Xue Meng liked to think of herself as a rather clever girl. Despite her cousin’s endless teasing—calling her “stuck-up” or a “bookworm” whenever she had the chance—Xue Meng rarely failed at anything she set her mind to. A very good combination of natural talent and diligence, her Shizun had once remarked. (Though her Shizun had tactfully avoided mentioning how Mo Ran still managed to match her effortlessly, putting in barely a fraction of the work Xue Meng did. Sometimes, one simply couldn’t surpass raw talent, Xue Meng thought all too often, with no small amount of bitterness.)
However, Xue Meng was also painfully aware of the fact that she wasn’t very…well-versed in social situations, and her mouth had gotten her into trouble more than once.
And yet, Xue Meng couldn’t remember a time she’d felt more aware of how badly she had misstepped than now, standing before Shi Mingjing [1], every nerve in her body screaming at her to run.
Her hand twitched involuntarily, and Shi Mingjing’s gaze fell on her immediately. Those beautiful, cold eyes met hers, pinning her in place. Xue Meng froze, her entire body going rigid.
Xue Meng didn’t run.
Instead she swallowed and carefully averted her eyes, trying to ignore the panic that was steadily creeping up her throat. Her heart pounded so loudly that, for a moment, she worried the sound echoed in the silent room.
“Kneel.”
The command came soft and unhurried, like a lotus petal drifting on the surface of a still pond. It was precisely because of that softness that Xue Meng’s heart dropped into her stomach. She had learned long ago that Shi Mingjing’s gentle voice preceded the worst punishments.
Xue Meng sucked in a steadying breath. She didn’t want to imagine what would happen if she hyperventilated herself into unconsciousness—again. Especially if she did so before the punishment had even begun.
Gathering every ounce of grace she could muster, Xue Meng knelt.
She folded her hands neatly in her lap, just as Shi Mingjing preferred, and she forced her back straight. Xue Meng focused on her posture rather than the flood of anxious thoughts rushing through her mind, knowing full well how much worse things could get if she let herself falter.
When Shi Mingjing sighed, an elegant sound that seemed to reverberate through the still air, Xue Meng nearly exhaled in relief herself—better a sigh than silence. Silence meant contemplation, and contemplation rarely ended well.
“Your hands are shaking.”
Xue Meng froze. She blinked rapidly, looking down at her hands in her lap and—
Sure enough, they were shaking, her fingers twitching faintly. As soon as she noticed, the trembling only grew worse.
Without thinking, Xue Meng looked up “Shi Mingjing—”
Xue Meng didn’t even know what she meant to say. She never found out, because before the words could leave her lips, Shi Mingjing’s palm struck her cheek.
The slap wasn’t hard, not by Shi Mingjing’s standards, but it was enough to cause a mark that would surely last for more than a day. A sharp metallic tang filled Xue Meng’s mouth, and pain bloomed across her face. She didn’t dare touch her cheek. Instead, she lowered her gaze demurely, her hands folding once more in her lap.
Her Shijie’s punishments demanded focus. It wasn’t her job to think, only to listen and obey. Any lapse in attention, any retreat into the safety of her own mind, would be met with harsher consequences.
“Did I not teach Xue-shimei how to address me properly?” Shi Mingjing asked in that honeyed voice of hers and Xue Meng sucked in a deep breath.
Of course.
“Shijie,” she began, her voice trembling but steady enough to carry her words. “This humble shimei deeply apologizes for her shortcomings. She can only beg Shijie for forgiveness and humbly beseeches Shijie to grant her guidance.”
The formal words felt heavy and foreign on her tongue, Xue Meng addressed no one,not even her own parents or Shizun, with them. But here, in front of Shi Mingjing, they were her shield. The only shield she had left.
Shi Mingjing didn’t respond immediately. Instead, Her expression was as akin to a porcelain mask, the kind meant to evoke the indifference of the gods. Xue Meng dared not lift her head further, but her peripheral vision caught the slight tilt of Shi Mingjing’s chin—a sign, perhaps, that she was considering what excuse to do with her.
“You always apologize, Xue-shimei,” Shi Mingjing finally said, her voice light, almost melodic. Yet, every word seemed to carry the weight of her disapproval. “But tell me, what use are apologies if one continues to repeat the same mistakes?”
Xue Meng swallowed hard. She could still taste the blood on her tongue. There was no answer that wouldn’t make things worse, she realized. Silence was safer, though even that felt like walking on thin ice.
Shi Mingjing chuckled softly, the sound like the chime of jade wind-bells, deceptively pleasant. “Ah, I see. No answer? Or perhaps my dear shimei thinks herself above answering to the likes of me?”
“No, Shijie!” Xue Meng blurted out, her voice trembling. She quickly lowered her head further, nearly slipping into a kowtow [2], before catching herself. “This shimei is simply thoughtless and foolish. Shijie is right to reprimand her.”
“Reprimand?” Shi Mingjing echoed, her tone laced with amusement. “Did I reprimand you, or did I merely state a fact? It seems even in your apologies, you twist my words to suit your own narrative. How clever of you.”
Xue Meng felt her chest tighten. She had walked into yet another trap. They both knew that Xue Meng wasn’t capable of weaving words into cleverly crafted lies. No, it were instead her Shijie’s words that were like silken threads, beautiful but suffocating, wrapping tighter and tighter until escape was impossible.
“This shimei dares not twist Shijie’s words,” she simply said, her voice barely audible.
“And yet you do,” Shi Mingjing replied, her tone suddenly cold. “Such defiance cloaked in humility… Truly, your talents are wasted. Perhaps I should recommend you to Shizun as a diplomat. Surely, your skill in double-speak would serve the sect better than your swordsmanship ever has.”
Xue Meng’s cheeks burned, though whether from the sting of the earlier slap or from humiliation, she couldn’t tell. Had this been anyone else she would surely have snapped how she had won the Spiritual Mountain Competition, or simply challenged the person to a duel and be done with it. However, this was Shi Mingjing, her Shijie, so instead she accepted the statement with as much graciousness as Xue Meng was capable of. “Shijie, this shimei will reflect deeply on her mistakes and strive to improve.”
Shi Mingjing let out another sigh, as if the weight of Xue Meng’s existence was a burden she had resigned herself to carry.
“Improvement,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I wonder, Xue Meng. Are you truly incapable of growth, or are you merely too proud to truly learn?”
The words struck like she knew Shi Mingjing had wanted them to. Xue Meng bit the inside of her cheek until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth once more. Pride? Did Shi Mingjing think her proud? Her pride had been shattered and ground into dust long ago, much like her dignity. All that was left was the desperate desire, no the need to prove herself worthy of standing beside someone like Shi Mingjing.
But she said none of this. Words were dangerous in Shi Mingjing’s presence. She could twist even the sincerest statement into a noose.
Shi Mingjing walked gracefully from where she had been standing before, her robes flowing like water around her. Xue Meng caught the faint scent of jasmine as her Shijie approached, each step echoing in the silent room.
“Raise your head,” Shi Mingjing commanded as softly as always.
Xue Meng obeyed, her movements careful and deliberate. Her gaze met Shi Mingjing’s, and she immediately regretted it. Those eyes, as mesmerizing as the rest of her calamitously beautiful Shijie, bore into her, seeing right through her as always and stripping away all pretense.
“You disappoint me, Xue Meng,” Shi Mingjing said, “But you always do, don’t you?”
The words hurt more than any physical blow, and Xue Meng felt her vision blur as tears threatened to spill. She forced herself to stay calm. Crying now would only make things worse.
“Still,” Shi Mingjing continued, her voice softening just enough to twist the knife further, “it would be unbecoming of me to give up on you entirely. After all, even the dullest blade can be sharpened with enough effort.”
Xue Meng’s heart twisted painfully. She didn’t know whether to feel grateful or resentful. Before she could decide, Shi Mingjing extended a hand, her fingers brushing lightly against Xue Meng’s cheek, where the slap had landed earlier.
“You’ll bear this mark for the next few days,” Shi Mingjing murmured, her touch paradoxically gentle. “Let it serve as a reminder of your place.”
Xue Meng could only nod, her throat too tight to form words. Shi Mingjing’s hand withdrew, leaving behind a ghostly warmth that only deepened her shame.
Then Shi Mingjing stepped back, her serene expression unchanging. “Of course,” she continued, almost as if she were speaking to herself, “words alone are not enough. A lesson unaccompanied by action is quickly forgotten.”
Xue Meng’s stomach dropped, and a cold sweat broke out along her spine. She didn’t dare look up, but she heard the faint rustle of fabric as Shi Mingjing moved. A lovely hum, barely audible, drifted through the room as Shi Mingjing retrieved something from a nearby cabinet.
When she turned back, her elegant fingers held a bamboo rod, smooth and polished, yet unassuming in appearance. Xue Meng’s breath caught. It wasn’t a whip, but that didn’t make it any less effective as a tool for correction. And anyway, this wasn’t about pain, her Shijie’s punishments rarely were. This was about humiliation.
“A hundred strikes,” Shi Mingjing said, her voice as sweet as her smile. “Each one for your failure to exercise proper restraint and humility. Perhaps this will help you remember.”
Xue Meng bowed her head, and had she had been less panicked she might’ve wondered about the lenience of the punishment. Alas, all she managed was to say: “Yes, Shijie.”
“Good. Kneel properly,” Shi Mingjing instructed, her tone as light as if she were discussing the weather. “Back straight, hands folded. You wouldn’t want to add to your count, would you?”
“No, Shijie,” Xue Meng whispered, hastily adjusting her posture.
The first strike came swiftly and without warning, the bamboo rod biting into her back with a sharp crack. Xue Meng’s entire body tensed, but she refused to cry out. Instead, she inhaled deeply and counted, her voice trembling. “One.”
The next strikes followed, each one delivered with precise force. By the time they had reached fifty, Xue Meng had started sobbing, but no tears escaped her eyes, even as they caught onto her lashes. The pain radiated through her back, sharp and unrelenting, but she didn’t falter.
“Fifty-one,” she gasped, her voice hoarse.
Shi Mingjing paused, the rod hovering in the air. “You’re trembling, Xue-shimei,” she observed gently. “Are you that unprepared to face the consequences of your own actions?”
“This shimei is weak,” Xue Meng admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But she will endure.”
For you, she didn’t say out loud.
A soft chuckle escaped Shi Mingjing’s lips. “Endure? My, How admirable. Let’s see if you truly mean it.”
The strikes resumed, each one a reminder of Xue Meng’s failings. By the end, her entire body felt like it was on fire, her breaths shallow and labored.
“One-hundred,” she managed, her voice breaking into another sob.
Shi Mingjing set the now bloody rod aside with a graceful motion, as if discarding a brush after finishing a painting. She stepped forward, kneeling beside Xue Meng with a fluidity that made the younger girl feel clumsy in comparison.
“Look at you,” Shi Mingjing said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “You’ve made such a mess of yourself. Shaking, bleeding all over the floor with tears in your eyes…” She clicked her tongue, “Is this truly the darling of the heavens, the proud young phoenix?”
Xue Meng flinched but didn’t respond. Shi Mingjing reached out, her fingers brushing against Xue Meng’s cheek, against the mark she’d left there. The touch was gentle, almost tender, and Xue Meng felt her heart clench.
“You know,” Shi Mingjing continued, her tone soft and soothing, “none of this would have been necessary if you’d simply been more thoughtful. You brought this upon yourself, Xue Meng. If only you had exercised restraint, none of this pain would have happened.”
“Yes, Shijie,” Xue Meng whispered, her voice thick with shame.
Shi Mingjing smiled faintly, her fingers trailing down to adjust Xue Meng’s disheveled robes. “I don’t enjoy punishing you, you know. It pains me to see you like this. But what else can I do? If I let you continue down this path, you would only embarrass yourself further.”
“This shimei understands,” Xue Meng said, her voice cracking.
“Good,” Shi Mingjing said, her voice like silk. She shifted closer, gently pulling Xue Meng into her arms. The embrace was warm, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it felt like comfort. “You’ll do better next time, won’t you?”
“Yes, Shijie,” Xue Meng murmured, her body trembling against Shi Mingjing’s.
“That’s my good shimei,” Shi Mingjing whispered, her hand stroking Xue Meng’s hair in a mockery of affection. “You see? I only want what’s best for you. But you must want it for yourself as well.”
“I will try harder,” Xue Meng said, her voice muffled by Shi Mingjing’s robes, which still carried the faint, intoxicating scent of jasmine. Despite the pain in her back, despite the humiliation burning in her chest, she felt a strange sense of solace. Her Shijie was giving her a chance—a chance to be better, to prove herself worthy. That alone was enough.
“I know you will,” Shi Mingjing replied sweetly. “Because you wouldn’t want to disappoint me again, would you?”
“No, Shijie,” Xue Meng said, her throat tightening.
Shi Mingjing pulled back slightly, her fingers tilting Xue Meng’s chin up so their eyes met. Shi Mingjing’s smile deepened, as beautiful as it was cruel. She studied Xue Meng’s face with something almost resembling fascination. “Good. Then you may remain here and reflect on this lesson. You’ve been forgiven, but true repentance is not so light a thing that it can be achieved with only a hundred strikes.”
Xue Meng’s heart sank, yet she nodded without hesitation. Of course. She should have known better by now. Only a hundred strikes, and with the bamboo rod instead of a whip? As if her Shijie would setttle for such a light punishment.
She swallowed hard, lowering her head again. “This shimei will kneel as long as Shijie commands.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Shi Mingjing said, her voice edging into something dangerously close to affection. She brushed a stray strand of hair from Xue Meng’s face with a delicate touch, making the younger girl’s heart ache. “Don’t worry, Xue Meng. I’m here for you. Even if the world abandons you, even if you fail yourself, I will not give up on you.”
Her words sent a spark of warmth through Xue Meng’s chest, mingling with the cold ache of guilt and humiliation. Despite the pain, despite the shame, a part of her couldn’t help but feel grateful. No, more than grateful—she felt undeserving, yet desperate to hold onto this fleeting affection. Now, as a fully-fledged adult, with her Shizun’s attention all on Mo Ran, who was willing to help her, to teach her but Shi Mingjing?
“Shijie is too kind,” Xue Meng whispered, her voice breaking. “This shimei will not forget Shijie’s care.”
“See that you don’t,” Shi Mingjing replied, rising to her feet with that almost inhumane elegance she always had possessed. “Remember, Xue Meng, every moment you kneel here is not punishment but an opportunity. An opportunity to reflect, to grow. Do not waste it.”
“Yes, Shijie,” Xue Meng said, bowing her head so low that her forehead nearly touched the ground.
Shi Mingjing didn’t leave immediately. She lingered, her gaze was contemplative as it swept over Xue Meng’s bowed form. “You are capable of great things, Xue Meng,” she said softly, almost…lovingly. “But potential means nothing without discipline. Do not let me regret my faith in you.”
Xue Meng looked up at her, vision blurry due to the tears still swimming in her eyes. “This shimei will not let Shijie down.”
“Good,” Shi Mingjing said simply, and with that, she turned and left.
As the door slid shut behind her, Xue Meng finally let the tears spill freely down her face. As the chill of her tears traced the sting of the mark her Shijie had left on her face, Xue Meng clung to the now reignited pain, just as she clung to the burning in her back, grasping them desperately, as though they were the only thing tethering her to her Shijie’s fleeting affection.