The estate of Elder Yaling Hai was a realm of opulence beyond anything Ming Shui had ever imagined. Towering pavilions with sweeping roofs of glazed tiles stretched as far as the eye could see, their eaves adorned with intricate carvings of celestial beasts and blooming lotuses. The sheer number of buildings—each more immaculate than the last—dwarfed the entirety of her former village. Golden filigree traced the edges of doors, pillars, and walls as if the precious metal were as common as clay to the Gilded Lotus Sect. The estate was not merely large; it was a world unto itself, vast enough to swallow Ming Shui whole. How could one person—even an esteemed elder—require so much space?

  Servants moved through the grounds like a river of gold, their robes shimmering in the sunlight, each bearing the insignia of the sect. When Elder Yaling Hai had first deposited Ming into their care, she had done so with an absent wave, murmuring something about returning in a few weeks. Since then, Ming had been smothered beneath their relentless attention.

  They scrubbed her clean, stripping away the dust and wear of her old life. They dressed her in silks so fine they felt like whispers against her skin, fabrics dyed in hues she had no names for. They painted her face with delicate precision, lining her eyes with kohl and dusting her cheeks with crushed pearl powder. By the time they were finished, Ming barely recognized herself. The reflection in the polished bronze mirror was that of a noble lady—no, a princess. For a fleeting moment, she had been giddy, marveling at the luxury.

  But the novelty wore off quickly.

  Ming was a country girl at heart, raised to rely on her own two hands. She had hauled water from the well, mended her own clothes, and cooked simple meals over an open fire. Here, the servants refused to let her lift a finger. If she reached for her robes, they swarmed in, tutting as they dressed her themselves. When she tried to prepare her own meal—even just to slice fruit—they whisked her away, presenting her instead with dishes so exquisite they made her mouth water.

  The worst was the bathing. Back home, she had washed in the river or with a bucket of well water, scrubbing briskly before getting on with her day. Here, attendants descended upon her the moment she stepped near the bathhouse, their hands relentless as they lathered, rinsed, and oiled her until she felt more like a prized horse being groomed for auction than a person.

  If Ming so much as thought about visiting a different part of the estate, the servants descended upon her like a flock of brightly plumed birds, ushering her into one of the many lavish changing chambers. Each location demanded its own absurdly specific attire.

  Want to stroll through the gallery? She had to be squeezed into a stiff, embroidered gallery-viewing dress, its high collar itching against her neck. Desire to admire the gardens? The servants would strip her down and layer her in garden-viewing robes, their long, trailing sleeves constantly snagging on branches. Even something as simple as sitting on the patio required an entirely new ensemble—loose, airy silks that fluttered dramatically in the breeze, as if she were some tragic heroine in a play.

  The fabrics, though beautiful, were impractical—tight where they should be loose, heavy where they should be light. The jeweled hairpins dug into her scalp, and the delicate slippers pinched her toes. She missed the rough comfort of her old tunic, the freedom of bare feet on cool earth.

  Yet, for all her frustration, a traitorous whisper curled in the back of her mind: Is this what power feels like? To command others with a glance, to have every need anticipated before you even voice it?

  She crushed the thought instantly.

  Ming Shui was no noble. She was the daughter of a farmer. She would not let herself be seduced by silk and gold.

  But as much as she longed to snap at the servants—to tell them to bugger off and leave her in peace—she held her tongue. These weren’t just ordinary attendants; they were cultivators, their movements too graceful, their eyes too sharp. The memory of what other cultivators had done to her father coiled like a knife in her gut. What if she offended them? What if they decided she was ungrateful? Disrespectful?

  Would they punish her?

  Would they hurt her?

  So she endured. She let them lace her into yet another ridiculous gown, let them fuss over her hair, let them guide her like a doll from one gilded room to the next. But beneath the compliance, resentment simmered.

  It all felt like a cage to her.

  Ming Shui sat beneath the delicate lattice of the gazebo, its carved wooden beams casting intricate shadows over her like a cage of sunlight and shade. Around her, the garden unfolded in impossible beauty—flowers with petals like spun moonlight, blossoms that pulsed with a soft, ethereal glow, and vines that shimmered as if dusted with crushed gemstones. It was breathtaking, unlike anything she had ever seen in her village.

  And yet, she couldn’t enjoy it.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Not truly.

  Because just beyond the gazebo, a cluster of servants stood in perfect stillness, their golden robes blending with the gilded edges of the garden. They waited, patient as statues, for the moment she decided to move—so they could descend upon her, strip her of her current attire, and force her into yet another suffocating ensemble.

  Ming sighed, slumping slightly against the carved railing. She had only wanted to look at the flowers for a little while. But now, trapped by the tyranny of etiquette, she found herself lingering far longer than intended—not out of admiration, but out of sheer defiance.

  If I stay here, they can’t make me change again.

  It was a petty rebellion, but it was hers.

  The sun crept across the sky, the shifting light painting the garden in deepening hues of gold and lavender. The glowing flowers brightened as dusk approached, their luminescence casting delicate reflections on the nearby pond. It should have been peaceful. It should have been enchanting.

  Instead, Ming just felt… stuck.

  She drummed her fingers against the railing, weighing her options. She could stay here until the servants finally intervened, ushering her away for dinner and yet another wardrobe ordeal. Or she could stand now, endure the fussing, and be done with it.

  Neither choice appealed to her.

  A breeze rustled through the garden, carrying the scent of something sweet and unfamiliar. For a fleeting moment, she closed her eyes and pretended she was back home—sitting by the wildflowers near the riverbank, free to come and go as she pleased.

  A sudden voice cut through Ming’s thoughts like a blade.

  “Enjoying the garden, I see.”

  Ming turned sharply, her breath catching as she recognized the speaker—Elder Yaling Hai had returned. The woman stood at the edge of the gazebo, her presence commanding even in stillness. Her robes, richer and more ornate than those of the servants, shimmered faintly with restrained power, and her sharp eyes studied Ming with an unsettling intensity.

  For a heartbeat, Ming froze. Then, like a flood, the warnings of the Emerald Tortoise Sect disciples rushed back to her—bow low, speak humbly, never meet an elder’s gaze too boldly.

  She lurched into an awkward bow, nearly stumbling over her own feet.

  “Um, this one greets the… the Elder?” Her voice wavered, unsure. The words felt stiff and unnatural on her tongue. She had never been taught proper etiquette, and now, under that piercing gaze, she felt painfully exposed.

  Elder Yaling Hai arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

  “We’ll have to work on your etiquette,” she said, though there was no real reprimand in her tone—just observation. “But that can come much later. There are more important things you will have to learn.”

  She brought a thumb to her chin, considering Ming as if she were a puzzle to be solved.

  “I have just returned from a meeting of the alliance elders,” she continued. “It has been decided how you shall be trained.”

  “Oh…” Ming mumbled, her stomach twisting.

  For a moment, she had almost forgotten why she was here. The endless dressing, the suffocating luxury, the gilded cage of the estate—it had all distracted her from the truth.

  She was here because of her physique. Because some twist of fate had marked her as special, and now, powerful cultivators had claimed her like a prize.

  The realization sent a fresh wave of resentment through her. She had never asked for this. Never wanted this. Back in her village, cultivation had been nothing more than a distant legend, a thing of stories and whispered warnings. The only cultivators she had ever known were the ones from the ember sword sect and her uncle Kai.

  And now, she was being forced to become one of them.

  Her fingers curled into the fabric of her robes, gripping tight. She wanted to scream. To refuse. To demand to be let go.

  But she couldn’t.

  Because she had no power here. No choice.

  Elder Yaling Hai watched her carefully, as if sensing the storm beneath Ming’s forced stillness. But if she noticed, she didn’t comment.

  "It has been decided that you will be trained by all members of the Great Eight," she announced, her voice carrying the weight of unshakable authority. "For the next ten years, each organization will instruct you in their most guarded techniques—those compatible with your... unique physique."

  That damn physique again. Ming clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her palms. She was so tired of hearing about it—as if her entire being had been reduced to nothing more than some rare cultivation trait these powerful sects wanted to exploit.

  Elder Yaling Hai continued, oblivious—or indifferent—to Ming's simmering frustration. "The order of your training was decided by lot. The Jinsu Fairies won the draw." A faint, almost imperceptible tightening of her lips suggested she wasn't entirely pleased with the outcome. "You leave for Jinsu City at dawn tomorrow."

  Ming's stomach dropped. Tomorrow? She had barely adjusted to this gilded prison, and now she was being shipped off to another? To the Jinsu Fairies, who she had no idea about.

  A servant stepped forward, bowing deeply. "This one will prepare the young mistress's belongings for the journey."

  Ming barely suppressed a scoff. Belongings? She had arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back—everything else had been forced upon her. Just like this fate.

  Elder Yaling Hai studied her for a long moment, her gaze inscrutable. "This is an honor beyond measure," she said, though her tone suggested it was less praise and more a reminder—a warning. "Do not waste it."

  Ming lowered her eyes, not trusting herself to speak.

  Honor?

  This wasn’t an honor.

  It was a leash.

  And she was just the dog being passed between masters.

  But for now, she had no choice but to heel.

  Patreon! You can read chapters early by becoming a patron.