Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Settling In

Zhao Chun couldn’t shake the feeling that the Daylily Garden didn’t deserve its name. She and Zhou Pian Ran had been walking for a while, yet she’d seen almost no daylilies at all. Instead, unfamiliar little flowers spilled in profusion along both sides of the bluestone path.

No one had bothered to trim them. Blossoms and grass tangled together in messy layers, and somehow the neglect created a wild, natural charm.

They kept going. Zhao Chun could still manage, but Zhou Pian Ran was clearly reaching her limit. After they rounded a small lake, a courtyard finally came into view, its plaque painted with “No. 3466.”

“We’re here. Let’s go in.”

Zhao Chun steadied Zhou Pian Ran, and the two of them stumbled through the gate.

The courtyard wasn’t large, but it felt bleak. Weeds ran rampant along the walls. A big tree nearly three meters tall stood in the center, its branches spreading wide and casting a pool of shade. Beneath it, three women in gray sat around a table. When they saw the newcomers, all three looked up in surprise.

The woman on the far right seemed the oldest. Fine smile lines framed her face, and she carried the gentle air of someone easy to talk to. “You two are new disciples?”

Zhou Pian Ran’s legs were trembling; her lips looked pale and dry. One glance was enough for the woman to understand. She rose at once and brought over two stools.

“Thank you,” Zhao Chun and Zhou Pian Ran said in a rush as they sat.

Zhao Chun answered for them. “Yes. I’m Zhao Chun, and she’s Zhou Pian Ran. We arrived today.”

“Oh.” The woman nodded. “My surname is Cui, my given name is Lan E. This is Hu Wan Zhi, and this is Lian Jing. Just call us Senior Sister.”

Hu Wan Zhi had a pointed chin and long, narrow eyes; her features looked sharp and severe. Lian Jing had a round face and bright eyes, the kind of look that made her easy to like. Zhao Chun matched names to faces and bowed slightly. “Greetings, Senior Sisters.”

Zhou Pian Ran sipped the warm water Cui Lan E handed her, color slowly returning to her face. In a soft voice, she echoed, “Senior Sister.”

“There are eight rooms here,” Cui Lan E said, warming to them. “The three on the right are ours. The first room on the left is a storeroom, so no one lives there. You two are young—you shouldn’t be too far away. Take the rooms beside us. It’ll be easier to look after you.”

They nodded, grateful. Cui Lan E seemed pleased. “You must be exhausted. Sit and rest a while. Wan Zhi, go check the storeroom. See if there are any clothes prepared for probationary disciples. Bring them four sets each.”

Hu Wan Zhi didn’t say much. She only nodded and headed off.

Cui Lan E turned to Lian Jing. “Ah Jing, come with me. We’ll tidy up those two rooms. No one’s lived in them for years, so they’ll be thick with dust.”

“How can we trouble you, Senior Sisters?” Zhao Chun and Zhou Pian Ran sprang up at once, flustered.

Lian Jing laughed, her voice pitched high enough to be almost piercing. “Do you think Senior Sister Cui and I clean with brooms and dustpans?”

She flicked her wrist as if demonstrating. “A Dust-Clearing Technique takes no time. Sit down and stop fussing.”

If Zhao Chun hadn’t sensed there was no malice, she might have thought the girl was mocking them.

Once the others left, Zhou Pian Ran finally whispered, “The Senior Sisters we’re living with are so warm.”

Zhao Chun gave a small nod. Better to live with decent people than share a roof with snakes.

As Lian Jing promised, the rooms were made ready quickly.

They were led into Zhou Pian Ran’s room first. Inside was a canopy bed, two cabinets of different heights, a table and stools, a wooden rack for storing odds and ends, and a full-length mirror leaned beside the table. There wasn’t much else, which only made the space feel emptier.

“It looks empty now,” Cui Lan E teased, “but once you’ve lived here a while, you’ll realize how small it really is.”

Hu Wan Zhi returned then, arms full of clothing—eight sets in all. Green short shirts with brown trousers.

In those colors, anyone would look like a walking tree. Zhao Chun almost laughed.

Zhou Pian Ran stared at the bundle. “Why don’t our clothes match yours?”

Lian Jing gave her a look that clearly said, You don’t know that? Then she settled in and explained.

The talk of “a hundred thousand probationary disciples” was exaggerated. Nearly half of them had been here for more than five years without leaving the sect.

The Ling Zhen Sect wasn’t about to feed so many people for nothing. All the tedious chores were separated out and assigned to these “expired” disciples. Each month, they worked and cultivated at the same time. Even if someone managed to break into the late Qi Refining Stage, they only changed status and became an Outer Sect steward. Only after reaching the Foundation Establishment Stage would the sect lift its restraints and allow them to choose: become an elder, or leave.

In all these decades, only one person had actually managed it. Most struggled at the bottom until they couldn’t see daylight anymore.

The three Senior Sisters were exactly that sort.

Lian Jing, who had four spirit roots, was the youngest at 20. She was already at the mid Qi Refining Stage—only one year away from becoming an official Outer Sect disciple. Even mentioning it left a bitter edge in her expression.

Cui Lan E and Hu Wan Zhi were older—one just over 30, the other 22—and both had five spirit roots. They were still stuck in the early Qi Refining Stage. When they saw Zhou Pian Ran’s five spirit roots, their gazes softened with sympathy.

“It’s fine,” Zhou Pian Ran said, trying to sound brave. “If I can’t make it in five years, I’ll go home. My parents and my brothers are all waiting for me.”

She looked as if she could already see her family at the door; her eyes shone.

“You really don’t worry much,” Cui Lan E said with a sigh. “Still thinking about going back to Small World and reuniting with your family.”

She had seen plenty of disciples come from other Small Worlds. At first they all talked about returning, but once they tasted the abundant spiritual qi of the Heng Yun world, they’d rather fight for menial work than leave.

“It’s good that she has a home,” Lian Jing cut in, her sharp voice turning unexpectedly weary. “At least she has something to hold on to. People like us… if we leave the sect, we’ll have nothing.”

Then she turned her gaze to Zhao Chun. “What about you? You have three spirit roots. You’re the one with the most hope of becoming an official disciple. You’re not thinking of going home too, are you?”

Zhao Chun lifted a hand in dismissal. “My mother died early. There are too many brothers and sisters in the household. My father probably doesn’t even know my name.”

“Then you’re like Wan Zhi,” Lian Jing said.

Hu Wan Zhi looked fierce, but when she spoke, it was timid—almost as if she wanted to shrink into herself. “My mother died giving birth to me. There are too many people at home. My father never paid much attention to me either.”

No wonder Lian Jing had said it. Their stories were nearly identical.

Cui Lan E chatted a bit more about daily life, then urged them to rest. That evening, they would go to the dining hall.

“Probationary disciples and menial disciples live mixed together,” she explained. “Each dining hall feeds a hundred courtyards. They’re not always full, but even without counting this year’s newcomers, there are still four or five hundred people. We’ll go early, so we don’t miss the hot food.”

They were called sect disciples, yet they lived worse than powerful mortals. The strong preyed on the weak here. Menials weren’t treated as people—everyone fought for work, fought for meals. If Zhao Chun couldn’t reach the mid Qi Refining Stage within five years, she would be forced into that same life.

Zhou Pian Ran, at least, had somewhere to go back to. Zhao Chun did not.

She carried her things to her own room. The furnishings were nearly identical to Zhou Pian Ran’s. She locked the items she’d received into the low cabinet, folded the clothes into the taller one, and finally lay down for a short rest.

When Cui Lan E came to call her, Zhao Chun felt refreshed. The clothes had already been cleaned with a Dust-Clearing Technique, so she changed right away and checked the mirror.

A little tree. She really looked like a little tree.

Zhao Chun wasn’t good at socializing. She could only smile awkwardly while the others nodded in satisfaction and praised her with the kind of warm, empty blessings people handed out freely: “Naturally gifted,” “a bright future,” “sure to attain the Dao.”

By the time they reached the dining hall, her mouth ached from holding the expression. Lian Jing laughed at her, then leaned close and offered blunt advice. “Next time, just listen. You don’t need to answer, and you don’t need to smile at them.”

“Won’t that offend people?”

“Of course not.” Lian Jing grinned. “They’ll just think you’re truly capable.”

As she spoke, she deftly picked up several hefty pieces of meat and dropped them into the bowls of the two new girls. “Here. Eat while it’s hot. You need strength if you want to cultivate.”

The dining hall reminded Zhao Chun of the school cafeteria in her previous life—except no one served food. Everyone helped themselves: take what you want, eat what you take. If you couldn’t finish, money would be deducted. That rule applied to menials, though; probationary disciples were spared.

Zhao Chun wasn’t expecting miracles from a communal pot. As long as it filled her stomach, it was enough. But when she ate, she found the dishes rich with oil and thick sauce, unexpectedly flavorful.

They’d come all this way with nothing but water in their bellies. Zhao Chun and Zhou Pian Ran were starving. They finished quickly, and Cui Lan E stopped them before they could take more.

“Don’t stuff yourself just because you’re hungry,” she warned. “You won’t feel it now, but you’ll regret it when you try to sleep.”

Zhao Chun understood. She put down her chopsticks after the last bite. Zhou Pian Ran glanced at her, then at the three Senior Sisters, and obediently followed suit.

Cui Lan E nodded, satisfied, and collected their bowls and chopsticks, setting them on the rack against the wall. “From now on, just put them here. Someone will come to clean up.”

They memorized it. Their first meal in the sect ended without trouble.

On the way back, the menials on duty had already lit the lamps. The Daylily Garden lay under a calm, quiet glow. Zhao Chun noticed that many courtyards had only half their rooms lit and asked, “Senior Sister Cui, are those rooms empty?”

Cui Lan E shook her head. Before she could answer, Lian Jing’s shrill voice burst out, “Empty? No! People lived there. They just ran off!”

“Ah Jing,” Cui Lan E scolded, half amused and half exasperated. Then she turned back and explained gently.

It wasn’t only the Daylily Garden. All across the sect, menial disciples who saw no hope often chose to attach themselves to official disciples. They became servants, willingly letting themselves be driven and used. Once they latched onto someone powerful, they naturally stopped living in a shabby place like the Daylily Garden.

It was an unwritten rule in the Outer Sect. The stewards pretended not to see it. It was consensual; outsiders had no standing to scold.

Cui Lan E’s voice softened. “Ah Jing didn’t mean any harm. If you don’t know something, you can’t be blamed.”

Then she looked at Zhao Chun, her gaze unexpectedly serious. “You’re not the same as us, Zhao Chun. One day you’ll walk out of the Daylily Garden. You might even cross to the other side of the Sky-Piercing River.”

Zhao Chun’s steps slowed.

“You may become as strong as Elder Qiu,” Cui Lan E continued. “But even people who can move mountains and fill seas… they’ve never been truly free.”

Her words fell like stones, each one heavy. “We’re able to live only because the strong still fear consequences—and because they still have compassion.”

That night, Zhao Chun lay awake a long time, turning those words over and over.

She was grateful to be alive. That was why she treated others kindly whenever she could. But what about her?

She didn’t want to live on the mercy of the strong. If the world survived only because the strong still feared something and still felt pity, then why couldn’t she become one of the strong?

She had no right to interfere with anyone else’s choices, much less condemn them. What she could do was keep warning herself—every moment—never to walk that same road.

She was Zhao Chun.

In this life, she would live for herself.