"Faster, mutt!"
The slap came sharp across the back of her head. She staggered, caught herself, and shot the older girl a raged glare.
"Do it yourself, b*tch" she muttered under her breath.
Not loud enough to get hit again. Just loud enough for herself.
She bent over the bucket, hands red, knuckles cracked. The cold water stung, but she scrubbed harder, jaw clenched.
Inside, the brothel roared with noise.Cups slammed on tables.Girls squealed with fake laughter.Men yelled for more wine.
The stink of sweat, wine, and smoke poured out through every broken window.
She yanked the heavy bucket up. Water sloshed over the edge, soaking her sleeves. She hissed, tightening her grip.
"Oi, mutt! Bring firewood next!"
A guard at the back gate waved his jug lazily.She gave him a hard look. He didn't even notice.Of course not.
The other girls leaned in the doorway, watching her.
"She's still not sold?"
"Who'd want her? Look at those weird eyes."
"She's lucky. For now."
Bitter snickers.
She threw the bucket down harder than she needed to, making them flinch. Her glare snapped up — hard, sharp, icy.
The giggles stopped.
They disappeared back inside.
She turned, hauling the heavy bucket across the cracked courtyard. Her back ached. Her arms burned. But she didn't stop.
She reached the laundry line, hanging the wet sheets roughly. Her fingers were stiff, the too-thin thorn-worn robe useless against the night wind.
Above the rooftops, high on the mountain peak, the banners of the Longwei Military Academy rippled in the dark.Red silk. Gold dragons.
She snorted.
Power. Prestige. Glory.
Boys born to it, wrapped in it, crowned by it. What did they know of this life? Of scrubbing floors and biting cold and fists that left bruises?
Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms.
"Oi, mutt!"
A younger boy from the kitchens ran past, tossing her a half-eaten bun.
"Eat something before you collapse."
She caught it without looking, tore off a piece, and stuffed it in her mouth.It was cold, dry, but it was food.
She kept working.
Inside, she heard the mistress's sharp voice:
"We'll sell her soon. She's old enough."
"She's still strong," a man chuckled.
"She's got spirit," the mistress smirked. "That won't last."
Her hand froze on the laundry line.
Later, when the yard was empty and the drunken laughter dulled to a low hum, she leaned against the outer wall.
Her breath puffed white in the cold. Her fingers still trembled faintly — from cold, from exhaustion, and retained anger.
Her eyes lifted.The academy banners rippled softly in the night wind..
She hated looking at them.Even from this far - they taunted her with everything she could never have.Comfort. Respect. Wealth. Future.
Her jaw tightened. She turned away.
The brothel noise grew louder — laughter, curses, boots on old wood. She kept her head down and worked faster.
Later, when the yard finally emptied, she leaned against the wall, fists clenched. Her shoulders were tight, her arms and fingers trembling slightly from cold and exhaustion.
Her eyes flicked upward once more.
Those banners gleamed under the moonlight. So far away. So proud. So untouchable.
She snorted.
Let them keep their banners.Tomorrow, she'd still be here.Still scrubbing floors, hauling water, and scraping dishes.
Behind her, the brothel rattled on — doors slamming, girls shrieking, men bellowing.
She rolled her shoulders, exhaled once, and pushed away from the wall.
Work wasn't done yet.
She slipped through the back door, carrying a bucket to the kitchen.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sour wine.
Her nose wrinkled. Still, it was better than the freezing wind outside. The floorboards creaked under her bare feets. Girls giggled loudly, clinging to drunken men. The red lanterns overhead flickered, their light casting broken shadows across smeared faces and tangled clothes.
A girl in a faded red robe bumped her shoulder."Watch it, mutt."
She gritted her teeth and kept walking.
By the kitchen door, two older girls leaned against the wall, sipping from a stolen wine jug.
"She acts like she's too good to speak."
"She's too ugly to sell, that's why."
They laughed.
The mutt girl shot them a flat, hard glare."I can still hear you."
The snickering stopped, but the looks didn't.
Inside the main room, the noise swelled.A man slammed his cup on the table."More wine!"A girl stumbled, giggling, her powdered face streaked with sweat. Another swayed past, pressing herself against a merchant's chest, her robe slipping low over her shoulder.
The mutt girl didn't slow down. She kept her head down, weaving past the drunken debauchery.She wasn't allowed out here long — just enough to drop buckets, fetch wood, scrub spills.
A girl from upstairs caught her sleeve as she passed.
"Jealous, mutt?"
The mutt girl jerked her arm free without looking. "No."
The girl laughed."Don't worry. Your turn's coming."
In the corner, the house mistress sat cross-legged, counting coins.Her eyes flicked up briefly.
"Still not done, mutt?"
"No, mistress."
"Then move."
She returned to the back, hands clenched tight. She could hear the girls whispering behind her.
"She's like a stray dog."
"More like a rat."
"She should be grateful the mistress took her in and let her stay here."
Her jaw locked.She kept walking.
In the back hall, she passed the cracked mirror where the girls painted their faces. She glanced at her own reflection.
Too tall.Too skinny.Eyes too big, too light, too foreign-like.Nothing the men wanted.
Which was a good thing.
She shook herself and grabbed the firewood.She didn't care about looking pretty.She didn't care about their cheap dresses, their fake jewels, their painted lips.
She cared about getting through the night.
Near the stairs, a drunk man reached out, grabbing her wrist.
"Not bad…" he slurred.
Her eyes went cold. She twisted sharply, wrenching free, teeth bared.
"Not for sale."
The man blinked. Laughed. Wandered off.
She sucked in a slow breath, fists tight, face heated.
Tomorrow, it would be the same.