The Best Revenge

He'd considered buying a glove on their way to Yueyang. Chang Ping and his friends had certainly been caught in their own world enough that Xue Yang could of done it without being seen.

It was his most identifying feature, and hiding it was probably the safer thing to do.

But.

He kind of liked the idea of being a guest in Chang Ci'ian's home. Using his things. All with the man being far away and stupid for it.

Plus, an empty finger...sleeve? Finger sleeve. An empty finger sleeve would draw more attention, and be annoying. And faked were hard to come by and usually meant to be pretty rather than functional.

Let the guy come home and wonder. After he was long gone. Maybe he could leave some nasty surprises. A slow leak in the roof? Stones to jam all the sliding paper screens? A loose rusty nail close to his bed?

As they walked, he fantasized about challenging Sect Leader Chang to a duel. The laugh of using his own Clan's secrets against him. Publicly renouncing him for his crimes. Making him eat dirt over and over. Bending over to whisper in his ear at the last moment. Reminding him of who actually defeated him. Before taking his finger, cause Xue Yang couldn't get back his own.

He shook the thought off like a annoying fly. That wasn't a plan he could do right now. He'd die trying, and become a 'funny' story the asshole would tell over drinks. The farts for brains street kid that tried to kill a 'immortal' cultivator after a month of training.

"How long is Sect Leader Chang going to be away again?"

"Three months".

Yeah, definitely not enough time.

There was a boarding house in town. It was tiny. The downstairs was a tacky restraunt with over seasoned dishes to hide their more questionable ingredients. The owner reminded him a bit of a person who once threw a rock at him. He decided he didn't like her. The whispers on the wind seemed to agree.

He'd always gotten far, listening to his instincts.

She was all simpering smiles when he walked in with the sect heir. Fawning when she heard that he was a guest disciple. Talking about what handsome brave young men they were. It made him want to break something. His skin itching and uncomfortable.

You wouldnt have said this if you'd known who I really was. If you'd seen me even a few monthsago.

He squashed the thought.

Since violence in this instance wouldn't let him into the Chang library any faster, he smiled at her the way Old Tzu said to never direct at customers. This worked, creeping her out in a way she couldn't call him out for without looking like an idiot. Ah, social convention. He decided to do this more often. 

"And, the name for the the ledger?"

"...Wuya. Wuya-sanren."

Xue Yang smiled at her bigger when she met his eyes, and the lady quickly looked away. He felt his crooked canine catch on his lip.

The room he booked was the cheapest they had. A converted storage closet. It was stuffy, with a high dirty window that he could fit out of (or in) with very determined wriggling. It looked over a back alley that smelt of piss, and a small over hang for the back entrance to the kitchen.

The sheets were dusty and smelt like sweat. He was pretty sure he could hear rats in the walls.

It was one of the better places he'd slept in.

The Chang manor was on the edge of town opposite from him. He'd be allowed to go to communal age-mate drills in the morning. But he wouldn't be let in the compound if he was late. (Xue Yang would later learn that the times constantly changed depending on instructor and whimsy - neither of which a guest disciple was premitted to know In advance. But a-Yang was the one who was stupid, cause he couldn't follow a schedule).

After that the junior disciples had their lessons, and he could sit in the back if he was quiet. (The older boys thought this was hilarious, judging by their smirks as Chang Ping told him in a magnanimous holier than thou attitude that the rogue cultivator could study with the babies.  They probably thought he'd refuse. But he wasn't in a position to be picky, and Xue Yang wasn't about to cut off his nose to spite his face for a silly thing like noble pride).

The kids were alright. Naive in the way that young children with parents and semi-steady money were. So, brats. But more innocent. They were told to not distract him (from his work for the sect, not his own studies) so they rarely approached him. Except to deliver messages about the next night hunt. (None of them were spunky enough to be considered a punk. Poor losers).

Most night hunts would be in the late afternoon or evening. Xue Yang, or 'Wuya-sanren', was expected to attend at least four a week. He wouldn't get a split of the profits, since he was exchanging labor to use their facilities. On days he wasn't night hunting for the Chang, he could use their library for 1 shichen in the afternoon after lessons. But he had to leave before sundown. He was also expected to provide his own meals, and care for his own injuries. But he could use Chang Sect bows and talismans during their night hunts for free. Any normal writing supplies he had to get himself, or more accurately, steal from the classroom when no one was looking. (Xue Yang had never used a bow, hopefully this meant itd be covered in drills or something).

Since he still had to pay for food and the room, he'd have to get a job in town. Or take on extra night hunts on his own to supplement. While staying outside Chang territory. The Jin were lazy. He could probably find a few dead bodies near their house.

This gave him very little free time. Especially to learn anything beyond the basics. Which was totally on purpose. Sects weren't known to be big on sharing. Except the Lan. And he'd bet you anything that they had their own dirty secrets, same as everyone.

They didn't want him to learn too much. It was a good business model, keeping an eye on and limiting the competition. Xue Yang would have fun proving them wrong.

(And then. Then he would finally start living well. He'd build himself a nest egg. And then he'll finally be free. With a clean bed and good walls, and he'd eat candy whenever the fuck he wanted. And never, ever, have to worry about what something would cost him again.)

As far as Guest Disciple Wuya-sanren could tell, there were six arts that rich people found important. If you wanted to be seen as like a proper gentleman or whatever, then you needed to know them.

This was annoying. Since he wanted to learn how to kill ghosts (how do you kill a ghost? They're already dead?? It's an important question!)

The big take away that he got from it, and the long listing of dubious traditions from various sects, was that rich people were big on reputation. He'd already known this. But sects were even BIGGER on it than like, normal rich people. They'd rather die than be embarrassed. 

Wuya-sanren found this offensive. He was very proud to be alive. And he'd been a disgrace plenty. 

But the Chang didn't want their baby disciples to be an embarrassment. You had to know the rules so you could call them out when people broke them, even if they didn't follow them themself (not that a-Yang said that part outloud, since he was on a mission, even if it would be hilarious, and accurate). So it came up a lot. And guest disciples who could maybe be dubiously associated with them in the future were also expected to know it. (He also couldn't show them up at any competitions one day by playing music at them - cause only the Lan could do shit with music).

So yeah, six arts.

Meng Shi and Sisi had apparently taught him two, when they kept going on and on about how to talk to which people when, and what different words meant and how to write em. Apparent these were the famous, celebrated, super important "rites" and "caligraphy". They'd even forced him to learn a few folk songs on a chipped set of panpipes, which had seemed really weird and random at the time. But he'd gotten some nice hair oils out of it. Xue Yang supposed that was close enough to cover "music". He refused to join in on the singing classes, which were the only music that the Chang offered.

Xue Yang knew how to steer a wagon and kind of ride a mule from old Tzu. Which was pretty much a less fancy version of "charioteering" in Xue Yangs opinion. The sect didn't have many horses, and 'Wuya-sanren' wasn't invited to ride them. (Thankfully the Chang sucked at flying, so everyone walked everywhere). Xue Yang already knew his numbers, but the baby's math class was admittedly helpful (he remembered things, about, about accounts. A man, his...baba? It had to have been his baba. Xue Peizhi. The lessons sparking the blurry wonderful frustrating memories in greater detail, of baba going over the books in that sunny room. Making the ideas crystalize and become more sensical in his mind.) Even if Xue Yang wasn't allowed to write anything down during it. So that covered number five. And the sixth, "archery", was covered twice a week during communal drills. (If anyone ever asked, he'd say that baba was his math teacher. Not that anyone would. Not that anyone would care.)

Xue Yang was terrible at it. (The archery, not the math. The math was easy, once he remembered the way of it. And it was fun sneaking peeks at the sect records for their store rooms, profits and expenses. Though some of their merchandise records were in a shorthand he didn't get. Something related to the caravans. Whatever they were shipping, they were getting a shit ton of money for. Originally from private buyers. But now mostly from the QishanWen.)

Archery was stupid, and he'd much rather use his core to chuck rocks at things if he was going to use 'projectile weapons'. But by the end of the second month, the teacher snidely said that he was "at least good enough to wound things on purpose and not kill things on accident" which was annoying and would have made him throw hands if Xue Yang hadn't been frustrated enough to agree with him. (Privately he thought this was as good as it was gonna get, though he'd never say it out loud).

So there, two months into being a guest disciple, and finally he was a gentleman. Who would of thought?

Funnily enough, swords weren't included in the arts. Which was hilarious, since that was a cultivators whole thing. They called it the swordpath. As if talismans (and apparently musical cultivation? Neat.) weren't even a thing. (Idiots, the lot of them).

Apparently, Xue Yang was a sword protégé. Which he supposed made up for sucking at arrows. It also ticked off a lot of the uppity senior disciples, including Chang Ping's friends. Which was GREAT. Wuya-sanren was fast and sneaky like a sparrow, scathing as a raptor, and he fought dirty. Ducking in and out of the dark like the raven in his name. And he never stuck to the Chang style, and didn't know any others, making shit up on the fly intuitively. Which really pissed them off.

If there hadn't been a really obvious deadline for his leaving, the elders definitely would have kicked him out. But they were super understaffed. Chang Ping wasn't lying about that. It was also very weird, the more he learned about sects and how Sect cultivators expected night hunts to go (way too many people for a way too simple thing). But it wasn't his problem. He'd milk it while it last.

With a week and a half left until the Sect Leader returned, Xue Yang committed himself to being as much of a passive aggressive gremlin that he could be. He would duck out a few days before Chang Ci'ian got back to find fire ants in his bedroom and rat shit in his spare shoes. (He never left anything in his boardroom, keeping everything on his person at all times. The deed box by his chest so he could feel it with every breath).

Maybe he'd break into their basement just for fun, to see if there was anything worth knicking, on his way out. None of the younger disciples were allowed in, and the elders and seniors made a point not to let him get too close. Which was definitely the most suspicious and made him want to look even more, in a lazily curious sort of way.

There was something about it that gave him a weird feeling. It was stronger when he first arrived, so he was smart and stayed far away. Sometimes he thought the box would vibrate even, those first days. Which was weird and stupid. Magic was also weird and stupid. So who knew? When he knew he was alone, he took the pouch out, and it felt like ice in his hand. Worried it'd mess with the paper, he'd kept it in his other breast pocket. (He got used to the cold. Not really noticing when it gradually spread. The voices got a little louder. Meaner.)

The basement. The basement was...interesting. He thought a lot about the basement, and forgot about the fire ants.

And the darker rainbows of resentment were there. Still faint, but now brighter than before. Easier to see, harder to concentrate.

The basement...

He was curious to see what kind of dirt he could dig up.