Deep Pool, No Ripples

At the first quarter of the Mao hour, the sky was a deep indigo.

Li Tui stood outside the door of Zhao Yuanchong's room. The dim lantern under the corridor eaves dragged his shadow out into a long, thin line.

There was no sound from within.

It was not until the east began to glow with a crab-shell green and a faint light filtered through the window paper that movement stirred inside.

A woman gave a low gasp, followed by the rustle of fabric, and then Zhao Yuanchong's impatient, sleep-heavy voice: "...Who is out there?"

Li Tui pushed the door open.

The scent of incense rushed out to meet him, a mixture of cloying sweetness from the night before and the smell of sweat. The morning light cut diagonally into the room, illuminating floating dust and the scene upon the bed.

Zhao Yuanchong was half-propped up, his undergarments loose, revealing a fair neck.

Beside him lay the woman in the peach-red dress from the day before, her hair disheveled and the rouge on her cheeks smeared.

"Young Master." Li Tui lowered his eyes, his posture humble. "It is time to rise; you must go to the academy at the Chen hour."

Zhao Yuanchong squinted at him, and after a long moment, he let out a scoff.

He pushed the woman aside, stepped off the bed barefoot, and walked over to Li Tui. He only reached Li Tui's chest, yet as he tilted his head up, he wore a look of condescending scrutiny.

"You are Wang Yuan?" His voice was still raspy from sleep.

"I am."

"Uncle Lai said you were clever." Zhao Yuanchong's gaze swept over his coarse, washed-out cloth clothes, and the corners of his mouth curled into a playful smile. "Then let me test you. What is a study companion supposed to do?"

Li Tui's expression remained unchanged: "Accompany the Young Master in study and cultivation, and attend to his daily needs."

"Attend to daily needs?" Zhao Yuanchong clasped his hands behind his back and nodded with an air of affected maturity. "Well said. Then, right now, I want you to attend to me."

He turned and pointed to the half-man-high celadon chamber pot in the corner of the room. The body of the pot was painted with a pattern of winding lotus vines.

"Go, empty it out." Zhao Yuanchong looked back at Li Tui with a beaming smile. "Not a single drop left. Once you've emptied it, fill it with fresh water and bring it back to my bedside."

The room fell silent for a moment.

The woman in the peach-red dress on the bed covered her mouth and giggled, her eyes darting about with the air of someone watching a show.

Li Tui looked at the chamber pot. The mouth was narrow and the belly wide; to empty it completely, one had to reach inside. This was a filthy chore that even the lowliest servants would refuse to do.

It was an insult.

It was meant to trample Li Tui's dignity into the mud from the very start.

Li Tui lowered his eyelids.

He did not speak, nor did he show any sign of humiliation or anger. He walked silently to the corner, rolled up his washed-out sleeves, and revealed his lean, sturdy forearms.

Then he reached out and lifted the heavy chamber pot.

The cold porcelain pressed against his skin, its heavy weight bearing down on his wrists. The sour, putrid smell of the waste inside rushed into his face, mingling with the cloying sweetness of the overnight incense to create a nauseating, bizarre stench.

The woman on the bed let out a soft "ah" and covered her mouth, tittering.

Zhao Yuanchong crossed his arms, tilting his head as he watched, his youthful face filled with the glee of a successful prank.

Li Tui held the chamber pot steady, turned, and walked step by step toward the door.

His footsteps were steady, his arms were steady, and his breathing was as calm as usual, as if he were carrying not a vessel of filth, but an ordinary object.

Crossing the threshold, the morning breeze brushed his face.

Servants sweeping the corridor caught a glimpse from afar and hurriedly lowered their heads, quickening their pace, not daring to look any longer.

Li Tui looked straight ahead.

He walked to the disposal area in the corner of the courtyard, squatted down, and tilted the pot. The murky liquid gurgled out into the ditch below. When the last few drops clung to the inner wall, he reached his fingers inside to scrape it clean.

His fingertips touched the slimy, cold filth.

He did not pause. After scraping it clean, he stood up and walked to the well, drew fresh water, and rinsed the inside and outside of the pot over and over again. The sound of splashing water was exceptionally clear in the quiet morning courtyard.

Once clean, he filled the pot with fresh water, held it, and walked back to the room step by step.

Zhao Yuanchong was already sitting by the bed, and the woman in the peach-red dress was draping his outer robe over him. Seeing Li Tui enter, Zhao Yuanchong raised his eyelids, that same smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth.

Li Tui placed the chamber pot gently in the designated spot by the bed, stepped back two paces, and stood with his hands at his sides. His sleeves were already pulled down, covering his arms, leaving only the damp chill of the well water on his fingertips.

"Young Master, it is done." His voice betrayed not a ripple of emotion.

Zhao Yuanchong stared at him for a long time.

Li Tui's face was as calm as an ancient well; he hadn't even frowned once.

This calmness made Zhao Yuanchong more uncomfortable than any resistance could have. It was like punching into a bottomless pool of water, unable to even hear a splash.

"You..." Zhao Yuanchong opened his mouth, wanting to find more fault, but for a moment, he didn't know what to say. If the person being humiliated didn't feel humiliated, what was the point of the insult?

He suddenly felt bored and inexplicably irritable.

"Get out and wait!" He waved his hand, his tone nasty. "Come back to call me at the Chen hour!"

"Yes." Li Tui bowed, exited the room, and pulled the door shut behind him.

The morning breeze in the corridor was slightly cool.

Li Tui stood still, slowly raising his hand to look at his fingertips. They had been stained with filth and washed in clear water, appearing pale now under the morning light.

He felt no disgust, no anger.

Only a cold, clear-headed sobriety.

Reason with Zhao Yuanchong? Negotiate terms? As the son of a tenant farmer, what qualifications did he have?

In the face of absolute power, any sharp-tongued retort was laughable. If the other party wanted to humiliate you, you could only endure it. The only thing to be done was how to endure it without truly letting yourself be trampled into the mud.

Anger was useless, and humiliation was cheap.

There was only endurance—clear-headed endurance—like roots dormant in the soil, slowly drawing nutrients while waiting for the day to break through the surface.

As for that bucket of filth... compared to everything from his past life, what did this even count for?

The path of cultivation was, by nature, a struggle against the heavens, against others, and against oneself. Face? Dignity? Those were things one only earned the right to pick up after surviving.

From inside the room, Zhao Yuanchong's impatient muttering drifted out, accompanied by a woman's soft, coaxing voice.

Li Tui listened quietly, his eyes devoid of ripples.

The path of this life was destined to be carved out, bit by bit, from the filthiest corners, to scrape together the resources for cultivation.

The hour of the dragon had arrived.

He raised his hand and used the back of his clean hand to knock lightly on the door.

His voice was steady and respectful, revealing not a hint of anything amiss:

"Young Master, the hour of the dragon has arrived; it is time to go to the academy."