Fang Han worked as a slave in the Fang Clan, and his sole duty was to tend to the horses—specifically, to raise a famous steed named Thousand-Mile Snow for the clan's Second Young Lady.
Horse tending was grueling work. He had to get up in the dead of night to replenish the feed, and caring for a prized steed came with even more rigid rules. On any normal day, Fang Han would have been up early brewing soybean milk for Thousand-Mile Snow, mixing it with eggs and various premium grains for the horse's meal, then leading it to the training ground for a stroll to aid digestion, all while waiting for the Second Young Lady's arrival.
But this morning, he'd been so engrossed in spying on the martial arts practice in the inner compound—so captivated by Giant Spirit Hand Fang Tong's exposition on the secrets of the Physical Body Realm and the Mystic Power Realm—that he'd let his most important task slip his mind.
Sure enough, when Fang Han hurried to the stable yard, he saw his beloved Thousand-Mile Snow being ridden by a woman of icy elegance and regal bearing.
Flanking her stood maidservants and imposing guards, and nearby, several young men and women on horseback exuded a bright, formidable aura—clear signs of their impressive cultivation levels.
"Fang Han! You've courted disaster of the worst kind! Hurry and kneel before the Second Young Lady to beg for mercy!" An old man scurried over the moment he spotted Fang Han, roaring at him furiously.
This was the head steward of the Fang Clan's stables.
"I don't care what your excuse is!" the steward snapped. "Delaying the Second Young Lady's plans is a capital offense. Your father taught you how to be a proper slave from the day you were born—have you forgotten that your master's business comes before everything else?"
"You're Fang Han, the one who tends to Thousand-Mile Snow?" A sharp voice cut through the air. A maidservant with raised, arrogant eyebrows strode over, and with a single swift motion, her hand clamped down on Fang Han's shoulder like an eagle seizing a rabbit.
Fang Han felt his entire body go rigid, as if bound by invisible ropes, and he was lifted off the ground effortlessly by the maid.
"That move—it's called Crane Claw Seizing Sand..." Fang Han thought, watching the maid's technique and strength closely, drawing on the martial arts knowledge he'd stolen over the past month.
Yet he didn't dare dodge—not even an inch. He knew that evading would only bring him instant, catastrophic retribution.
Thud!
Fang Han was hurled violently to the ground, his body throbbing with numb, aching pain.
"Kneel properly and answer when you're spoken to!" The maid kicked him roughly in the ribs.
"Are you Fang Han?" The voice drifted down from atop the snow-white, magnificent Thousand-Mile Snow, cold and aloof as the clouds above. It belonged to the Second Young Lady of the Fang Clan.
"Y-yes, this lowly slave is Fang Han," he replied, bowing his head deeply and gritting his teeth against the pain.
He knew this woman well—her name was Fang Qingwei, and she was ruthless. As a mere servant, the slightest hint of dissatisfaction from her could spell a fate far worse than a beating.
"You've taken good care of my Thousand-Mile Snow," Fang Qingwei said coolly. "It's clear you've put in the effort. But today, you shirked your duties. I don't care what your reason was. A slave's first and only purpose is to serve their master—that is the Fang Clan's rule, and the rule for all servants under heaven. This Thousand-Mile Snow is your life. You must guard it with your very existence. Do you understand?"
"Yes, this lowly slave understands!" Fang Han banged his head against the ground repeatedly, like a pestle grinding grain. He knew exactly how to behave in moments like this. "From now on, I will risk my life to care for the Second Young Lady's horse! So long as I live, the horse shall live; if the horse dies, I shall die with it! Please spare this lowly slave for his dereliction of duty today!"
As he kowtowed in abject terror, his eyes flickered upward, landing on the boot Fang Qingwei had planted in the stirrup.
The boot was pure white, inlaid with exquisite jade—delicate, luxurious, and utterly out of reach. Staring at that lofty boot, Fang Han thought: One day, I'll make others look up at my boots like this.
"Give him ten lashes. Let this be a lesson to him," Fang Qingwei said, waving a hand dismissively from her horseback.
"Yes, Young Lady!" One of the maids stepped forward at once, brandishing a whip and cracking it fiercely across Fang Han's back.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Fang Han's body convulsed with each strike, waves of searing pain shooting through his bones. The maid wielded the whip with brutal force—each lash sliced through the air with a deafening snap, as if it would shatter his very skeleton. But he bit down on his lip, refusing to cry out, cold sweat dripping from his forehead.
By the time the tenth lash fell, he could barely keep himself from collapsing to the ground.
"Thank you, Second Young Lady, for the disciplinary lashes!" he gasped, summoning his last ounce of strength to speak. It was an unwritten rule for servants—omitting this line would be taken as a sign of resentment, and the punishment would be far worse than a whipping.
"Good," Fang Qingwei nodded in approval from her horse. "I am a woman of clear rewards and punishments. You neglected your duties today, so you deserved the lashes. But you have cared for Thousand-Mile Snow faithfully—it is strong and vigorous, and you have never dared to embezzle its feed. For that, you shall be rewarded. Take this!"
A gleaming silver ingot sailed through the air from her hand, landing at Fang Han's feet.
The ingot was engraved with intricate flame patterns and marked with the words "Five Taels of Pure Silver"—undoubtedly official currency of the Great Li Dynasty.
Five taels was more than Fang Han earned in an entire year. It was a generous reward, indeed.
The horses of the Fang Clan ate better than most people—they were given ample eggs and soybean milk every day. Many stable hands secretly skimmed off portions of the feed for themselves, but Fang Han had never done such a thing.
This reward was Fang Qingwei's way of demonstrating her keen insight and fairness.
"Remember this—servants who err shall be punished, and those who serve well shall be rewarded. Remain loyal and dedicated to your master, and you will always be well taken care of," Fang Qingwei said, turning to the young men and women beside her. "Shall we depart? We must not miss the start of the hunt."
"The Second Young Lady truly governs with wisdom and fairness," one of the young men praised, having watched her handle Fang Han.
"When a household is large and the servants many, discipline must be maintained with strict rules," Fang Qingwei replied, her voice as cold and regal as ever. "It all boils down to four words: Combine Kindness with Authority. The key is knowing exactly how to balance leniency and severity."
With that, she and the others galloped away, their horses kicking up clouds of dust as they vanished like dragons into the distance.
"Wow, Fang Han! You really lucked out this time!" Once Fang Qingwei's entourage was gone, the other stable hands swarmed around him, eyeing the silver in his hand with undisguised envy. "Ten lashes for five taels of silver—what a steal!"
"Five taels? I'd take ten lashes for that any day!" another exclaimed.
"Who wouldn't? Only a fool would turn that down!"
"Fang Han, you're rich now! You have to treat us to a meal!"
Watching their eager, covetous faces, Fang Han sneered silently to himself: A few lashes and a silver ingot today… Tomorrow, it might be a knife to the throat and a lavish funeral.
"Of course I'll treat you all!" he said aloud, letting out a string of exaggerated groans of pain and twisting his face into a mask of agony. Limping heavily, he extricated himself from their clamor.
"If I ever master the Mystic Power Realm that Fang Tong spoke of," he thought as he stumbled back to his tiny, shabby hut, "I wonder if the Second Young Lady will still dare to lash me and then toss me a bribe? I wonder if our positions will be reversed—if I'll be the one holding the whip, and she'll be the one begging for mercy… then I'll toss her a silver ingot as a 'reward'?"
By the time he reached his hut, the sharp pain of the whip marks had dulled slightly. He clutched the five-tael silver ingot in his hand, understanding exactly what Fang Qingwei's little performance had been about. First, to prove she was fair in rewarding and punishing; second, to show she was sharp-eyed and observant, warning the other servants to stay in line; and third, to beat and then bribe him, ensuring he wouldn't harbor resentment and would remain loyal to her.
But Fang Han had hated this life of servitude for as long as he could remember.
It was a lesson his father had taught him in secret, in hushed whispers late at night: "Better to be a beggar than a slave."