When Dàilán slipped free of the clarity of her meditations, the Golden Crow rode high in the sky. The air around her skin felt cool where Essence had withdrawn, a faint breeze brushing sweat-damp strands of hair against her neck. Looking around, she saw Chénli seated in her own Cultivation upon a rock opposite her, but the other maids were nowhere in sight.
A moment later, Chénli's eyes slid open and she stretched lazily in place.
"Whatever you are doing with this new meditation is powerful, Young Mistress. My own cultivation has improved simply by listening to your bāwū — and both Chàng and Biyu fell into Cultivation while guarding you. They each advanced a rank. I sent them with Ài to cleanse themselves once they emerged."
The young heiress shook her head helplessly.
"I truly do not know what I am doing differently. I have not experienced anything similar in my own cultivation. I only feel refreshed — there is no discomfort — and my Essence feels more… more itself."
Her lady-in-waiting indicated the rock upon which she sat.
"But you are clearly expelling impurities."
"Eugh—" the young girl shuddered as she realised her clothing and the stone beneath her were coated in black sludge. The stench hit her a breath later — metallic, sour, like old iron left in rainwater and forgotten blood.
Without another word she hopped down, holding her bāwū away from her body, and hurried toward the changing rooms and the hot-spring bath inside.
Chénli followed silently, closing the door behind them. She took the bāwū the moment it was handed to her. With a faint wrinkle of her nose, she placed the Essence-treated instrument upon a shelf beside the limiter already resting there, then fetched a nearby broom — using the handle to lift her Mistress's soiled skirt before casting it into the refuse disposal.
The Heiress headed straight for the rinsing area.
"Scrub me, please, Chén'er," she called over her shoulder, desperation clear in her voice.
Chénli paused, her voice suddenly tentative.
"Are you certain, Mistress?"
Dàilán spun and stamped her foot, glaring at her friend.
"Stop hesitating! I feel as though I am crawling with death. I trust no one else to cleanse this from me."
"You… still trust me?" The maid's voice was hopeful — uncharacteristically subdued.
The Heiress rolled her eyes and slipped off her leather slippers, discarding her underthings without ceremony.
"We have discussed this. Your earlier action was technically improper. However, given your duties as my guard — and the circumstances — it was an action I compelled you to take. I have forgiven you. And yes, I still trust you to use your Essence directly upon my skin to remove this filth. Stop being foolish. This situation is entirely different."
She seated herself upon the bathing stool with a huff.
The maid bowed.
"Yes, Mistress. Thank you for your trust."
"Enough. Burn it off before I lose my composure." Dàilán shuddered again. "How those wandering jianghu endure impurity sludge, I cannot imagine."
Chénli stepped behind her young Mistress, kicking the ruined shoes aside. Her hands glowed with Essence as she passed her palm over the blackened sludge coating her friend's skin.
The muck peeled away in curling strips, leaving faint, chalky residue beneath her nails where it broke apart. It made a faint dry rasp as it detached, revealing pale, luminous skin beneath that felt almost overly cool, newly sensitive to the air.
"I have heard of techniques allowing a Cultivator to tune their Essence to cleanse their own impurities," Chénli remarked as she worked methodically. "Of course, one cannot use the same Essence that expelled the impurity."
"Because that Essence is part of the impurity — and it will not yield to mundane washing," Dàilán replied irritably. "Everyone knows that. Why mention it?"
"Mm…" Chénli muttered sheepishly. "…nerves. Talking to steady myself. Stand, please."
The teen rose, grumbling.
"Why those ridiculous tales always show heroes washing away expelled Essence with common soap and water, I shall never understand. I wish it were so."
Chénli laughed softly.
"How would that make sense? Since when do ordinary methods affect anything infused with Essence? You are fortunate your flute is Essence-imbued — this sludge cannot adhere to it. Otherwise, you would have had to burn it as well."
Dàilán laughed despite herself.
"Yes. That would have been a tragedy."
A moment later, Chénli tapped her Mistress's shoulder.
"Turn slightly. And — returning to our earlier subject — your skin has unquestionably advanced. It is practically radiant. I believe I shall insist you teach me this 'non-technique'."
"I swear it is not a technique…" Dàilán replied carefully. "You know how we are taught to force our Essence into a prescribed circulation path depending on the method?"
"Foundational practice," Chénli agreed. "Yes."
"What if… one did not?"
Her friend paused, lifting one foot.
"Be still," she warned, running glowing fingers beneath the sole. "Without circulation, Essence simply wanders and accomplishes nothing."
"That makes no sense," Dàilán countered. "What do you call a person whose Essence does not flow?"
"Dead," Chénli replied bluntly.
"Exactly. So if life itself depends upon Essence flowing — that flow is the person, is it not?"
"Be still!"
Chénli jerked her hands back as her Essence grazed too close to sensitive flesh. A faint scent of singed skin rose, sharp and bitter, and a needle-prick sting flared where Essence had strayed too near.
"Āiyō—" Dàilán winced. "My fault. I moved."
Chénli snorted.
"Teach you to stand properly while being cleansed. What are you, five?"
"Yes, yes…" Dàilán replied quickly, falling into a Quiet Standing form automatically as she spoke. "Anyway — the ancient writings suggest that each person possesses a natural circulation uniquely their own — a personal Dao. Rather than force it into foreign patterns — even if those patterns are praised by sects — one should heal and refine that natural flow, strengthening it until it reaches its perfect expression."
"Hm. Close your eyes," Chénli instructed as her glowing hands moved upward. "And you do this through the flute?"
"And while practising tàijíquán. But I perceive my Essence most clearly when I play the bāwū."
"And then?"
"I smooth the twists. Straighten the knots. I allow what feels 'less correct' to become 'more correct'."
"Finished," Chénli announced at last. "Let me wash this away, then I shall remove these training clothes and scrub you properly before we enter the spring. Wash my back in turn — I still feel gritty from the sand we threw about earlier. Unlike certain individuals, I did not achieve enlightenment today."
Suiting action to words, she unhooked an Essence-powered hose. The water struck with a hollow echo against the stone floor, dark shavings dissolving into cloudy ribbons before vanishing into the drain.
"Do you truly think it is making me stronger?" Dàilán asked quietly.
Chénli turned off the water and began shedding her own garments.
"Let us consider."
She began counting on her fingers.
"One: Even with the limiter active, you move as swiftly as I do with speed enhancement engaged."
A finger folded.
"Two: During recent sparring, you have evaded strikes from blind angles you could not possibly have seen."
Another folded.
"Three: With the limiter on, you strike as though employing an external Essence technique."
She untied her hair and shook it loose.
"Four: Your strikes land with precision consistent with advanced perception techniques — which the limiter should prevent."
Turning, she poked Dàilán lightly in the shoulder.
"And finally — look at yourself. If you have not increased in bust, narrowed your waist by a finger's breadth, and shed at least a catty of softness this week, I shall eat my own leavings."
Dàilán flushed scarlet.
"Chén'er! Must you be so crude?"
"You are fourteen summers and glowing like polished jade — it offends the natural order itself!" Chénli threw up her hands dramatically. "Even accounting for cultivation, the bruises from this morning should have required at least two shí to fade."
She pushed Dàilán back onto the stool and scrubbed her roughly. The bristles dragged against over-sensitive skin, heat blooming beneath each pass, steam rising in soft veils around them.
Outside, a gentle rain struck the tiled roof, its patter underscoring the quiet within the bathhouse. Water dripped rhythmically from the eaves. Inside, only the soft lap of spring water and the muted scrape of bristles disturbed the stillness.
Eventually, Chénli sighed softly and broke the quiet with a gentler voice.
"Mist Orchid — and I use the title reluctantly — you do not require Second Uncle's interference for half the city's young masters to throw themselves at you. Could you attempt to appear slightly less like one of those empty-vase heroines from popular dramas?"
Dàilán ducked her head in embarrassment, letting her hair fall forward to cover her face as she muttered almost inaudibly in response,
"The last thing I desire is greater beauty. You know that."
"Not greater beauty," Chénli corrected kindly. "Greater clarity. More you. Fewer imperfections."
She stopped and handed over the brush.
"Your turn."
"It makes sense. Thank you, Chén'er."
Dàilán scrubbed her friend's back while Chénli washed her front.
"So — can you teach me to refine my own circulation?"
"We may attempt it. I do not know what will occur if one already practises a formal technique."
"Bath now."
Satisfied, Chénli discarded the brush and slipped into the hot spring. The water rose slowly around her ankles, calves, then hips — thick with mineral warmth that loosened muscle and thought alike. She sighed in contentment as it reached her shoulders. Dàilán followed more sedately.
"I have several matters to complain about," Chénli murmured blissfully. "Grant me a shí to gather my thoughts."
Dàilán waved a hand.
"You may spare yourself the effort."
Her bodyguard opened one eye and mock-glared.
"Not a chance. I will have answers. Allow me… a day or so…"