A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaack~! Did ya miss me?

Hello lovelies~ I hope the world is being kind to you and you're staying safe out there! (Here is a -hug- from me, the little that it's worth). I originally planned to be updating AML once ALL of the night hunting arc was finished, but, I really wanted to update cause it'd make me happy, and I figured it might make some of you happy too! :D Currently it's written through chapter 19...

Content warning for this chapter: Um, minor character death off screen? Implied sexual content that's not actually happening but people think it is?

In other news: "A Mother's Love" is now cross-posted to AO3! (Same title/author name). I know some people were having problems reading it on here, so you may want to check it out over there. (Though if you are a regular commenter here and your username is different over there, maybe say something? I'd miss you otherwise!)

...

Chapter 16 : There is None Who

When Mo Ai was 14 a new servant came to work in the Mo Household.

He probably wouldn't have even noticed. He would have learned of her existence at some point, it'd be impossible not to notice someone living and working at your house everyday eventually. But he certainly wouldn't have been made aware of her existence the day of. He would have had no reason to acknowledge her if he hadn't been leaving the main compound while she was entering for the first time.

She'd been tall for her age. But what really took his notice was the way that she carried herself. Measured, controlled, steady, even. Villagers often worked hard and had their own physical talents, but rarely did he see a member of the common born so economical with their movements. Except for a few of the hired guard in his father's caravans. Not the mercenary fist-for-hire types, but more the 'retired soldier' who needed to work to eat. Her practical and durable clothing seemed to support this. As did the tight no-nonsense hair and the sword in the sash at her waist. Yet, even with a generous estimate afforded to her build and bearing, she could not be much older than him.

But her eyes were what really drew him in. She looked straight ahead; her head held high. With the self-assertion and comfort-in-one's-being that was more readily found upon a celebrated young-master or mistress, rather than in the gaze of a teenage scullery-maid. Those discerning eyes were deep like burnished steel and shone like a cultivator's sword. They were also pinched with nervousness. Her cheeks were hollow, and the knuckles round her sheathe were white.

He followed her with his eyes as she went to report to the guard's house, before his friends called his attention again.

Later that night he learned from his best friend a-Hui (who was also the steward's son, and thus knew everything, father was always tight lipped despite Mo Ai's offers to help) about a 'Qiao-jie', the 'awesome new upstart' in the servants' hall. Who had somehow still managed getting a job cleaning the house even after telling off (and showing up) members of the guard for their bullying of a local boy-all without ever having to draw her own sword, leaving full grown men tripping over themselves as she danced around them.

Personally, Mo Ai thought that merited a few firings, and her being assigned to a different division. The story was equal parts noble and hilarious. On the other hand, he'd never have gotten to know her if she had been assigned on their caravan escort details like she'd originally asked – even if she did deserve a guard position. So though the decision had seemed suspect, he couldn't help but feel grateful after the fact, and she had fast become a part of their group of friends.

It didn't feel so long after that day, when he couldn't imagine passing another day without her.

When Mo Ai, courtesy Bolin was 41, he left through those same gates feeling a burst of hope that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He was on his way to a business meeting that stood to revitalize and expand their clans' hold on the province. If all went well, it would return their clan to its former glory, that distant time in his mother's youth. Securing the futures of his children, and their children, perhaps even their children's children thereafter. He was proud of that. It was remarkable what records and forgotten secrets could be found on the dusty shelves of one's own household. All that was needed was for this meeting to go well, and it was likely to do so.

After all, there was a reason that alliances of marriage and blood continued, even if they were arranged. Or forced. Sometimes, they actually proved useful.

He glanced down at his saddlebag.

With the cultivational powers of dayi-zi's fiancé's family, combined with the manpower of the Kun caravans (another merchant family in their own right-one that hadn't fallen), and now this new proprietary knowledge that he could bring to the table: records of old abandoned paths once used by the Mo Family. With this they could gain a foothold on trade coming from the southern regions as it entered the province of Lanling. Which in turn would effect much of the regions to the north.

Currently the main thoroughfares were either following rivers up from Yunmeng (that were often indirect, long, and miserable; if not outright dangerous during the rainy season) with much of the docks and necessary ports privately owned and necessitating a fee; or through Qiongqi Pass which was in Wen territory and often risked attacks from bandits that had escaped the combined Wen and Jin border patrols (and Wen Ruohan wasn't exactly known for caring about his neighbors or non-cultivators even on his best days, which only added to the problem).

It was often said that a tithe was owed at 'the Bandits' pass', if one wanted to get any successful trading done.

But this would bypass that.

Once upon a time there had been a third option. A few generations ago the Mo Family had utilized a hidden path through the side ravines of the Qiongqi Mountain Range- that allowed their shipments to move in relative secret while bypassing the main pass. Shortening the distance and potential altercations on the road. Saving both time and, more importantly, money.

This had been one of their keys to success and had been utilized during the building of Mo Village. It was during Mo Bolin's grandfather's time that the shifting terrain of a freak landslide caused the Mo Family's secret, an actual secret tunnel through the mountains, to be lost. Rocks and boulders falling and blocking the cut-through and sealing the entrance, leaving many trapped inside. The change in the landscape's terrain and feng shui, which had become more negative, (along with the haunted deaths caused by the disaster) had caused an increase of resentful creatures in the area that had prevented its recovery, and since no one would now venture from the main pass for this reason, its discovery as well.

And thus, with disuse, the information was lost.

As everyone knew, there was only one way through the Qiongi mountains-through Qiongqi Pass. And Jin cultivators traveling to Qishan were always quick to warn about the dangers of straying from the path, which was oft repeated by the border patrols on the rare opportunity you saw them. So why would any common folk try leaving the main pass, when they would only meet a dead end? Literally and figuratively. Truly, it was better to do as you're told.

But with the help of the Qin sect, they could, quite literally, unbury the past.

Mo Ai felt a shiver run down his spine. He glanced around, turning onto a side street that would hopefully lead towards a more quiet road, checking his saddlebag once more.

He'd done the numbers. With such an alliance, they could quite likely rival the Jin in trade. And wasn't that an incredible thought? It hardly seemed real. Nor would he have to worry about being cut out from the deal, since apparently the old wards in the tunnel itself were likely undamaged and would need one of Mo blood in order to pass. Making him, and his heirs, indispensable.

Obviously, he hadn't mentioned that in his letter (which he was only slightly embarrassed to admit was oozing with more fondness for his two girls than was perhaps proper for a business correspondence, though he had been reassured when Sect Leader Qin's response letter had in turn gone off on a tangent gushing about his soon to be bride). Just that he'd found a hidden record of an alternate path. He may have also gone on for a bit about the benefits this would bring to his children, as an appeal to the Kun sympathies for Mo Xia through her mother, and mentioning Mo Huilang's recent birthday. They were both growing up so fast. They now reached his chin and waist respectively. He remembered when they couldn't even reach past his knees.

Though he hadn't mentioned it in the letter, or to his eldest daughter, he hoped that once talks had proceed a ways in person, that he might gain her an apprenticeship in the Qin Sect. He knew how much she longed to learn how to properly wield her late mother's sword, something his mother had never approved of nor permitted. But by masking it by strengthening ties between the families, and therefore future business dealings, Mother would likely relent. It would also help as an appeal to the Qin for their continued cooperation, once they learned of the blood seals, if they had a Mo daughter as a disciple. It would also help elevate her status to become a cultivator, even if it were too late for her to become very powerful, which would help to counteract her being legitimized so much later in life. Which in turn could help the Mo family, if they had trained cultivators at hand.

A-Xia, bless her, would be turning ten this year, and was proving to have a far more sedentary personality than a-Lang, preferring to sit and embroider whilst her sister liked to go out and explore. Mo Xia had also been entering into a bit of a mulish faze. But he was hoping that with a bit of a firm hand in her own studies, she would grow out of it. She was quick at reading facial expressions with a judgmental temper that could be useful in business dealings once trained up a bit. And he would take that training far beyond than just the usual 'demure feminine arts', (though nothing wrong with the lessons themselves, he did object to their often limited scope, he saw no reason why a daughter, especially one of a merchant clan, couldn't be taught to have a head with numbers) which is what he planned once they could afford tutors again and he wasn't quite so busy trying to sort out all this mess that his father had left behind to help them himself.

All in all, this could end up helping everyone. Even mother would be pleased. Eventually.

Perhaps, if all this went well, a-Xia and a-Lang could lead the family business together one day. With a-Xia managing the books from home and coordinating shipments while a-Lang oversaw the transport and taught their guards and any future grandchildren the ways of the sword. Perhaps even raising a Mo generation of cultivators.

He sighed and couldn't help but to feel lonely as so many hopes and what-ifs passed through his head. But at least they'd finally be fixing things.

Mo Bolin gazed out at the busy street from the top of his horse. Once there'd been a time it would have been unthinkable for him to journey out on the street alone. Once their household had been bustling, more like this street than the empty halls it had become (though not quiet so uncomfortably crowded). Filled with servants and friends and visitors. He knew that a-Hui, that Ming Hui would have loved the idea of excavating a secret passageway. And Liu Zhang had loved old maps and would have bounced in excitement at the very thought that his young son a-Tong might one day grow to train as a Mo disciple of all things.

It would have been a mad, incredible, wonderful joke. A great adventure. But they had died in the same illness that had taken Kun Jing, who had been a true friend even if they had been unwilling lovers-with him otherwise attached and she never having a taste for such things. And Jian Qiao had been killed seven years ago to this day.

He was the last of their group.

And wasn't that a depressing thought.

He frowned as a careless passerby jostled his stirrups. Even on a crowded street such as this, you'd think people would have the sense not to get right under a horse's hooves. He wasn't the only equestrian out today.

Seven years ago, robbers had snuck into the Mo household at night. They had ransacked the archives in search of the treasure vault, making off with most of the gold and some assorted trade agreements, which had later been used as blueprints by the thieves for targeted attacks. A sordid plan that hadn't been realized until it was too late, since many other papers had been lost due to an overturned candle. The fire creating additional havoc that had served to both cover what they'd taken and mask their escape. Kun Jing had been aimlessly walking the halls trying to lure a sick and fussy XiaXia to sleep when the attack had occurred, and Jian Qiao had died defending them. A-Lang had been hidden by her mother in a linen closet when she'd first heard the screams.

It was only because of this, and Kun Jing's hysterics (which had only been partially exaggerated to help force his hand) that Father had finally allowed Mo Bolin to legitimize the newly orphaned 'Jian Huilang'. Half a year later.

Luckily, a-Xia, thanks to medicine received earlier in the evening, managed to sleep through the actual death. With no memory of the event. Apparently, the medicine had kicked in at just the right moment. Small mercies.

Thankfully Mother had taken his side and hadn't let Father cast newly orphaned a-Lang out as a 'useless brat-bastard' (perhaps knowing that he and Kun Jing were no longer so young as to be too afraid to go with her) recognizing that it was better having three heirs than an open rebellion which led to none.

And that casting out the orphaned child of a servant who died defending a member of the main family would be a poor look, even amongst some of the more calloused gentry.

He sighed.

Even though Mo Bolin had bowed to both Jian Qiao and Kun Jing's memorial tablets in the ancestral hall just that morning; sometimes he still felt like he'd turn a corner and see one of them walking towards him.

Mo Bolin, breathed slowly against the pang of old hurts. He was the head of the family now. At least he could make this future a better one. If the Mo could do one thing, it was weather a storm. They would be victorious in the end. It was in their blood.

He passed the corner of Xi Yao's restaurant and bakery and turned his horse onto the main intersection which, sadly, was even more crowded than the road leading in front of Mo Manor. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the early morning air, and he breathed deeply again. This time for a more pleasant reason.

Mo Bolin glanced down at his saddlebag for what must have been the fifth time, double checking that it, and its important contents, were still there. Truly, this discovery in the archives had been heaven sent. It was a miracle that those robbers hadn't found the panel it had been hidden behind, given how thorough their search.

He frowned, beginning to follow that line of thought.

Why had the robbers targeted the main house which would have been filled with people at that time of night, rather than one of the few satellite offices they'd still retained at the time? Though not as big of a score, they would have been the easier mark. At the time it had been assumed that the perpetrators were common crooks who had sold their stolen products to the highest bidder. But what if…

Mo Bolin glanced down at his saddlebags again, feeling inexplicably uneasy. The knife under his cloak a reassuring pressure against his ribs, pressing in and out with the jostle of the rented horse's hooves. Jian Qiao's voice on how to use it a whisper in his mind. Trust your instincts.

Though he hadn't been fool enough to bring the maps with him, he didn't wish to lose his estimates for the venture, he needed to be ready for the meeting at Kun Manor with the Qin leader. He shook his head, feeling foolish. Even as he urged his horse to go faster. Mo Bolin glanced around again, for the first time noticing some unfamiliar faces in the crowd.

Everything was fine.

Everything was not fine.

He urged his horse to go faster. In the end, he never got to use the knife.

A spooked horse and a glimpse of gilt thread under beggar's robes, prevented him from ever reaching his destination.

A crowd formed around the fallen head of the Mo Family, his hair darkened by the blood that was leaking onto the cobble stones. Others ran off, presumably to Mo Manor.

Mo Yanwen never did figure out where her son had misplaced those integral papers he had vaguely alluded to before departing. And in all the commotion, she never noticed the missing saddlebag.

With nothing to show for what was ultimately surmised as the desperate musings of a kind but foolish man, a trade alliance based on the nebulous and inconclusive information of a 'suggested new route' between the three families, was forgotten.

The Kun, out of pity, decided to provide a small stipend for Mo Xia's care until she came of age. And upon hearing the news, Qin ShànYuè shook his head sadly before continuing with the preparations for his coming wedding to Kun YùXiù.

It was only many years later, when he stumbled upon that old letter from Mo Bolin, that the now Sect Leader Qin looked at its contents with new eyes. Eyes that had seen and learned far more since that day. About the cruelty and falsity of men. Where he then saw a connection that would have been unfathomable at the time.

It was then, when Qin ShànYuè reread those faded words, that he felt a kinship beyond pleasantries for this man that he'd never met. Even if they had technically been family, in a distant in-law sort of way.

And he thought of his own experiences as a father. He thought of his a-Su. And he cried.

And then, he began to think a little more. It was then that a niggling thought began to grow.

...

The streets were lined with villagers in mourning sashes to see Mo Yanwen's passing. A few of the older generation remembered the town's history, of when it was a place of import, and she was the last of it. Mourning the loss of that symbol. Of a forgotten time.

Fourteen-year-old Mo Yu walked at the back of the family procession, following the casket to the graveyard. While the others wore mourning robes newly commissioned by his aunt, he wore only a white mourning sash. They made their way past Xi Yao's bakery, through the big intersection and down main street. He looked down at his feet while he walked, while many of the villagers tittered at his show of disrespect.

The smell of fresh bread wafted in the air. Passing over a long faded bloodstain on cobblestone.

The priest came. And he said the same words as last year. And they stood there, shivering with the last of the spring thaw - the only difference in ceremony from his mother's summer funeral. Aunt Xia stood there for the exact amount of time to be filial, no more, and no less. Then she spun around with a brisk pace, finally the one leading the family procession. Uncle quickly following her after a sharp look-one perfect step behind, while little Yunxu was dragged along by his father's hand in their wake whilst complaining about the long boring walk in his high-pitched whining voice. Leaving Mo Yu to walk back alone as the crowd dispersed.

Mo Yu took one last look at Great-Grandmother's grave, before trailing after them, a few metres behind. He dragged his feet in the dirt, letting his bangs fall forward and hide his face. He didn't want to go home.

The past few months had been…disquieting. Great-Grandmother had spent the first few moons after Mother's passing awaiting on word from his 'father'. Of course, no one ever referred to him as his father. It was always 'the Sect Leader'. They didn't even call him 'Jin', when they weren't in private. As if they were trying to protect his reputation. Mo Yu might have believed it- if Mother had still been alive while it was happening. That his father had been a courteous man who'd inadvisably fallen in love whilst already married. That he might have come.

He knew Grandfather Bolin had been forbidden from marrying Grandmother Jian, which is how he'd ended up in an arranged marriage with Grandmother Kun. Maybe he could have believed it was something like that.

Maybe he could have believed it. That Father was bound by duty, with Great-Grandmother's ever planning on his return and Mother's reminders that Mo Yu had old noble blood in his veins, that it could all work out. That Father actually cared, that he would one day come for him. Mo Yu's birthday was in the fall, and a courtesy name still hadn't been chosen for him. Great Grandmother had kept insisting that said honor should be reserved for his father. That the Jin used a generational poem and Mo Yu would be an outsider if his didn't match his elder brothers', one of whom was set to get his own courtesy name soon. He'd always thought that Jin Guangshan had had only one legitimate son. That he was the only illegitimate.

Great Grandmother had sent another letter filled with pretty nothings a week before her death. Still waiting for that invitation. It didn't matter that Father had stopped responding two years before Mother's death. That he had never inquired after them during the war, despite the fighting happening a few li away from their doorstep. Had never checked on them after.

Great-Grandmother was convinced he'd be coming after Mo Yu's fifteenth birthday. Once he was finally 'old enough to be useful'. Mo Yu wasn't so certain of it anymore.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to go even if Jin Guangshan did. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to stay here, either.

Aunt Xia ran the household very different from Great Grandmother. And Great Grandmother Yanwen wasn't there to contradict her from her sickbed anymore.

Mo Yu trudged over the threshold into the main courtyard, passing the white lanterns as servants scurried around with ducked heads. Aunt Xia was already barking orders.

She snatched the sleeve of a passing maid, making the young woman nearly drop her basket. Aunt Xia jabbed her thumb in Mo Yu's direction, making him flinch.

He hadn't realized she'd been tracking his movement.

"Take his things out of the second bedroom from the family wing and start moving Yunxu-baobei's things in. He's old enough to be leaving the nursery anyway. Once the mourning period is over, move my and my husband's things from the first bedroom into the Clan Leader's suite and then him into that."

"But where is the Young Master to sleep?"

Aunt Xia spun around with dangerous eyes, just barely hiding disdain as she glanced at Mo Yu before turning back toward the maid.

"Who?"

The young maid gulped, obsequious eyes flashing straight to the floor.

"Where is the Second Young Master to sleep?"

Aunt Xia hmphed. "Put him in one of the less needed guest quarters, it's not like he'll be staying there much longer anyway. Now go on! What am I paying you for?!"

The maid scurried away while Aunt Xia strode off, her nose in the air, heading towards Great-Grandmother's offices.

Mo Yu stood there, blinking for a moment. Before dashing towards his rooms.

He'd inherited Mother's rooms after she'd died, which had been under Great-Grandmother's orders. Not much had changed after her residence. He'd never been moved out after his toddling days (Mother had never wanted him in the nursery, always afraid he might die in his sleep in the night if left unsupervised, never mind that only rarely happened with young infants, but she'd always been deeply concerned for his well-being. Rarely left him out of her sight. Always afraid of what would happen if he ever left her watchful eye. It had been irritating then. He wished she was here now). The only big change had been his moving into Mother's bedroom after the mourning period, with his small cot being removed, thus making the sitting room, well, a sitting room once more. (And Mother had only let him start sleeping behind a screen in the sitting room once he'd reached double digits, and even then he knew that she'd check on him during the night, whenever she couldn't sleep. Eyes alert, just like her mother's in color. So similar to his own).

(He could remember, those quiet nights. Everything still and soft. The sound of Mama. Of her feet brushing against the floor, whisper soft. The light of a single candle flame dimmed by her raised hand. How he would keep his eyes closed and breathing slow, so he could feel those tender fingers card through loose curls. How he'd follow the sound of her as Mama circled the room, checking every window and door. How she'd pause in the doorway and leave it ajar. Even on her sickest days, toward the end. Bloodied lips on every breath. How he'd lift his head, eyes slivered open, so that he could watch her go. Until the morning that she didn't come back.)

But the servants always followed Aunt Xia's words to the letter. And he only had the time it would take for that maid, a-Ding, to put those linens back in the cupboard. He had to get there first.

Aunt Xia had only mentioned his things. She hadn't mentioned anything about Mother's.

He skidded round the corner leading into the Main Family's wing. Before racing down the empty corridors of even emptier rooms, a legacy of a once larger family, before tip-toing past the nursery, careful to avoid Yunxu and his tattling voice (he lucked out this time, the room was empty, he was probably off insisting a snack from the kitchens), before dashing again around the next corner. At least he wouldn't be sharing a hall with Aunt Xia anymore.

By now she was probably in Great-Grandmother's study. Likely bossing Uncle to look over the accounts again. She'd been wanting to update the entryway, calling it 'shabby' and 'outdated', though Mo Yu didn't really see it. Uncle wasn't the best at reading records, his eyes often too tired to see them clearly, and he usually fumbled with sums at the market before reaching the correct tally, whereas Aunt could, but didn't have the patience for it. She'd be in there watching him for the next few shichen, monitoring Uncle's work, which would buy Mo Yu more time to get situated, on that quarter at least.

He took another peek up and down the empty hall, noticing that another decorative antique had disappeared from the private areas, before sprinting for his Mother's door and sliding it quietly shut behind him. He ran over to the floor boards behind the bed, pulling one up with practiced ease, hands shaking and heart pounding in his chest. He glanced towards the door, thankful that it was still empty, before reaching into the hidden recess, before pulling an ancient qiankun pouch out of the darkened depths. Praying that the tattered and frayed thing would hold everything, he began shoving Mother's books and old yellowed manuals into the bag. He couldn't take everything she'd owned, that would surely be missed. But Mother never let servants into her bedroom, and Mo Yu had always done his cleaning himself. He doubted that anyone besides Grandfather had ever paid close enough attention to what she'd been reading to have a complete list.

Clammy from the run and his own anxiety, he reached shoulder deep into the floor boards, fumbling towards the side where he knew Yizhi lay. He hadn't wanted to keep it in direct line of sight of the opening in case his hiding place should ever be discovered. Still panting from the run over and his own anxiety, he pulled the sword out as fast as he could, before also shoving it in the bag. Not even caring that he'd ripped part of his sleeve on a loose nail, before shoving the board back into place.

Running over to the storage chests in the bedroom he fell to his knees. Ignoring his own smaller chests, he threw open the ones that had belonged to his Mother, shoving aside the top layers of clothing for the more precious items he'd long placed at the bottom. Just like he'd hidden every other precious thing.

He glanced towards the door again.

Aunt Xia had been taking inventory as a way to 'help' while Great-Grandmother had been ailing, her efforts increasing once the doctor had pronounced Mo Yanwen to be terminal. And it had only been a matter of time before Aunt Xia started going through Mother's things. Great-Grandmother hadn't been in the ground for even a day, and already the embroidered tapestries in the lounge were missing, and Aunt Xia was wearing a new jeweled hair piece.

Running his arm across his flushed and sweating face, he reached into the chest and grabbed the fine red outer robe that had been hidden underneath, along with a pair of red brocade slippers. Both of which were finer than anything he could remember seeing a Mo wear in his lifetime. The cloth seemed to shimmer, even in the shadowed light of the darkened bedroom.

Mother had worn them to her fifteenth birthday celebration. The lucky colors had been a gift from Grandfather Bolin. All the other fine clothes from Mother's youth had been lost to the purges following Great Grandfather Chenglei's death. But Mother had been tall for her age, whereas a-Yu had always been small, slight and slender. So it could still work for most adults, if only barely.

She had held onto them, despite having long outgrown them, secreting them away. Despite the family's and her own monetary needs. Hoping that a-Yu might one day be able to wear them. Wanting him to have something that could serve as a bride or groom price in the future. He could still remember the time she had first shown it to him, cuddled small in her lap. Where she had made him promise not to give himself to anyone except to one that he had truly loved. Instilling the preciousness of his own self and heart.

Cringing at the thought of wrinkling the fine silk, he shoved all three objects into the bag, before righting the clothes in the chest once more and closing the lid. Making the contents look as if they'd never been touched. Hurrying over the the bureau, he opened the drawer where his mother's jewelry and makeup lay. He started opening old jars, looking for the one that his Mother had kept loose change in. He didn't bother about closing up the hand cream, leaving it open on the counter. But he did add the container of expensive rogue he found to the rest of the contents of the qiankun bag, along with a cheap wooden hair stick that he'd always liked. He also grabbed the little box of eye makeup that he remembered always made his mother's eyes pop, like an ocean of silver stars, before finally grabbing the correct jar that contained the money.

His hand paused, hovering over the small pouch that he knew contained the pearl button from Jin Guangshan. Before gritting his teeth and adding it to the bag as well. Then he slid the drawer shut with a soft click, letting out a long breath. He glanced about the room, not quite believing that he'd managed to get everything. Before the door to the bedroom started sliding open.

Panicking, he fumbled about himself, rumpling his clothes, trying to find a pocket to hide the qiankun bag in. Before remembering that this outfit didn't actually have pockets.

Mentally cursing whoever it was who thought it was sensible to not having any working pockets in a piece of clothing, he tried to shove it inside his robes, but the bag was too large and made an obvious lump. Desperate, he shoved it into his pants, hoping that the low hanging bottom edge of his shirt would mask the shape of it. Just as the door opened.

The maid Aunt Xia had sent stood framed in the opened doorway. A-Ding froze, looking from his flushed face and rumpled clothes and overly loosened lapels that showed a sliver of his chest, to the open jar of lotion on the table beside him, and the hands that he currently still had in his pants. Her eyes widened, before quickly glancing away. Glaring at the wall beside her, her face pink.

Mo Yu jerked his hands out of his pants, unconsciously raising his empty palms into a surrender gesture.

"I…"

"You little freak."

"I…"

"You knew I was coming in here. You creepy little…"

She glanced at him again before quickly looking away. He fumbled at his shirt, straightening it. Before tugging the hem as low as possible.

"You've been assigned to the Blue Room, get your things."

Nodding, he walked over to his own two small storage chests, trying to walk as naturally as possible. While flushing for an entirely new reason. Bending down, he picked up the larger one, and made his way towards the door. A-Ding stayed well away from him, and wouldn't enter the room until he had left it. She also wouldn't turn her back to him and stayed a few meters behind him as they went down the hall towards his new rooms, glaring daggers the whole way. The entire journey was incredibly awkward, and he spent the entire journey praying that the qiankun bag wouldn't fall out of his pant leg with every step he'd take.

Once they reached the door he paused, looking back at the slightly older maid.

"It wasn't-".

She shoved the smaller chest on top of the larger one in his arms, making him nearly drop them and stumble back a step.

"I'm sorr-"

"You stay away from me."

He quailed backward, nodding, as she turned on her heel and stomped back up the hallway. Not daring to move before she turned the corner and was out of sight.

He slumped against the wall, shaking. Before struggling upright and opening the door. The top trunk spilling out of his arms just as he opened it, scattering half of its contents across the floor. He hurried forward, before putting the rest of it down, and shutting the door behind him. Groaning at the sight of the spilt ink that had splattered across the floor and several items.

Embarrassed, he glanced around the room, thankful he was alone, before reaching into his pants and pulling the qiankun pouch out of it. The 'Blue Room' was, apparently called thus because of the blue bedspread, rug, and screen that it contained. Unlike his old rooms, the Blue Room didn't have a separate seating area for entertaining visitors, and was instead only a little bigger than half the size of his old bedroom. In his new room, the sleeping area was hidden behind the slightly too small screen, with the half of the room closest to the door containing a table with two seat cushions that could double as an eating area or work surface. The room was at the very end of a dead-end hall of an unused wing Mother had never left him alone to explore (often sequestering them in their rooms outside of any specific task) and was, overall, slightly dusty. It had only one window, which overlooked the backside of the kitchens and a small slightly overgrown courtyard with some storage sheds that looked even smaller than this room. With an even more dusty donkey paddock on the far side of it.

Locking the window and door behind him, he thoroughly investigated the space, before cleaning up the mess. Sighing at the ink stains that now graced his floorboards and part of the rug. Shoving the chests against the wall behind the screen, he sat on the bed, suddenly nervous about the state of the contents in his qiankun bag, worried that after all that effort something might have spilt on the way. His heart was still rabbiting in his chest. He felt so tired.

Thankfully, everything was fine. Not wanting his mother's robes or slippers to get more wrinkled, he grabbed one of his own old robes out of his chest and wrapped them in it, before shoving the bundle into the darkest corner beneath his bed.

He'd only ever seen women, and the richest of noble men wearing makeup before. And he wasn't sure how his Aunt would take it if she should find it lying about his room. So he left the rouge and box of eye-paints in the qiankun bag. Even though he was now really intrigued with the latter, wondering if he could look even half as beautiful as his mother while wearing it.

Mo Yu also took out the books, since Yizhi could survive any accidental spills but the books couldn't. And started arranging them in careful little stacks under his bed, their presence mostly blocked by the chests in front of them, but easy to reach if you knew where to look.

His eyes widened as he came across a few slim yellowed texts that had been left between the pages of a much larger, unrelated, book. Recognizing Great-Grandmother Lian's (Grandmother Jian's mother's) name on the outside cover in a tidy, teacherly hand. Opening the old book with careful fingers, he gasped at the detailed image of a sword, with labeled notes on the use and care of all its component parts (both in the professional hand and others in a more personal, less structured scrawl). He turned another page and saw another detailed drawing, appearing to have been done by the same hand, this time showing a close up on a basic sword grip. With the page next to it showing another detailed drawing of a basic stance. With even more notes providing details on these.

He turned another page, and another. On each was a series of drawings or notes showing different sword forms and katas. Increasing in difficulty and complexity the farther it went. With sometimes pages showing approximate blow-by-blows of a series of motions. With others being filled entirely of text.

Mo Yu put down the book and picked up another. Which was also of different sword forms but seemed to be of a higher level, even delving into theory on combatting different kinds of opponents in its later sections. Another book seemed to spend a lot of time talking about meditation, with notes on the cultivation theory of different sects.

Mo Yu stared at the unassuming books sitting in his lap and on the bedspread next to him. One of whom's cover had seemed to have been switched out with a tawdry romance. As if to hide it. The others generic and blank. He could barely breathe, the earlier events of the day, at least for the moment, completely forgotten.

These were cultivation texts. Or at least, partly. And the level of detail…they seemed more likely to be true than not. He glanced over at the door, through the deliberately reangled sliver of the screen, trembling slightly. He wasn't suppose to have this. It would be…audacious. Presumptive. If having Yizhi, a normal…what was the word, mediocre sword, wasn't allowed. There was no way this could be.

Sects didn't like you coming in with an outsider cultivation base. Especially if you thought you knew everything after a few manuals bought off some sketchy street vendor. He'd heard about that guy who'd been thrown down the steps of Koi Tower a few years ago. They liked being distinctive, building yourself up in a specific manner. It wasn't just about skill, but about identity, and cohesion as well. Or at least that was the impression that Great-Grandmother Yanwen had always given him. He needed to be intelligent, fit, and hardworking. But a blank slate for his father to bring up in his own way, once he was old enough to be useful. That's why he'd been left with Mama. It had always been the plan for him to wait. Mo Yanwen had always said that Jin Guangshan would come back one day.

He was always suppose to be a cultivator.

Even Mother had said it was in his blood.

Mo Yu looked back at the door, and then back at the books. He shook his hands out telling them to stop shaking. He looked back at the door.

He could wrap these books in an old shirt and keep them in the qiankun bag where no one would see them. He would keep the pouch on his person, in an actual pocket where no one could find it. He grit his teeth.

He was so tired.

But he was also getting tired of waiting.

Mother had always said that knowledge was power. And he had a lot more reason to follow her than some hypothetical teachings of Jin Guangshan.

Double checking that the door was locked, he flopped back onto the bed and started reading.

...

A/N: There's a subtle "Merlin" reference in there, anyone notice? What about the "Avatar: The Last Airbender" one? How about "Ever After"?

"dayi-zi", as I understand it, means "wife's elder sister".

Yes, Mo Bolin named his first born after his best friend (with Jian Qiao's agreement) and the one that introduced her parents to each other. (I think I once read that it's bad luck to directly name someone after another? So if so, imagine it's said similarly but the "Hui"'s are different characters? I think I lost the notes on that name? idk)

"Kun YuXiu" with "Kun" meaning "earth, female" and "Yu" meaning "good reputation, to praise, to acclaim" and "Xiu" meaning "handsome, refined, elegant, graceful". (Aka the future Madam Qin and Qin Su's Mama/Kun Jing's older sister).

"Qin ShànYuè" with "Shan" meaning "kindhearted, good hearted, able" and "Yue" meaning "good, happy, pleased". (Aka, Sect Leader Qin, Qin Su's daddy, and one of Jin Guangshan's best friends/closest allies- if you remember canon).

a-Ding and a-Tong are both MXTX characters, if you remember from the novel, they're the servants who bully Wei Wuxian in Mo Xuanyu's body, shortly after his reincarnating.

As a disclaimer: I don't really know much about funeral rites or fashion/clothing, so, artistic license? Grain of salt? Also, lots of times the names in this story should probably have accents of some kind, I'm just not really sure how to type them without copying and pasting each time? So, apologies...

"There is None Who" is alternative definition of the family name "Mo".

I hope yall liked the new update! What did you think? :D As always (nicely phrased) critique is welcome, and comments feed authors! "A Mother's Love" is now part of a series (on AO3, no new content posted yet)! But more bonus content to come.

Next update: April 9th That's right people, I wrote ahead ;) Next Chapter: "The Hunt: Into the Woods We Go".

Thanks for reading!

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