The sound of footsteps made Silva open his eyes just in time to see Fal stop at the courtyard entrance, "Greetings, Uncle. I was wondering when you were going to come fetch me."
"Hmm, I put it off as long as I could. I know how much you value your solitude," Fal commented as he took a step onto the court path, "More than once I was tempted to stop by and check in on what progress you managed to make, but I see now that my input would have been unnecessary."
Fal stared pointedly at Silva's fingers, where countless strings of qi rose up into the air, weaving and interlocking to create something that looked like fabric. A great deal of it had pooled between Silva's crossed legs, nearly spilling over like a loose piece of cloth showing that he had been going for quite some time.
"Is the groundwork you've laid to create your technique?"
Silva nodded even as his qi continued to weave itself into an intricate pattern, "Perhaps it's too ambitious, but I believe that it's a worthwhile investment. If nothing else, it is a good exercise to practice my manipulation."
Rather intrigued by his nephew's work, Fal swept his senses over the spooling fabric and was pleasantly surprised, 'This is an actual stitch, and not a simple one at that. To accomplish such work with Qi alone is a praiseworthy feat.'
Reaching down, Fal pinched some of the fabric between his fingers and found it to be impossibly smooth and almost weightless, but there was no mistaking that the woven qi had begun to mimic the physical properties Silva no doubt desired.
While unshaped and formless, Qi would quickly disperse unless contained by some other means. But with structure and form, the rate of dispersal decreased drastically as the qi adopted the properties imposed upon it. Fal imagined that if Silva were to stop actively infusing his qi into the fabric, it would take several hours for it to dissipate.
"I would say that your efforts have been more than worthwhile," Fal said with an approving nod as he stood up, "Of course, this is only the first step, but I have no doubt that you plan to stop anytime soon."
"No doubt," Silva agreed before pausing, "But I believe that you aren't here randomly, and I recall the original timeline was three weeks until the Imperial Army arrived."
"They should arrive in a day's time, and it would reflect badly upon us if we are not prepared to welcome them," Fal replied with a small smile as he waved his
"What, am I not presentable?" Silva asked as he dismissed the qi spooling from his fingers, causing the entire length of fabric to slowly begin to come apart, forming a fine mist along the ground.
"Not in the slightest," Fal said with cutting edge to his voice, "While you may no longer perspire, you've still spent the last three weeks living like a hermit. There's also the small matter of your clothes being several sizes too small. I'm surprised you haven't ripped the seams yet."
"They are rather restrictive." Silva acknowledged as he flexed his arm, "Seems like something worth amending."
"Which is why I've come to fetch you," Fal sniffed, "The clan tailor is waiting in my hall, and I've come to learn that her fondness for punctuality matches her skill with a thread and needle."
"You seem…scared of her," Silva questioned as he stood up and retrieved a pair of shoes from his storage ring.
"Scared, yes, but not of her," Fal replied cryptically, "Over the years, I've noticed that there is a marked difference in quality depending on whether or not I am on time for my fittings."
"That is a rather bold policy to have," Sila commented, "Deliberately sabotaging the quality of her goods, especially when her clientele is of such a high standing."
Fal smirked, "It works when your skills dwarf all your competitors to the point where your average piece is comparable to their lifetime achievements. You'll understand soon enough. Now enough idling, we don't need to risk anyone seeing you in such a state."
"This is the first time I've seen you express such a concern over appearances," Silva commented even as he stepped up to walk alongside his uncle, "I am really so unsightly?"
"For a commoner, no, but for the son of a patriarch, yes," Fal quipped, "And no, it does not matter that you are illegitimate. Your father made it very clear early in your life that he saw you the same way he saw your brothers. Meaning that you have his backing, which is no small amount of power. However, that also means that you represent your father; your actions and your reputation will reflect back on him. Meaning that you should carry and present yourself accordingly."
"Then I'll make an effort going forward," Silva replied with a small dip of his head, "Though when it comes to proper etiquette and manners, I'm afraid I'm next to clueless."
"I have faith that you'll manage," Fal dismissed Silva's concerns with a wave of his hand. "Now enough talk, I suggest you start thinking about what kind of robes you wish to wear."
---
"So this is the elusive Young Master that has been causing such a stir among my seamstresses."
A smooth but elderly voice greeted Silva and Fal as they entered the elder's personal hall, a beautifully constructed manor that was nearly twice the size of Silva's old compound.
After taking in the room's architecture and decor, Silva's eyes fell on the woman who addressed him. The first thing that surprised him was the unmistakable sense of spirituality surrounding the woman; the second was her age. Tall and thin, with a head of snow-white hair pulled back into a tight bun without a single stray hair out of place. The two combined meant that the woman was most likely hundreds of years old.
"Yes, my dear nephew, Silva," Fal introduced with a grin, "As you can see, he has come in desperate need of a new wardrobe, and of course, there is no one more suited to such a task than the skilled Pinglu."
Instead of responding to Fal, Pinglu bowed towards Silva, "It is an honor to meet the Young Master Silva."
Silva smiled, "Please refer to me by name only, I find my honorific ill-fitting."
Pinglu smirked and glanced at Fal as she stood back up, "How novel. Is this your doing?"
"Why must I always be blamed?" Fal asked with an offended look.
"Hmm, you're right," Pinglu nodded as she looked back to Silva, "He looks far too humble to be influenced by your antics. A truly kind soul indeed then."
Fal let out an unimpressed grunt that Pinglu promptly ignored as she began to circle Silva, "Though I imagine that is not the impression many would receive just by looking at you. Were you perhaps fed entire oxen as a child?"
Silva didn't know how to respond; for most of his life, he had been rather unremarkable, physique-wise. But that was far from the truth now, as he towered over almost everyone by at least a foot and outweighed them by a hundred pounds of muscle.
"The last few years of training have been rather intense," Silva replied after a pause, "I am still getting used to the change myself."
Pinglu smiled knowingly, "No doubt, four years after a lifetime being confined to mortality would leave many struggling to adapt."
Silva blinked, wondering how Pinglu could know such details, when Fal clicked his tongue loudly, "Hmm, it seems that Ryula and Tenga have wasted no time setting the field."
"So the rumors are true, then, it truly only took you four years to reach the Second Realm?" Pinglu asked Silva with intrigue in her voice, who still didn't quite understand what was going on or how his second-oldest brother was involved.
"Yes, I was fortunate to have my uncle to guide me," Silva answered with a small dip of his head, only for Pinglu to shake her head as she stopped in front of him, "Humble and naive. Are you sure this is who you want to continue your legacy, Fal?"
Silva glanced over at his uncle, only to see him frown, "My nephew is not a vessel for my legacy. He walks his own path; my only purpose is to offer some wisdom that time has imparted to me. Nothing more, nothing less."
"I see," Pinglu replied, though Silva could tell that her interest had only grown as she regarded him with a considerate eye, "Then it seems that I'll need to be even more intentional with our time together. It would be a disservice to treat you as ordinary."
"I don't need special treatment," Silva insisted, only for Pinglu tisk as a roll of regularly marked twine appeared in her hands, "Nonsense, now hold out your arms. I need to take your measurements."