The sun dipped westward, and the shadows of trees in the Misty Waves Inn's courtyard dappled the paper windows like painted brushstrokes.
Layne sat alone at the small desk before his bed, cradling the broken jade pendant.
He had unwrapped the cloth many times; now it lay spread across the table, the fragment resting silently upon it, reflecting the fading light of dusk. The faint red lines within the jade seemed like an unfinished stroke of ink.
He held it carefully in his palm, raising it to his eyes as though he might uncover a hidden secret.
"If I learn martial arts one day… maybe this jade will shine. I think Lin Ji's picture books had a scene like that."
Layne swallowed hard.
"Maybe it's a token from some great hero—something only a sect master would carry?"
"Or maybe it can recognize its owner… if I try putting something into it?"
He muttered to himself, mimicking the "Tiger Fist" he had once seen outside the noodle shop, gestures clumsy but filled with yearning.
After a while, he pressed the pendant against his forehead, then his chest, then his stomach—one place after another.
"Why isn't anything happening…?"
Nothing.
It remained what it was: cold, silent jade, as though telling him plainly—I am only a stone.
Layne lowered his hand and sighed, reluctantly wrapping the pendant again.
Still, he whispered stubbornly, "I can't shake it. That day when he grabbed me, I felt… something enter me."
He meant the City Lord, Xuanhu.
The moment that hand gripped the back of his neck, there had been wind—like fire, like thunder—or perhaps nothing at all. Yet it had exploded in his bones, leaving a mark he could never forget.
He did not know what it was. And he dared not tell his mother.
"You understand, don't you?" he whispered to the wrapped jade. "You're Father's keepsake. You must know something."
The jade gave no reply.
"I've read too many stories," he muttered at last. "I'd better practice some more."
He hopped back to the bed and resumed his clumsy punches and kicks.
The courtyard wind sighed softly. Everything remained calm.
As night fell, lanterns lit up one by one in the inn's back courtyard.
Layne sprawled on the bed, sketching his "Great Jade Guardian Hero" picture, when the door creaked open.
"Mother!" He leapt up at once.
Bihua stepped in, sweat glistening faintly on her brow. In her hands she carried two paper-wrapped parcels, a jar of oil, some dried goods, and a folded straw mat tied across her back.
"You're so late!" Layne rushed to take the bundles, eyes shining. "Is it candy?"
"Always thinking of food." She set her things down and tapped his head. "Try buying rice, firewood, jars, bowls, tea, bedding, pots, and lamp oil all in one day. My feet are nearly worn through."
Her words carried mock complaint, but her eyes softened with a trace of laughter.
Layne tore open a paper parcel. The sweet scent burst out—osmanthus sugar dumplings, the very treats he had eyed at the morning market. Sticky on the outside, soft within, sprinkled with sesame and sugar powder.
He took a bite and his eyes lit up. "You really bought them!"
"I promised, didn't I?" Bihua sat to untie her shoes. "But if you skip your meals, don't expect this again."
"I'll remember!" His mouth was full, but his voice rang out clearly.
Bihua unpacked further, producing a ledger and silver coins.
"The grocer will deliver rice tomorrow. I bought three days of firewood. The stove needs a new grate. The academy fees are steep—who knows how much the martial hall will cost."
She jotted down quickly as she murmured:
"Three months' rent, one and a half taels, plus three more as deposit. Household goods, bedding, repairs… down by two strings of coins already. What's left: two taels, three strings, and some scattered change."
Layne didn't really understand, but he watched her writing under the lamplight. It reminded him of a picture he'd once seen in a schoolbook: A Woman Keeping Accounts by Lamplight.
"Mother."
"Mm?"
"Are we going to be poor soon?"
Her hand paused. After a moment, she answered evenly:
"Do you think I'd ever let you go hungry?"
He shook his head.
"Then ask again."
"I don't think we will!" He straightened up quickly.
Bihua smiled faintly, then reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small copper tag.
"Wear this tomorrow before we visit the martial hall. It's an identity token for outsiders living here. Don't lose it—it's a hassle to replace."
"We're really going to find a master?" Layne's eyes lit.
"We'll take a look first," she said calmly. "You're still young. They may not accept you."
"Then I'll grow faster!"
"If you can control yourself to grow only in muscle, then maybe next year."
Night deepened.
Bihua set aside the ledger, then retrieved the broken jade pendant, tucking it into their bundle alongside silver and other valuables.
Outside, the wind shifted, paper lanterns swaying gently.
Layne munched sweets while acting out his "original martial techniques," adding his own "whoosh, whoosh" sound effects.
Bihua leaned at the table, propping her cheek in one hand, watching her son return to his carefree self. The fine lines at her brow eased a little.
From the alley beyond came the trickle of water in the canal, and the chirp of insects rose in the stillness.
Layne soon curled up asleep, clutching the straw mat like a "Guardian Spirit of the New House," as he had proclaimed before yawning himself into slumber.
Bihua remained at the desk, the lamp still lit.
Her fingers tapped gently on the wood, as though calculating an invisible sum. The schoolteacher—she had made up her mind. If the academy would not take him, she would hire a tutor, even if only for literacy and brushwork. But the cost… nearly twice that of the martial hall.
She sat quietly, thinking through every coin, until at last she snuffed the lamp and rose. She tucked the quilt around Layne.
The boy slept soundly, a trace of sugar still at his lips, his body heavy with the day's joy.
This child… even after washing, he sneaks sweets.
Her gaze softened, gentle as flowing water, yet beneath it glimmered a light that would not bow.
She whispered:
"Just grow well, my son. Wind, rain, storm—I will bear them all for you."