The Dao of Thread and Root

The morning sun warmed the pale stone slabs of the commercial district in the Capital of Pale Gold. The air smelled of sweet rice steam, roasted spices, and cheap incense. The movement was intense, but peaceful.

A group of children ran past the middle of the wide street, laughing loudly as they tossed a small ball of braided straw, narrowly dodging food stalls and passersby.

A young blonde woman in simple clothes and with perfectly ordinary features stopped in the middle of the path.

She slowed the pace at which she chewed her red bean bun, her brown eyes following the children until they disappeared into the crowd. The sound of those laughs stirred a silent melancholy on her plain face.

A tall worker, dressed in a rustic tunic of raw cotton that marked the broad shoulders of someone who carried heavy loads, slowed his step beside her. By the proximity and the gesture, he seemed to be her husband. The man followed the young woman's gaze toward the empty street, understanding perfectly the pain that scene awakened.

"Missing them?" he asked. His voice sounded serene and deep amid the market noise.

The blonde woman did not answer immediately. She only opened a light smile, swallowed the sweet, and lowered her gaze to the stone pavement, giving a short, silent nod.

The worker's large, calloused hand rested on her back, his thumb stroking her spine through the rustic clothes in a firm and welcoming touch. The girl's smile became more genuine, and she leaned lightly against him, anchored by that comfort.

The calm, however, lasted only as long as necessary.

A third woman, with an equally forgettable face and dull tunic, slid her hand along the worker's arm, intertwining her fingers with his. With a gentle but decisive pull, she set the two of them back in motion.

"The sun is already rising, husband," Yù Qíng said, her velvety voice completely breaking the anonymity of the ordinary figure. "Yán and I want to go to the weavers' square to choose new patterns for our wardrobe, Méi. And we want to do it before lunch. If we stop at every sweet stall in this market, we'll lose our table at the restaurant."

Zhì Yuǎn let out a short laugh and resumed walking, guiding Yù Méi and Yù Qíng through the crowd. Farther ahead, the almost invisible figures of Mò Yán and Bái Wǎn were already silently evaluating the displays of the district's more expensive shops.

Twenty steps behind the group, the escort operated without drawing attention.

Mò Zhōng, Lóu Jiàn, and Jiàn Wúshuang carried heavy boxes and velvet packages, looking like simple laborers. They did not need to push anyone or shout to clear a path; an invisible, cold pressure radiated from the two slaves, making hurried pedestrians and inattentive guards step aside purely by instinct.

------

Two hours later, when they climbed to the second floor of the Silver Crane Restaurant, the noise of the market was left behind, replaced by the dense aroma of roasted pepper and roasted spiritual beast meat. The spacious environment was frequented only by the capital's wealthiest cultivators.

Even among the elite of the hall, the karmic veil continued to act: to the other customers, they were just another rich family enjoying lunch, their lethal aura perfectly hidden beneath the disguise.

Sitting pressed against Zhì Yuǎn's arm, Bái Wǎn displayed straight black hair. The young woman held a pair of silver chopsticks, fishing a succulent piece of loin from the central dish.

"Say ahh, my Heaven," Bái Wǎn murmured with a docile smile, bringing the soft meat directly to her husband's lips.

Zhì Yuǎn accepted the food, chewing slowly, his arm resting loosely on the chair.

On the other side of the round table, Yù Qíng and Mò Yán evaluated the fabrics bought earlier, while Yù Méi — sporting blonde hair under her disguise — held the entire thigh of a winged beast. The warrior chewed with her eyes half-closed in pure satisfaction, completely ignoring the drops of grease dripping onto the silk of her dress.

The calm of the lunch was broken by a sharp crack of porcelain.

At the neighboring table, a Young Master in green silks rose with a jolt. A cup lay shattered on the floor, and boiling tea stained his expensive leather boot. At his feet, a small mortal servant who could not have been more than ten years old trembled on the floorboards, her hands dirty.

"You blind rat!" the young man roared, his face contorted with rage.

He raised his hand and delivered a heavy slap across the child's face, throwing her to the side with the force of the blow. The girl curled her body against the mahogany boards and began to cry loudly — a sharp, desperate sob that cut through the noise of the entire restaurant.

The young man raised his boot, ready to kick the girl's ribs.

At the family's table, Yù Méi's chewing stopped. The youngest looked at her plate, her brow furrowed in irritation because the shrill crying was ruining the flavor of the sauce. Yù Qíng sighed, released the roll of blue silk, and massaged her temples with two fingers.

"What a headache," hif first wife murmured.

Zhì Yuǎn did not say a word. He did not raise his voice, did not give a moral lecture, and did not even look properly at the Young Master in green. Resting his elbow on the table, he simply moved the fingers of his right hand, giving a lazy flick in the air, as if brushing away a fly.

The space between the table and the young man cracked.

The Young Master had no time to lower his foot. An invisible wall of force struck his chest, hurling him backward like a rag doll. He flew over his own table, shattered the solid wooden railing of the balcony, and plummeted from the second floor.

The sound of a violent splash and water spraying came from the street below. He had fallen straight into the central fountain of the square.

On the stair landing, the escort watched in silence. Mò Zhōng peered through the gap in the balcony and saw the young man's body sink into the fountain water. The old butler slowly shook his head.

"He's very lucky to leave alive after disturbing the Lord's lunch," Mò Zhōng murmured.

Lóu Jiàn and Jiàn Wúshuang, motionless in the shadows right behind him, only nodded in mute agreement.

The second floor of the restaurant sank into absolute silence.

The other customers froze with their chopsticks in the air, staring at the destroyed balcony. No one understood where the blow had come from, which left them too terrified to breathe, much less ask questions.

The child remained curled on the floor, sobbing softly, trembling with fear.

Bái Wǎn set down her utensils and stood up. The young woman walked to the girl, crouched down, and withdrew from her sleeve a Peak-Grade Spiritual Jade — an absurdly dense and priceless stone, capable of buying an entire plot of land in the capital's noble districts.

She placed the shining jewel in the servant's tea-stained hands and stroked the top of the child's head with a sweet smile.

"Buy clean clothes and something hot to eat," Bái Wǎn said, her voice gentle and welcoming.

Along with the words, an invisible, mild ripple flowed from the girl, sweeping the second floor of the restaurant in silence. It was the Law of Serenity.

The effect was immediate. The cultivators frozen at the neighboring tables, whose eyes had gleamed for a fraction of a second with the greed of seeing a Peak-Grade stone in a child's hands, suddenly felt their minds clear.

Any trace of greed, envy, or malice simply evaporated, replaced by a peaceful and natural acceptance. No one in that hall would ever have the idea of stealing from her or following her into an alley; to the reason of each person there, it became an obvious and absolute fact that the small mortal deserved that fortune, and everyone began to wish only for her well-being.

The little girl looked at the stone, then at the woman, widening her eyes and stopping her crying in the same instant, bathed by that inexplicable calm.

Bái Wǎn turned on her heels and returned to the chair, sitting once more pressed against Zhì Yuǎn.

"Is the seasoning on the bird good?" Zhì Yuǎn asked, his tone perfectly routine, breaking the silence of the table.

Yù Méi resumed chewing, swallowed the piece of meat, and nodded affirmatively.

"The sauce is excellent, my love," the youngest answered, returning to devour the spiritual thigh.

And the family continued lunch in peace, completely ignoring the hole in the balcony and keeping the entire restaurant immersed in a perfect, unbreakable harmony.

------

The afternoon passed in the blink of an eye, the agitation of the commercial district dying the moment the group crossed the heavy stone arches that marked the entrance to the Forest of a Thousand Springs.

The millennial reserve cut through the center of the capital, separating the mercantile area from the imperial domains. The afternoon sun was immediately blocked by the thick canopy of the forest. The colossal trunks, dark as ebony, rose supporting a dense foliage of vibrant pink. The ground, however, was not dark: millions of small white flowers carpeted the damp earth, emitting a soft light of their own that bathed the path with a pearly glow.

The air, dense with ambient Qi, smelled of dew and sweet pollen.

Yù Qíng walked with her fingers intertwined in Zhì Yuǎn's arm. The first wife rested her head on her husband's shoulder, her black eyes half-closed, enjoying the silence of the woods.

Mò Yán and Bái Wǎn walked side by side, their steps slow and calm.

Yù Méi walked a little ahead, kicking fallen petals across the luminous ground with the tip of her boot as she hummed a forgotten melody from Qīngshān. It was an old composition of Zhì Yuǎn's, from the days when life was simpler and revolved around the bamboo grove. Hearing the youngest, he adjusted his breathing and fell into the rhythm, letting out a calm, steady whistle that complemented her music to perfection. Yù Méi glanced back over her shoulder with a wide smile, and together they let the song guide the family's unhurried steps through the glowing woods.

In the center of a clearing lit only by the glow of the flowers, Zhì Yuǎn stopped walking.

Yù Qíng raised her face from his shoulder, curious.

The man calmly released his wife's arm and reached into the sleeve of his tunic, withdrawing a small sandalwood box that had been silently kept by Mò Zhōng during the outing.

The wooden lid opened with a soft click.

Zhì Yuǎn took out a pure green jade hairpin, carved in the shape of a bamboo stem. He released the box into the air and, without saying a word, turned to Yù Qíng, raised his large hands, and gathered the woman's black strands. With the delicacy of an artisan, he himself rolled up her hair and fixed the pin, securing the style.

His fingers brushed his wife's pale skin. Yù Qíng's heart beat a little stronger, and a docile, perfectly surrendered smile curved her ruby lips.

From the floating box, he next pulled a fine silver comb studded with small pearls and turned to Mò Yán. The diplomat held her breath, her scarlet eyes wide as he slid the comb into the side of her white hair, fixing the gleaming ornament she had looked at for no more than three seconds in the shop window earlier.

"A snow flower needs ice to be adorned." His deep voice sounded low and warm.

Mò Yán's neck caught fire. She lowered her head, hiding her flushed face, but her hands tightened her own skirt in pure adoration.

Finally, he pulled a long ribbon of deep sky-blue silk. Bái Wǎn did not wait. The girl took a quick step forward and turned her back to him, offering her oceanic hair with adorable enthusiasm. Zhì Yuǎn let out a short laugh, gathered her strands into a loose braid, and tied the ribbon with a firm and careful knot.

He closed the empty box, storing it back in his sleeve.

Yù Méi, who had stopped kicking petals, turned and crossed her arms. The youngest looked at the hairpin, at the comb, and at the ribbon. The pout appeared immediately on her face.

"And me?" the warrior grumbled, clicking her tongue. "My last bun finished half an hour ago. Nothing left for me."

The man's dark eyes fixed on the sulking youngest.

He did not answer with words.

Zhì Yuǎn took two long steps. His hand advanced and seized Yù Méi's waist, pulling the warrior against his chest with a firm tug. His free hand rose to the nape of the girl's neck, his fingers threading into the golden strands, and he lowered his mouth, capturing her lips in a dense, deep, and prolonged kiss.

Yù Méi's surprise lasted only a thousandth of a second. Her arms melted. She grabbed his charcoal-gray tunic and surrendered completely to the dominant heat that invaded her mouth, her knees weakening until her weight was supported only by his arm around her waist.

When he finally withdrew his face, the silence of the clearing was accompanied only by Yù Méi's panting breath. The youngest's almond-shaped eyes were cloudy and shining, her lips swollen and red.

Zhì Yuǎn wiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

"Better than the bean bun?" he asked, his rustic tone loaded with intimate and confident humor.

Yù Méi gasped, hiding her red face in the curve of his neck with a wide, foolish smile.

"Much better," she whispered.

Yù Qíng laughed softly, adjusting the jade hairpin in her hair. Mò Yán and Bái Wǎn exchanged conspiratorial smiles. The peace that enveloped the family on that pink path was absolute.

Zhì Yuǎn kept his arm around Yù Méi's waist, adjusted the collar of his own tunic, and looked back toward the illuminated trail. The time for the outing was over. At the end of the tunnel of trees, a few kilometers away, the strong light of late afternoon revealed the immense monumental square and the colossal gates of the Imperial Palace.

"The outing ends here," Zhì Yuǎn's voice lost its relaxed humor, the cold lethargy returning immediately to his gaze. "We have an invitation to answer."