Shadowwwing
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19. Hard Truths
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 06:03:38 +0000 UTCThe Matron’s sudden shift in demeanour seemed to ripple outward, changing the atmosphere along the riverside in a heartbeat. He could almost see the rest of the washerwomen pulling back, feeling the sudden distance between them.
More than anything else, it was just confusing.
The Matron glanced meaningfully at the rest of the women, conveying something that Jiang didn’t understand.
“Young master, please forgive our disrespectful teasing earlier,” Mei said politely, stepping closer and clasping her hands respectfully in front of her. “Please, allow me to finish your work here.”
Jiang blinked, utterly confused. “What? No, it’s fine—I can do it myself.”
Mei hesitated, her eyes briefly flickering toward the Matron. She swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. “It... it isn’t proper for a cultivator to do such work, young master.”
Jiang frowned, his brows knitting in genuine bewilderment. “But I’m the one who was assigned to it.”
There was a cautious silence, and he watched as the washerwomen exchanged furtive glances, clearly unsure how to respond. He was abruptly aware of how quiet the riverside had become—no teasing laughter, no gentle ribbing. The earlier camaraderie had vanished entirely, replaced by wary politeness and carefully lowered eyes.
The Matron stepped forward, clearing her throat softly. “Young master,” she said, a touch more gently than before, but still direct, “Mei is correct. Laundry is a task for servants. You... you needn’t dirty your hands with it.”
Jiang’s jaw tightened slightly. He might not fully understand the rules here, but he certainly didn’t like the idea of being treated as though he were above basic chores. “I’m perfectly capable of washing clothes,” he insisted quietly, deliberately keeping any irritation from his voice. “I’ve done much worse.”
The Matron’s lips twitched upward briefly, her eyes narrowing as though assessing him all over again. “I don’t doubt that,” she allowed after a moment. “But it doesn’t change the fact that cultivators don’t wash clothes. Not here, not anywhere.”
The uncomfortable tension in the air only grew thicker as he considered this. Jiang glanced at Mei, who remained where she stood, still uncertain but clearly determined not to step away unless explicitly dismissed. There was something unpleasant about seeing her like that—the cheerful, teasing woman reduced to cautious servility simply because she’d realised he was supposedly different.
He sighed, finally, choosing his words carefully. “Look, I don’t mean to cause trouble, but I picked this task because I need contribution points, and I intend to earn them, dammit. I’m not even a proper cultivator yet—I haven’t even passed the exams. I’m... I’m not… for fuck’s sake, three weeks ago I was living in a tiny village and had never even met a cultivator before. I’m not any better than any of you.”
Mei’s eyes widened slightly, startled, but she quickly ducked her head, hiding her reaction. A quiet murmur ran briefly through the other servants, silenced swiftly by a pointed look from the Matron.
The older woman regarded Jiang thoughtfully, something complex in her expression. “Well, your choice in language certainly reflects it,” she said wryly.
Jiang flushed, not having meant to swear, but refused to look away. If his mother was here, she’d be washing his mouth out with soap for sure.
He tried to ignore the pang of loss at the thought.
The Matron seemed to come to a decision, turning her attention back to the women and clapping her hands sharply. “Enough standing around,” she barked firmly, resuming her usual no-nonsense authority. “There’s still work to be done.” She turned to face Jiang once again. “In the meantime, young master, I believe you and I should have a chat.”
The Matron gestured firmly for Jiang to follow, walking a short distance down the riverbank, away from the curious ears of the washerwomen. Once they’d stepped out of easy earshot, she turned and looked at him frankly, her expression settling into something softer—but still stern enough to remind Jiang distinctly of his mother.
“Young master,” she began, then paused, seemingly deciding how blunt she should be. “I… would I be correct in saying that your decision to join the Azure Sky Sect was a hasty one?” she asked, changing what she was going to say at the last moment.
Jiang shrugged. “I guess, yeah. It seemed like the obvious choice, and even I know that it’s an opportunity not to be missed. This was also the only way I could think of that I could get strong enough to track down my family.”
The Matron took a deep breath. “Right,” she said, clearly weighing something in her mind. “Well, I don’t think you realise exactly what you’ve stepped into here, young master. The moment Elder Lu took notice of you, your lot in life changed. Regardless of what you were, what you are now is a Cultivator. That means you have power and influence in spades,” she raised a hand to cut off his automatic denial, “And even if you don’t right now, you will.”
She took a deep breath. “That means servants will bow, speak softly, and offer to do things for you—not because you’ve earned it, but because that’s how things are.”
“Even if I don’t want them to?” Jiang asked quietly, discomfort clear in his expression.
“Especially then,” she confirmed bluntly. “Truth be told, most servants fear cultivators more than they respect them. They’re careful—polite and obedient—because they’ve seen firsthand what happens when someone forgets their place. Young master, you may think yourself unchanged, but the rest of the world won’t agree. If you reject how people expect you to behave, you risk causing confusion, or worse, trouble for people who are only trying to keep their heads down.”
Jiang swallowed uneasily, suddenly realising how serious the Matron was. He glanced back toward the washerwomen, noticing Mei’s careful distance, her earlier cheer replaced by wary caution. It felt like an invisible wall had sprung up between them, and he hated it.
“I never asked for any of this,” he murmured stubbornly, though he knew the words were meaningless.
The Matron’s expression softened slightly. “No one ever does, young master. But it’s yours, regardless.”
She reached out, hesitated briefly, then placed a gentle, almost motherly hand on his shoulder. “If you take anything from this conversation, let it be this: don’t fight so hard against what it means to be a cultivator. You may not like it, and you may never truly feel at ease with it, but the power and respect will open doors for you that no peasant boy could ever enter. You’ll need those doors open if you really mean to find your family.”
He lifted his head, meeting her gaze seriously. “I’m not going to pretend I’m better than you or anyone else. I won’t do it.”
She gave him a small, knowing smile. “You don’t have to pretend. But the world you’re entering now isn’t like your village. People will bow, whether you want them to or not. What you choose to do after that is your business, but just remember—ignoring how things work might feel noble, but it won’t help your mother and sister.”
Jiang scoffed bitterly. “For all that I’m able to help them anyway.”
The unfortunate truth of the matter – the truth he’d been avoiding thinking about – was that his plan to help his family was not far removed from ‘join the Sect, hope for the best’. He didn’t know the first thing about being a cultivator – clearly – and for that matter, he didn’t even know if he’d be able to become a cultivator in the first place. There were six days left of the entrance exams, and even after completing this task – and assuming what little he’d done even counted as completion in the first place – he would have a grand total of 3 whole contribution points.
The Elders may not have set a specific number, but somehow, he doubted that was enough.
Even if he did manage to pass the exams, what then? He would, presumably, have the help he needed to advance as a cultivator, but even if he was hypothetically able to become strong enough to fight any number of bandits… that wouldn’t necessarily help him find his mother or sister.
The Matron was silent for a long moment, her eyes softening as she looked at Jiang, clearly seeing someone else in his place.
“You know, young master,” she finally said, careful but firm, “strength is one thing—but even strength has its limits. I’ve raised six children of my own, and if one of them were in your position… well, I’d hope someone would speak plainly to them.”
Jiang stiffened slightly, defensive despite the gentle tone of her voice. “What are you trying to say?”
She sighed, her expression sympathetic, choosing her words carefully. “Bandits don’t usually keep prisoners, Jiang. The chances your family is still alive, especially after weeks, are slim. Even if they are, tracking them down will be difficult at best—impossible at worst.”
“I’ll manage it,” Jiang insisted stubbornly, his voice tight. “No matter how long it takes.”
She nodded slightly, acknowledging his determination but not relenting. “Maybe you will. But there’s a chance—a good chance—you won’t. And even if you do find them someday, will they recognise you? Will you recognise them? Slavers take people far away, Young Master, beyond kingdoms and oceans. Chasing after a ghost your whole life...it’ll drain you. I’ve seen good people destroy themselves chasing something they can’t ever catch.”
Jiang stared down at the ground, his fists clenched tightly, refusing to look her in the eyes. “I can’t just abandon them.”
“I’m not saying you should,” the Matron said softly, her voice gentle and almost maternal now. “But don’t forget that you have a life of your own. If you live only for others—especially people who might already be lost—there won’t be anything left of you, even if you succeed. And… as harsh as it is to say…” she hesitated for a moment before pushing on, “You need to prepare yourself for what you’ll do if… if they can’t be saved.”
Jiang tried to speak, but the words stuck painfully in his throat. The idea that his mother and sister might already be beyond his reach had haunted his nightmares since that night in Liǔxī, but he’d never allowed himself to really face it. Hearing someone else put it so bluntly left him feeling sick and hollow.
The Matron hesitated, clearly uncertain about whether she’d gone too far. But before she could soften her words or try to comfort him, Jiang clenched his fists tighter, forcing himself to meet her gaze steadily.
“Then... if I can’t save them,” he said slowly, his voice cold and quiet, “I’ll still find the people who took them. I’ll find the ones responsible and make them pay. Even if it takes years, even if they’re long gone—someone, somewhere, made this happen. I’ll hold them accountable.”
The Matron’s eyes widened briefly, startled by the sudden steel in his voice, and Jiang felt a sharp pang of shame as her cautious gaze lingered on him. He wasn’t usually a violent person—not by nature—but even he could hear the quiet promise of violence hidden beneath his words.
“Perhaps you are better suited to being a cultivator than I thought,” she murmured. She didn’t look away, though. “Vengeance is no easier than rescue, young master,” she said gently, without judgment. “But I suppose it’s easier to find bandits than lost slaves. Just... don’t let it consume you.”
Jiang shook his head, forcing his voice steady again. “I won’t. But I won’t let them get away with it, either.”
She studied him silently, a knowing sadness behind her eyes, clearly recognising that stubborn set of his jaw. “Fair enough. Just keep in mind—revenge has a cost. Even if you get it, there’s no guarantee it’ll make you feel better.”
“Maybe not,” Jiang admitted, stubbornness fading slightly into quiet resignation. “But it’s better than nothing.”
The Matron raised an eyebrow, regarding him with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection. “You remind me too much of my youngest. Always determined to run head-first into every wall, convinced that stubbornness alone can win against the world.”
Jiang glanced away awkwardly, uncertain how to respond. She shook her head slowly, clearly deciding she’d said enough. “I can’t stop you. Nobody can. But remember, Young Master, this isn’t a task you can do alone. You’ll need strength and allies, influence and resources, and you’ll need them in ways you don’t yet understand. Even cultivators—even great ones—aren’t invincible.”
Jiang’s jaw tightened, but he nodded silently.
“Good,” she said briskly, the tone of authority returning. “Now, come on – before you can become great, you need to pass the exams, and standing around talking won’t earn you contribution points. Though if you’d rather take a different task, I’m sure no one would blame you.”
Jiang hesitated briefly, glancing toward the washerwomen, still carefully keeping their distance, then shook his head firmly. “No. I picked laundry, I’ll do laundry.”
The Matron huffed softly, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Fine, stubborn boy. But if Elder Lu complains that I let a cultivator do servant’s chores, I’ll be sending him to you.”
Despite himself, Jiang managed a small smile in return. “Fair enough.”
As he followed her back toward the waiting washerwomen, he felt something inside him shift, the initial dread easing slightly under a newfound sense of purpose. Maybe he couldn’t rescue his family—not yet, not quickly—but vengeance was simpler, clearer. And he knew where to start: with the Hollow Fangs.
He’d get stronger. Strong enough to find them.
And then he’d make them regret ever stepping foot in Liǔxī.
