Morning mist drifted over the training grounds, catching the light in pale ribbons. Frost still touched the grass, yet the clamor of young voices brought warmth to the air.The new disciples stood in neat rows, faces bright with awe and fear alike. Before them, the seven senior disciples of Jingshou Sect gathered in a half-circle, robes lined with silver thread and authority.
From the steps above, Master Yue Lan descended first — tall, striking, her blade glinting faintly at her hip. The younger disciples straightened at once. She moved like a gust of wind and spoke like thunder turned playful.
The laughter that followed eased the tension. Then came the seven seniors — familiar to every disciple in Jingshou Peak.
Ling Xiuyuan stepped forward first, bowing. "Shizun, Shibo." His tone was even, composed, the embodiment of discipline.
Behind him, Han Yuejian gave a firm nod. "It's been a while since we've seen a batch this promising."
Zhou Qingrong smiled faintly, arms folded. "Promising? I see more trembling knees than strong stances."Wei Jingyan stifled a laugh. "Maybe they're just cold, Shijie."
That earned him a withering look from Qingrong, which made Liu Shuhan laugh outright. "Don't tease them too much. We were worse, remember?"
Ruan Yue rolled her eyes with mock elegance. "Speak for yourself, Shuhan. I was perfect from day one.""Perfectly chaotic," muttered Chen Yuanqi, quiet but smiling.
Even Yue Lan couldn't hide a grin. "Ah, the seven jewels of Jingshou Sect. Try not to frighten the new sprouts with your brilliance."
At her signal, the training began. The new disciples were divided into groups — eight led by Xiuyuan's team, the rest overseen by the others. Among them, Shen Lianxiu, Nie Xiaohuan, and Qin Roulan stood together, already whispering mischief between forms.
"Hey," Roulan murmured, elbowing Lianxiu, "Ling Shixiong looks strict.""Strict?" Lianxiu grinned, twirling his wooden blade. "I'll make him laugh before the month ends."Xiaohuan sighed. "Or you'll get us punished before the week ends."
The first morning of training dawned silver-pale, mist curling between the pine trunks like slow breath. On the eastern terrace of Jingshou Peak, the air rang with the clean clash of wooden swords.
Ling Xiuyuan stood at the head of his group — eight new disciples lined before him, robes neat, faces taut with nerves. His expression was calm, unreadable, the faint glint of frost on his lashes catching the light.
"Before you wield a sword," he said, voice low yet carrying through the courtyard, "learn to stand still. The wind bends, but the mountain does not. Your stance is your will."
His tone was steady — neither harsh nor kind — and every disciple straightened as if the weight of his gaze alone commanded the spine to align.
At the far end of the row, Shen Lianxiu was already swaying slightly, trying to peek around Roulan's shoulder. When Xiuyuan's eyes fell on him, he froze, grin halfway formed.
"Shen Lianxiu.""Y-yes, Shixiong!""If your sword foot wanders again, I'll have you practice balance on the cliffside.""…Understood, Shixiong."
A muffled laugh came from somewhere behind — one of the rival disciples, Lu Kang, smirking. His two companions, Su Min and He Yan, whispered something that earned a snort.
Roulan's sharp eyes darted toward them. "Ignore them," she muttered. "You'll only make it worse.""I'm not doing anything," Lianxiu whispered back — but his jaw tightened.
Nie Xiaohuan, ever the quiet balance between them, stepped forward slightly. "Ling Shixiong," he said respectfully, "should we demonstrate the stance again?"
Xiuyuan glanced at him, approving. "Do so."
Xiaohuan drew his practice sword with precise grace — smooth, flawless. The new disciples' chatter faded. Under Xiuyuan's silent watch, the boy moved like calm water, unbroken by ripples.
Then Lianxiu, determined not to look lesser, stepped forward next. He took position — too wide, too bold — and his foot slipped on a patch of frost.
He caught himself, grinning sheepishly, as the others snickered. "Ah—see? I was… testing the ground."
Xiuyuan's voice was quiet. "Testing my patience, perhaps."
The laughter died immediately. Even the wind seemed to hesitate. Then, unexpectedly, Xiuyuan's mouth curved — not quite a smile, but the hint of one. "Try again."
This time, Lianxiu did not slip. His movements were quick, raw, but full of a wild spark that made even Xiuyuan pause for a heartbeat. That energy — untamed, bright — reminded him of something he could not name.
Xiuyuan folded his hands behind his back. "Good. All of you — from first light till dusk, you'll repeat these stances. When you're steady enough to breathe without breaking form, you'll learn to strike."
The eight bowed deeply in unison.
As they dispersed to practice, Roulan and Xiaohuan shared a relieved glance — but Lianxiu, still glowing with mischief, looked toward his strict Shixiong again. The morning light traced Xiuyuan's calm face, and for a strange second, Lianxiu thought: he looks almost kind when he isn't scolding me.
Then Xiuyuan turned his head, met his gaze directly."Shen Lianxiu.""Yes, Shixiong?""Eyes on your sword, not me."Lianxiu grinned. "Yes, Shixiong."