Qian Shanyi’s old sect specialised in alchemy, and grew many of the required ingredients in greenhouses and gardens all around the compound. Every year, right after the autumn harvest season, it came abuzz with activity: the planting beds had to be covered up, the tools packed away, the roofs checked for leaks before the snow came, and the harvested ingredients cleaned, processed, and moved to storage for the next year.

  The outer disciples called this wintering. There was even a complex schedule, nailed to the wall in one of the main sect halls, outlining everything that had to happen. For the outer disciples, it was a time of hard, manual labor - almost as much as the harvest season itself.

  But Qian Shanyi had little to do with it. As an inner disciple, she was only assigned a couple simple tasks that required the manipulation of spiritual energy, and so outright couldn’t be done by an ordinary person. As a woman, her Elders didn’t trust her with the more complex alchemical processes that required an actual cultivator. That left her with very little to do.

  For her, it was a time of relaxation. With everyone so busy, there were fewer disciples to educate and watch over, and even the sect mail slowed down - after all, most of the medicines produced that year had already been sold, and their largest customers already knew that the next batches would only be ready by spring.

  Now, for the first time in her life, Qian Shanyi could enjoy the full wintering experience.

  Of course, no winter would ever come to the world fragment. But the principle was all the same. Wang Yonghao would soon be traveling alone for a good month, moving as fast as he could manage. He simply wouldn’t have much time to dedicate to taking care of the world fragment. So before they split up, they had to make sure it could simply… exist, for at least four and a half months of minimal maintenance, without leading to any catastrophic problems.

  The first thing to check was the chiclotron. After the disastrous bad air accident, Qian Shanyi was a little wary of modifying it in any way; but now she had finally figured out what caused the original problem. She spent half a day going over it with a fine-toothed comb: a little bit of the clay in the fire trenches had cracked again, and had to be patched up, and in some places, where the stone trench covers did not fit perfectly, grass had grown in; but overall, the device had been holding up surprisingly fine, for something built by a pair of novices.

  The only part that gave her any trouble at all was the fire trench under the bath - it was completely buried, and thus unlike the others, wasn’t directly accessible. Nor was it wide enough to crawl into. She had to use her rope control technique to inspect it, pulling a bottle of glowing powder through it and doing her best to patch the clay, but despite this slight hitch, Qian Shanyi found no major problems.

  Next were the rabbits. Erhao, Sanhao and Wuhao really did turn out to be pregnant, and Sihao was also looking a bit plump. Out of them, Wuhao was the first to give birth to seven baby rabbits - though for now, none of them emerged from her burrow, and Qian Shanyi had to count them by their faint spiritual energy signatures. The pregnancies were good - in as far as it would mean they would have plenty of meat to eat soon - but also a little dangerous.

  With four pregnant rabbits, averaging seven babies per litter, they could already have twenty eight new rabbits on the way - and perhaps even twice that. If those rabbits bred as well, there would be hundreds, and soon they would consume all the grass in the entire world fragment.

  Then they would all suffocate from dead air. Something to be avoided, that.

  That meant the rabbits had to be separated by sex. They knew this was coming, of course, and Linghui Mei had already built two more coop sections, side by side with their original one. The pregnant does would stay in place - they didn’t want to disturb their nests - while the other rabbits would be split up, Yihao and Liuhao into one, Qihao and Baohao into the other, to put a temporary stop to any breeding.

  It would also help keep the grass healthy. It was already getting a little patchy - eight adult rabbits for a hundred square meters was definitely a bit too much.

  According to Linghui Mei, it would take the newlyborns four to five months to reach maturity and start breeding. They were planning for Wang Yonghao to be gone for about a month, which meant that in theory, he would be back before any problems arose - but they couldn’t count on that. It was entirely possible that he would be held up.

  Linghui Mei had taught Wang Yonghao as much as she knew, but in the end, he’d have to separate the newlyborns himself, once they grew enough to survive without their mothers. To help him, they were going to build another eight coops, to spread the new rabbits out. Even if he made a couple mistakes, put a buck into a doe coop, it would not be a complete disaster.

  Next were the beans. They had grown into small vines, already starting to crawl up the posts they made for them. At some point within the next four months, they would have to be harvested - though Qian Shanyi couldn’t begin to guess when that would be, given the world fragment’s strange climate. There was no way to stop the growth; but fortunately, the beans should simply dry on their stalks, giving Wang Yonghao some flexibility in his schedule.

  To make it more likely the harvest would be saved, they covered the ground around the beanstalks with sheets of canvas. Once the beans dried, they would fall down, and be kept safe from rotting down in the wet ground. It should also keep the omnipresent grass from growing and competing with the beans, which was a nice bonus. Fortunately, because the ground in the world fragment was already so wet Linghui Mei didn’t think the beans would need any watering - which meant that with any hope, they could simply be left alone.

  But there were other duties Qian Shanyi had to attend to, before their plan could be set into motion - ones that had little to do with farming or engineering.

  Their first stop was White Nightingale - a town on the Golden Snake river. It was neither too large nor too small, and frankly, was only notable for being a convenient trade point on an intersection of two rivers. It was also the closest place with one of the branches of the Lunar Intent trading house - one belonging to Wu Lanhua.

  Linghui Mei and Qian Shanyi were going to head out there together - but first, Wang Yonghao found a tavern, and they all stopped to have lunch. Qian Shanyi expected their business in town to take a couple hours, which would also give him plenty of time to get a solid night’s sleep.

  “Mei,” Qian Shanyi said to the jiuweihu, once she finished cooking for Wang Yonghao, leaving him alone to dig into his lunch. She already ate earlier, while she was running checks on their world fragment. “Can we talk in private?”

  The jiuweihu’s fox ears perked up. She had let them out for the meal, as she now tended to do most days. “Of course,” the jiuweihu said, moving to put down her plate of meat.

  “You can bring your food with you,” Qian Shanyi said. “This might take a little time.”

  She wasn’t particularly looking forward to this conversation - but it was a necessary one. The least she could do was make sure Linghui Mei had something to snack on throughout.

  “What are you plotting all of a sudden?” Wang Yonghao asked suspiciously, eyeing her over the top of his bowl of rice. “Some kind of trick on me?”

  Qian Shanyi snorted. “Like what?”

  “I am afraid to give you suggestions.”

  Qian Shanyi shook her head mirthfully. “Wisdom befitting a man ten times your age. But no, it’s nothing to do with you. I do not even mind if Mei tells you afterwards.”

  Some of Wang Yonghao’s suspicion receded - though now it was Linghui Mei’s turn to give Qian Shanyi a curious look. Together, they went over to the edge of the world fragment.

  “What did you want to talk about?” Linghui Mei said, once she was seated again, her plate of meat settled on her knees. “Something concerning my training?”

  “Only partly,” Qian Shanyi admitted, sitting down next to her. Out of her robes, she pulled out a stack of four letters, and handed the top one to Linghui Mei. “Here.”

  Linghui Mei took the letter and unfurled it. Her eyes narrowed down as soon as she glanced at the first page, and she looked at Qian Shanyi for guidance - but the cultivator simply stayed silent, and after a moment, the jiuweihu went back to the letter.

  “This is a draft of a request to the ministry of statistics, concerning the removal of jiuweihu from the list of species covered by the sapient life incompatibility act,” Qian Shanyi explained, once she could tell Linghui Mei was just about done reading. “If it were accepted, you would get the same protections all other cultivators enjoy. No more fearing for your life, no more needing to hide.”

  Linghui Mei glared at Qian Shanyi, gesturing with the letter. “This is just a piece of paper,” she said, her tone sharp like a dagger. “What do you expect me to do with it? Send it through the post? You think the centuries of blood will simply vanish if I ask politely?”

  Qian Shanyi sighed, patting Linghui Mei on the shoulder. Some of the tension leaked out of the jiuweihu at her touch, her expression softening a fraction, and Qian Shanyi left her hand there. “Yeah, I didn’t really expect you to believe it,” Qian Shanyi said. “But tell me - have you heard of Shiliehen? It would have been before you were born.”

  “I know your empire slaughtered them all. If you seek to comfort me, you are failing.”

  “It did,” Qian Shanyi nodded sadly. “It’s also widely seen as a tragedy, and the forces that were responsible had lost much of their influence as a result.”

  That was something of an understatement. Many people considered it to be one of the causes behind the last imperial succession - but Linghui Mei didn’t need a history lesson right now.

  “Think about it like this,” Qian Shanyi continued, “for you, the empire is your mortal enemy. For the empire, you are a rounding error. This may feel humiliating, but it is so. Whether to slaughter you or not is far less important than how it would look to the majority of cultivators, once the facts of the matter were known - and the historical precedent is on your side here.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “As if they would ever tell anyone.”

  “I’m sure you already noticed the request has two parts. The Ministry of Statistics is obligated to openly publish the first, the raw fact of the matter, right away. The second has all the details, and will remain private until they are verified. In other words - it would be known.”

  Linghui Mei said nothing, simply folding up the letter with sharp motions, before putting it into her robes, and crossing her hands on her chest. Her lips were pressed together, fur on top of her ears standing on ends.

  “Don’t get too excited on my accord,” Qian Shanyi said flatly. “I speak in generalities. That particular letter is dreadfully incomplete. I haven’t even had the time to re-read the act itself, to make sure I structured the letter correctly. Most importantly, we cannot yet prove that jiuweihu can survive without sustaining themselves on other sapient beings. As it stands, it’s essentially useless.”

  “If that is so - then why are you even giving it to me?” Linghui Mei said, her tone still clipped.

  “Because you should be the one writing it in the first place, and collating the evidence for it. It is, after all, your own species. If I am gone, it would be your job to finish it, and decide when - and if - to send it off.” Qian Shanyi made a short pause. “The lives of all jiuweihu depend upon you.”

  Linghui Mei swallowed, all her earlier, understandable antagonism replaced with uncertainty. She turned to Qian Shanyi, putting her hand on top of the one Qian Shanyi still kept on her shoulder. “If you are gone?” she said, her voice catching. “Why would you be gone?”

  Qian Shanyi sighed. Well, best to get right into it. No sense in hesitation. “That is the other thing,” she said, “I want to talk about what will happen to you as my disciple, if I get caught.”

  Linghui Mei winced with her entire body, her arm jerking so that she almost spilled her food, the plate long forgotten on her knees. “Ah, master, I do not think this is necessary,” she said quickly, “Perhaps we should talk more about what else we could do in this city instead? We could buy more food, or tools?”

  Qian Shanyi raised her other hand to calm her. “Mei, we have to -”

  “No, really, there is no need to discuss it,” Linghui Mei barged ahead. She tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth wouldn’t rise, “Instead, we should focus on making sure that doesn’t happen. After all, that is what I am here for.”

  Qian Shanyi’s eye twitched. She couldn’t even get a word in. “Mei, wait -” she tried again.

  But Linghui Mei was not to be deterred. “And besides, what use is there in worrying? It would only worsen our mood. The sun must shine before the crops grow, right? My master would need a good mood to make one of her great plans that -”

  “Mei!” Qian Shanyi barked. “Stop!”

  Linghui Mei’s head snapped back as if Qian Shanyi actually slapped her. She curled in on herself under Qian Shanyi’s cold glare, ears flattening against her head, a little whine escaping her throat.

  Wang Yonghao looked over at them in surprise - but Qian Shanyi waved him off. This wasn’t for him to deal with.

  “What was that?” she said in a deceptively neutral tone, turning back towards Linghui Mei.

  “What do you mean?” Linghui Mei asked, looking exactly like a fox who got caught stealing a hen from the henhouse.

  “Who do you think I am? I can recognise a distraction when I see one, and that one was especially poor.”

  Linghui Mei curled up a little bit more, burying her face into her knees. She mumbled something under her breath, so quietly even Qian Shanyi’s enhanced hearing could not pick it up.

  Qian Shanyi cleared her throat. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  “I said it’s a bad omen, to talk of failure right before the act,” Linghui Mei said, a little louder this time. She still wasn’t looking at Qian Shanyi.

  “An omen,” Qian Shanyi deadpanned. “Really now.”

  Ridiculous.

  Linghui Mei didn’t do this because of any omen. They talked of failure before her duel - perhaps not so concretely, but she would have shown some sign, if this was so important to her. This reaction was far too strong, far too abrupt.

  The only question was - what other reason was there?

  Qian Shanyi had no earthly idea. It didn’t really fit with what she knew of the other woman. But if Linghui Mei was willing to lie to her face like that - trying to get her to fess up directly was a hopeless proposition.

  Instead, she stood up, and leaned over Linghui Mei, bringing their faces closer together. She pushed on Linghui Mei’s forehead with one finger, until the jiuweihu was forced to raise her head just enough to meet her eyes, over the top of her knees. Linghui Mei blushed slightly, but didn’t look away again.

  “What we are doing is dangerous,” Qian Shanyi said slowly, holding the jiuweihu’s gaze. “It would be the height of foolishness for me to think there is no chance of failure. Equally foolish would it be to leave my disciple unprepared for the possibility. If you aren’t willing - or able - to acknowledge that this chance exists, then how can I honestly treat you as my disciple?”

  Linghui Mei winced again, but nodded. Qian Shanyi felt a little bad about using jiuweihu ideas about the role of a teacher against her - but only a little bit.

  “Let’s get back to the question at hand,” Qian Shanyi said, sitting down next to Linghui Mei again. “I already talked with Yonghao about this. It’s time to do the same with you. If I get captured, Fang Jiugui will almost surely not kill me. He wouldn’t stand to benefit - no amount my sect could pay him would be worth risking the fourth imperial edict. Instead, he will capture me and drag me back to my sect, where I would most likely be locked up for many years to come.”

  “I couldn’t let that happen!” Linghui Mei burst out again. She even teared up a bit. “If that - if that - that kalesherdek kra tries, I would -”

  “You would do nothing,” Qian Shanyi cut her off, glaring at her disciple again. Honestly, what came over her today? “Fang Jiugui is in the building foundation stage. You stand no chance against him. He will be faster, stronger and more aware than you can hope to be. In a straight fight, you couldn’t even beat me. You stand no chance against him.”

  “He isn’t the first one I’ve met! Their senses cannot tell me apart from an ordinary person. He wouldn’t even know before I struck.“

  “So you’ve met some, congratulations. And have you ever killed one?”

  Linghui Mei looked away, losing some of her bluster. “No,” she admitted.

  “It’s good that you didn’t try,” Qian Shanyi congratulated her a second time. “Or you’d already be dead. He will sense your soul changing long before you strike - likely even if he was asleep.” She snapped her fingers in front of Linghui Mei’s nose to focus her attention. “Now swear you won’t do anything stupid and will stay hidden if push comes to shove. As long as Fang Jiugui thinks you are merely an ordinary person I picked up along the way, he should have no reason to bother you.”

  Linghui Mei looked away for a moment, her lips trembling. “Fine. I swear.”

  “Swear on your children as well.”

  “That is low of you,” Linghui Mei said, giving Qian Shanyi a hurt look.

  “Too bad. Swear anyways.”

  This took Linghui Mei longer. She buried her face in her knees, sniffling slightly. “I swear.”

  “Thank you,” Qian Shanyi said with a smile. “If it happens - and I dearly hope it doesn’t - it will be up to you and Yonghao to meet up and decide what to do.”

  “I am not going to just abandon my master,” Linghui Mei mumbled again.

  “Like I said, it will be up to you two,” Qian Shanyi said, feeling a little frustrated at needing to repeat herself. That sort of stubbornness would be the death of Linghui Mei one day - though perhaps she wasn’t the one to talk. “This isn’t something you can decide prematurely. Obviously, I would prefer it if you rescued me. But I cannot make you do that. Going up against an entire sect would be far too dangerous in your position, and right now, you aren’t only living for yourself. You are living for all jiuweihu.”

  She also wrote down what she knew of her sect to help - but if Linghui Mei was going to be this stubborn, she would rather give those notes to Wang Yonghao. He could at least be somewhat relied on to not run directly into a confrontation, due to some silly ideas about fealty to his master.

  “But enough about that,” Qian Shanyi continued, giving Linghui Mei the rest of her letters. “Here. The one on top is my notes on various groups you could contact, to help build up the case that jiuweihu can live in peace. Some sects are known to work with non-human species more than others. Some even made their name by leading the reconciliation with the Shui Gui, or other, local groups. Out of all the cultivators, I think they would be the ones most likely to help you, simply to make peace.”

  Qian Shanyi paused, letting her words sink in a bit. “Depending on the circumstances, it might be smart to secure their support in advance - but doing so will also mean revealing some of your secrets, even before you send the request to the Ministry of Statistics.”

  Linghui Mei nodded, giving the letter a casual skim. Qian Shanyi could already tell that her head wasn’t in it anymore - but that was fine. She could read them whenever she felt better.

  “The second letter is my personal testimony regarding your suitability as a cultivator, as well as the extent of the soul damage caused by your feeding, and the feasibility of sustaining you long-term. Coming from a fellow cultivator, it will carry significant weight. It might even save your life.”

  Linghui Mei didn’t even open this one, simply putting it away. “Save my life?” she asked, her tone completely disinterested.

  “If some spirit hunter were to hold you at swordpoint,” Qian Shanyi explained. “Of course they would have to be willing to listen, and believe the letter isn’t forged, or that I wasn’t forced to write it. In truth, I wouldn’t expect it to work at all - but it would be useful for the request we discussed, as part of supporting evidence. I’ll get Yonghao to write one as well.“

  Linghui Mei nodded, turning to the last letter.

  “The final one is for you, my notes on your personal cultivation,” Qian Shanyi explained with a little sigh. “I am afraid I am a terrible master, since I could only write the most general advice about unlocking your inner spiritual senses, and testing your elemental nature. I simply do not know anything specific about the jiuweihu meridian network to give more advice. Nonetheless - it should get you started.”

  “You aren’t a terrible master at all,” Linghui Mei said, giving her a disappointed look. “You have been… very kind, and patient…”

  She trailed off, making a vague gesture with the letter. There was a troubled expression on her face, one Qian Shanyi couldn’t quite parse.

  Qian Shanyi gave her a moment, but she didn’t seem poised to continue. “Hm. Well, thank you for your vote of confidence,” Qian Shanyi said instead. “But you should really get back to your food. It would be no good at all for you to starve yourself.”

  She clapped Linghui Mei on the shoulder again, rising from her feet. “That’s enough for now,” she said, heading back towards the kitchens. “I’ll give you some space to finish your lunch and think this over. But don’t dawdle too long - we have business in the city.”

  She turned around, meeting Linghui Mei’s wet eyes. “You were right - I much prefer not being captured,” Shanyi finished, “so let’s make sure I stay that way. We have a meeting with the trading house ahead of us.”