ‘face’ stuff that Elder Lu had told him about. Probably, anyway – he hadn’t actually understood any of it. Still, if only for the sake of the washerwomen, he should try to be polite.
“This was one of the tasks at the job hall,” he explained. “I thought I’d pick something easy I knew how to do for my first task, just to make sure I didn’t stuff anything up.”
There. Friendly, clear, and polite. Nobody could take offence to that.
Except, apparently, a cultivator.
The aspirant stared at him, mouth open. He seemed more bewildered than anything else at first, but his expression quickly started shifting towards anger.
“Do you not even realise the disgrace you’re bringing on us all?” the young man pressed, voice getting louder. “A cultivator does not lower himself to chores fit for peasants and servants. We are supposed to rise above such things, to dedicate ourselves entirely to cultivation.”
He drew himself up a little taller, his tone becoming almost solemn, self-important. “By acting as you have, you dishonour everyone striving to join this sect.”
Jiang shrugged in response. He’d tried to be polite, but either this guy was just looking for the opportunity to get offended, or, more likely, the Matron was right and a cultivator doing laundry really was a big no-no. His best bet here was probably to just stay quiet and move on instead of making things worse.
Unfortunately, it appeared shrugging was too casual, as the aspirant’s face darkened further.
“I am Wei Feng,” the young man finally said, as if expecting the name alone to mean something. When Jiang gave no reaction, Wei Feng’s expression flickered briefly with surprise and irritation, quickly smoothed away. “Since you seem unaware of the most basic courtesies, let me make it clear. Your behaviour is unacceptable. Therefore, as is proper for cultivators of our standing, I formally challenge you to a duel.”
“A duel will clarify your understanding,” Wei Feng added stiffly, voice tightly controlled. “Perhaps defeat will remind you of the standards we must uphold.”
Jiang considered it for a moment.
“No,” he said bluntly, adjusting the awkward load of laundry baskets in his arms. He started forward, stepping around the frozen aspirant as if nothing had happened.
Wei Feng opened his mouth in surprise, clearly having expected any reaction but casual dismissal. “What?” He turned sharply to follow Jiang with his gaze, incredulous. “You—you refuse?”
“Yes.” Jiang didn’t even bother turning around, his voice flat and unconcerned. “I don’t really know how to fight, sorry.”
Wei Feng sputtered for words, his face reddening visibly. “But—you—”
Jiang ignored him, moving steadily down the stone path. He could practically feel the other man’s confusion and growing outrage behind him, but since Wei Feng didn’t seem inclined to physically stop him, he kept going. Ahead, the washerwomen had wisely cleared the area as soon as the exchange had begun and now stood clustered several yards away, watching with wide eyes.
Jiang caught up to them quickly, stepping past them without a word. As he moved onward, the washerwomen hastily fell into step, shooting furtive glances backward. After a few tense moments, Wei Feng apparently decided not to follow; Jiang heard no further shouting, and the tension eased slightly.
“You just refused him,” one of the younger women whispered, eyes wide with amazement. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”
“Is it that strange?” Jiang asked absently. He honestly hadn’t given it much thought. It wasn’t as if Wei Feng had authority over him; he had no reason to humour someone else’s pointless expectations. He’d come here for a reason, after all—why waste time worrying about nonsense?
“Strange? Young master, it was more than strange!” Another washerwoman replied, clearly torn between concern and admiration. “I don’t think anyone’s ever just... walked away before. Not from a duel.”
“Is it that important?”
The Matron cleared her throat loudly, cutting off the younger women’s eager responses. Her expression was tight and controlled, but Jiang saw the worry behind her carefully composed mask.
“Young master Jiang,” she began, her voice quiet but firm, “while I certainly understand you have your reasons, I fear that what you just did may have been a mistake.”
He glanced toward her, surprised at the genuine unease in her tone. The Matron wasn’t the type to mince words or exaggerate.
“Why? It was pointless. I don’t even know him. Why would I care about his opinion?” Jiang asked flatly.
The Matron sighed, clearly trying to find the best way to phrase what she needed to say. “It doesn’t matter if you know him or not, young master. The point is, cultivators have... rules, of a sort. They care very deeply about things like face, honour, and pride. When you refused him so openly and casually, you may as well have slapped him in public. It’s... difficult to explain.”
Jiang felt a flicker of annoyance. “If it was that important, maybe he should have said so.”
The Matron’s lips tightened, but she held her patience. “I suspect he believed he did. That’s the trouble. People like him—young nobles—are raised from birth to expect respect. When they don’t receive it, especially in public, they’re inclined to hold grudges. Worse, they often have the resources and influence to act upon them.”
Jiang considered her words in silence, feeling the first stirrings of unease himself. He’d spent most of his life in a village where problems were solved directly—by words, work, or occasionally fists. Even then, he’d never personally been involved in any of it – spending most of his time hunting in the woods made it difficult to offend people. All this talk of hidden rules and subtle offences was not only foreign but deeply irritating.
“What was I supposed to do?” he asked finally, voice edged with frustration. “Fight him just because he felt like I wasn’t acting the way he thought I should?”
The Matron shook her head quickly. “No, of course not. I’m not saying you should have accepted the duel. But perhaps you might have refused him more politely. Given him some face, as they say. Or even just pretended that you’d accept another time. Anything but outright dismissal.”
They walked in silence for a moment, Jiang frowning as he absorbed this. She was probably right—he had made things more complicated for himself—but it wasn’t as though he could do anything about it now. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he’d want to. He wasn’t here to learn how to play politics. He was here to find his family, whatever it took.
Still, he owed the Matron some courtesy. She had done nothing but try to help him.
“I’ll be more careful next time,” he finally conceded, though his voice held little enthusiasm.
The Matron studied him carefully, her eyes narrowed slightly, but whatever she saw in his face seemed to satisfy her enough for now.
“Good,” she said with a sigh. “But young master Jiang, I strongly urge you to find someone who can explain these things to you properly. You’re different enough as it is, and that alone will attract unwanted attention. If you keep stepping on toes without even knowing it, you’ll make far more enemies than you’re prepared to handle.”
He knew she was right, deep down. But a stubborn voice inside him rebelled, annoyed at the thought of bending himself to fit the incomprehensible expectations of people he neither knew nor respected.
“I’ll think about it,” he replied, deliberately vague.
Maybe it was because she had already raised six children, or maybe he was just not very good at being subtle, but for whatever reason, the Matron seemed dubious.
Oh, well.
— — —
Elder Lu was enjoying his tea and idly wondering if it was worth sending a servant to bring him some snacks when a quiet knock broke his focus.
A servant stood at the threshold, fidgeting nervously. He bowed and whispered something quickly, his expression uneasy.
Elder Lu’s eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise breaking through his calm mask for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said slowly, a faint smile twitching at his lips. “He did what?”
