Once Jian washed the impurities off of himself he found that his skin was glowing with renewed health. The vibrant display was the hallmark of one who had finished tempering their skin. Fortunately, the adhesive that he had acquired for his disguise was strong stuff. No matter how youthful he looked when he woke up in the morning, after applying his disguise he once more looked the part of an old man.

Shan took the reins for their entrance to the capital. Jian intended to let him do the talking on the way in. As it turned out, though, he had overthought things. The capital was protected by an imposing wall, but the gates were wide open. Ordinary travelers were free to move in and out as they pleased. The guards posted on the wall kept an eye on them, but that was all.

After they entered, Jian saw a courtyard off to the side. A merchant caravan had been detained, and customs officials were busy burrowing through the goods they were bringing to market. He supposed his own personal belongings were beneath the government's notice.

Jian had heard stories of the capital. He had thought most of them to be overblown exaggerations. Now that he was seeing the capital for himself, he realized that the stories had been toned down from the truth.

The streets were broad and well paved. The people happy and well dressed. Most impressive, though, was the Imperial quarter. It was off-limits to those who didn't have business with the government, of course, but as soon as they drove through the outer gate Jian could see the Imperial buildings reaching up for the sky in the distance.

These were not simple stone towers of the sort that had been built around Bianjing Town to guard against beast incursions. These soaring spires had been made with an artistry and craft that Jian usually expected to see in a painting or sculpture, not a government building. Jian itched to get a look at the formations supporting such magnificent structures, but it was an idle dream: he was beneath the notice of the people who were beneath the notice of the people who controlled access to such things.

As they moved further into the capital the buildings around them grew ever larger and more luxuriously decorated. Shan had to stop to ask for directions a few times, but it seemed that everyone they spoke to knew the way to the Wang family compound. It was a sign that the family's fortunes had completely escaped from the pit that had trapped them during Jian's childhood and now were poised to ascend to the sky along with Meirong's progress.

They soon arrived outside the gate of a wall that stretched the entire length of a city block. Shan handed the guards a letter that Jian had prepared. Jian kept an eye on the gate as he settled in to wait for it to be delivered and read. Much to his surprise, an elegant maidservant approached them in less time than it would take to brew a pot of tea.

"Please follow me," she said. Jian and Shan hastened to comply, leaving their humble cart looking out of place in the magnificent entry courtyard and following her inside. They passed through a receiving room and down a long hallway to wait before an imposing wooden door.

The maidservant knocked, once. There was a muffled instruction from inside that Jian didn't quite catch. It seemed to be favorable, as she opened the door and ushered them inside. There they found the Wang patriarch sitting behind a writing desk, a pile of correspondence shoved to the side to give Jian's missive pride of place.

The patriarch gestured for the maidservant to leave. He waited until she closed the door, leaving them alone, then stood. Jian watched with some trepidation as the old man drew close, staring at him the whole time.

"If I hadn't read your letter, I wouldn't believe it was you," he said. "You look older than me."

"Only because you look so young," Jian said. He patted at the wrinkles on his face, smiling sheepishly. "I'm afraid I've become an eyesore to the Heavenly Sword Sect."

He was, naturally, interested in staying in the old man's good books, but his words weren't empty flattery. The Wang patriarch was an accomplished cultivator, able to keep his family alive and rebuild after they were nearly destroyed. He had proceeded far enough along the path that his body had more or less stopped aging. A touch of grey at his temples was the only visible sign of his age. A mortal seeing him on the street would take him for a man in his thirties or perhaps early forties.

He waved a hand dismissively. "The sects grow more arrogant by the day. What happened?"

Jian related the story of his interactions with Tingfeng in summary fashion. When it came to the nature of the poison and his own improbable survival, he only mentioned that he was fortunate enough to have recently completed a new device that allowed him to neutralize the poison. He could see a glint in the old man's eyes when Jian glossed over the details, but he didn't press for more. It was bad form to interrogate a craftsman on the secrets of his work.

In the end, when Jian described how he had managed to turn the tables on Tingfeng, the old man roared with laughter.

"Good, good!" he said, hitting the table for emphasis. "That one has always been far too full of himself. He needed to learn some humility."

"I hope he suffers a bit more than that," Jian admitted.

"The sect will make sure of it," he replied. "If not, this old man might need to have a word with them. It's bad enough that they meddle in affairs that are not their own. The least they can do is accept the consequences of failure."

Jian smiled. He knew that most of the old families had little love for the sects, but he wasn't sure if that would hold true for the Wang family, with Meirong enjoying such a prominent role in the Heavenly Sword Sect. It was a relief to find the old man coming down so firmly on his side.

"Even so," Jian said, "our engagement and this coming duel are causing a great deal of trouble."

"You should cause some trouble while you're young," the Wang patriarch said, sounding more like the friendly grandfather in Jian's memories than he had since they'd entered. "When you're an old man like me, that's when you should settle down and be responsible."

"Even so," Jian said, "my father is willing to set aside the engagement, if you agree."

His father was willing to cancel the engagement even if he didn't agree, but Jian didn't feel it was wise to mention that at the moment. For that matter, he didn't intend to ever take his father up on his offer. Jian had caused the problem and he would solve it or bear the consequences.

The Wang patriarch frowned, now looking every inch the leader of a prominent family. "This old man's words, once spoken, I can't take them back."

Jian grit his teeth in frustration, but forced himself to relax before he responded. "I understand."

It was disappointing, but he'd known it was unlikely he'd get a positive answer the first time that he asked. Aside from the loss of face involved in setting aside a solemn agreement, a cultivator needed to live his life in accordance with his principles if he wanted to achieve greatness. It was all too common for a cultivator who was forced to go back on his word to subsequently experience a catastrophic cultivation deviation or even die.

He'd been hoping that under the circumstances the old man would be willing to be flexible, or would be able to find a loophole in his own principles. There was still time, though. Jian wouldn't harp on the issue, but the fight wouldn't be coming due for more than a year. That was more than enough time for a change of heart.

"You young people should sort things out by yourselves, anyways."

"I've tried my best," Jian said, "it didn't go very well."

"At least you convinced little Rong to compromise. That's more than I can manage, on most days."

Jian smiled sheepishly. Meirong had been a willful child. It wasn't a surprise to find that she had grown into a willful teenager. He was surprised that her grandfather was willing to let her get her way so often, but not shocked. She was his last living descendant and the future of their family.

"If you can talk her around," the old man continued, "and both of you agree, then the betrothal can be set aside."

"Oh?" Jian asked.

"Of course," he replied. "If you two can speak with one voice about your future, then naturally that is what will happen."

Jian smiled. This was the escape hatch that he needed. Meirong had gone all the way out to Bianjing Town to cancel their engagement. Getting her to say the same thing in front of her grandfather should be easy enough. The only trouble would be finding her.

"Is she coming home soon?" Jian asked.

Her grandfather sighed and shook his head. "She's off on some sect business, I'm afraid."

Jian nodded.

"She has a bright future, that girl, but it means that she has to work hard," he said. "For those to whom much is given, much is expected."

"I see," Jian said.

"Of course, you are both welcome to stay here as long as you like," he said.

"Thank you," Jian said. "That is very generous of you."

"Bah," the old man said, waving a hand dismissively. "You're practically family."

Jian had a little trouble keeping a friendly smile on his face. Once it was true that he and Meirong were on track to become a family, but that future had been destroyed by his own lack of ability. It hurt for her grandfather to poke at that wound, even if he didn't mean any harm by it.

"Don't worry about the sect," he added. "They might act high handed out in the wilderness, but I'd like to see them try and defy me in my own home."

That was a relief. Jian would appreciate having a few days or weeks in which he didn't need to worry about donning a disguise. Moving out of the capital without the sect catching on was a problem that he was happy to leave for the future. If he was lucky, he and Shan could stick around long enough for Meirong to return and end this farce of an engagement once and for all.

In the meantime, he could get some work done bringing his creations from the page onto his work bench.