Humble Beginnings, a Cultivation Quest

Xiǎo Nú's hands throbbed as she worked the unforgiving mixture of horse hair and droppings, clay, and sand. The coarse loam resisted her every effort, each knead sending sharp jolts of pain through her fingers. She gritted her teeth and pressed on, determined to finish her task without delay.


Dim light cast harsh shadows on her hunched form, the soft yet unceasing of her labor one of the few sounds in the workshop. Her fingers, rough and worn, moved with practiced precision, shaping the coarse mixture with a familiarity that came from years of relentless toil.


As her hands worked, a movement at the edge of her vision drew her attention. Hou Wenyan, son and apprentice of Hou Yanlin, her master, was nearby, skillfully wrapping a thick rope around a spindle to begin the mold-making process for another cannon. The differences in their roles were clear - while she toiled with the basics, Hou Wenyan, by virtue of birth, engaged in the more refined aspects of the craft.


Even as Xiǎo Nú watched the boy - her elder of five years at nineteen - her discomfort made itself known, a constant reminder of her place. Pain in her hands, an ache in her back - tolls exacted by a life of servitude.


As if he could feel her gaze, Hou Wenyan's eyes raised to meet hers. He halted his work, his stern gaze narrowing.


"Xiǎo Nú," he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Are your eyes wandering because your hands cannot manage the simplest of tasks?"


Startled, Xiǎo Nú quickly averted her eyes, returning the loam to the center of her focus.


"No, Master Hou," she muttered, her tone apologetic. "I apologize for my inattention. I'll focus on my work."


She heard Hou Wenyan scoff as the rhythm of her work intensified, her attention once again fully on the mixture. The weight of his words lingered, the brief interaction a reminder of the pecking order between them.


For several minutes, Xiǎo Nú's hands moved methodically through the coarse mixture, finishing her work her sole concern. Soon, though, at the edge of her vision, Hou Wenyan applied a slurry to the rope, preparing it for the first layer of clay. His movements were precise, a display of craftsmanship that captivated Xiǎo Nú despite his disdain for her.


She stole glances, not out of envy, but with a silent admiration for the process. Though never formally taught as Hou Wenyan had been, she absorbed details of the craft through quiet observations of Hou Yanlin instructing his son.


An obvious hierarchy separated them, but Xiǎo Nú found solace in her tasks - the cannons taking shape in Hou Yanlin's workshop bore the imprint of her labor, a fact she held onto with a quiet pride.


A sharp pain in her ear jolted Xiǎo Nú from her reverie. She instinctively clasped her ear, inadvertently smearing loam on her short-cropped hair. Looking up, she met the gaze of Hou Yanlin. He held a short strip of bamboo, the tool of his reprimand. Despite the sting, there was a warmth in his eyes.


"Xiǎo Nú," he chided, the lines on his face softening into a smile. "Your mind seems to wander more than usual today."


"I apologize, Master Hou." Xiǎo Nú flushed in embarrassment as Hou Yanlin's voice drew the attention of his son, who looked over with a scowl, though Hou Wenyan didn't have a chance to further reprimand her.


"Enough with the mixture for now," Hou Yanlin instructed, his tone more good-natured than his son's. "Go and wash your hands. We have a customer who needs assistance with transporting some goods."


Xiǎo Nú stood and acknowledged the order with a small bow before scurrying over to the small bucket of water that was used to remove the unpleasant mixture. As she scraped clay from underneath her fingernails, Hou Yanlin moved over to examine Hou Wenyan's work, soft-spoken praise for the quality filling the shop, only to be met with a much harsher response, Hou Wenyan complaining about Xiǎo Nú's lack of focus.


With hunched shoulders, Xiǎo Nú slipped out of the workshop, heading through the tight hallways of Hou Yanlin's house to the front, where business was conducted. Hou Wenyan had not always been so disdainful of her - as children, they had played together, with Hou Wenyan even protecting her from local bullies several times on their outings. As he matured into adulthood, though, his friendliness had diminished, as though he had only just begun to realize exactly what their relationship was - master and slave.


Xiǎo Nú pushed the matter from her mind as she entered the small but immaculate storefront. Waiting at the counter was a man, his impatience clear from his body language. Arms crossed, he was examining an old firelance mounted on the wall behind the counter, only for his head to whip around at her entrance.


Xiǎo Nú braced herself as she noticed the annoyed expression on his face - angry customers seldom were gentle. Yet, a moment after he laid eyes on Xiǎo Nú, he seemed to deflate, his eyes not losing all their fire, but filled with an equal measure of pity.


The reason behind this was clear. Skin a shade darker than typical, a longer face, a more square jaw, and a less pronounced bridge to his nose - the man shared many of the physical features that marked Xiǎo Nú as a foreigner. Shanmin, Hou Yanlin had called them, mountainfolk.


This was not the first of her people Xiǎo Nú had met, and his reaction to her presence was typical. More often than not, when other shanmin regarded her, it was with a mixture of guilt, pity, and anger, as though they were trying to apologize to her with their eyes.


When she was younger, after the first time, she had asked Hou Yanlin why. He had answered with a switch to her knuckles, the topic setting him off in a way few others could. Over the years, she had worked up the courage to broach the subject several more times, and each time she was sent away with tears in her eyes, the canings accompanied by lectures about how Liushan, and her in particular, were lucky to be part of the Celestial Empire.


Xiǎo Nú bowed to the man, ignoring his obvious discomfort. "Greetings Sir. I am at your disposal."


The man floundered for a moment, brows furrowed, before regaining his composure. "I aint no sir," he began, "but yeah, need help pulling a cart."


He jerked his head back towards the door, where two thin carts were filled with firelances, long spears with single-use bamboo firearms affixed to the head. Xiǎo Nú recalled the order, having spent many hours cutting and filling the bamboo. As she understood it, such mass-producible weaponry was usually created for mortal soldiers, with the cultivators who favored firearms preferring bespoke pieces.


"Of course, Si-" Xiǎo Nú cut herself off, then headed over to take up the handles of one as the man took the others. "Where to?"


The man, who introduced himself as Paljor, took up the other cart and led Xiǎo Nú through the tightly-packed streets of Mudanshu, tracing their way through streets that were too narrow for horses.

---

The streets of Mudanshu buzzed with early-evening activity as Xiǎo Nú made her way home, the familiar sights and sounds of Mudanshu enveloping her – the aroma of street vendors selling steamed buns, the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer, and the vibrant colors of silk garments drying in the sun. Yet, despite the bustling life around her, Xiǎo Nú's attention was fixated on a short string of copper coins, discreetly tucked into her palm by Paljor as she left him, along with an instruction that they were for her, not her master.


She ran her fingers over the edges, feeling the intricate details crafted into the metal as she counted them. She traced the curves and lines, attempting to decipher the meaning behind the symbols cast into each coin. Hou Yanlin had never taught her to read - a skill fit only for merchants and scholars, he said. It had never bothered her before, as she had never had need for the skill, but as she stared at the inscriptions in her - her! - coins, she found herself burning with curiosity.


A smaller part of her, though, whispered that she should turn the riches over to Hou Yanlin. He was, overall, far more easy-going than other masters she had seen, and had even entrusted her with small amounts of coin to make purchases on his behalf in the past, but she doubted he would be pleased if he found she was hiding coin from him. It was no fortune, just a single section of a typical ten-section string of one thousand coins, but more than she had ever handled before.


As Xiǎo Nú turned a corner, her focus still on the precious coins, she nearly collided with a hurried passerby. With a gasp, she stumbled backward, managing to just barely avoid a full collision. Instinctively, she dropped into a deep bow, eyes fixed on the ground.


"I apologize for my clu-" she begins, only to be cut off by a familiar peal of laughter. Glancing up, she saw the jolly face of Wen Jianyu, a local boy her age whose father supplied raw materials to Hou Yanlin. This caused the two to often cross paths, and Wen Jianyu's lack of regard for their disparate social strata had cemented him as one of the few that Xiǎo Nú could call a friend.


She let out a small sigh of relief as she righted herself, Wen Jianyu waving away the gesture. "Xiǎo Nú! How are you?"


She offered back a small smile of her own. "I am well - I just finished helping a customer, and was heading back home." Unbidden, she glanced down at the money Paljor had given her, drawing Wen Jianyu's attention to the string of coins as well.


His eyes widened slightly, but didn't comment on it. Looking back up at her, he started as he seemed to remember why he was in such a rush. "If you're not working right now, can you come to the edge of town? There's supposed to be cultivators riding in tonight, I wanna see them!"


It was Xiǎo Nú's turn for her eyes to widen in shock. Mudanshu was a small town, unimportant in any greater scheme, and not near enough to any border to warrant a continual cultivator presence. The only time the town could expect one was during the twice-annual visits from the Ministry of Revenue, which had only happened a few weeks ago. Hou Yanlin, like every other business owner, had been stressed during the visit, double- and triple-checking all of his recorded income.


It was the first time Xiǎo Nú had ever seen a cultivator, peering through an ajar door as Hou Yanlin kowtowed before the official, desperately explaining a discrepancy in his records. The woman had seemed almost other-worldly, standing as still as a statue even as her presence seemed to dominate the small store. Xiǎo Nú had only witnessed a brief moment of the interaction, as she had been sent scrambling away to her cramped quarters when the official's eyes had flicked over to her.


If there were cultivators coming now, it was for some other reason. She hesitated, unsure of exactly what to do. Hou Yanlin was lenient, and likely wouldn't be too put out by her taking longer than expected to return, but she doubted he'd be willing to overlook both that and her accepting payment, even if it had been sprung on her unexpectedly.


Did she go with Wen Jianyu to watch the cultivators, or head back home immediately?

---

[ ] Head home, and turn the coins over to Hou Yanlin.
[ ] Head home, but keep the coins hidden.
[ ] Go with Wen Jianyu to watch the cultivators.
[ ] Write In

Feel free to vote for multiple options. I think I'll be leaving most votes up for 24 hours, with especially major ones getting 48 hours. This is a 24 hour vote.