The week of enforced rest proved more productive than I'd expected, though not in the ways I'd anticipated.
Mother had been serious about her mandate—she'd coordinated with Father, Liu Ruyan, and apparently every servant in the compound to ensure I couldn't simply work from my bed. Scrolls and ledgers were forbidden. Planning discussions were postponed. Even Wenxuan was banned from visiting with "just one quick question" that inevitably turned into hour-long strategy sessions.
Instead, I was relegated to reading non-technical texts from the library, taking short walks in the garden when Liu Ruyan deemed me strong enough, and enduring what Mother called "proper recovery."
It was maddening at first. My mind churned with plans and improvements, problems that needed solving, optimizations that couldn't wait. But as the days passed, something unexpected happened.
I started noticing things I'd been too busy to see.
On the third day of rest, I sat in the eastern garden watching Master Han train his apprentices in the courtyard beyond. From this distance, I could observe without interfering—a novel experience after weeks of constant involvement.
"The tall one, Feng, has better instincts than the others," Liu Ruyan observed, sitting nearby with needlework she'd brought along. She'd taken to staying within sight during my garden visits, close enough to assist if needed but far enough to give the illusion of independence.
I watched the apprentices more carefully. She was right—Feng's hammer strikes showed better rhythm, his movements more economical. "He learns faster. Adapts to Master Han's corrections almost immediately."
"He also helps the other apprentices when Master Han is occupied. Explains techniques in ways they understand better. A natural teacher."
"How long has he been with us?"
"Three years. He came from a farming family in the lower valleys. His father owed the clan a debt, offered his son's labor in partial payment. Master Han saw potential and took him as apprentice."
Information I should have known but didn't. I'd been so focused on forge improvements and production metrics that I'd missed the human element—who the apprentices were, what motivated them, how they related to each other.
"You notice things I miss," I said.
"少主 sees patterns and systems. This one sees people." She looked up from her needlework with a slight smile. "Together, we see more completely."
It was a simple observation but profound in its implications. I'd been operating as if my knowledge and strategic thinking were sufficient. But strategy without understanding the people implementing it was incomplete.
"Tell me about the other apprentices," I said. "Not just their skills, but who they are."
Liu Ruyan set aside her needlework, clearly pleased by the question. "Jin is the youngest, barely fifteen. Quick fingers but lacks confidence. He apologizes constantly, fears making mistakes. His family sent him here hoping martial training, but his temperament suits craftsmanship better."
I remembered Jin—small, nervous, always positioned farthest from Master Han during training. "He needs encouragement more than criticism."
"Yes. Feng has been helping him, which has improved his work considerably. The third apprentice, Wei, is older—nearly twenty. He has skill but lacks dedication. His family has some wealth; they sent him here to learn a trade as backup to arranged merchant work. He views smithing as temporary."
"That's a problem if we're trying to build lasting improvements."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps Wei should be directed toward different work. He has good eye for finished quality, better than Feng or Jin. He might serve better in quality inspection rather than direct forging."
I'd never considered that. My engineer's mind had categorized the apprentices as "forge workers" without thinking about specialization within that role. But Liu Ruyan was right—matching people to tasks suited to their actual talents rather than forcing them into predefined roles was more efficient.
"When I'm allowed to work again, remind me to discuss this with Master Han."
"This one will. Now, 少主 has been sitting long enough. Your color is fading. Time to return to chambers."
I wanted to argue but recognized the signs she'd mentioned—slight dizziness, muscles beginning to tremble. My body's reserves remained limited even after days of rest.
She helped me stand, and we walked slowly back through the garden. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, creating patterns of light and shadow on the stone path. For the first time since arriving in this world, I found myself noticing the beauty of the compound rather than just analyzing its problems.
"Liu Ruyan, did you grow up here?" I asked. "Tie Hanxing's memories are... fragmented about your background."
"This one came to the compound at age eight," she said as we walked. "My parents died in a border raid. Your grandfather, Lord Tie Zhengyang, was leading warriors to counter the raiders. He arrived too late to save my family but found me hiding in our cellar. He brought me back here, gave me to the household staff to raise."
"I'm sorry. That must have been terrifying."
"It was. But the Tie clan gave me home and purpose when I had nothing. Your mother treated me kindly, taught me reading and basic numbers along with household management. Your grandmother—before she passed—ensured I learned proper service etiquette." She paused. "This clan saved my life. Serving it, serving you, is how I repay that debt."
"It's more than debt, though. Isn't it?"
She was quiet for several steps. "Yes. It became more. But the debt remains the foundation. This one never forgets what was given when all seemed lost."
We reached my chambers and she helped me settle onto the bed. The short walk had exhausted me more than I cared to admit—my body was improving but progress was frustratingly slow.
"Rest now," she said. "This one will bring evening meal when ready."
"Stay," I said impulsively. "Just for a few minutes. I have questions that aren't about work."
She hesitated, then pulled the chair closer. "What questions?"
"What do you want? For yourself, I mean. Not for the clan or for me, but for Liu Ruyan."
The question clearly surprised her. "This one has not thought in such terms."
"Maybe you should. You're what, nineteen? You've spent your entire life in service. But if you could choose freely, what would you want?"
She was quiet for so long I thought she might not answer. Finally, she spoke softly.
"This one would want to matter. To be more than a servant doing assigned tasks. To have purpose beyond duty." She looked at me directly. "What 少主 has been doing—saving the clan through wisdom and strategy—that matters. This one would want to contribute something of similar worth. To be remembered not as 'that servant' but as someone who truly helped."
"You already do help. Significantly."
"Perhaps. But servants are invisible. We do essential work that no one notices until it stops being done. That is our nature."
"Then maybe we should change that nature." The idea formed as I spoke. "When I propose Mother's involvement in planning councils, I could suggest you as well. You understand the household operations better than anyone. Your insights about people and logistics would be valuable."
She looked startled. "少主, that would be highly irregular. Servants do not attend clan councils."
"Neither do seventeen-year-old invalids, traditionally. Yet here I am as strategic advisor. Why not extend the irregularity?"
"Because this one is not clan family. Because servants know their place. Because—"
"Because tradition says so. But tradition also said we should keep forging weapons the same way for generations, and look where that got us." I sat up slightly despite my body's protest. "Liu Ruyan, you told me once that you chose to help me help this family. Let me help you in return. Let me give you the recognition you deserve."
Tears glistened in her eyes, quickly blinked away. "少主 gives this one too much value."
"I don't think I give you nearly enough."
She stood abruptly, moving to the window with her back to me. I could see her shoulders trembling slightly—emotion she was trying to contain within proper servant composure.
"Liu Ruyan—"
"This one needs a moment, 少主. Please."
I gave her the moment, listening to her breathing slowly stabilize. Finally, she turned back, her expression carefully composed but her eyes still bright.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For seeing this one as more than a servant. For offering possibilities this one never dared imagine. But 少주—there are reasons tradition exists. Social order, hierarchy, the proper functioning of households. If you elevate one servant, others will expect similar treatment. If you bring this one to councils, it threatens established authority."
"You're giving me reasons others would object. I'm asking what you want."
"What this one wants is complicated."
"Most worthwhile things are."
She returned to the chair, her hands folded in her lap, her posture formal but her voice carrying weight. "This one wants to help you succeed. To be part of something meaningful. To have purpose beyond invisible service. But this one also wants..." She hesitated.
"Wants what?"
"Wants whatever this is between us to be real, not just gratitude or obligation. Wants to matter to 少주 not because of useful service but because of... something more."
The admission hung in the air between us. We'd been dancing around the subject since Mother's observation about household gossip, acknowledging feelings without defining them. But now Liu Ruyan had spoken plainly, and the moment demanded equal honesty.
"It is real," I said. "I don't fully understand it yet—in both my lives, I've been bad at this kind of connection. But what I feel for you isn't about your service or usefulness. It's about who you are. Your loyalty, yes, but also your intelligence, your perception, your quiet strength. The way you've chosen to believe in me despite having no reason to. That matters. You matter."
Her breath caught slightly. "少주—"
"And Liu Ruyan? My name is Hanxing. When we're alone, could you use it? Without the honorific?"
She looked torn between propriety and desire. "That would be highly improper."
"So is most of what we're discussing. But we're past propriety now, I think."
A small smile played at her lips. "This one... I... still find it difficult. Years of training are hard to overcome."
"Then overcome them slowly. There's no rush."
A knock at the door interrupted the moment. Liu Ruyan quickly composed herself, the servant's mask sliding back into place, before opening the door to reveal Wenxuan carrying a tray.
"Mother sent me with evening meal since Liu Ruyan was occupied," he said, bringing the tray inside. Then he paused, glancing between us with knowing expression. "Did I interrupt something?"
"Strategic planning," I said smoothly. "Liu Ruyan was providing insights on household operations."
"Of course she was." His tone suggested he believed nothing of the sort. "Well, Mother insists you eat everything on this tray. She's been tracking your food consumption like a military quartermaster."
"Mother has always been thorough."
Wenxuan set down the tray and settled into a chair uninvited. "Since I'm already here and technically not discussing forbidden planning topics, perhaps I could just mention—purely for entertainment purposes—that the merchant Liu from Frostfang Town sent a very interesting proposal today."
"Second Brother," Liu Ruyan said warningly. "Lady Yalian was clear about rest."
"I'm not working," I protested. "Just listening to entertaining stories that happen to mention proposals."
"You're both terrible at following instructions," she said, but made no move to stop us.
Wenxuan grinned. "Merchant Liu wants exclusive contract for all our weapon production next season. He's offering premium rates and advance payment, but demands we produce nothing for other buyers."
My mind immediately began analyzing implications—benefits of stable revenue versus risks of single-client dependence, potential market reactions, negotiating leverage. I forced myself to stop.
"That's certainly an interesting story," I said carefully. "I'm sure Huiyue will handle it wisely."
"She's inclined to refuse. Too much dependence on one buyer. But she wanted your input before making final decision."
"Tell her..." I paused, recognizing the trap. This was exactly the kind of discussion Mother had forbidden. "Tell her I trust her judgment completely. Whatever she decides will be the right choice."
Wenxuan looked disappointed but nodded. "Fair enough. You're really taking this rest seriously?"
"Mother is terrifying when protective of her children. I value my life."
"Wise." He stood to leave, then paused at the door. "Hanxing? The clan is doing well. The forge is running smoothly, orders are steady, Father is sleeping better than he has in years. Whatever you did to start all this—it's working. You can afford to rest without guilt."
After he left, Liu Ruyan brought the meal tray to my bedside. "Second Young Master is right. The clan functions well in 少주's absence. Perhaps that should provide comfort."
"It does. And it doesn't." I picked at the food—rice with vegetables and preserved meat. "I'm glad they don't need me constantly. But I also wonder if I've become superfluous."
"少주 are not superfluous. You are the reason any of this works. But you have taught others to execute your vision. That is leadership, not obsolescence."
She was probably right. My old-world programmer's mindset equated value with constant activity, indispensability with worth. But true leadership meant building systems that didn't depend on one person's constant intervention.
"When the week ends," I said between bites, "and I'm allowed to work again, I want to focus on making myself even less necessary. Training others, documenting processes, creating redundancy. So that if something happens to me—"
"Nothing will happen to you," she interrupted firmly.
"But if it does, the improvements shouldn't die with me. The clan should be able to continue without depending on one person's knowledge."
She was quiet for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "That is wise. But also deeply concerning that 少주—that Hanxing—speaks of his own death so casually."
"Not death. Just contingency planning. It's different."
"Not as different as you pretend."
We finished the meal in comfortable silence. Outside, the evening sounds of the compound filtered through the window—servants preparing for night, the forge cooling down, warriors ending their training. The familiar rhythms of a household finding its balance.
"Liu Ruyan," I said as she cleared the meal tray. "Thank you. For everything. For staying, for honest conversation, for being willing to discuss possibilities that frighten us both."
"You are welcome, Hanxing." She said my name quietly, almost experimentally, without the honorific. Then she smiled—a real, warm smile that transformed her features. "This one—I—will continue practicing that."
After she left, I lay in the darkness and thought about the week of rest I'd initially resented. Mother had been right, as mothers often were. The forced pause had given me time to see what constant activity had obscured—the people around me, their own struggles and desires, the human element that data and strategy couldn't capture.
The Memory Treasure Vault flickered at the edge of my vision.
'MEMORY TREASURE VAULT'
'DAILY SEARCHES REMAINING: 3/3'
'INTEGRATION STATUS: 86% COMPLETE'
'PHYSICAL CONDITION: SIGNIFICANTLY IMPROVED'
'EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE: DEVELOPING WELL'
'SOCIAL BONDS: DEEPENING MEANINGFULLY'
'NOTE: USER DEMONSTRATING HEALTHY BALANCE BETWEEN WORK AND RECOVERY'
'ROMANTIC DEVELOPMENT: PROGRESSING NATURALLY'
'LEADERSHIP SKILLS: MATURING BEYOND INITIAL TECHNICAL FOCUS'
The system tracked my development with clinical precision, but it couldn't capture the real change—the shift from seeing people as resources to recognizing them as individuals with their own hopes and fears. Liu Ruyan wasn't just an efficient attendant. Wenxuan wasn't just a capable planner. Mother wasn't just a source of household insights.
They were people I cared about. And who cared about me in return.
That realization felt more valuable than any knowledge the Memory Treasure Vault could provide.
---