Boluo and the other warriors wore leaping hounds as their emblem. He had seen the desert hound's head on the tunics of Wangzhe and Zhenli. Thus, he examined his own and there was no hound emblem on his robes but just a gold circle.
"It ans you're a mber of Luyao but only in na, not by blood," Boluo told him bluntly when Wuyi asked. "Of acknowledged noble blood, but not related all the sa. That's all. It's just a quick way of showing you've good blood but aren't of the Luyao. If you don't like it, you can change it. I am sure the patriarch would grant it.
A na and a crest of your own."
"A na?"
"Certainly, it's a straightforward inquiry. Illegitimate children are uncommon in noble households, even rarer among those blessed with cultivation talents. Yet, they're not entirely unheard of." Under the pretense of educating Wuyi on the proper care of riding equipnt, Boluo browsed through the weapons pavilion, examining all the older and less frequently used equipnt.
In truth, the maintenance and restoration of such items were among Boluo's peculiar interests, more of his favorite hobby. "First, create a na and an emblem for yourself, then present them to the lord—"
"What na?"
"Why, any na you like. You don't plan to call yourself Wuyi all your life, do you? Even if Zhenli says no one will know outside the desert, it doesn't an you can take the tag of 'bastard' forever."
Boluo suddenly realized he had touched on a too-sensitive topic that shouldn't be touched; he was calling the kid he took care of a bastard, sohow it felt wrong. He changed the topic in the middle to equipnt in the pavilion. "This looks like it's ruined; soone put it away damp and it mildewed. But we'll see what we can do with it."
"It wouldn't feel real," The na did not matter much to Wuyi except everyone who asked his na laughed and called him bastard. This bothered him.
"What?" Boluo held an armload of aged hide with a pungent aroma out toward Wuyi. He took it.
"A na I just put to myself. It wouldn't feel like it was really mine. What kid nas himself?" seeing the upcoming leather work he tried to keep Boluo busy in conversation so he might have to do less training as his aching body had still not recovered.
"Well, what do you intend to do, then?"
Wuyi took a breath. "Ask the Patriarch; maybe he should give a better na. Or you should..."
Boluo frowned. "You have the strangest ideas. Take so ti to ponder it, and you'll find a na that suits."
"Wuyi," Wuyi said sarcastically, and he saw Boluo clamp his jaw.
"Let's just nd this leather," Boluo suggested quietly. Wuyi sighed; no matter what the conversation with Boluo, work never stops.
They brought it over to his worktable and began cleaning it. Wuyi worked on it half-heartedly. Before Boluo could chide him for it, he changed the topic.
"Bastards aren't exactly uncommon, I'm aware of that," Wuyi spoke. "And in town, their parents na them." He tried to guilt Boluo by reminding him that he had no parents so Boluo would not chide him for being lazy.
"In town, bastards aren't so rare," Boluo agreed after a mont.
"Warriors and seafarers have their dalliances. It's a common way for common folk, but not for noble clans or cultivators like your father, or for anyone with a bit of pride. What would you have thought of when you stayed in the stable if I'd gone out at night like that, or brought won up to the room? How would you view won now? Or n?
It's fine to fall in love, Wuyi, and no one begrudges a young woman or man a kiss or two. But I've seen what it's like in large cities such as Bingzhen. Traders bring attractive girls or handso youths to the market like so many commodities. The kids they eventually have might possess nas, but they lack much else. Even if they settle down in marriage, they don't cease their... tendencies.
If I ever et the right woman, I want her to be assured that my eyes won't wander, and I'd like to be certain that all my children are truly mine," Boluo spoke with a hint of fervor. He finally had taken the bait.
What surprised Wuyi, though, was that no matter how much of a drunkard Boluo was, he seed righteous. Wuyi had yet to catch him doing sothing wrong, except for his drinking.
Now that Boluo had taken the bait, he was not going to stop. "So what happened with my father? You served him, right? You say he was righteous too. What was he doing sleeping around with a poor woman in a remote desert?"
Boluo suddenly looked weary. "I can't say for sure. He was young, roughly in his twenties, far away from his sect and clan, and grappling with hefty responsibilities. These aren't justifications or excuses, but it's all the understanding either of us will ever have. Besides, your mother might not have been just so poor desert woman. Do you think a simple desert woman would catch your father's eye?
I have t your mother but sohow I have no mory of her. Do you rember her face?"
This surprised Wuyi; it was true there was a very vague mory of her in his mind, even if he had stayed with his mother for five years. He believed it was because of his headaches, but now he felt it was sothing else.
And that was that. Beyond that point, Boluo decided not to indulge him further and pushed him back to work. Wuyi groaned but had no choice.
Wuyi's life continued in its usual pattern. He spent so nights in the company of Boluo, either in the stables or animal enclosures, and less frequently, nights in the pavilion when itinerant musicians or storytellers visited. Every so often, he could manage to escape for a night out in the city, but that led to a sleep-deprived following day.
His afternoons were consistently occupied with one teacher or another. He realized that these sessions were his sumrti education, and winter would bring lessons in calligraphy and scrolls.
He was busier than he had ever been in his young life, but despite his schedule, he found himself mostly alone.
Loneliness found Wuyi every night as he vainly tried to find a small and cozy spot in his large bed. Whether it was his first ho, Boluo, or the pens, he had never experienced solitude like this before in his present life.
During the tis he had slept above the animal quarters in Boluo's living spaces, his nights had been soothing, his dreams imbued with the comforting and tired satisfaction of the animals that rested and moved beneath his sleeping quarters.
Even if they were not much for companionship, they gave him a feeling of not being alone. But now, isolated in a room walled with stone, he finally had ti for all those intrusive thoughts that never bothered him before. He was alone in the truest sense, from one world to another, where he had no one to call his own.
He had parents in this world, but his mother was a mystery and his father most probably considered him a mistake, making it impossible for him to expect any closeness.
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