Assigned to Serve

Time passed and before I knew it, I was walking on my own.

The muscles in my legs no longer betrayed me, my balance steady. I could move freely around the room, small steps turning into confident strides. The feeling of control over my body, after what felt like an eternity of weakness, was exhilarating.

But it wasn't enough.

I could walk, I could speak simple words, but the world outside these walls still felt distant. Alien. My progress in learning the language was slow, frustratingly so. Each new word I picked up was like a drop of water in an endless sea of unfamiliarity.

I practiced constantly, repeating phrases in secret, piecing together the patterns of conversation whenever the woman spoke around me. But there were still gaps, things I couldn't understand. And every day that passed, the desire to learn, to know more, burned brighter inside me.

The atmosphere in the household began to change.

The woman—my mother—seemed more on edge than usual. Her movements were quicker, sharper, like she was trying to finish her tasks as soon as possible. She would glance at the door, her face tense, as though expecting someone to arrive.

It was clear something was about to happen.

I felt it in the air, the way the tension seemed to grow thicker with each passing day. Something big. Something important.

And then, one evening, he came.

The door slid open with a sharp sound, and a figure stepped inside, casting a long shadow across the room.

Immediately, the woman dropped to her knees, her forehead nearly touching the floor. Her entire body seemed to shrink as she bowed, and in that moment, I realized who the man in the doorway must be.

This was my father.

I had known of him, of course. I had heard the woman speak of him in hushed tones, though I hadn't yet been able to understand everything she said. But now, seeing him in person, the reality of his presence hit me with full force.

He was tall, taller than I had imagined. His long black hair was pulled back, and his robes were dark, embroidered with intricate patterns of snakes and shadows. His face was hard, sharp, and cold, devoid of any warmth. There was no softness in his features, no sign of kindness or compassion.

His eyes were dark, calculating, and when they landed on me, it felt as though they pierced right through me.

For a moment, there was silence. A heavy, suffocating silence that seemed to hang in the air like a weight.

"Jin Ma," he said, his voice low and commanding.

It was the first time I had heard my name spoken by him. It sounded foreign on his tongue, like it was a word he barely bothered to acknowledge.

The woman—the one who had cared for me all this time—spoke up, her voice trembling as she addressed him. "My lord... he has grown well. He... shows potential."

She glanced at me, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope, as if she was pleading for something. Something I didn't yet understand.

My father didn't respond immediately. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his eyes never leaving me. He was assessing me, judging me, and I could feel the weight of that judgment bearing down on me like a mountain.

He circled me slowly, his gaze sharp and cold, as though I were some kind of tool he was inspecting for flaws.

"Potential?" he repeated, his voice colder than before. "He is the son of a concubine. His only purpose is to serve."

The words were spoken so matter-of-factly, as though they held no weight to him. But to me, they felt like a slap.

Serve? That was all he saw me as? A tool? A servant?

I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. I didn't react outwardly, but inside, I could feel the anger boiling up. How could he dismiss me so easily? How could he look at me and see nothing more than a servant?

But I knew better than to show my emotions. I had learned long ago that showing weakness was dangerous.

The woman—the one who was supposed to be my mother—didn't give up. Her voice shook as she spoke again, though she kept her head bowed. "My lord... he is eager to learn. Perhaps, with the right training, he could..."

"No."

The single word cut through the air like a blade.

"He will not be trained," my father said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "He will serve."

He turned to face the woman fully now, his expression hard. "That is his role. He will not rise above his station. He will not lead. He will not become one of the heirs."

I could see the woman's shoulders slump, her head bowing even lower as she accepted his decision. She had hoped for more, I realized. She had hoped that I might be given a chance to rise, to become something more than what I was. But that hope had been crushed with a single word.

My father's gaze flicked back to me, and I met his eyes, refusing to look away.

"He will be an attendant," he said, his tone final. "A sparring partner for the heirs, if necessary. But he will never be more than that."

The air in the room seemed to grow colder as he spoke. The woman said nothing more, her silence an acceptance of his judgment.

And I... I stood there, feeling the weight of his words settle over me like a suffocating blanket.

Attendant. Sparring partner.

Nothing more.

I was being placed in a role far beneath what I had hoped for, far beneath what I knew I was capable of. But I didn't let my anger show. I couldn't. Not yet.

Instead, I nodded, my face emotionless.

If this was the role they wanted to give me, so be it.

But I knew, deep down, that this wouldn't be the end. I wouldn't stay in this role forever. I wouldn't remain a servant to the heirs, a tool for their training.

One day, I would rise above them all.

One day, it would be them who bowed to me.

After my father left, the room felt emptier than before. The woman remained kneeling for several moments longer, her head bowed, her hands trembling.

I watched her in silence, my mind racing with thoughts of the future.

She had tried to plead for me, but it hadn't worked. My father's decision was final. I would serve. I would be nothing more than an attendant, watching from the shadows as the true heirs trained and grew stronger.

But I wasn't content with that.

As the days passed, I began to understand more about the world I had been born into. The language became clearer with each passing day, and I started to pick up on conversations I hadn't been able to before. I listened carefully whenever the heirs spoke, memorizing their words, their movements, their techniques.

I was still young, still small, but my mind was sharp. I watched, I learned, and I waited.

They might see me as nothing more than a servant, but I knew better.

I was more than they realized.