Matriarch Feng did not escort Kenji to his new post. That task, unworthy of her time, was delegated to a middle-aged man with stooped shoulders and an expression of perpetual exhaustion named Lao Chen. As he led him through a network of service corridors, each more narrow and dark than the last, the splendor of the main mansion faded like a dream. The air grew heavy, thick with the smell of boiled laundry, cooking grease, and the sweat of many toiling in a confined space.
"Listen, kid," Lao Chen said in a low voice, without looking at him. "I saw how you stood up to the Matriarch. You've got guts, or you're an idiot. Around here, both can get you killed. See that man over there with the limp? He tried to keep an extra peach from the kitchen last week. Now he cleans the latrines for a month and has a new limp to remember it by. Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and do your work. Maybe then you'll last long enough to see winter."
The servants' dormitory was a long, low-ceilinged room, lined with rows of rough wooden cots that left barely enough space for a narrow central aisle. At Kenji's entrance, what little conversation there was died out. He was met by a wall of silent stares. They saw a lanky teenager, with eyes too serious for his age and clothes that were little more than rags. A burly, sullen-faced man who was mending a shoe looked him up and down and spat on the floor.
"Well, look what the tide dragged in," the man said with a sneer. "Another dry stick to warm the stove."
Kenji didn't respond. He simply walked toward the empty cot Lao Chen had pointed out in the far corner. The burly man, clearly looking for a reaction, stuck out a leg, blocking his path. Kenji stopped, his gaze dropping to the leg and then rising back to the man's face. There was no fear in his eyes. No anger. Just a quiet assessment.
A provocation. Typical behavior to establish dominance in a low-level hierarchical structure. His stance is aggressive but unstable, too much weight on his back leg. A simple feint would unbalance him. However, a physical conflict right now is a net loss of resources and political capital. The optimal response is non-response.
With an unexpected fluidity, Kenji simply stepped around the outstretched leg, not even brushing against it, and continued toward his cot as if the obstacle had never existed. The burly man was left with his leg in the air, looking like a complete fool. A couple of younger servants stifled a chuckle. The man retracted his leg, his face flushing with anger and humiliation. Kenji had already sat down on his cot, his back straight, completely ignoring the drama he had just defused.
His supervisor arrived shortly after. He was an older man with sun-leathered skin and hands like tree roots, named Lao Wang.
"You're the new one," he croaked, looking Kenji over as if he were an odd specimen in a collection. "Matriarch Feng sometimes sees things that aren't there. To me, you just look like another useless mouth to feed. Follow me."
Lao Wang led him to one of the vast outer courtyards. It was enormous, surrounded by majestic maples and ginkgos, and was covered by a thin layer of fallen leaves. He handed Kenji a heavy, poorly balanced broom.
"This courtyard is your job. It eats boys like you alive. I want to see it spotless before noon. Every leaf, every pebble. Prove me wrong… though I know you won't."
With that, he left, leaving Kenji alone in the vastness of the courtyard. Kenji didn't feel the burden of the work. He felt the challenge.
So this is the first project. The supervisor expects me to fail, to exhaust myself using brute force. It's a test of stamina. But they're measuring the wrong metric. This isn't about endurance, it's about efficiency.
Instead of starting to sweep, Kenji stood still in the center of the courtyard. He rested the broom on the ground and simply observed. The burly man from the dormitory, Xiong, walked by with a pair of empty buckets and stopped to jeer.
"What's the matter, beanpole? Is the broom too heavy for you? Maybe if you ask it nicely, the leaves will sweep themselves!"
Xiong laughed at his own joke and went on his way. Kenji ignored him completely. His mind was busy.
He sees laziness. I'm gathering data. The wind… it's not an obstacle, it's a tool. A steady current flowing from the northeast toward that corner. Why would I push against a free resource? That would be stupid.
He observed the trees, noting that the large ginkgo was the primary source of "waste production." He watched the clan's disciples, in their impeccable robes, cross the courtyard on the central path, moving with an air of purpose and arrogance.
That path is the "executive corridor." It must be the top priority. It must be pristine. The edges are secondary, maintenance areas. Applying the same standard to the entire courtyard is a waste of time and energy.
After nearly an hour of what looked like absolute idleness, Kenji finally picked up the broom. But he didn't sweep the way everyone expected. His movements were strange, almost like a dance.
"Look at the madman!" exclaimed one of the laundry maids to her companion. "He's dancing with the broom!"
He wasn't dancing. He was executing a plan. He started on the northeast side, using short, light sweeps to lift the leaves and let the wind carry them toward the opposite corner. Then, he cleared the central path with almost surgical precision, pushing all the debris toward the edges. Finally, he swept the edges with quick, broad strokes, gathering everything into a single, neat pile in the southwest corner.
He finished the job in just over two hours. The courtyard was immaculate. And he was barely sweating. He sat down in the shade to wait, conserving his energy. News of the "weird sweeper" spread in whispers among the service staff.
Shortly before noon, Lao Wang returned, a scowl on his face, expecting to find a half-finished job. He stopped in his tracks. His eyes, accustomed to mediocrity and half-hearted effort, widened. He scanned the stone expanse. Not a single leaf was out of place. He walked along the center path, even stooping to look closely at one of the flagstones. Spotless.
He looked at Kenji, who was sitting calmly.
"You… How…?" Lao Wang began, cutting himself off, unwilling to admit his utter confusion.
"The job is done, Supervisor," Kenji replied calmly, getting to his feet.
Lao Wang looked from the enormous, pristine courtyard to the thin teenager who looked like he had just been for a walk. He was visibly baffled. The ease with which Kenji had succeeded where so many others had failed was unnatural.
"Hmph," he grunted, the only response his pride would allow. "Don't just stand there like a lump. Go to the kitchens and help peel potatoes until dinner."
He turned to leave, but then paused.
"And tomorrow… I want this courtyard just as clean. We'll see if today was just luck."
He walked away, leaving Kenji alone. The veiled threat was, in fact, a compliment. It was an acknowledgment of a result he couldn't explain.
He doesn't understand. He sees a clean courtyard; I see a successful systems test. He thinks it might be luck. Tomorrow, I will provide him with repeatable results. Consistency is the foundation of credibility. This is how you build trust in an organization. One optimized process at a time.
The first day wasn't over, but his first project had been a resounding success. He had set a new standard. Now, he had to prove it wasn't a fluke. He had to make it the new acceptable minimum.