They had just begun to sweep the broken pieces of the gate when a figure appeared out of the deepening twilight. It was Zhao Lingxi, returning from her meeting with the Master.
She moved like a ghost through the gloom, her face a pale, impassive mask. But the air around her had changed. The coldness she always carried now felt sharper, heavier, as if the meeting had dipped her in ice.
She walked past them without a word, her gaze fixed on the dark entrance of the main house.
Chen Mei, clutching a dusty rag, dared to speak in a tiny, hopeful voice. "Young Miss… did… did it go well with the Master?"
Zhao Lingxi paused but did not turn. A low, hollow hum was her only reply. "Mn."
It was a sound that sucked the hope out of the air. It wasn't a yes or a no; it was the sound of a door being slammed shut. She disappeared into the dark house, leaving them in the courtyard with their dread.
Night fell completely, and with it came the sounds of the Zhao Residence coming to life in a way they were excluded from. From the direction of the main compound, lanterns glowed like clusters of fireflies.
Laughter, the faint melody of a guzheng, and the inviting clatter of porcelain and trays carried on the wind. The rich, aromatic smell of braised spirit-beast meat, steamed spirit-grain rice, and delicate herbal soups wafted into their derelict garden. It was the family's evening meal.
Chen Mei's stomach growled loudly. She looked towards the lights and sounds with naked hunger. Liu Ruyan stopped her work, her jaw tight. The fragrant feast was a brutal reminder of their place here: outsiders in their own home.
Lan Yue's own hunger was a sharp ache. They had traveled all day and worked for hours on nothing but a little water. But no summons came. No servant arrived to escort the Young Miss to the banquet. The insult was as deliberate as it was silent. Zhao Lingxi was not considered family enough to dine at the main table.
After what felt like an eternity, when the music and laughter from the main hall had faded, a single servant boy shuffled to their gate. He held a simple wooden tray with an expression of distaste, as if carrying garbage. On it were four bowls of thin, watery congee and a small plate of salted radishes.
He didn't even bow. "Your dinner," he muttered, setting the tray on a broken bench.
Liu Ruyan surged forward. "This is an insult! This isn't fit for pigs! Where is the spirit-rich food for the Young Miss? How can she maintain her cultivation on this?" Her voice trembled with rage.
The boy shrugged, sneering. "The kitchen steward said this is what's allotted for this courtyard. If you want better food, maybe don't get banished for murder." He turned and scurried away before Liu Ruyan could retort.
They stared at the miserable meal. In a xianxia world, where cultivation depended on absorbing energy from food, medicine, and the environment, this was a death sentence. This congee had less spiritual energy than the dirt they stood on. It was designed to keep Zhao Lingxi weak, to ensure her cultivation base would wither.
Just as despair threatened to consume them, a small, frantic shadow darted into the courtyard.
"Elder Sister!"
It was Zhao Han. He was breathing in ragged, wheezing gasps, his frail body shaking from the effort of running. His face, pale, was slick with a thin sweat. He clutched a small bundle wrapped in fine silk to his chest.
"Xiao Han!" Zhao Lingxi emerged from the house, her cold mask breaking into genuine alarm. She rushed to him, steadying his small shoulders. "You shouldn't run! You know what the physician said about your weak lung meridian!"
"I… I had to," he panted, his eyes bright with urgency. He thrust the bundle into her hands. "They had a whole feast… spirit-infused mooncakes, phoenix-patterned dumplings… I saved these for you."
He unwrapped the silk to reveal four perfectly formed, shimmering pastries that glowed with a faint, nourishing light. They radiated more spiritual energy than the entire congee pot.
The kindness of the act was staggering. This sickly boy, who was likely ignored at the banquet himself, had risked everything to bring them real sustenance.
Zhao Lingxi's eyes glistened under the moonlight. She knelt, her voice soft. "You foolish child. You need this energy more than any of us. Your dantian is fragile; this could have helped stabilize your qi."
He shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. "It doesn't matter. They say it's a waste to give me good spirit food anyway. They say my core is like a leaky vase; it can't hold the energy."
He said it with a heartbreaking simplicity, as if stating a fact as ordinary as the sky being blue.
The truth of their situation crashed down on Lan Yue. The brother was ill-treated not just for his connection to Zhao Lingxi, but because his poor health and weak cultivation made him worthless in the eyes of a powerful clan. He was a discarded son, just as she was a discarded daughter.
Zhao Lingxi took the pastries, her hand trembling not with weakness, but with suppressed emotion. She silently gave one to each of her companions before taking one herself.
The pastry was sublime, melting in Lan Yue's mouth and sending a faint, warm thread of spiritual energy through her weary body. But the taste was bittersweet. It was a testament to the love between a brother and sister, and a glaring indictment of the family that forced such secret acts of kindness.
As they ate in the dark, chilly courtyard, Zhao Han looked around, his big eyes full of worry. "The energy here is so dead, Elder Sister. It's even worse than my courtyard. How will you cultivate? How will you get stronger?"
Zhao Lingxi placed a hand on his head. "Do not worry for me. You must go back now. Be careful."
After he slipped away, the night felt vast and hostile. The brief glow of the spirit pastries faded, leaving them in a darkness that was more than just the absence of light.
Zhao Lingxi stood alone, a solitary figure against the starry sky. No one could tell what she was thinking but Lan Yue knew Zhao Lingxi was not going to let this slide.