Morning light seeped through the open flaps of the grand tent, casting soft golden rays over Wuying's form as she stirred awake. A lingering warmth settled in her chest as fragments of the night before trickled back—Xiao Wen's firm voice, the steaming cup placed in her hands, and then… darkness. She rubbed her eyes, realization dawning. She drugged me…
Stretching out the stiffness in her limbs, Wuying stepped outside, the cool morning air refreshing against her skin. The encampment was already alive with quiet activity; low murmurs of conversation mingled with the rhythmic clash of metal. She turned toward the training grounds, where Xiao Wen was locked in a sparring session with several black-robed cultivators of the Xiao Family. Her crimson hair caught the sunlight like a river of fire, each swing of her blade cutting through the air with razor precision. Every strike cracked with the force of Spirit Qi, sending her opponents staggering back.
