#1
Dawn broke over the Violet Cloud Sect, bathing it in indulgent golden light. Morning mist glittered like jewels atop the blue-tiled roofs, and the scent of incense and winter plum blossoms filled the expansive stone courtyard. Amid the crowd of hundreds of students in purple-blue uniforms, one girl stood alone.
Fang Jia Ying.
Sixteen years old, her slender frame draped in a simple pale blue robe—not the purple of sect pride. Her jet-black hair was neatly tied, a few strands framing a face even the gods might envy: skin as white as the first snow, warm honey-brown eyes, and naturally red lips always resting in a calm expression. Her beauty was a double-edged sword—what brought her here, and what would destroy her today.
"Next student, step forward!" shouted Elder Peng, the long-bearded man with sharp eyes.
Jia Ying's heart pounded. This was the day she had anticipated—and feared—for three years: Talent Examination Day, when each young student's elemental aptitude would be revealed by the Heaven's Insight Mirror, an ancient jade artifact radiating a mysterious aura.
Three years ago, Young Master Lin Feng of the Lin Clan—a handsome man with the aura of a young dragon—passed through her small fishing village. Captivated by her beauty, he declared Jia Ying would be his fiancée, on one condition: she must prove herself worthy of cultivation talent. Thus, the poor village girl was brought into this magnificent sect.
"Jia Ying," a soft whisper came beside her. It was Lin Feng, draped in dark blue silk robes patterned with silver dragons. His face was handsome, but his usually warm eyes were cold and distant. "Don't be nervous. Whatever the result… we shall see."
The words hung, unfinished. Jia Ying felt a deep unease.
She stepped forward. Hundreds of eyes fixed on her—curious, cynical, mostly judgmental. Senior Sister Su Ling, the sect's renowned beauty and talent, smiled thinly from the front row. The smile did not reach her eyes.
"Place your hand on the mirror," Elder Peng ordered.
Jia Ying extended her hand—smooth, but marked by a small scar from mending fishing nets, a reminder of her origins. When her palm touched the cold jade surface, the mirror trembled.
Light flared.
Not a blinding light like the other students'. Instead, a faint pale-blue glow appeared, like thin frost on a morning window. It formed a simple snowflake pattern, spinning slowly before fading.
Elder Peng furrowed his brow. A murmur spread through the crowd.
"Element: Pure Ice. Level: Low. Talent Grade: Yellow Low," Elder Peng announced flatly. Yellow Low—the second-lowest tier in the talent hierarchy, barely enough for serious cultivation.
Disappointed sighs echoed. A few snickers followed.
Jia Ying felt the world tilt. Impossible. For three years, she had felt something deeper within—something cold and strong, coursing through her bones.
"See? I told you," whispered a male student. "Pretty face, useless talent."
Su Ling stepped forward, her smile now victorious. "Such a shame, Junior Sister. It seems Heaven did not bless you with talent, only beauty that will fade." Her voice was sweet as poison.
But the worst was yet to come.
Lin Feng approached. His handsome face was like carved ice. In his hand, a red paper—the engagement letter that had been Jia Ying's family's pride, even if only a humble fishing household.
"Fang Jia Ying," he said, his voice loud enough for all to hear. "In the world of cultivation, strength determines fate, not beauty. A wife of the Lin Clan must be a talented cultivator, not… a burden."
KRRRIP.
The sound echoed through the silent hall.
The letter—cherished by her mother in a simple wooden box—was torn in two by Lin Feng. The pieces fell toward Jia Ying like dead leaves at her feet.
"We are not equals," Lin Feng added, turning away. "Take her out. Violet Cloud Sect does not need trash."
Cold.
Not the cold of morning air. Not the cold of jade.
But from within.
Deep in her chest, where her heart raced, something cracked.
KRAK.
A sound only Jia Ying could hear. Like lake ice shattering in spring. But it was not spring—it was the winter beginning inside her.
Sharp pain pierced her body, from toes to crown. She staggered, nearly falling. The world's colors shifted—dawn's gold fading into pale blue, mocking faces blurring as if viewed through a layer of ice.
"See? She can't even handle the truth," Su Ling sneered.
But something happened to Jia Ying.
On her palm, where before there was only cold sweat, frost began forming. Not ordinary frost. The crystals grew in intricate patterns, pale blue as bone, forming small ice flowers that strangely seemed… alive.
Elder Peng squinted. "Take her away. Perhaps she is sick."
Two male students stepped forward to pull her. But as their hands neared her shoulders—
"Do not touch me."
Her voice.
Not a weak whisper of a broken girl.
But cold, clear, vibrating like harp strings of ice. Resonating with authority no Yellow Low girl should possess.
Silence fell.
Jia Ying lifted her face. Her warm brown eyes had changed. Now they were pale blue—the blue of an ancient glacier's core, the sky at heights too thin to breathe.
And at the corner of her eye, a strand of hair had turned white—not from age, but pure as the first snow.
"You are right, Lin Feng," Jia Ying said, her voice steady and cold as a winter lake. "We are not equals."
She bent, lifting the torn pieces of the letter. Her hands, holding the paper, began to frost over. "But not because I am too low."
Ice crept from her feet across the stone floor. Intricate crystal patterns formed, glowing pale blue. The air around her chilled. The breaths of nearby students condensed into white mist.
"But because," she continued, eyes locked on Lin Feng, whose face now showed unease, "I stand where you will never reach—and freeze—forever."
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
The stone floor shattered, covered in thick ice. Temperature plummeted. Some students stumbled back in fear.
"W-what is this?!" shouted one.
Elder Peng leapt forward, hands glowing with fire energy. "Mad girl! You wield a forbidden artifact?!"
But before he could act, something stranger occurred.
From Jia Ying's clenched hand, among the torn papers, a drop of blood fell.
Not ordinary red blood.
Pale blue, like milk tinged with sky-blue ink. The drop fell to the icy floor—
And froze in midair before touching it.
Forming tiny ice-blood crystals, pulsing with faint light.
All present—Elder Peng, Lin Feng, Su Ling, hundreds of students—froze. Not from ice, but from primitive fear. They recognized it. In legends, whispered in night tales:
Bloodfrost Arts.
Forbidden arts. Cursed power. Something thought extinct.
Jia Ying stared at the ice-blood crystal in her hand. Within it, she saw a shadow. Her own shadow, but not the her of today. A woman with fully white hair, ice-blue eyes, and a crown of blood crystals. Queen of eternal winter.
She did not understand. But one thing was clear.
The world that had just destroyed her would never be the same.
And the first voice to break the silence came from Elder Peng—not in anger, but in sheer terror:
"Heavenly Frost… Dao Bone…"
"Seize her! Alive or dead!"
But Jia Ying had already turned. Her steps no longer faltered. Every footfall left frost flowers on the stone. She did not flee—she walked. Toward the sect gate, past scattering students making way.
Behind her, screams, curses, and orders flew.
But in Jia Ying's ears, there was only one sound: the chime of ice within her soul, calling her north. To the cold. To a home she had never known but had always longed for.
Fang Jia Ying, the poor fisher girl with a beautiful face, died that day.
Rising in her place was something older, colder, hungrier for justice—or perhaps vengeance.
And in the sky above, even the clouds began to freeze.