The scent of rain-washed stone and cold mountain air filled the upper corridors of the *Midnight Blade Castle*. It was a crisp, early autumn morning, the sky outside the narrow windows a pale, watery grey. In the eastern wing, far from the main halls of power, *Lin Xiao* stood perfectly still in the center of her mother's sitting room, her bare feet planted on a worn silk rug.
She was ten years old today.
No banners hung in the corridors for her. No cooks prepared special sweets in the kitchens. The only acknowledgment was the subtle, profound focus in her mother's eyes.
"Again," *Li Hua* said softly, her voice a thread of sound in the quiet room. "From the root."
Lin Xiao closed her eyes. The world narrowed to the sensations in her body. The solid feel of the floor beneath her, the cool air on her skin, the steady, deep rhythm of her breath originating not from her chest, but from her lower dantian—the 'sea of Qi' her mother had taught her to visualize. For five years, this had been their secret world. The *'Rooting the Mountain'* stance was second nature now, an unshakable calm at her core. The *'Flowing Water'* steps had transformed from a child's game into a gliding, silent movement that let her navigate the castle's shadows. *'Morning Sun Breathing'* kept her mind clear and sharp, even when her father's cold gaze passed over her.
She opened her eyes, that clear winter-grey gaze now holding a focused intensity. She shifted her weight, her body moving through the first sequence of the *'Willow Bends in the Wind'*—a defensive, yielding form Li Hua had painstakingly reconstructed from her own faded childhood memories. It was not an attack. It was about redirection, about using an opponent's force against them, about surviving a storm unbent.
Lin Xiao's form was flawless. Her limbs, still carrying the leanness of childhood, moved with a poised grace that belied her age. Her black hair, usually left loose, was tied back in a simple tail, revealing a face that was losing its childish roundness, hinting at the delicate, determined beauty she would inherit from her mother. She wore a simple robe of undyed linen, practical for movement.
Li Hua watched, a complex knot of pride and dread tightening in her chest. Her daughter was a sapling grown in hidden shade, stronger than anyone knew. But the shade was thinning. Yan Mo's disinterest had been a protective blanket. Lately, however, she had caught him watching Lin Xiao on the rare occasions they were in the same hall—not with a father's eye, but with the assessing, calculating look of a man inspecting a tool.
"Beautifully done, Xiao," Li Hua said as her daughter completed the form and settled back into 'Rooting the Mountain,' her breath even. "Your balance is perfect."
A small, rare smile touched Lin Xiao's lips. It vanished as a heavy knock sounded at the outer door of their chambers. Not the gentle tap of a servant, but the firm, impersonal knock of a guard.
Li Hua's blood ran cold. She shared a swift, wary look with Lin Xiao, who immediately relaxed her stance, adopting the slightly slumped, unobtrusive posture she wore like a cloak in the castle. Li Hua smoothed her own simple blue robes and opened the door.
A senior steward stood there, a man with a face like etched stone. "Lady Li. The Lord requests the presence of you and the Third Young Mistress in the *Frost Hall* for the morning meal."
It was not a request. The Frost Hall was the family's formal dining chamber, a place Lin Xiao had entered fewer than a dozen times in her life, usually for awkward, silent feasts when distant relatives visited.
"Of course," Li Hua said, her voice steady. "We will attend momentarily."
The steward bowed stiffly and retreated.
As Li Hua helped Lin Xiao change into a more presentable robe—a dark green one with subtle embroidery at the cuffs—her hands trembled slightly. "Remember," she whispered, fastening the sash, "say little. Keep your eyes down. Eat what is before you."
"Is it because of my birthday?" Lin Xiao asked, her grey eyes searching her mother's face.
"I do not know," Li Hua admitted, her heart aching. "But be careful, my heart. Be very careful."
***
The **Frost Hall** lived up to its name. It was a long, high-ceilinged chamber with walls of polished, blue-veined marble that seemed to leach warmth from the air. A single, massive tapestry depicting a battle between legendary warriors covered one wall, the colors muted and dusty. A table of dark ebony, long enough to seat twenty, dominated the room. At its head sat *Yan Mo*.
He was already eating, methodically consuming a bowl of congee as if performing a duty. He did not look up as they entered. To his right sat *Lady Wen*, the second wife. She was a handsome woman in her late thirties, with sharp eyes and hair coiled in an intricate, severe style pinned with jade needles. Her robes were of rich plum silk, a stark contrast to Li Hua's modest blue. She watched their entry with a gaze that was neither warm nor hostile, but meticulously observant.
And to Yan Mo's left were the sons.
*Yan Kang*, now thirteen, had grown burly and broad-shouldered, already mirroring his father's imposing build. His face, set in a permanent scowl of adolescent arrogance, was dotted with the beginnings of acne. He glared at Lin Xiao with open contempt as she approached, not bothering to hide it.
Beside him, *Yan Jun* sat quietly. At eleven, he was taller but slimmer than his brother, with a thoughtful stillness about him. His eyes, a calm brown, flickered from his father to Lin Xiao and back to his bowl. He gave no sign of recognition, but his observation was total. He wore a neat grey robe, his hands resting lightly on the table.
No place was set for Lin Xiao. Li Hua guided her to two empty chairs halfway down the table, far from the head. A servant materialized to place simple bowls of congee and tea before them. The only sounds were the scrape of spoons against porcelain and the distant howl of the wind outside.
Lin Xiao ate as she had been taught: small, silent bites, her eyes fixed on the wood grain of the table. She felt the weight of the room, the unspoken hierarchies pressing down on her. She felt Yan Kang's glare like a physical heat on her skin. She felt Yan Jun's quiet attention like a soft, curious tap on her consciousness. But most of all, she felt the immense, chilling presence of her father at the head of the table, a vortex of silent power and decision.
After an eternity of silence, Yan Mo finished his congee. He set his spoon down with a precise *click* that echoed in the hall. He finally lifted his gaze, those flint-grey eyes sweeping down the table to land on Lin Xiao.
"Ten years today," he stated. His voice was flat, devoid of the warmth one might use for such a statement. It was merely a fact.
Li Hua's hand tightened around her teacup. Lin Xiao slowly raised her head, meeting her father's eyes for a fleeting second before lowering her gaze again. "Yes, Father."
"A decade is a significant span," Yan Mo continued, leaning back in his chair. "Time enough to outgrow the nursery. Time enough to begin repaying the castle for its shelter and sustenance."
Lady Wen took a delicate sip of tea, her expression unreadable. Yan Kang smirked. Yan Jun's spoon paused midway to his mouth.
Li Hua's breath caught. "My Lord, she is still so young—"
"Silence," Yan Mo said, the word not loud, but final. His eyes never left Lin Xiao. "The *Midnight Blade* does not coddle weakness. It forges strength. You have been… sheltered. That ends now."
He let the words hang in the cold air. Lin Xiao's heart began to pound, a frantic drum against her ribs, but her face remained still, a mask she had learned to wear.
"The *Abyssal Training Caverns*," Yan Mo announced, "have accepted a new cohort. It is a rare honor for a subsidiary clan to send a candidate. You will leave at week's end."
The world seemed to tilt. Lin Xiao had heard whispers of the Caverns—a dark, dreaded name mentioned by guards in hushed, fearful tones. A place where the sect's weapons were tempered. A place children went to and never returned from.
Li Hua made a small, choked sound. "The Caverns? My Lord, she is a *girl*… the training, it is said to be…."
"It is said to forge the finest assets the Abyssal Sect possesses," Yan Mo interrupted, his voice gaining an edge of impatience. "She will learn to be a proper asset to this castle. To contribute. This is not a punishment, daughter. It is an opportunity to become something of value. Your mother should be grateful."
The subtext was as clear as ice: *exile and disposal*. He was discarding the flawed tool, but with a cruel twist—he was sending it to be broken in the most efficient forge imaginable.
Lin Xiao looked from her father's impassive face to her mother's pale, devastated one. She saw the desperate plea in Li Hua's eyes, the terror she was fighting to control. She saw Yan Kang's triumphant sneer. She saw Lady Wen's cool appraisal.
And she saw Yan Jun. He was looking directly at her now, his brow furrowed slightly. There was no sneer, no triumph. In his deep brown eyes, she saw something that might have been… confusion? A flicker of something uneasy? Then, as if sensing her gaze, he looked down quickly at his bowl, his jaw tightening.
In that moment, Lin Xiao's confusion crystallized into a cold, hard understanding. This was her fate. The disdain, the neglect, it had all been leading here. She was not a daughter. She was a thing to be sent away.
A fierce, silent resolve ignited in her chest, hotter than any fear. She would not let her mother see her break. She would not give her father or Yan Kang the satisfaction.
She lifted her chin, just a fraction, and met Yan Mo's eyes again. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but did not waver. "I understand, Father. I will go."
The words were acceptance, but in her winter-grey eyes, Yan Mo saw not submission, but a banked fire. It was the first spark of the ghost she would become. He gave a slight, satisfied nod. The weapon had accepted the forge.
"Good. Prepare her," he said to Li Hua, then returned to his tea, the audience clearly over.
As they were dismissed and retreated from the crushing silence of the Frost Hall, Li Hua's hand on Lin Xiao's shoulder was trembling. Back in their chambers, away from prying eyes and ears, Li Hua clutched her daughter to her, tears finally flowing freely.
"Oh, my Xiao, my Luna… I am so sorry… I tried…"
Lin Xiao hugged her back fiercely, burying her face in her mother's robe. She did not cry. The tears felt frozen inside her. Instead, she made a promise, whispering it into the silk.
"I will survive, Mama. I will learn. And I will come back to you. No matter what."
It was the vow of a child, but it was forged in the cold marble of the Frost Hall, and it was as hard and real as the mountain beneath the castle. The sheltered sapling was being ripped from its hidden soil and thrown toward the abyss. The tenth birthday had ended. The descent into darkness was about to begin