Threads 490-Senior Brother 1

Ling Qi did not think she had eaten such a meal since she had been a mortal while encountering the sect’s warehouses for the first time. Back then, that first week, she had almost gnawed an entire chicken down to the bone.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get yourself sick.”

She’d always had a hardy stomach. She had to when most of the time she was pulling food out of the trash.

Today, though, she had learned an important fact. It wasn’t really possible for a cultivator to feel full if they didn’t want to, or at least, not without consuming very qi-rich food. A cultivator could just speed up their digestive cycles, burn off the impurity, and keep going. She had been careful not to get too gluttonous, but well… The Cai clan’s chefs were truly amazing.

By this point, people had begun to leave their seats. New dishes were still being brought out, but the main entrees of the meal had been completed.

Deciding how to approach the patriarch, Jia Hong, was difficult. Even if she wanted to present herself boldly, when dealing with a person of such rank, there was a limit to her ability to force the meeting. Chafing as it was, she still had to wait for him to provide her an opportunity to do so in order to avoid showing unacceptable rudeness.

Ling Qi spoke with people, ministry members mostly, and a few court clan planners eager to discuss what the heiress’ goals were for the near future with her Xiangmen properties. Ling Qi knew Renxiang had little idea at the moment, and the approaching offensive gave her room to say so without it being looked on poorly.

Soon, she did find her moment. Patriarch Jia waved off some of his younger relations and positioned himself in such a way as to invite speakers, out on the floor, away from his retinue, and posture welcoming. While the ones approaching him were still of high status, like the Viscount Bian, the Vice Minister of Commerce, all the same, the invitation was there.

Approaching him would be bold, but not shatter propriety. She supposed she should be thankful he was playing along to let her set herself up.

Ling Qi took the opportunity after the head of a court clan stepped away, bowing deeply to the patriarch, who waved him off with a friendly gesture. The patriarch raised his wine cup to his lips to drink as he turned away to see her approach.

“My, I do find myself popular today, don’t I?” Jia Hong asked cheerfully, stroking the tip of his beard. “Baroness Ling, was it? I have heard quite a bit of you, since the youngsters awoke me from my nap.”

She placed her hands together in front of her and bowed deeply. “I’m very flattered to even be known by a figure such as yourself for my small deeds.”

“Small deeds…” he mused. “I don’t know that one with your inclination and ability to squeeze even a single word of praise from my most curmudgeonly friend can be accused of small deeds. At least not ones which will stay small.”

“You are kind to say so. At the very least, I have no intention of allowing them to stay small,” Ling Qi allowed, straightening up.

“Of that, I’ve no doubt. You certainly wouldn’t hold your space at the heiress’ side if you did.” Jia Hong gestured for her to follow him, and then flicked his fingers out dismissively.

She was able to perceive the attention of several others turning away, as well as the faint ripple of well-hidden discontent. It seemed like he expected this conversation to go on for some time. She followed after him, the heels of her boots clicking across the marble in his wake.

Standing near him now, Jia Hong was not a small man. He stood at the same height as her, or perhaps a bit taller; it was hard to tell with the wrapping on his head. He had broad shoulders, despite his thin build. His robe trailed behind him, brushing the ground rather than floating the way many cultivators’—even her own—clothing did.

“There are many with eyes on my place,” Ling Qi agreed. “I wonder, Sir Jia, do the movers of the court really not understand why Cai Renxiang’s inner circle is not filled with high clan scions?”

Jia Hong chuckled, low and rich, his eyebrows rising. “Oho? Bold. I expect many know why, but men and women alike often have trouble understanding circumstances which go against their desires. Taking in the young Sir Meng has filled them with vigor and ambition, that even if the heiress must have her playmates, she is now open to proper advice and influence. But I am curious, in your own words, what is the real purpose of Her Grace’s plans, young miss?”

Ling Qi didn’t allow herself to hesitate. “To let her daughter cultivate those of a personal loyalty higher than that to their clan in a mirror to her own companions.”

“A fine statement to make to the patriarch of the Jia! Many would say that a patriarch’s will is his clan’s will, so perhaps you have transcended that distinction.” The corner of Jia Hong’s lips quirked, and he stroked his beard with the air of an amused grandfather. “One might say that, indeed. Then again, my Jia clan is regarded as strange for its zeal toward our overlord. What excitable children I have raised.”

“I admit, I do have trouble with the idea of putting other loyalties above family.”

“Do you? Or are you simply still tripped up by petty definitions? Your clan has picked up its first adoption, hasn’t it? Half of it is made of spirits, who are even further from you than that. My Jia clan… There is a reason we are accused of blurring lines with the Rushing Cloud Sect. Blood is just one of the many things which can bind.”

Ling Qi considered his argument. Was he implying that she saw Renxiang as a kind of family, or at least a connection of similar closeness? She loved her friend a great deal, but was that really the same?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“That’s getting murky, but I expect he meant to plant a thought that’s not gonna sprout till later,” Sixiang commented. “Hi, Mister Patriarch! Not trying to hide!”

“Naturally, you’re not so foolish as that,” Jia Hong chuckled.

“I have difficulties, whether it is over definitions or something deeper,” Ling Qi said. “I see that that old hermit at the sect wasn’t misleading me, though. You are a student of his.”

She felt the small change in the air before she had even finished airing the last sentence. Her own screening, the ability to to only communicate with those of her choice, was the child’s version of this technique.