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7.72% Legend of The Young Master / Chapter 18: Isolated

บท 18: Isolated

There were times when Wuyi felt very lonely. Upon reflection, Wuyi realized that Boluo was as isolated as he was. Boluo's clan was poor, and his family had been exiled centuries ago from the north. It had been so long that even Boluo's family had forgotten their history. Boluo didn't have much family left anyway; he had two brothers who never visited him. When he spoke of his brothers in a drunken state, contempt filled his words. The Statue of Harmony revealed that Boluo blamed himself for his brothers taking the wrong path.

When Boluo thought he could leave everything behind and live his life, he got injured. To add to the injury, he was tasked with caring for a nameless outcast—a child who was not his own but exhibited a bloodline ability that he considered dangerous. Even after his injury healed, Boluo realized he would never ride, hunt, or even walk as gracefully as he had before as a warrior. The dire beast he had fought had damaged his martial nerves. Boluo had a better life in the desert town than here. All of this must have weighed heavily on him, although he never complained, at least not that Wuyi heard. Wuyi didn't know who would have listened even if he had.

Bound by their solitary existences, they faced each other each evening, blaming each other for their misery.

As the seasons turned to years, Wuyi's presence began to weave into the fabric of daily life within the fortress. He became Boluo's able assistant, anticipating his needs before they were vocalized and ensuring that the aftermath of his care for the beasts was tidied up. He fetched clean water for the birds and picked ticks from the desert hounds. People grew accustomed to his presence, no longer granting him puzzled stares. Some seemed to overlook him entirely. Over time, Boluo loosened his vigilant watch over Wuyi, allowing him more freedom. However, Wuyi made sure Boluo remained oblivious to his occasional trips into the lower town. There was a rebel in him; even gods did not interfere with his freedom, so who was Boluo to do so?

The fortress housed other children, many close to Wuyi's age. Most of them belonged to the same Luyao clan that ruled Lujinbao Fort. Being an outcast, Wuyi never managed to establish deep connections with anyone. The younger ones were under the watchful eyes of their mothers or caretakers, while the older ones had tasks and chores to preoccupy them. Wuyi existed outside their realms, neither welcomed nor shunned.

He had no friends or closeness to anyone. Except the miserable Boluo, but besides the times when he was working, Boluo was very depressing company. Wuyi could survive his company if Boluo decided to share some of his wine with him, but given his young age, there was no way in hell that Boluo would let the child drink, especially when he himself was raising the damn brat.

During his wanderings within the Fort walls, and especially during winter evenings when everyone congregated in the Grand Hall for performances or games, Wuyi quickly discerned where he was welcomed and where he was not. The thing to note was that even though Lujinbao was in the middle of the desert and sea, winters were really harsh here. Wuyi cursed the weather of this world. Summers would be unbearably hot, and winters would be unbearably cold. Similar to the weather were the people here; either they were really high-tempered or very cold-hearted.

Wuyi made sure to remain out of sight of most people from the Luyao clan, as they would inevitably find a flaw in his conduct and relay their complaints to Boluo. It seemed they resented him for being born into a higher clan than theirs. Even though he was high-born compared to them, he still was a bastard, and they wanted to make him understand that at every instance they could find.

Wangzhe, the second son of the clan, was another person to be wary of. Nearly grown, Wangzhe lacked the courtesy to avoid pushing Wuyi aside or disrupting his activities. His pettiness and malice surpassed anything Wuyi had ever experienced from Zhenli, the eldest son of the clan. Wuyi believed the reason for Wangzhe's animosity lay in his father. Wangzhe considered himself and his clan to be high-born, which they were for a desert clan. However, when Wuyi's father had visited, Wangzhe felt like nothing but a peasant in front of him. This must have hurt Wangzhe's young ego. Now that Wuyi was here, Wangzhe wanted to satisfy his petty ego. Zhenli, on the other hand, was neutral as a person. Since he was the one who brought W

uyi in, he cared a bit about him. Not that Zhenli ever spent meaningful time with him, but their random encounters were never unpleasant. If Zhenli noticed him, he'd ruffle Wuyi's hair or toss him a copper coin.

In the Fort, the stable areas under Keben and a few other boys' charge were territories Wuyi treaded carefully. When Boluo was around, Keben and the boys treated him well enough, but their warmth faded when Wuyi encountered them alone. Wuyi had already realized that Keben and the boys harbored jealousy towards him, believing that Boluo was trying to make Wuyi a beastmaster, which they deserved to learn. Though never openly hostile, their subtle disdain was palpable enough for Wuyi to stay out of their way.

Among the fortress guards, Wuyi found a modicum of acceptance. Compared to the street urchins of Lujingbao Township, these men were the closest thing to friends he had. However, due to the disparity in age, they never took him seriously. He enjoyed observing their games and listening to their tales, but his interactions with them were sporadic. Boluo never explicitly forbade him from frequenting the guardroom, yet he made no effort to hide his disapproval of the time Wuyi spent there.

Thus, Wuyi was both an outsider and a peripheral member of the Fort's community. He avoided some, observed others, and followed the instructions of a few. But he never felt truly connected to anyone.


บท 19: Fateful Day

One particular morning, not long before Wuyi's seventh year, he found himself in the grand pavilion amidst the low dining tables. The previous day had been festive, with celebrations stretching from dawn well past dusk. This meant plenty of leftover delicacies for Wuyi to get his hands on later. Wuyi enjoyed food to the fullest since he understood its value, having lived in the desert with his mother and grandfather where every meal was more precious than treasures.

Boluo had drunk excessively, as had most of the servants and nobles, leaving the pavilion mostly empty. Wuyi's morning foray into the kitchens had yielded little, but the tables in the grand pavilion were a treasure trove of leftovers—broken dumplings, meat dishes, bowls of lychees, and blocks of tofu. Wuyi was under a table enjoying a sizable dumpling when he heard muffled footsteps rustling across the bamboo mat-covered floor. Two men were engaged in a hushed conversation, their words almost whispers.

Thinking it was the kitchen servants coming to clear away, Wuyi scrabbled from beneath the table to snare a few more choice leavings before they were gone. But it was no servant who startled at his sudden appearance; it was the old patriarch of the clan, Luyao Congming himself, with Wangzhe, his bleary eyes, and rumpled traditional garments attesting to his participation in last night's revelries, a scant step behind. The patriarch's servant pattered after them, Wangzhe and the servant were looking sleepy. In comparison, Patriarch Congming appeared sharp-eyed, his facial hair neatly trimmed, and his attire spotless.

Seeing Wuyi for a brief moment, Patriarch Congming seemed taken aback, before he commented, "You see, Wangzhe, it is as I was telling you. An opportunity presents itself, and someone seizes it; often someone young, or someone driven by the energy and hunger of youth. Clans such as ours have no leisure to ignore such opportunities, or to let them be created for others." Lord Congming moved onward beyond Wuyi, elaborating on his topic, as Wangzhe cast a disapproving glare through his reddened eyes. A casual wave of his hand signaled that Wuyi should make himself scarce.

Wuyi indicated his understanding with a quick nod but darted first to the table. He stuffed two lychees into his tunic and took up a mostly whole red bean pastry. Seeing Wuyi taking food, Wangzhe frowned. Without realizing it, Wuyi used the Statue of Harmony to calm Wangzhe. But the moment he acted, he realized his mistake.

As Patriarch Congming suddenly stopped, turned around, and stared at him for a while, Wuyi froze where he stood. Did he notice the statue's power? That should not be possible, but he must have noticed some changes when he calmed Wangzhe, even Boluo could.

After a long time, "Look at him," the old patriarch commanded. Wangzhe glared at Wuyi, but the boy dared not move. "What will you make of him?" Patriarch Congming asked. Wangzhe looked perplexed. "Him? It's Wuyi. Young Master Xuan's illegitimate son. Sneaking and taking food as always." Lord Congming's eyes were sharp, yet his smile was subtle. 

"I'm not asking what you think of him now, but what you intend to make of him in the future. Observe him—youthful, robust, and clever. His lineage is more distinguished than yours, even if he was born under less-than-ideal circumstances. So, what's your plan? Will he be a useful tool or a liability? A friend or a foe? Or will you neglect him, allowing someone else to turn him against us?"

Wangzhe squinted at Wuyi, then glanced past him and, finding no one else in the hall, returned his puzzled gaze to the boy. 

"The bastard? He's only a child," Wangzhe finally said. The old Patriarch let out a weary sigh. 

"As of this moment, he's just a child. But blink, and he'll be a young man, and then you'll have missed your chance to shape him. He has the blood of the Yuanjing noble clan; that blood has the power we all know. Seize this opportunity, Wangzhe. Mold him now, and he'll be a loyal ally in years to come. Neglect him, and he could become a disgruntled Yuanjing outcast who might turn against us. A child born out of wedlock, Wangzhe, is a wildcard. His unique heritage could grant him special abilities. He could be either a tool or a treasure for you. Yuanjing has some of the best assassins in their clan, don't you know?"

Wangzhe's eyes grew round at the patriarch's last words. For a pause, they all breathed in silence, regarding one another. When Wangzhe spoke, he sounded as if he had a dry bun caught in his throat. "You speak of these things in front of the boy. Of using him, as a tool, a weapon, or an assassin. You think he will not remember your words when he is grown?"

 Lord Congming laughed, and the sound rang against the stone walls of the Grand Pavilion. "Remember them? Of course, he will. I count on it. Look at his eyes, Wangzhe. There is intelligence there, intelligence of an adult, and possibly potential abilities of his bloodline. I'd be a fool to lie to him and stupider, to simply begin his training and education with no explanation. This would make his thoughts vulnerable to any ideas others might introduce, wouldn't you agree, young man?"

He was steadily observing Wuyi, and Wuyi realized he was returning the Patriarch's look. It was not a simple look; the patriarch was using some kind of energy to look intimidating. The two statues in his mind were spinning as if they were hungry. For all of his speech, their gazes had been locked as they read one another. In the eyes of the man who was lord of this clan was greed; Wuyi understood what the patriarch wanted. He nodded slowly. 

"Come here," Lord Congming beckoned.


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