The musician turned fully, eyes bright but unreadable. "I'm sorry… do I know you?" Her voice was soft, melodic, and entirely composed, carrying no hint of the festival's memories.
Roulan's stomach fluttered. She forced a small, nervous smile. "I'm Roulan… from the Jingshou gathering. You played the guqin at the festival last week—your music… it was unforgettable."
Recognition flickered across Yunhe's face, faint but unmistakable. She inclined her head ever so slightly, the calm smile returning. "Ah… Roulan, yes. I remember now." Her tone was gentle, almost distant, yet attentive, like sunlight reflected on still water.
Roulan let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, feeling her chest tighten in awe of the tall, serene figure before her. "It… it was beautiful," she murmured, unable to find more words.
...
The training grounds were alive with the quiet hum of anticipation. Morning sunlight poured over the stone-paved courtyard, turning frost into liquid gold and glinting on the newly forged swords that each disciple now held with careful reverence. Ling Xiuyuan walked among them, his presence calm yet luminous, as if the mountain itself bent around him in respect.
Nie Xiaohuan's grin was wide, almost boyish, as he tested the swing of his blade, humming softly to himself. His new sword, "Bingxue" (冰雪, Frost and Snow), responded to his will with a subtle resonance, the vibration of metal and spirit mingling as he lifted and twirled it with precise, reverent movements. Beside him, Roulan held "Qingfeng" (清风, Pure Wind) by the hilt, her fingers tracing the runes etched along its blade, murmuring its name. She moved in slow, deliberate steps, practicing stances, testing its responsiveness. The connection was tentative at first, then growing, and with each breath she drew, the sword seemed to answer, bending not to her hand but to her spirit.
Disciples laughed and exchanged small jabs, celebrating the moment they had long awaited. Swords clanged softly, humming in harmony with the wind as if the peak itself rejoiced.
Lianxiu lingered at the edge of the court, his hands empty. His eyes followed the arcs of steel, the gleam of sunlight on polished hilts, the satisfied smiles of his friends. A quiet heaviness settled on his chest. He had expected this day — to feel the weight of his own blade, to name it, to learn it — yet no sword had found him. He drew a slow, measured breath, forcing a small, grateful smile as he watched Xiuyuan moving among the younger disciples, offering pointers with a calm, encouraging gaze.
At least he had that. The time with Xiuyuan these past days had been precious — shared moments of quiet conversation, subtle glances that lingered a heartbeat too long. For that, he could be happy. But the empty space at his side, the absence of a sword to call his own, whispered to him in the quiet moments, a reminder that even joy could carry a shadow.
Nie Xiaohuan noticed him and stepped over, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Lianxiu," he said warmly, "don't worry. Your sword will come to you when the time is right. For now, just watch, learn, and enjoy this day. You've already grown so much."
Roulan nodded beside him, her voice gentle. "Yes. Every sword chooses its master when it's ready. You've got patience, skill, and a calm heart — any sword would be lucky to respond to that."
Lianxiu's chest felt a little lighter. Their words were soft, but they carried trust and warmth — a reminder that he was not alone, that he had friends who believed in him even when the path felt uncertain. He forced a small chuckle. "Maybe it's just waiting for the right moment," he murmured.
For now, he stayed on the edge, watching the others. The morning air was crisp, alive with possibility, the scent of steel and frost mingling with sunlight. Nie Xiaohuan and Roulan continued practicing nearby, their swords humming softly, occasionally glancing at Lianxiu with encouraging smiles. The warmth in their eyes eased the ache in his chest, reminding him that he was already part of this moment, already growing even without a blade of his own.
The day stretched long, filled with practice, laughter, and quiet hope. In the space between longing and contentment, Lianxiu took a slow, steady breath and whispered, almost to himself:
"Soon. It will come."
A few days later, the morning air in Jingshou Sect was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and frost as the disciples assembled in the main court. The usual rhythm of training and practice was interrupted by a rare summons: the masters of the sect stood before the assembly, and all eyes turned to Su Zhenyuan, the Sect Leader, who began to speak with measured authority.
"A new case has reached us," Su Zhenyuan intoned, his voice calm but resolute. "Villagers in the southern valley report a tree that haunts their village. Those who approach it have gone missing, and the elders claim it moves at night, whispering voices carried on the wind. The people are terrified, and it falls to Jingshou Sect to investigate."
Whispers ran through the disciples. A haunting tree? It sounded almost fantastical, but the fear in the villagers' reports was undeniable. Xiuyuan, standing slightly to the side as a senior disciple, met the Sect Leader's gaze, silently accepting the weight of responsibility.
"You will lead this investigation, Ling Xiuyuan," Su Zhenyuan continued. "Take two juniors with you. Assess the situation, investigate the phenomena, and ensure the safety of both villagers and disciples."
Xiuyuan inclined his head, expression calm but thoughtful. "Understood."
The selection of juniors quickly followed. Pei Yunsheng, consulted by Yue Lan, suggested Lin Wuyue. "Her swordsmanship is precise," Yue Lan agreed, "and though she is reserved, she is keenly perceptive. She will be a reliable companion."
Nie Xiaohuan, dependable and attentive, was naturally chosen as the second junior. Lianxiu, who had been standing quietly at the edge of the court, felt a pang of disappointment. He longed to accompany Xiuyuan, to confront the unknown, to prove himself. But without a sword, he was not eligible. He bowed politely with the others, masking the ache in his chest with careful composure.
Back in quarters.
"Xiaohuan," he said, voice gentle but earnest, "this is your first cultivation case. I know you'll do well. Focus, stay sharp, and… give it your all."
Nie Xiaohuan blinked, surprised, then nodded. "Thank you, Lianxiu. I'll do my best."
Roulan, standing nearby, added warmly, "Yes. You're ready for this. Trust yourself. We're proud of you."
Lianxiu's chest swelled with quiet happiness for his friend. He felt genuine joy for Nie Xiaohuan — the chance to grow, to face real challenges. Roulan's encouragement mirrored his own feelings; together, they watched as their friend prepared for his first real cultivation mission.
Nie Xiaohuan's eyes brightened at the encouragement.
Roulan smiled, nodding. "We'll be cheering for you."
Lianxiu felt a bittersweet mixture of longing and contentment. He wished he could accompany Xiuyuan, but seeing his friends entrusted with this responsibility brought him genuine joy. For a moment, the disappointment softened, replaced by warmth for those around him.
That night, Lianxiu, still restless, crept quietly toward Xiuyuan's room. He hesitated when he saw Wei Jingyan outside, leaning casually against the wall.
He was about to retreat, but Jingyan's low, amused laugh stopped him.
"Go ahead," Wei Jingyan said softly, voice teasing. "He's inside."
Lianxiu scratched the back of his head, gave a shy, bowing smile to Wei Jingyan leaving, and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him.
Inside, the calm presence of Xiuyuan brought him a quiet comfort. Even without a sword, simply being nearby eased the ache of exclusion, letting him feel part of the world of action, care, and growth. Outside, the wind whispered through the pines, carrying the distant promise of the haunted valley and the silent determination of a young disciple, ready to grow in courage, patience, and skill — sword or no sword.