Underneath A Thousand Skies ✔️

68 Foster Son, Don't Be So Crazy (5)

Song Jia woke up to the sound of boots thudding and chains clinking.

The sky outside was gray, neither day nor night. The humid air was filled with the sour smell of smoke and boiled grain. A single horn blew from the watchtower, long and hollow, like a dying animal.

Blinking against the haze, she rubbed her eyes. Everyone else was already up, their thin shadows moving in order, heads bowed, lining up toward the door. The straw mattresses were still warm from the bodies that had left them.

Leaning by the doorway was Nian Shou. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, but his eyes missed nothing.

"Don't cut in line. Don't push those in front. Wait for your turn."

His voice was calm and practiced. It was the tone of someone who had learned to command through cruelty.

One of his chubby minions was acting like an enforcer, hitting those who didn't obey his words. He struck the slow ones, each slap of wood against flesh echoing in the cramped barrack.

Song Jia hurriedly stood up and walked towards the end of the line. When it was her turn to get out, Nian Shou flashed her a smile. The smile wasn't kind; it was the sort that suggested amusement at something only he understood. Song Jia nodded at him and followed the rest of the slaves as they got segregated into different groups.

Outside, the camp was a sprawl of mud, tents, and smoke. Iron cages hung from poles like warning signs, each with a shape inside that no one dared to look at. The rising sun barely broke through the morning fog, painting everything in a dull bronze hue.

Today, the Lady Commandant had passed through.

Her presence lingered in the way soldiers stood straighter and spoke less. Her patrol earlier had been silent—armor of lacquered obsidian plates, shoulders marked with a crescent sigil devouring a star. Her gaze had swept over the ranks like a blade across throats.

After she left, no one dared relax.

A foot soldier outside was handing out white bands with letters followed by numbers on it for temporary identification. Children were directed toward the storage sheds, their thin arms wrapped around planks heavier than their torsos. Women and girls were sorted to kitchens, laundry, sewing halls—work that was necessary, skilled, and supervised by senior attendants.

Some were separated again....toward a building of painted screens.

The flower house.

Where the Lady Commandant chose companions for her favored soldiers or male kin. No one entered without her order. No man touched without her permission. And the honor was double-edged—soft beds, better food, silk robes... and a cage of darkness and lust.

Song Jia knotted the white band that read 'FQ748' around her arm. The ink was still damp, the rough fabric itchy against her skin.

"Wait."

Just before Song Jia was about to step forward to receive her assignment, Nian Shou held her back. His eyes crinkled into a smile, and then wiped his hand the was full of dirt across her face. Song Jia blinked at him stupidly.

"That's better," he said, before he walked away.

"What..." Song Jia began, before the foot soldier's booming voice called for her to step forward. She shook her head, and decided not to mind him.

The foot soldier studied Song Jia for a minute longer than the rest of the slaves. Finally, in a voice that had a hint of disappointment, he said, "Needlework."

As Song Jia walked away, she realized that Nian Shou had actually helped her. This body was called 'Jia' for a reason. Even the soot she applied couldn't hide her beautiful features. If not for the dirt that made her look revolting, she would certainly be assigned to the flower house. But why did Nian Shou help her?

Regardless of his reason, Song Jia didn't have any plans to obediently do her chores in the first place.

The sewing room was a low, dim structure that stank of wet cloth and oil. Women hunched over wooden frames, stitching uniforms under the eyes of a bored guard. While the guards that were keeping a watch on the sewing workshop were distracted, she took the chance to look for Xiang Feng.

Song Jia threw the sewing needle that she was holding into the ground. From Jin Jia's memories, she knew that iron was bad for this body. Steel, which most needles were made of, was an alloy of iron. She could not risk harming the original host again.

Song Jia used her anti-gravity boots to sneak to to the storage shed. There were many children there, carrying wooden planks that looked heavier than their own weight. One was so small he had to drag his piece through the dirt, leaving a crooked trail behind.

She bit her lip, and continued her search for Xiang Feng.

She looked at all the faces of the children there and had not found a single one with a burn scar on the left side of his face. Song Jia frowned, and drummed her fingers on the branch of the tree that she was leaning against. Where could that child be?

After two hours of hiding and watching, she saw nothing. Xiang Feng wasn't there.

With a sigh, she retreated to the barrack. The air inside was cooler, filtered through cracks in the timber. Nian Shou sat cross-legged on his mattress, reading a small, worn book. His dagger lay within reach.

Song Jia sneaked behind him.

Without giving him time to react, she spun around, and gave him a quick, light axe kick on the top of his head. He soundlessly face-planted on his mattress, knocked out cold.

Song Jia looked down at him with a smug expression. The past six months she had spent being a rice weevil [1] had not been in vain. Song Jia decided that if she had learned martial arts before her first transmigration, she would have managed to hold off those shadow guards and live long enough to become Zhao Cheng's Empress. So, deciding to correct this mistake, she decided to learn martial arts as well.

She had kicked Nian Shou in his bai hou, an acupuncture point that was located at the top of a person's head. Song Jia unwrapped the white band around her arm and tied it around his mouth, before using the most basic of jujitsu techniques to pin him down.

By the time Nian Shou woke up, he was trussed up like a chicken with Song Jia twisting his joints until he cried out in pain.

"Mmf!"

He tried to struggle, but the more he did, the more Song Jia pushed his arm into the wrong direction.

"Mmff!"

Seeing that he got the hint, Song Jia finally stopped.

"Do you know a child with a burn scar on the left side of his face?"

He glared, stubborn as ever. She gave his arm another gentle torque, enough to make the joint crack.

"Mmf—!"

"I'll take that as a yes."

Nian Shou's glare became fiercer. But he reluctantly nodded his head.

"Good." She released the pressure and smiled. Then she grabbed his dagger from the floor and tossed it across the room, where it landed point-first in the wall.

"Lead me to him."

[1] means freeloader, sponger.