The early morning mist had not yet lifted from the valley when Lu Yan arrived. The rising sun cast long shadows across the grass, and in the heart of the clearing stood a solitary figure in white—Li Yang, his robes rustling softly in the breeze. His calm, composed presence felt out of place amid the wildness of the valley, like an artist's brushstroke on an unfinished canvas.
Across from him, Lu Yan stepped forward, dressed in red robes that caught the wind like a blazing flame. Her eyes were sharp, her grip on her sword tighter than usual.
"I won't go easy on you this time," she warned, her voice clipped and cold. "Unsheathe your sword. You might not get another chance."
Li Yang met her gaze, still smiling gently. His sword remained in its sheath, resting loosely in his hand. "I can't," he replied calmly. "This sword is not meant to be drawn casually. But you may come at me freely. Just… remember to listen. Not to me—but to your sword. Ask it what it wants. Ask yourself what you want. That is the first step to breaking your bottleneck."
Lu Yan narrowed her eyes. "You talk like a master, but you're just a mortal. Don't pretend you understand the sword."
But despite her anger, she moved into stance. She had tried everything—weeks of closed-door cultivation, hours of grueling sparring—yet the barrier remained. A tiny crack in her sword intent she couldn't pass. And this boy, strange as he was, had exposed it with frightening clarity the last time.
Elder Su had warned her not to return. Yet here she was.
With a sharp exhale, she launched forward.
Her sword moved like flowing fire, each strike an extension of her will. Slashes, thrusts, feints—she executed them with precision honed through years of training. Yet no matter how fast or how fierce, Li Yang parried each attack with nothing more than the hilt of his sheathed blade. One hand, effortless.
Frustration rose within her like a storm.
She growled and pushed harder, her pride driving her to force him into seriousness. But Li Yang moved like drifting cloud, always present but never struck. He was reading her like an open scroll.
Finally, after an hour of ceaseless strikes, Lu Yan dropped to her knees, her breath ragged. Sweat clung to her brow, her arms trembling. Her sword hung loosely in her fingers. Across from her, Li Yang hadn't even broken a sweat.
"You're still holding back," he said quietly as he approached. "Your sword hesitates because your heart does. You treat the sword like a weapon. But a sword can be more. It can be a companion, a path, a truth. If all it is to you is a means to kill, you'll never transcend."
Lu Yan didn't speak. She stared at the grass, trying to suppress the sting of defeat. His words echoed through her mind. There had always been something she couldn't grasp—something just out of reach. For the first time, she understood it wasn't her technique that lacked—it was her understanding.
Li Yang turned to leave, his white robes dancing in the valley wind. As he passed her, he paused.
"Come tomorrow," he said without looking back. "I have something for you. Maybe it'll help you break your chains."
She didn't respond. She couldn't.
The valley grew quiet as he walked away.
Lu Yan sat there as the wind carried away her breath, her thoughts, and something more intangible—her pride. As her mind cleared, the sword in her lap began to hum. Faint sword aura radiated from her body. The leaves nearby were sliced in half as they brushed against the invisible blade around her.
Her eyes slowly opened, a new light glinting within them.
Elsewhere…
In the Yun Family compound, a young man in blue robes stood at the center of a stone courtyard. Yun Han, the proud genius of the Yun family, radiated saber intent so intense it fractured the earth beneath his feet. A satisfied elder looked on, confidence gleaming in his eyes. With Yun Han, they would dominate the tournament.
Elsewhere, a boy from the Zhang family meditated in silence. His black robes flowed as he hovered above the ground, wind swirling gently around him. He was the rising star of his clan, already grasping the wind's elusive nature.
They thought they were the ones to watch.
They had no idea.
A boy with a sheathed sword, standing alone in a forgotten valley, was already moving the pieces.
And soon, their world would change.