Fateful Day

One particular morning, not long before Wuyi's seventh year, he found himself in the grand pavilion amidst the low dining tables. The previous day had been festive, with celebrations stretching from dawn well past dusk. This meant plenty of leftover delicacies for Wuyi to get his hands on later. Wuyi enjoyed food to the fullest since he understood its value, having lived in the desert with his mother and grandfather where every meal was more precious than treasures.

Boluo had drunk excessively, as had most of the servants and nobles, leaving the pavilion mostly empty. Wuyi's morning foray into the kitchens had yielded little, but the tables in the grand pavilion were a treasure trove of leftovers—broken dumplings, meat dishes, bowls of lychees, and blocks of tofu. Wuyi was under a table enjoying a sizable dumpling when he heard muffled footsteps rustling across the bamboo mat-covered floor. Two men were engaged in a hushed conversation, their words almost whispers.

Thinking it was the kitchen servants coming to clear away, Wuyi scrabbled from beneath the table to snare a few more choice leavings before they were gone. But it was no servant who startled at his sudden appearance; it was the old patriarch of the clan, Luyao Congming himself, with Wangzhe, his bleary eyes, and rumpled traditional garments attesting to his participation in last night's revelries, a scant step behind. The patriarch's servant pattered after them, Wangzhe and the servant were looking sleepy. In comparison, Patriarch Congming appeared sharp-eyed, his facial hair neatly trimmed, and his attire spotless.

Seeing Wuyi for a brief moment, Patriarch Congming seemed taken aback, before he commented, "You see, Wangzhe, it is as I was telling you. An opportunity presents itself, and someone seizes it; often someone young, or someone driven by the energy and hunger of youth. Clans such as ours have no leisure to ignore such opportunities, or to let them be created for others." Lord Congming moved onward beyond Wuyi, elaborating on his topic, as Wangzhe cast a disapproving glare through his reddened eyes. A casual wave of his hand signaled that Wuyi should make himself scarce.

Wuyi indicated his understanding with a quick nod but darted first to the table. He stuffed two lychees into his tunic and took up a mostly whole red bean pastry. Seeing Wuyi taking food, Wangzhe frowned. Without realizing it, Wuyi used the Statue of Harmony to calm Wangzhe. But the moment he acted, he realized his mistake.

As Patriarch Congming suddenly stopped, turned around, and stared at him for a while, Wuyi froze where he stood. Did he notice the statue's power? That should not be possible, but he must have noticed some changes when he calmed Wangzhe, even Boluo could.

After a long time, "Look at him," the old patriarch commanded. Wangzhe glared at Wuyi, but the boy dared not move. "What will you make of him?" Patriarch Congming asked. Wangzhe looked perplexed. "Him? It's Wuyi. Young Master Xuan's illegitimate son. Sneaking and taking food as always." Lord Congming's eyes were sharp, yet his smile was subtle. 

"I'm not asking what you think of him now, but what you intend to make of him in the future. Observe him—youthful, robust, and clever. His lineage is more distinguished than yours, even if he was born under less-than-ideal circumstances. So, what's your plan? Will he be a useful tool or a liability? A friend or a foe? Or will you neglect him, allowing someone else to turn him against us?"

Wangzhe squinted at Wuyi, then glanced past him and, finding no one else in the hall, returned his puzzled gaze to the boy. 

"The bastard? He's only a child," Wangzhe finally said. The old Patriarch let out a weary sigh. 

"As of this moment, he's just a child. But blink, and he'll be a young man, and then you'll have missed your chance to shape him. He has the blood of the Yuanjing noble clan; that blood has the power we all know. Seize this opportunity, Wangzhe. Mold him now, and he'll be a loyal ally in years to come. Neglect him, and he could become a disgruntled Yuanjing outcast who might turn against us. A child born out of wedlock, Wangzhe, is a wildcard. His unique heritage could grant him special abilities. He could be either a tool or a treasure for you. Yuanjing has some of the best assassins in their clan, don't you know?"

Wangzhe's eyes grew round at the patriarch's last words. For a pause, they all breathed in silence, regarding one another. When Wangzhe spoke, he sounded as if he had a dry bun caught in his throat. "You speak of these things in front of the boy. Of using him, as a tool, a weapon, or an assassin. You think he will not remember your words when he is grown?"

 Lord Congming laughed, and the sound rang against the stone walls of the Grand Pavilion. "Remember them? Of course, he will. I count on it. Look at his eyes, Wangzhe. There is intelligence there, intelligence of an adult, and possibly potential abilities of his bloodline. I'd be a fool to lie to him and stupider, to simply begin his training and education with no explanation. This would make his thoughts vulnerable to any ideas others might introduce, wouldn't you agree, young man?"

He was steadily observing Wuyi, and Wuyi realized he was returning the Patriarch's look. It was not a simple look; the patriarch was using some kind of energy to look intimidating. The two statues in his mind were spinning as if they were hungry. For all of his speech, their gazes had been locked as they read one another. In the eyes of the man who was lord of this clan was greed; Wuyi understood what the patriarch wanted. He nodded slowly. 

"Come here," Lord Congming beckoned.