“Meigui,” their foundling insisted, muffled by Wen Qing’s robes. “Why do you have to keep talking to bad men?”
Stroking coppery hair, Wen Qing gave him a look.
Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow right back. Why was Meigui only wanting to speak Jianghu his fault?
All right, technically the fact that she could speak it so well this quickly was his fault. But who could resist such a lonely little face? She was scared enough already surrounded by strangers, though Granny and Wen Ning were working on that. On top of that they had horses. Big, trained but sometimes nervous horses, handled by people who didn’t all know horses no matter how hard they were trying. It was better for everyone if Meigui understood stop no matter what language it was shouted in.
Not to mention the minor little detail that Meigui already had at least one spirit root, and a few open meridians, and Rethwellan didn’t even have a word for those. Or golden core. Or even qi itself. Something had to be done.
And that was such an odd pattern for meridians to open in. One main grouping, the rest so thin her system might never have cleared. We need to have her meditating regularly, so she can circulate her qi and open all her meridians properly. That’s hard enough to explain to tiny disciples even when we all speak the same language!
And at least in Jianghu their foundling would call herself Rosebud instead of Thorn; after the dried méigui Wen Qing used in her first dose of qi-cleansing tea. It had to be better for a child to want to be something that healed, rather than a weapon to rip and tear and bleed.
Wei Wuxian knew wanting to be a weapon, to hurt those who’d hurt you; hurt you so deeply you weren’t sure you wanted to live. From the flickers she’d shared of her memories, the bandits had known she was special. That her family had been taking her to Valdemar, to some kind of school for medical training. She’d been valuable, so they’d kept her alive. The rest of her family – hadn’t been.