Yang the kid rubbed his eyes open. Seeing the faint light filtering through the paper window, he threw off his blanket and started to get dressed.
CREAK… The kitchen door swung open. He walked over to the water vat and peered inside. Deciding there wasn't enough, he picked up a carrying pole with two empty wooden buckets and headed out the door.
The senior brothers and sisters will need to wash up when they wake, and I still have to cook porridge. This little bit of water isn't enough.
As a Daoist Boy at Qingfeng Daoist Temple, despite being only ten, Yang the kid was proficient in everything from cooking and laundry to mending clothes. He even knew a little about the medicinal properties of some alchemy materials.
These skills had been forced upon him. Those who failed to learn them were already dead.
In that gloomy, sunless Daoist Temple, the one thing he had learned was that a person must be useful. Useless people were trash.
