Pretending VS Reality.

  The Bloodforge Matrons sat outside in a small circle outside their tent.

  Inside, Jianrong was asleep.

  Matron Na turned to Matron Qing.

  “I almost feel she was meant to be a boy; she is so headstrong,” Na said in a whisper.

  Elder Matron Bao Yu adjusted her shawl. “You speak truth.” She paused, then looked around, then spoke quietly. “The child says she was trained as a courtesan, and it shows; she has no inner garments besides male underwear and her wrappings.

  The other women murmured.

  “She will have every man in the clan chasing her, thinking she is open for business.” Na gasped.

  Matron Qing closed her eyes. “The child… has another problem.” She said softly.

  All turned to her and waited.

  Qing was barely audible. “She is easily aroused, she….is ready for her male lovers to return, and it shows on her clothes. She needs absorbent undergarments that don’t cause such a reaction.

  Jianrong listened while pretending to sleep.

  She had learned from Wang, Qing, and the others how to:

  How to appear sexually available.

  How to read male desire.

  How to present softness for male attraction.

  How to submit in ways men expect.

  How to use clothing to entice.

  How to posture to attract male interest.

  How to read the male gaze.

  How to signal “I’m approachable.

  That was not womanhood.

  It’s male–female signaling for the benefit of men.

  This is what courtesans, dancers, or entertainers learn:

  A hyperfeminine performance tailored to male psychology and male fantasy.

  This was DIFFERENT from how women act around women or in regular society.

  Rong bit her lip.

  She had never learned female-coded behavior taught by women.

  Female social instincts

  Modesty

  Protection of reputation

  Minimizing signals

  Female-to-female hierarchy

  Indirect communication

  Emotional subtext

  Boundaries between women

  Tactful refusal signals

  Nonverbal “not available” cues

  Female cultural skills

  Layering clothes

  Concealing arousal

  Scent management

  Menstrual logic

  Undergarment structure

  Acceptable softness / unacceptable softness

  How women protect each other from men

  Female survival habits

  reading female danger cues

  Mapping Safe Spaces

  where women stand in groups

  How women defuse male aggression

  How women shield each other socially

  How to avoid being labeled easy or available

  Jianrong’s jaw clenched. She could pick out victims of domestic abuse and trafficking, child neglect, and spotting predators.

  But knowing what underwear was going to keep her from having a mental breakdown…she had no idea.

  “FUCK”

  Elder Matron Bao Yu chuckled. “I will be honest, I thought for sure when the talismans came off… something was going to pop out!” she smiled.

  Several women nodded vigorously while laughing.

  When morning came, Jianrong acted as usual. She helped cook, clean, and collapse the camp.

  It was the people around her who were changing, and there was nothing she could do about it yet.

  The men sat closer, as if she were a flower and her scent were pleasant.

  The Team Leader no longer approached her but instead spoke to Elder Matron Bao Yu.

  “Matron, when we reach the city, please…please take the child for clothes. I have men who have to leave the perimeter to relieve themselves. This will end badly for all of us if you do not rein in her attire, “ he coughed and glanced at Rong chatting away with the other matrons.

  “The odor,” he croaked — not accusingly, but with the fear of a man who had just realized a divine omen was sitting in his caravan.

  Elder Matron Bao Yu bowed her head, voice calm as water smoothing over stone.

  “We will help her understand clan life, Elder. Leave her to us.”

  The man nodded — grateful, relieved, and deeply out of his depth — and retreated quickly.

  On the road, they had her sit down on the wagon carrying their gear.

  On the road, they guided Jianrong to sit atop the gear wagon, away from the men.

  Not punishment.

  Protection.

  Matron Qing climbed up beside her and, without asking, took her wrist.

  A gesture — soft, firm, unquestionable.

  She listened to the pulse, then lifted her eyes with a knowing, almost aching gentleness.

  “Child… since the day you were claimed, there has been a problem we have all noticed.

  Something you might be too close to yourself to understand.”

  Jianrong exhaled through her nose.

  “I smell,” she said flatly.

  Qing’s lips curled into a tiny, sad smile — not mocking, not pitying, just honesty.

  She lifted her hand and cupped Jianrong’s cheek the way older women do when a girl finally asks the right question.

  “Worse than that,” she whispered.

  “You smell delicious.”

  Jianrong blinked.

  Qing continued, voice low enough that no man would mistake her meaning:

  “Even the matrons’ meridians vibrate near you.

  This is not your shame, child — but it is your problem.”

  She said it the way only women can tell it to each other:

  When something isn’t your fault, it could still ruin your life if you don’t learn to manage it.

  Qing looked down and sighed. “Child, do not sit with your legs open; your moisture is visible, and it is immodest, causing you and those you report to… trouble.

  Jianrong followed her guidance.

  “How many brothers do you have?” she asked, curious.

  “Four Matron,” Rong said.

  The matron nodded as if it all made sense now.

  “I have only ever seen you put your hair into a loose tail, do you not like other hairstyles?” Qing asked.

  Rong smiled. I am usually ready to fight, so I never use any other style.

  “Child… stop smiling at everyone,” Qing warned.

  Rong blinked. “I am sorry…what?”

  Qing glanced down at her, realizing she had no idea.

  “Child, a smile is an invitation. It tells them they are free to approach you.”

  Jianrong was, at heart, still Solomon Fernandez, California-born, American… and in America, you smiled.

  “I …want people to feel they can approach me though,” she said, confused.

  “Oh… baby. You really don’t know.” Qing breathed.

  Rong blinked. “Everyone isn’t trying to bed me, I mean…this..wait, er uh, is everyone trying to bed me?” A slow realization began to sweep over her. As a man, it was different. Even a gay man, masculinity meant predator, maybe not apex predator, but not victim. A woman was always perceived as something to take on some biological level by the opposite sex.

  “Child, we aren’t around your brothers, you can trust family… usually. “Her voice trailed off, then she cleared her thoughts. “If things go wrong, I might not get a choice. Things can happen suddenly, and you are caught off guard. Some Disciples see someone like you as a prize to conquer and take home.”

  Qing patted Rong's hand. “Men can escalate suddenly. Perception matters more than intent.”

  “oh my god…..OH MY GOD!” Rong began to spiral, realizing how clueless Solomon had been, even while being someone trained and an ally. She wasn’t worried about most interactions, but what about Nascent Souls? What about predators that she didn’t expect? She had taken up gender as camouflage, and now it was turning into a target.

  Jianrong's brain kicked into gear as her eyes sparkled with violet light.

  “Matron… my smell… the delicious one, how far away is it reaching?” Rong croaked.

  “Baby …it’s a few meters, the men have been... Well, let's say they have been thinking about you a lot lately.

  “OH MY GOD!” She gave a faint wail. It was bad enough if the Qi milk fragrance, but now, when she walked, she was producing an odor that drew flies…cultivator flies. “Fuck!”

  “Don’t worry, there are plenty of ways for you to conceal and prevent this,” Qing said reassuringly.

  “Also,” the woman gave a weak smile. “You dress too loosely; you will need to layer to conceal your form.”

  Jianrong blinked, then pressed her hands to her forehead. “Okay, so I need to conceal my body so people don't become aroused?” She asked, almost wanting to laugh aloud.

  Qing nodded. “Loose robes, lack of undergarments imply promiscuity.

  Rong closed her eyes and moaned. “Oh my god!”

  She pressed her palms into her eyes and spoke. “But let me guess… I can't cover up too much because I would be seen as off-putting.”

  Qing opened her mouth, then closed it. Then gave a simple nod.

  “Yes. It’s unfair. But it’s true.” She admitted.

  By late morning, they reached Tianrelion’s border, a small city that dipped into the other nation, with officials from both countries on hand.

  The Team Leader had gone ahead to prepare everything.

  Since they had come this way, they were returning the same way; there was no drama.

  Until Jianrong’s token was seen.

  “Where is your paperwork releasing you from your duties?” The guard asked.

  Jianrong's brow rose. “I am an attendant, not a slave. I am just visiting my Clan.”

  The man looked her over, then sniffed several times.

  “Wait here,” he said dismissively.

  More guards arrived with a Sergeant. “You are the Empress's attendant, is that correct?”

  Jianrong looked at the man; her tongue slid across her teeth as her eyes narrowed. “Cor-rect.” She said firmly.

  “I see.” He looked her over in the mismatched attire they had cobbled together for her.

  “Where is your escort?” He asked.

  Rong’s mouth moved, and her brow furrowed. “Why would I have an escort?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  The Sergeant glanced at his men and nodded. “Wait here,” he said and stepped away.

  When the knock came, the Captain yelled for them to enter.

  Looking up, he was surprised to see his Sergeant. “What do you have?”

  The man cleared his throat. “Female, young, but in her lunar cycle. Beautiful, strange, shimmering skin. She has long hair that reaches her calves.”

  The captain turned to the window and looked out, did a double-take. Then he looked back at the sergeant.

  “She smells like a Heaven-blessed Yin spring. Her Yin scent is uncontrollable. It is affecting the men.”

  The captain laughed, then realized he was not joking.

  “She is dressed like a pauper and talks like a man. “

  The captain blinked slowly.

  “She appears unaware of basic safety expectations for women. She asked why an escort was necessary.”

  “I…see, well, let's go meet this little Yin spring, shall we?” He said with an odd smile.

  Jianrong stood waiting, feeling as if she had been chosen for further screening.

  “Greetings.” The captain said with a smile.

  Jianrong smiled back. “Greetings. Captain.”

  The man's smile broadened. “It seems you really are unaware…well, we will hold onto you until your owner arrives.”

  Jianrong blinked. “Say again?” she asked, taken aback.

  “I said you will be detained until we can determine whose property you are.” The captain said with a smile. Then he turned his body, motioning to follow him. “We will get you into some better clothes, and you can relax here until they arrive.”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  The guards moved behind her.

  “I have broken no law, you have my toke, and I am heading to my Clans city… what is the issue?”

  “You are unescorted.” He said as if that answered the question.

  Rong drew in a breath. “I have never met a woman who had to be escorted. Why are you imposing this rule on me?” she demanded as her face reddened with real anger.

  The captain wore a look of sympathy as he stopped and turned back to regard Jianrong.

  “Calm down, child.

  You are safe.

  You must come with us now.

  We will provide proper clothing.

  We will care for you until your guardian arrives.

  This is for your protection.”

  Jianrong took a deep breath, palms together, and pressed them to her lips in a small prayer for strength.

  “May I demonstrate my Aura without causing a problem?” she asked.

  A female enforcer moved forward. “No child, don’t strain yourself.”

  A male guard grabbed her wrist. “You're safe now, we won't let harm come to you.

  Rong turned to the Team Leader, who seemed meek at this point as she was being led away.

  “How did you plan on getting me through immigration to begin with?” Rong asked.

  The man looked at her, then, to her complete disbelief.

  Shrugged.

  Jianrong pinched her nose in frustration and let her Aura begin to unfold until everyone stilled as they felt a Foundation Establishment.

  The guards stilled, and all eyes turned to her.

  “I apologize for the inconvenience,” Rong stated.

  “Forgive my offense, honored cultivator.” The Captain said, mortified.

  Jianrong shook her head. “No, thank you. If I were lost or taken, you would have saved my life. I respect that. Could you please explain the escorting? I am from a village. I have only been with the Empress a short time, but I have a special constitution. My knowledge is lacking.” Rong said humbly.

  Each one of the guards and enforcers stood straighter.

  Jianrong smiled and patted the hand still on her wrist, trying to calm her.

  “Thank you.” She murmured, and the man removed his hand and bowed.

  “The rule exists because men are dangerous, not because women are weak.” The captain began.

  Rong nodded along in support.

  “People with special constitutions destabilize both mortal and cultivator men.” He continued. He glanced around at the people watching, feeling as though he might make a mistake.

  “I was weak before getting strong, you're not offending me. No one is born strong enough without help.” Rong stated.

  The captain nodded. “The sale of special bodies, royal or family attendants, brings out the criminal element.”

  “Slavers,” Rong murmured.

  “All noblewomen are escorted, Yin treasures, even princesses.” The captain continued.

  Rong clicked her tongue… this was actually not unreasonable so far.

  “Even female cultivators are escorted in public; it is not a punishment, it is a social structure,” He clarified.

  Rong blinked. “So, is it etiquette for me as a cultivator to be escorted, or is it a cultural expectation?” she asked.

  “The escort is for presentation, for propriety. The escort prevents inappropriate approaches

  and intercepts unwanted attention as well as takes responsibility if something happens.” The captain clarified.

  His explanation was sound; she could not argue with it, which was mildly frustrating.

  “So would someone like me, who is not married yet, seek out the services of an escort, similar to hiring a personal guard?” Rong asked curiously.

  “So would someone like me, who is not married yet, seek out the services of an escort, similar to hiring a personal guard?” Rong asked curiously.

  He nodded, relieved that she was asking in good faith rather than challenging him.

  “It depends on your rank… and your face.”

  Rong frowned faintly. He lifted a hand before she could speak.

  “Forgive my bluntness, Honored Cultivator. You carry the aura of someone valuable. Your features are refined, your bearing is noble. You would draw eyes even without cultivation.”

  He continued in a matter-of-fact tone:

  “Unmarried women of quality do not walk alone. The escort is not purchased—it is granted.

  A clan, a sect, or the Palace assigns one.

  He is your shadow.

  He answers for your safety.”

  Rong’s brows rose. “So, it is not a punishment?”

  The Captain inclined his head. “No. It is a sign of status.”

  He glanced at the other guards, who still looked pale after sensing her Aura.

  “The higher the value, the tighter the protection.

  A princess walks with ten guards.

  A Core Formation cultivator with attendants walks with a small force.”

  Rong considered. “We are a resource to keep safe,” she thought.

  “…and a Foundation Establishment from the Palace?” she asked.

  The Captain exhaled through his nose.

  “At minimum, a sworn shield.

  Preferably two.

  And if her appearance is… striking…” He coughed once. “Four.”

  Rong pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “So, I would not hire an escort—my household is expected to provide one?”

  He nodded firmly.

  “Exactly. Escorts are not mercenaries. They are honor-bound retainers.

  They reflect upon you. If you travel without one, people assume your clan has failed you…

  Or you are trying to avoid notice.

  Neither is desirable.”

  He lowered his voice in a respectful caution:

  “A lone, beautiful, unmarried Foundation cultivator is a prize.

  Noble families would court you.

  Criminals would hunt you.

  Both believe they are entitled.”

  Rong leaned back slightly.

  “So, if I walk alone, I am making a statement I do not understand.”

  “Precisely.” His tone softened.

  “Your power protects you from blades.

  An escort protects you from society.”

  There was a beat.

  Rong nodded once.

  The fault lay only with the foolish team leader for failing to plan, and with herself for not knowing.

  Ignorance was not a shield.

  She bowed to each person who had stepped forward.

  “I will take your words to heart. Thank you.”

  Then—bright as sunshine after rain—she snatched her token and rejoined the Matrons, calling back over her shoulder:

  “My clan is taking this little sister shopping. Please excuse us!”

  Her joy was unfeigned.

  The matrons dragged Rong from the guards to the market district with a single-mindedness that left a trail of confused men and shocked women who understood what was happening.

  The woman was chattering away to the two attendants, who started jotting down details.

  Then she was standing in a back room, completely stripped, besides her wrap and her loose bottom cover.

  The earthy smell of Yin was strong, making Rong clench her jaw. When she saw Rou and Ling, she was going to punish them; she didn’t know how, but it was coming.

  The attendant brought a selection of soft undergarments, and she felt as if she should have a diaper.

  “Give me your darkest shades, please,” Rong asked.

  The matrons glanced at each other while one of their eyes widened and another clicked her tongue.

  “Child..” Matron He Yun, keenly aware of optics, spoke up.

  Rong turned to her.

  “Those are what a dishonored widow or a punished concubine would wear.” She warned.

  Rong opened her hands in confusion. “No one is seeing this but me, though,” she replied. Then she paused. “Why would someone punish a concubine, and how would underwear even be in that equation?” she added, reeling from the idea that people were being beaten so badly it stained their underwear.

  “Dark shades are for grief… or for shame.” Matron Na said softly.

  “Dark cloth belongs to the grieving. Or to women who must not draw the eye.”

  Rong smiled and nodded, then snapped her fingers and pointed. “That’s me.” Her smile was vibrant.

  All the matrons stared in horror at Rong.

  “Oh heavens… NO. No, child. Not that. Anything but that.” Na breathed, turning to others for support.

  “She really doesn’t know. She truly has no idea.” He Yun said, turning to Qing, whose mouth was stuck open.

  Matron Bao Yu drew in a long breath through her nose, then let it out slowly.

  “Child, this is what a courtesan might wear.” She warned quietly.

  Rong blinked. “Okay…I have courtesan training.”

  Two matrons audibly gasped.

  Qing fell out of her chair.

  “A woman wears such cloth only when she wishes the world to look away from her entirely,” Qing said, standing up and placing a hand on Rong’s shoulder.

  Jianrong blinked, sucked in her lips, and narrowed her eyes in thought, then shook her head and, with her hands, expressed her lack of understanding.

  “You are too young and too strong to hide your light like that.” Bao Yu insisted.

  Jianrong's eyes widened, then she looked for understanding, making the five women feel a wave of relief. Then she spoke.

  “Yeah, no, I am not looking for a date or approval. I prefer to be as small and unassuming as possible. I am thinking burka… I am not sure what that would be called here. Uh, what is it when you do a head covering in cloth and cover the face, not like a see-through veil, but like heavier?” Rong asked.

  “Everyone who sees her would assume she carries shame, impurity, or a husband’s mark.”

  Matron He Yun thought, scandalized.

  Qing swayed and had to be supported.

  “Child, that is not MODEST. That is taboo!” Bao Yu hissed.

  Rong's brows rose. “What is the problem? They whine when it is too little, now you're telling me it's too much?!” she asked, dumbfounded.

  “Child… no woman chooses such coverings. Not unless something has gone terribly wrong.” Qing stated.

  Rong looked at her. “I have been taken captive to return to a clan I don’t know as a hostage to lure my mother to come save me… I feel this is uniquely on-brand. Besides, I am not entertaining courtship, so this works best.” Rong pointed out.

  “Your clothing must reflect who you ARE, not what happened to you.” Lin Su finally spoke up breathing heavy.

  “Your identity determines your fabric. Not your trauma.”

  That was what they wanted to convey.

  “You CANNOT opt into widowhood or ritual impurity because it is useful,” Na stated firmly.

  Rong sighed. “Well, rather than playing twenty questions, I guess point out what I can use without making someone worried I am not living scripture or whatever.” She stated she was already tired.

  “No, child… this is not about Heaven. This is about the world of people. This is not divine law. It is survival.” Matron Na said softly.

  The Matrons pulled all the items she shouldn’t choose off the tray.

  What was left was pale peach, ivory, a soft rose, and grey.

  “This says young woman of good standing,” Na said with a smile.

  “Not grieving,” Qing added.

  Also not disgraced and absolutely not a courtesan.” Bao Yu added.

  “Gray,” Rong said brightly, pointing at the last acceptable piece.

  All five matrons winced at the same time.

  Not because gray was wrong.

  But because she had chosen it with the same energy a man chooses a tool:

  Fine. Functional. Neutral. Done.

  Qing pressed a hand over her heart.

  “She really doesn’t know,” she whispered to the others.

  “She truly doesn’t know anything.”

  He Yun nodded, shoulders sagging in a way that said this will take months.

  Bao Yu rubbed her face with both hands.

  Lin Su stared at Rong with the heartbreak of an aunt realizing her niece had grown up in a warzone instead of a home.

  Rong noticed none of it. She was holding the gray fabric triumphantly, ready to dress.

  And that was when the mood of the women shifted—not to pity, but to responsibility.

  Matron Bao Yu stepped forward, her voice soft but resonant with clan authority.

  “Child,” she said, cupping Rong’s cheek the same way she had done earlier,

  “We will teach you.”

  Na nodded firmly.

  “Not Heaven’s rules. Not men’s rules. Our rules.”

  He Yun straightened the undergarments on the table.

  “These colors mean safety. These fabrics mean dignity. These patterns mean a household that stands behind you.”

  Qing added, voice gentle as morning rain,

  “Gray is fine, child. But you must understand why you wear it.”

  Lin Su inhaled sharply, her final judgment landing like the closing of a ceremonial seal.

  “You walk like a warrior. You look like a courtesan. You smell like a Yin treasure. And you behave…”

  She paused, eyes softening.

  “…like a boy trying very hard to do the right thing.”

  Rong’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

  Na placed both hands on her shoulders.

  “From today forward, you are not alone.

  We will shape your public face.

  We will protect your reputation.

  We will keep you safe from foolish men and predatory cultivators.

  We will show you what women know—what keeps us alive.”

  The other matrons all nodded.

  Rong nodded, then gave a salute, making the women shake their heads, but smiled all the same.

  Before she could put on the grey undergarment, Qing coughed.

  “Little one…Grey means waiting for judgment, or people without protection, those with an unclear status.” Qing murmured.

  Rong nodded. “Sounds right.” She said unconcerned.

  They brought out base garments called a moxiong that would be the layer after her undergarments they neck was high as the sleeves long for modesty.

  Beautiful creams, pale jades, and light colors like apricot or copper, if a bamboo green.

  The matrons held them up for Rong to decide.

  “Do you have a green, brown, or ugly color? It would be fine.” Rong asked the attendant.

  Rong’s voice was utterly earnest.

  The effect on the matrons was immediate.

  Five women froze in place.

  Five pairs of eyes widened in the exact same horror.

  One attendant dropped a folded garment.

  Qing whispered something that might have been a prayer.

  He Yun took a slow inhale through her nose as if physically restraining herself from grabbing Rong by the shoulders.

  Bao Yu’s lips parted in silent disbelief.

  Na clutched her chest.

  Lin Su actually sat down.

  Rong blinked, confused. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

  Bao Yu stepped forward first, moving with the same controlled calm she used when stopping young warriors from accidentally insulting a sect elder.

  “Child… green, brown, and ugly colors are not modest,” she explained carefully.

  “They are not neutral. They are not safe.”

  Rong tilted her head. “I am looking to cause discomfort or induce vomiting when people look at me… I am serious… I am not here to make friends or court people, “ she explained.

  Qing added softly, almost pleading,

  “They are the colors worn when a woman wishes to appear undesirable because her reputation has been damaged… or because she is hiding something she cannot explain.”

  He Yun shook her head.

  “Brown is for women beaten by their husbands or punished concubines. Green is for those who have been set aside. Ugly colors are for those who must not be claimed.”

  Rong looked around. “Obviously, I am doing this wrong. I want to look small and useless, people help me pick the right colors.” She stated.

  Bao Yu stepped forward, both palms raised, as if soothing a frightened colt.

  “Child… women do not choose colors to look small.”

  Her voice was soft but carried iron.

  “Women choose colors to show who protects them.”

  Qing nodded vigorously, lowering her hands.

  “Small and useless does not make you safe. It makes you fair game.”

  Lin Su finally found her voice.

  “Looking undesirable does not repel danger.”

  She leaned forward, eyes full of an older woman’s grief.

  “It attracts it. Because it means no one will avenge you.”

  Rong leaned back, shrugging off centuries of etiquette with a careless grin.

  “What about blood red? If people want to step up, I will defend myself. Not like I have someone who will do that for me.”

  The words hit the matrons harder than anything so far.

  The shift was immediate, visceral.

  Qing’s eyes filled with wet fury.

  Na made a soft choking sound.

  He Yun’s hands balled into fists.

  Lin Su’s expression turned cold, the kind of cold that only appears when a woman realizes a girl has grown up without anyone to fight for her.

  But it was Bao Yu who responded first.

  She stepped forward—no longer soothing, no longer patient.

  Just grief-stricken and angry in equal measure.

  “Child,” she said, voice low and trembling with contained emotion,

  “Do not say such things.”

  Rong blinked, confused at the sudden change in mood.

  Bao Yu reached out and took her chin between her fingers, lifting it gently but firmly so Rong had to meet her eyes.

  “No woman walks in blood red unless she is married… or in mourning… or marked for death.”

  Qing inhaled sharply and stepped in beside her.

  “And no girl of good standing—especially one with your face, your scent, and your cultivation—declares she has no one to defend her.”

  He Yun nodded sharply.

  “That is the loudest invitation to violence a woman can give.”

  Rong’s smile faltered.

  Lin Su spoke next, voice tight with the kind of anger only older women hold: protective, ancient, honed over a lifetime of watching the world eat girls who thought they were safe alone.

  “You are not a lone swordsman wandering the mountains,” she said.

  “You are a young woman in a society that sees you as an asset, a treasure, or prey.”

  Na added, softer but no less firm:

  “Do not confuse your strength with safety. Men do not fear a woman’s fists. They fear the men who stand behind her.”

  Then she placed a hand over Rong’s heart.

  “And you have us now.”

  Rong tilted her head. “You are ALSO a woman, you said the only thing a man fears is a bigger man.” She pointed out.

  “Oh, baby,” she murmured.

  “You were taught a man’s world. Not a woman’s.”

  He Yun leaned in, voice firm, steady, unyielding.

  “Men fear consequences, not strength.”

  Lin Su—who had been quiet, calculating—spoke next, her tone sharp as a blade sliding from its sheath.

  “What terrifies a man most is not another man.”

  She pointed to the four matrons around her.

  “It is a household of women who can destroy his reputation, his prospects, his alliances, his standing with the clan, and his access to resources.”

  Na nodded fiercely.

  “A single woman may be taken lightly.”

  Her eyes glinted.

  “Five matrons are a political disaster.”

  Qing’s smile was small, sharp, and painfully knowing.

  “We are not men,” she said.

  “We do not fight with fists. We fight with consequence.”

  Rong blinked, processing.

  Bao Yu tightened her hand over Rong’s chin, her thumb brushing her cheek with deliberate gentleness.

  “Listen to me, child.”

  Her voice was low, steady, and absolute.

  “No man in Tianrelion fears your strength.”

  She tapped Rong’s chest.

  “They fear the wrath of the clan that stands behind you.”

  He Yun added:

  “And they fear that if they touch you improperly, we will ruin them so completely their ancestors will apologize.”

  Lin Su folded her arms.

  “You think being alone makes you free.”

  A beat.

  “In this world, being alone marks you as killable.”

  Na placed both hands on Rong’s shoulders again, squeezing.

  “But with us at your back? You become untouchable.”

  Rong appreciated the sentiment. She didn’t believe a word of it, though.

  “I see, thank you. Please just choose a color, I don’t care.” Rong said she was ready to get moving so she could figure out how to kill the patriarch.

  All the women realized that their words were not sinking in to her.

  “Child, the soft peach or apricot signal that you are young and unmarried in good standing. It also means you're under a clan's protection while being with high Yin.”

  Rong nodded and took it and put it on to the mild consternation of all the women there.

  The inner trouser was a loose and breathable layer that was solid, not sheer. She would be covered even in only wearing these two items.

  They gave her colors like bone white, a tan, and sage.

  “Does the young miss like these colors?” the attendant asked with a smile.

  Rong nodded, “Do you have tan or sage robes?” she asked as she took the bone tan pants.

  The attendant blinked, then turned to the matrons.

  Bao Yu felt a subtle alarm.

  Tans were servant colors.

  Sage was an ambiguous status / transitional garment.

  “She is still trying to lower herself. She refuses to stand in a woman’s place.”

  Na’s first instinct is a sigh that feels older than her bones.

  “She is preparing to be overlooked. She still expects to be alone. If she dresses as someone low-status, she will be treated like someone low-status.”

  He Yun nearly snatched the clothes out of her hands.

  “Sage? Tan? Absolutely not. She will get snatched wearing servant colors.”

  The attendant blinked, surprised by Rong’s request.

  Before she could speak, Bao Yu gently lifted a hand.

  Her tone was warm, but her words left no room for negotiation.

  “Child… tan is a servant’s color.”

  Qing stepped in immediately, soft but firm:

  “And sage is worn by women whose status is… uncertain.

  You are neither.”

  Na shook her head with a sympathetic smile.

  “We will not have people mistake you for someone unprotected.”

  He Yun added, more bluntly:

  “We forbid tan.”

  Lin Su folded her arms and delivered the final, polite strike:

  “Sage and tan say ‘overlook me.’

  You are a Bloodforge daughter.

  You will not be overlooked.”

  Rong blinked, startled by how united they were.

  The attendant bowed quickly, relieved that they had spoken, so she didn’t have to.

  “I am …literally an attendant.” Rong pointed out.

  Bao Yu gestured back to the prepared garments.

  Her voice became warm, absolute, and mother-soft:

  “Apricot.”

  Qing nodded, smiling.

  “Soft peach, if apricot is too warm for your taste.”

  Na tapped the fabric lightly.

  “These colors say:

  ‘Young. Unmarried. Respected. Under clan protection.’

  This is what the world must see.”

  Lin Su clarified:

  “They keep you safe without inviting courtship.”

  He Yun touched the apricot's inner clothing.

  Her voice was firm: “This is the color of a girl with people behind her.”

  The attendant straightened, bowing slightly.

  “I will prepare apricots for your size, Young Miss.”

  Jianrong nodded, then shook her head.

  How about a hijab, uh, head scarf, or something that conceals my hair and my head.

  Bao Yu blinked, then cut down the idea immediately. “Absolutely not. The world will read this as ritual impurity or punishing a concubine.”

  Rong lifted her hands. “How do we keep coming back to Concubines…why are they being punished?” she asked, confused.

  Na closed her eyes.

  Qing’s brows knitted with sorrow.

  He Yun’s jaw clenched.

  Lin Su exhaled through her nose like someone preparing to explain an ugly truth.

  Bao Yu’s expression softened into something both tired and protective.

  “Child… concubines are not punished for crimes.” She explained.

  A beat.

  “They are punished for being powerless.”

  “In noble or wealthy households… a concubine has status only as long as the man favors her.”

  Her voice dimmed with memory.

  “When the favor ends, she may be shamed. When the wife grows angry, she may be targeted. When the household shifts… she may be cast out.” Qing said quietly.

  “And because she is a woman with no political standing of her own… she cannot defend herself,” Na said softly.

  She held Rong’s gaze.

  “So, when we say ‘punished concubine,’ we mean ‘a woman who has no one to protect her.’”

  “A concubine’s shame is never of her own making. It is a tool—used by households to rearrange power and control.” Lin Su offered sadly.

  She gestured at Rong’s long, shining hair.

  “A woman in a head covering reads as a woman whose standing has collapsed.

  No clan daughter of worth hides her hair.”

  Then, quieter:

  “And certainly not one with your beauty.”

  “Child… you want to hide your hair because you are afraid of being seen.”

  Qing squeezed gently.

  “But in Tianrelion, hiding it does not make you safe. It makes you vulnerable.

  It tells the world no one will fight for you.”

  The lesson was supposed to be a warning.

  It was not perceived that way.

  “So…men take concubines... if I recall, they are for several reasons, from desire to childbirth to politics…” Jianrong’s pulse could be seen in her throat and her eyes sparkled with a violet inner light. The smile she wore was feral.

  “These people are shit on and used as a punching bag, and society answers that with ‘this is your shame attire…Am I understanding that correctly?” she asked, her voice sharp.

  Qing felt her stomach drop.

  “Oh no… that’s not the lesson she took. She wants retribution.”

  She reached for Rong’s wrist instinctively, trying to soothe, ground, calm.

  Her heart hurt because this was not a sheltered girl’s reaction.

  This was someone who had witnessed ugliness and immediately sought targets.

  Na became Instantly alarmed.

  Not that Rong was wrong— But because that expression meant:

  “She’s preparing to fight a whole system. This child will burn the world if we don’t redirect her.”

  She moved closer, subtly intercepting, ready to anchor her energy.

  Lin Su's mind went cold and calculating. She understood immediately:

  “This one is dangerous because she is righteous. Righteous women die quickest.”

  Bao Yu spoke first, her voice low and steady like someone disarming a bomb:

  “Child… you are not wrong. It is cruel. It is unjust. It is everything you say.”

  A pause.

  “But it is not yours to fix today.”

  Qing squeezed Rong’s hand, her voice trembling slightly:

  “Your anger is righteous, but it will be used against you if you show it in the wrong place.”

  Na leaned in, gentling her tone to something she rarely used:

  “Listen to us, little one.

  Concubines suffer because they have no clan to protect them.

  You do.

  That changes everything.”

  He Yun added sharply—but her sharpness was for protection, not reprimand:

  “Do not bare your fangs at a system that will happily crush you to silence you.”

  Rong smiled and looked around to make sure they were alone.

  “Fear not, Aunties, I have killed so many people I am knee deep in blood and debt. Removing someone is a skill I take great pride in.” She explained.

  Bao Yu moves first — fast, quiet, deadly serious: “Child. Never say such things where ears may hear.” Her voice is low and trembling with a fear born of experience.

  Qing grabs both of Rong’s hands, squeezing hard. Her eyes are wet — she thought Rong was doomed if she continued this way.

  All of them had the same thought.

  “She will not survive a single noble banquet unless we fix this.”