The training ground was little more than a cleared field behind the old stone house they had claimed for shelter.
Wild grasses brushed Xiao Lin's ankles, and the morning air was crisp and sharp, filled with the scent of dew and fresh earth.
Xiao Lin shivered slightly, wrapping his arms around himself.
He had never trained before.
Never been allowed to.
In his family's eyes, he had been a slave — a burden.
Not someone worth teaching.
Now, standing here with a wooden practice blade heavier than any kitchen ladle he'd ever wielded, he felt... foolish.
Across the field, the Marshal watched with arms crossed over his broad chest, face unreadable.
Yan Shuo, more relaxed but no less attentive, leaned lazily against a post.
"Alright," Sheng Long said curtly. "First form."
Xiao Lin swallowed and tried to remember the steps Sheng Long had shown him only once the night before.
Feet apart.
Blade up.
Strike down—
He tripped over his own sandals and landed flat on his back with a surprised yelp, the practice sword flying end over end into a bush.
There was a long, heavy silence.
Xiao Lin squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation, waiting for the inevitable sneer, the cold dismissal—
Instead, a loud, startled laugh rang out.
Not Sheng Long.
Not Yan Shuo.
His own.
He sat up, giggling helplessly at the absurdity of it all.
Sheng Long's lips twitched once — almost a smile — before he turned away, pretending to inspect a tree.
Yan Shuo clapped slowly and dramatically.
"Amazing form, really," Yan Shuo said dryly, strolling over to offer him a hand.
"Most soldiers don't perfect the art of flying swords until year three."
Xiao Lin blushed furiously but took the offered hand.
Yan Shuo hauled him to his feet with ease.
"Try again," Sheng Long ordered, voice gruff but not unkind.
And Xiao Lin did.
He stumbled. He slipped. He spun in the wrong direction once and nearly took out a very unfortunate bush.
But each time, he laughed, picked himself up, and tried again.
After an hour, Sheng Long barked something about "important patrols" and stalked off with purposeful strides, though Xiao Lin noticed he kept glancing back over his shoulder.
Probably to make sure he didn't accidentally stab himself.
When the Marshal was out of earshot, Xiao Lin collapsed onto a patch of soft grass, panting.
Yan Shuo sat beside him, tossing a small pebble between his hands.
"You're not bad," Yan Shuo said casually.
Xiao Lin snorted. "I'm terrible."
"No, you're new."
Yan Shuo shrugged. "There's a difference."
Xiao Lin pulled at the grass, frowning.
"I'll never be like the Marshal."
There was so much weight in those words.
Strong. Cold. Fearless. Unshakable.
Everything Xiao Lin wasn't.
Yan Shuo twirled the pebble thoughtfully, then flicked it with a snap of his fingers, sending it sailing into the bushes.
"Good," he said simply.
Xiao Lin blinked at him, confused.
"Good?" he echoed.
Yan Shuo grinned lazily.
"If you tried to be Sheng Long," he said, "you'd fail. Everyone would. Even I don't try to be him."
He leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky.
"The Marshal is... built for war. For command. He carries a kingdom on his back because no one else can."
He turned his head slightly to look at Xiao Lin.
"But you — you're different."
Xiao Lin hugged his knees to his chest.
"Different how?" he whispered.
Yan Shuo's gaze softened.
"You heal.
You endure.
You bring life."
He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"Don't waste time trying to be someone you're not.
The empire doesn't need another Sheng Long.
It needs a Xiao Lin."
The words landed heavily in Xiao Lin's chest, sinking deep.
Something warm unfurled there — a tentative, fragile kind of hope.
He nodded slowly, staring down at his hands.
Hands that had cooked, cleaned, healed — and now would learn to fight, too.
"I'll try," he said softly.
Yan Shuo clapped him on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted into the dirt.
"That's the spirit!"
Xiao Lin laughed and shoved him playfully, and for the first time in a long, long while,
he didn't feel alone.
Far across the field, Sheng Long watched them from the shadows of the trees, hidden and silent.
A strange tightness twisted in his chest as he saw Xiao Lin laugh — a real laugh — with someone else.
He turned away before he could understand what it meant.