Ascension to the Tenth Realm Yang Spirit: Without Becoming a Grandmaster, One Remains an Ant!

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[You stared blankly at the familiar little courtyard before you, its gray bricks and dark tiles both familiar and strange.]

[The figure that had appeared in your dreams day after day was now sitting beneath the eaves in a wicker chair, embroidering brocade stitch by stitch.]

["Guan'er, why are you back so late?" The woman looked up, tender lines rippling at the corners of her eyes. But the instant she saw your face, she panicked. "Oh dear, why are you crying?" She hurriedly set down her embroidery hoop and reached out to you.]

["Guan'er"—that form of address washed over your heart like a pool of warm water.]

[You suddenly remembered that, through the dozen or so years of cold and heat to come, no one would ever call you that again.]

[Mother had already come before you. The hem of her plain cotton dress brushed over the bluestone steps. Rising, she patted the dust from your clothes. "You're covered in dirt. Being naughty again!"]

["Mother, I made you longevity noodles. Go eat them quickly."]

[Looking at the needlework in Mother's hands, you remembered that this should have been when you were five.]

[You caught the faint scent of medicine on her and saw the unfinished embroidery on the wicker chair—it was new clothing intended for a young lady of the estate.]

[By then, you were already as tall as the young masters and ladies in the estate. Mother had taken good care of you, yet every day she had to make clothes for the estate's ladies and women, spending most of her day at it. Frail as she was, she always coughed in the middle of the night.]

[As a child, you had been mischievous. Watching the young ladies and masters in the estate, you had always