Wu Hao's new lodgings were a seedy inn at the edge of the slums, which equally hovered at the edge of respectability. The Crane's Nest, as it was called, was a brick of a building, two stories high, and with signboards set out around its entrance to show that it was open for business. Its roof was large and flattened, with a long strip of it marked out with signposts.
This, he would co to learn, marked it as part of the Sky Road, a route of rooftops along which martial artists could quickly navigate without needing to be caught up in the civilians walking below.
He hadn't heard any footsteps in the night, though. In fact he'd slept like a child, and he wondered if maybe Master Ma had been to thank for that. Or maybe "thank" wasn't the right sort of word, because he still wasn't sure what had happened yesterday.
Anyway. He'd slept and he'd slept well, despite his reservations. He'd awoken after sleeping several hours on a soft bed, half-wrapped in a too-warm blanket, and as a result he woke sweaty. The window had been left just slightly open, allowing a fresh breeze to run through the room.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Wu Hao lifted his head from the pillow and checked that all his belongings were still there. So far as he could see, though, they were: clothes, money, knives.
He was thirsty as hell, though, and his throat felt dry. He squinted into the window, trying to gauge how late it was, but he couldn't see the sun out the window from here. In fact, he doubted he'd be seeing much sun at all, considering the window faced one of the mountains in the distance, its shadow falling over this part of the valley as well.
Wu Hao dressed himself, succumbing to the urge to yawn, and placed his knives in his belt before he opened the door, found the stairs, and then headed down.
The innkeeper, a man nad Fu Wang, was a stocky sort of older man. He fit the stereotype of the kind of n who ran inns, Wu Hao supposed, with a wide belly, hands the size of hams, and a deanor that was probably servile to those with more power than he did. To all others, including the wife to who he shouted orders and the waiters who dashed around the tables to deliver drinks, he was rude. Several of those waiters might have been his children, it was hard to be sure and Wu Hao didn't care either way.
Belly or not, though: a third-grade martial artist, or so Wu Hao's senses told him. The edge of his usual range was still foggy, and even close by his sense of qi was fuzzy, like he'd spent ti trying to look into the sun and the spots had yet to fully fade from his vision.
At least the headaches had faded sowhat. He didn't think he'd fully adjusted yet, but at least now he had the idea that it was possible, if he spent a few more days. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to readjust to not constantly feeling a bunch of qi signatures everywhere.
Below the rooms, the restaurant part was more or less empty. A bunch of people were eating breakfasts, and Wu Hao's stomach made clear its desire for sothing like it.
There were a few who looked up with curious gazes when Wu Hao ca down the stairs, but none of them was more than a third-grade martial artist and most weren't even that. There were a few scholars there, who were sitting with a few books each as well as a pot of tea they were sharing, for instance, and there were rchants who still seed half-asleep.
Wu Hao flagged down a waiter, already laden with a few plates.
"Wontons," he ordered, and then, feeling charitable, added: "Please."
The waiter nodded and walked away, shouting sothing as he pushed open the door to the kitchen. that was lost in the general, susurrating murmur of the place.
When they ca, the wontons were filled with mushrooms and so other vegetables, while a few others had ground pork. Wu Hao had to admit that, despite every misgiving he had about the place, its kitchen seed to be on the up-and-up. Although wontons weren't too hard to make, really. Even he figured he could make them and he'd never cooked a day in his life.
The plate was cleaned off and taken away by another waiter, and Wu Hao stood up.
Ti to go see what the rest of the city had to offer. He was already making a list of possible destinations that he'd glimpsed or thought of yesterday, but before he could head out he had to stop by a registration counter near the entrance, where the innkeeper called out to him.
"Wait," the innkeeper said. Wu Hao turned, giving him a look. "Kid, do you think you stayed for free?"
"Yes," Wu Hao said bluntly.
Fu Wang snorted. "Forget it. The world's not that kind. As long as you're staying here, you're working."
There was a slight trill to his qi, though. A sort of nervous purple streak that shook as it zipped along. Wu Hao hadn't spotted it often before, that particular color that ran through Fu Wang's core, but just because he hadn't seen it often didn't an it wasn't clear to him what that ant.
This Fu Wang was trying to sell him sothing. Or make him accept sothing. That sa purple streak had appeared in Father's qi when he'd been giving speeches, though then it'd been subtler - maybe because he himself had believed in his words then? It was hard to say.
Interesting that he hadn't seen it during the conversation with Prefect Shi, though. The man had put deliberate effort into not saying anything that was a lie. Co to think of it, Lady Jin had never lied outright either. Sothing to consider, Wu Hao thought.
The innkeeper turned, as if to go grab sothing, but before he could Wu Hao stopped him with a few words.
"No," Wu Hao said. "I was sent here by the Beggar's Union. They've said they'd give what aid that I require, and I require food and so place to sleep. I still do."
That was true. They hadn't put a ti limit on that aid, though.
"Yeah?" Fu Wang said. His tone didn't sound believing, but his qi had recoiled just a little. The purple streak flashed out again, but not quite so bright this ti. "Just because you say so -"
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"I t Master Ma," Wu Hao said quietly. "He approved of . Do you know what that ans?"
If this Fu Wang did, then that'd be for the better, because Wu Hao didn't have the slightest idea. The question worked better than Wu Hao had planned, though, because Fu Wang's confidence shattered almost imdiately. The purple streak erupted and then deflated, a sort of deeper anger and embarrassnt taking its place.
"I... see," Fu Wang said. His forehead had creased in consternation and his sausage-like fingers wrung at the counter he was leaning on. He swallowed. "I understand. Forget it. You're here at the Beggar Court's di."
Again, he didn't quite know if that was true or not, but he was content to let the innkeeper believe as much.
Wu Hao held the man's eyes just for a little longer, purely for effect, and then nodded.
"That's what I thought," he said.
Fu Wang grumbled sothing under his breath - "little shit", maybe. It was fortunate that he'd decided to keep all his stuff on him because he honestly figured that Fu Wang or his brood might have stolen from him otherwise.
Moving towards the door, Wu Hao stopped, thought of sothing, and returned to the innkeeper's side.
"How late is it, anyway?"
"Mid morning," Fu Wang said. So of his earlier belligerence had crept into his tone.
"Where can I get a weapon?" Wu Hao asked, deciding that he might as well get all the information anyway.
The scowl on Fu Wang's face was sothing to see.
"Ask one of the beggars," he said, and grinned. "They're giving you aid anyway, right?"
It was sarcasm, but nonetheless Wu Hao nodded. "Good point. Thanks. I'll be back."
Feeling Fu Wang's annoyed glance burn into his back Wu Hao smiled as he walked away, then t the sunlight. It did seem like early morning - the street around them had filled with small market stalls, people walking through, and several other things. Boys passed through at a run, and from their movent it seed to be an organized, disciplined run, not just soone chasing or being chased.
Wu Hao took a deep breath, ignored the person giving him an angry glare for not getting out of her way, and let that breath sit for a bit.
So. Ti to explore the city again, then. Considering its sheer size there had to be sothing to do at all tis. He might not get into the higher quarters where all the guards seed concentrated, but that still left most of the valley for him to explore.
Where to start, though?
Thinking about it twice, he figured that he'd start from simple need and go from there. He had food and a place to sleep, at least for now. What did he still need?
He still needed a weapon. He still needed to get stronger - strong enough that he could kill Father. Those two seed fairly connected, in his mind.
For once, though, he figured he'd actually buy himself a weapon. That'd an that he had so personal choice in what he got - not sothing as outsized as the bandit's saber, not sothing as fragile as the knives he kept breaking.
Actually, did he even want either of those weapon types in the first place? It wasn't like he'd chosen those, they'd just been one of the few things that he'd been able to get his hands on until now.
Still in thought, he walked up to a beggar sitting at the edge of the road. Not a martial artist, but still, if he was a beggar near Mt. Song there was no way he wasn't part of the Union.
"Where can I buy a weapon?" he asked.
The beggar blinked. "Pardon?"
"I want a weapon," Wu Hao said again. "Where do I buy a weapon?"
"Er," the beggar said. He still seed befuddled. "Steel Alley?"
Wu Hao nodded.
"Where is that?"
The beggar had recovered from the sudden questions, though, and now he glanced at Wu Hao with a more calculated look.
"I don't rember," he said, trying to look Wu Hao in the eyes. "Maybe if you gave a hint..."
"How could you not rember?" Wu Hao asked. "You were the one who said the na Steel Alley."
Giving Wu Hao a conspiratorial sort of look, the beggar shoved his begging bowl forward.
"A hint," he said again, slower this ti. "You know. Maybe sothing to jog my mory."
Wu Hao stared down at the bowl, which was nearly empty, and blinked. Then his eyes tracked up to the beggar's again, who was now mustering a sort of wink.
That winking eye began to tremble as the silence stretched, until finally the beggar coughed and rubbed at his neck. He pushed the bowl forward.
"It's a hint to give so coins," the beggar hissed.
"I know," Wu Hao said, equally quietly.
Another awkward silence. That wink had collapsed into a sort of sour smile before even that slid away.
The thing was, though, Wu Hao knew that he had a high tolerance for all sorts of things. He could tolerate pain - which only made sense, considering how much of it he'd gone through. He could tolerate heat and cold and discomfort and starvation and exhaustion, in part because of his qi and in part because of his training as a deathsworn.
He also figured that he could tolerate this awkward silence a hell of a lot longer than the beggar could. Awkward silences were the only things that you got for breakfast and for lunch when you were a deathsworn.
As he'd thought, the beggar broke first.
"Fine!" he hissed, and pulled his begging bowl back. "You're standing in the way. I've got quotas to et. But if you try to undercut again I'm reporting you to the Union."
"Sure," Wu Hao said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
"Steel Alley's that way," the beggar said, and pointed. "It's an alley full of blacksmiths, goldsmiths, array masters, foundries, all that sort of thing. If you want a weapon you'll find it there."
"Great," Wu Hao said. "Thanks."
He turned to the direction the beggar had pointed, then began to walk at his own ease.
So far, he thought, two people had tried to scam him, and he'd only been in the valley for less than a day.
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