Blue Silk Robe

Wuyi awoke to sunlight in his face. Someone had entered his chamber and opened the window shutters to the day. A wooden basin, a silk washcloth, and a porcelain ewer filled with fragrant water had been left on top of the chest. He felt gratitude for these simple provisions, but even after washing his face, he couldn't shake off the weariness that clung to him. It unsettled him that someone could walk into his room and roam around without rousing him.

As he had guessed, the window looked out over the sea, but he didn't have much time to devote to the view. A glance at the sun told him that he had overslept. He quickly donned his clothes and hastened down to the stables, forgoing his morning breakfast and tea.

However, Boluo had little time for him that morning. "Get back up to the fort," Boluo advised him. "Mistress Jizao already sent Bangte down here to look for you. She's to measure you for clothing. Best go find her quickly; she lives up to her name as impatient mistress and won't appreciate your upsetting her morning routine."

Wuyi's trot back up to the fort reawakened all his aches from the day before. Much as he dreaded seeking out Mistress Jizao and being measured for clothing he was certain he didn't need, he was relieved not to be on horseback again this morning.

After inquiring his way up from the culinary chambers, he finally found Mistress Jizao in a room several doors down from his chamber. He paused near the door and peered in. Three tall windows flooded the room with sunlight and a mild breeze. Bamboo baskets filled with raw silk and vibrant, naturally dyed threads were stacked against one wall, while a tall shelf on another wall held a rainbow of cloth goods. Two young women were talking over a loom, and in the far corner, a lady was managing the pace of a traditional hand-operated silk reel. There was no doubt that the woman with her broad back to him was Mistress Jizao.

The two young women noticed him and paused in their conversation. Mistress Jizao turned to see what had captured their attention, and in a moment, Wuyi found himself ensnared by her. She skipped formalities like names or clarifications. In no time, he was sitting on a short, polished wooden chair with a stitched pillow, getting sized up without any consideration for his self-respect or human dignity. She critiqued his clothing to the young women, casually remarking that he bore a striking resemblance to some fierce young masters she had known in her time and that his measurements and coloring were much like theirs when they were his age. She then sought their opinions as she held up different bolts of fabric against him.

"That one," said one of the loom women. "The blue complements his skin tone. It is said that his father preferred blue robes himself. It's sad that the Yuanjing clan doesn't care about the child. He would have been quite a handsome young master."

As he stood there, draped in silken fabrics, he overheard for the first time what everyone else in Lujingbao Fortress already knew: his father's clan did not care to know about the boy his father sired. The weaving women discussed in detail how the news of

his existence had reached the fort and various clans long before his arrival, causing deep anguish among some of his desert clans who wanted to be as far as possible from the politics of powerful clans and sects. He also heard from the ladies that his father actually had a DAO Companion, which made Wuyi's existence more complicated.

Wuyi sighed in his mind, "Just let me be in peace, you people. I don't want clan politics either."

The ladies and their chats were brutal; they even discussed Boluo. Now, Yuanjing had tied Boluo to their bastard. Between the injury to his leg and the responsibility for the noble bastard, poor Boluo's future had turned bleak. Old Boluo just wasn't the man he had been.

He learned a few more things about Boluo from the ladies. In the past, Boluo's Shenfen clan was no less, if not equal, to the Luyao clan. But members of the clan always had more brawn than brain, leading to the downfall of their clan. Boluo wanted to bring the clan back to glory and was working for it, but with the injury and recent responsibility for a child that was not his, had made Boluo more of a drunk, drowning in self-pity.

There was a time when no woman of the Fort walked quickly past him; to catch his eye was to make everyone envious, nearly anyone old enough to wear skirts. And now? They called him Old Boluo, and he was still in his prime. It was so unfair, as if he had any control over the situation the poor guy was put in.

Wuyi wondered if taking care of a child shouldn't have ruined Boluo's life more than the injury. But he knew what ate Boluo away. It was Wuyi's future; if tomorrow Wuyi showed bloodline power and the clan decided to kill him, they would kill Boluo too.

To the ladies and people of the fort, the old ferocious warrior Boluo was now just an old man. But it was all for the best anyway, they supposed.

Wuyi listened avidly, if mutely, to all of this while several fabrics were held against him, debated, and selected. He gained a much deeper understanding of why the Fort's children left him alone. What Boluo said was right; they feared him more than he feared them.

The Yuanjing clan was a way more powerful clan than he initially had expected. These ladies talked about his father's clan as if they were immortals in heaven. That is why when the old lord saw him using his cheat, he thought, just like Boluo, that his bloodline power was waking up, which made the old lord decide to give him better treatment.

If the women considered that he might have thoughts or feelings about their conversation, they showed no sign of it. The only remark he remembered Mistress Jizao making to him specifically was that he should take greater care in washing his neck.

Then Mistress Jizao shooed him from the room as if he were an annoying chicken, and he found himself finally heading to the kitchens for some food.

That afternoon, he was back with Huo, practicing until he was sure his blade had mysteriously doubled its weight. Then came food, and bed, and up again in the morning, back to Boluo's tutelage.

His learning filled his days, and any spare time he found was swallowed up with the chores associated with his learning, whether it was tack care for Boluo or sweeping the weapons pavilion and putting it back in order for Huo.

In due course, he discovered not just one

, but three complete sets of robes, along with traditional socks, laid out on his bed one afternoon. Two were woven from humble linen in an earthy brown, the typical attire for children his age. But the third was crafted from delicate blue silk.