Huiying's gaze fixed through the frost-laden window, where the disciples of the sect practiced their martial forms in the courtyard below. They moved with lethal precision, each motion fluid and sharp as they wielded their swords against one another, their hanfus fluttering like storm-darkened flags in the wintry breeze. He watched, captivated and a little melancholy; none of them had ever noticed him, let alone invited him to join. Sometimes, this silent exclusion sank deep into his chest, leaving him with a dull ache of loneliness.
Two disciples clashed in the middle of the courtyard, their swords ringing as they met, the sound crisp and cold in the morning air. They were equally matched, each parrying the other's attacks with such grace and expertise that it seemed more like a deadly dance than a sparring session. The first disciple, a woman with eyes like tempered steel, moved with powerful yet controlled strikes, her blade flashing in arcs that left trails of glistening frost. Her opponent, younger and more agile, countered with quick, precise maneuvers, darting forward only to pivot at the last second, evading by a hair's breadth.
They circled one another, tension thick in the air as they sized each other up, looking for the slightest opening. Then, with a cunning smile, the first disciple lunged, aiming directly for her opponent's heart. But as her opponent twisted away, she feigned a stumble, letting her guard drop momentarily. It was a trap.
The second disciple, sensing an opportunity, moved in for the final strike, but the first's eyes glinted with cold calculation. In a swift, vicious motion, she pivoted, her blade slicing upwards in an arc too fast for her opponent to block. The younger woman barely had time to react before the blade stopped just inches from her throat, signaling her defeat. Huiying watched as frustration flashed in the younger woman's face—a fierce, animalistic expression that transformed her features. Yet, instead of surrendering to her loss, she rose swiftly, determination rekindling in her eyes.
Huiying marveled, awestruck. It was the closest he'd come to witnessing raw power and tenacity, and for a moment, he was lost in the thrill of it. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by the gentle creak of his door opening. He turned swiftly, and his heart leapt at the sight of the Honorable Ziyue.
Without thinking, Huiying ran toward her, only to stop short and bow deeply, as his mother had instructed him countless times. "Honored Qinglan," he said, his voice stumbling with nervous respect, "I… I am honored to see you." It was a phrase he had rehearsed in his head, yet his excitement made it sound clumsy.
Ziyue's expression softened, and she placed a hand on his head, her fingers gentle as she tousled his hair. Huiying's face lit up, a wide smile spreading across his features. "It is I who am glad, little Huiying," she murmured, her voice warm. "You have grown strong and healthy; it is a joy to see."
Huiying shifted, glancing up with bright eyes. "Why… why has the Honorable Qinglan come?" he asked, but before he could continue, Ziyue lifted a finger to her lips, a silent request for calm. Her gesture was so serene, so commanding yet tender, that Huiying fell silent immediately, obedient and entranced.
As he quieted, his gaze drifted down, catching sight of her hanfu. It was a masterpiece of elegance, deep indigo with intricate silver embroidery that caught the light in delicate glimmers. Patterns of bamboo and clouds cascaded down its folds, and her wide sleeves flowed with an ethereal grace. His admiration was plain, his eyes tracing the details as if committing them to memory.
Ziyue observed his attention with a knowing smile. She reached out and tilted his chin up, her thumb lightly brushing across his cheek as she noticed a faint smudge of red. Her laughter, low and amused, filled the room. "Have you been exploring your mother's paints, little one?" she teased, wiping away the red smear on his lips with delicate care.
Huiying's cheeks reddened, but he managed a shy smile. Without waiting for another word, he lowered himself to sit on the polished floor, looking up at Ziyue with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Ziyue gestured toward her lap with a soft smile, and he asked, "Might… might this one be permitted to sit with you, Honored Qinglan?"
She nodded, and with all the reverence a child could muster, he nestled into her lap. Her arms circled him gently, and he felt the weight of a day's absence from his mother melt away. Ziyue's presence was like a balm, steady and unfailing.
"Tell me, Huiying," she began, her voice light, "what curiosities have captured your attention today?"
Huiying's response was eager, his words tumbling out as he recounted everything he'd observed that morning. He described the battle he'd watched through the window, his admiration for the strength of the disciples and the clever way one had outwitted the other. Ziyue listened with quiet attentiveness, her gaze warm as she watched the light in his eyes.
"And do you wish to one day learn such skill?" she asked, her voice soft yet probing.
Huiying nodded fervently, his little fists clenching with excitement. "Yes, Honored Qinglan! But… Mother says…" His voice trailed off, hesitancy clouding his face. "She says it is not for me. She says… I am too young."
Ziyue brushed a lock of hair from his face, her gaze understanding. "Your mother only wishes to protect you. But strength, little Huiying, is not something one is given—it is something one earns, in time."
Huiying nodded, his expression serious as he processed her words. He looked up at her, his gaze softening, the admiration in his eyes unmistakable. "Thank you, Honored Qinglan," he murmured. "Being here with you… it makes everything easier."
Ziyue's heart clenched faintly, a mix of protectiveness and affection she felt only in moments like these. She tightened her arms around him, her thoughts drifting to his mother, her dearest Lianhua, and the burdens that the woman bore in silence. A dark whisper in her heart hoped fiercely that Huiying would not inherit those pains.
As they sat together, Ziyue kept her voice low and gentle, asking about his little concerns and trivial joys, her presence a steady warmth against the chill in his heart. And in that moment, the weight of their world faded, leaving only the comfort of a moment's reprieve, as fragile and fleeting as winter sunlight.
The silence settled between them, heavy yet somehow comforting, like a thick blanket in the cold night. Ziyue's gaze was distant, her usually serene expression weighed down by an imperceptible frown. The burdens of leading the Yin Sect etched into the fine lines on her face, a testament to the endless challenges she silently bore.
Huiying, with his childish intuition, noticed this quiet turmoil. He leaned forward, peering up at her with wide, curious eyes. "Honorable Qinglan," he asked softly, his voice laced with the utmost respect, "may I inquire what troubles you?"
Ziyue's attention shifted to him, a slight look of surprise softening her features. For a brief moment, she seemed to weigh her words carefully. "The future, Huiying," she replied at last. "It is the future that weighs upon my mind."
Huiying blinked, not quite understanding. The concept of a "future" as something troubling was beyond him. "But… why, honored Qinglan?" he asked, sincerity brimming in his voice. "You are an immortal, powerful and wise. Surely there is nothing that can harm you…"
A soft laugh escaped her, rich and velvety, an almost maternal sound that reverberated gently in the quiet room. "Even immortals are not without their fears, young Huiying," she said, a glimmer of sorrow lingering in her gaze. Her fingers brushed through his hair, her touch both affectionate and weighted by an unspoken sadness. "And one day, you too must become strong enough to protect what you hold dear. Someday, you may need to protect your mother."
The little boy's eyes grew wide. "How… how do I become that strong, esteemed Qinglan?"
She chuckled softly, ruffling his hair again. "That, my dear, will take much time and practice. But perhaps one day, if fate permits, I will teach you myself. You may become my masterpiece, Huiying."
His face lit up with an embarrassed smile, his cheeks pink as he averted his gaze. "Your masterpiece… could you say it again?"
Ziyue's eyes softened further, and she reached out, cradling his face with her hand. "Within you, I see a light, Huiying—a golden radiance that even the heavens could not stifle," she murmured. "It is a potential I have rarely seen, and you may have yet to realize it, but it's there."
A hush fell over them again, only to be broken as Huiying's gaze shifted to the delicate fan in her hand. The fan shimmered in the soft candlelight, an intricately crafted piece adorned with inky mountains and silver clouds that seemed to float across the surface. Entranced, he finally dared to say, "I… I greatly admire your fan, honorable Qinglan. It is very beautiful."
Her fingers traced the edge of the fan, her expression thoughtful, almost hesitant. And then, with a surprising gentleness, she placed it in his hands. "This fan, Huiying, is called Yǒngyè Liúguāng. A cherished treasure of mine," she explained, as he gazed at it with open awe. "It holds the power to mask the user's presence and obscure reality itself. With a mere flick, it can alter the surroundings, even sway the senses. But only with great control will its true power reveal itself. Many have wielded it, yet none have mastered it."
Huiying's fingers traced the delicate patterns, captivated. His admiration deepened as he understood the complexity and mystery that lay within this simple, yet powerful artifact.
Ziyue watched him with a bittersweet smile, then murmured, "Perhaps, should the heavens decide my time has ended, Liúguāng will find its new master in you, Huiying."
A sharp look of indignation flickered across Huiying's young face. He clutched the fan tightly and shook his head fervently. "I refuse! Honored Qinglan, you are too strong to be defeated by anything or anyone!" His voice rose with uncharacteristic fire. "Nothing could harm you. I am sure of it. Besides," he added, puffing his chest slightly, "you said I have a golden light, and that… that means you'll be around to see it grow, won't you?"
A true smile crossed Ziyue's lips as she held his fierce gaze. "Very well, Huiying. If that is your wish, I shall remain strong and guide you." In that moment, she saw something beyond childish wonder in his eyes—a spark of the strength and determination that would someday forge the path he would walk.
But, in a quiet corner of her heart, a shadow lingered, and she wondered what trials awaited them both. Yet for now, she held her disciple close, her quiet fears drowned in his innocence and conviction.
Under Ziyue's watchful gaze, Huiying held Liúguāng in his small hands, its delicate weight both thrilling and foreign. With an exaggerated seriousness, he mimicked what little he remembered of Ziyue's motions, flicking the fan open and closed, sweeping it back and forth in awkward arcs. Nothing happened. The air did not shift, no illusions danced before his eyes; there was simply the quiet swoosh of the fan as he moved it, face scrunched in concentration.
Ziyue's soft laughter filled the air, warm and unrestrained. Her amusement was like silk against the tension, calming and sincere. "Huiying," she said, her voice laced with affection, "you have spirit, but that alone will not bring forth the power within the fan. Allow me to teach you something simpler, a small practice that will prepare your body as a worthy vessel."
Huiying looked up, his eyes wide with excitement, his hands still gripping the fan. Ziyue knelt down and gestured for him to observe her closely. She moved with fluid precision, each movement deliberate, each breath steady. "It begins with stillness," she murmured, "a connection to the earth, the heavens, and the flow of Qi that sustains all things. Only by understanding stillness can one command movement."
She demonstrated a sequence of stretches, slow but purposeful, her hands tracing unseen paths in the air. Huiying mirrored her, doing his best to capture the grace of each gesture, though his own small arms trembled with the effort. Ziyue's guidance was gentle but unyielding; she spoke of concepts far beyond his understanding, the connection of breath and energy, the strength found in restraint.
Just as Huiying's movements were starting to smooth out, there was a sound of objects rolling across the floor, cutting through the quiet of the room. Bright red apples spilled over the threshold, rolling to a stop at their feet. Huiying's gaze lifted from the fan to the doorway, where he saw his mother, Lianhua, her face a mask of fury and distress. Her eyes were fixed on him, sharp and unyielding. In two strides, she crossed the room, her presence like a storm, pulling Liúguāng from his hands with swift force.
"What in the heavens do you think you're doing?" she hissed, her voice a low, dangerous growl. The slap came before he could answer, a sudden shock of pain that made him stagger backward and fall to the floor. Huiying's mind went blank, the sting lingering hot on his cheek as he lay there, dazed and mute.
"Lianhua," Ziyue's voice was calm but firm, holding a quiet authority. "Control yourself. This is unnecessary."
But Lianhua turned her furious gaze on Ziyue, an anger in her eyes that seemed to stem from a deeper, more personal hurt. "Forgive my insolence, Qinglan," she replied, her tone icy, invoking Ziyue's courtesy name with a distance that felt like a blade. "You overstep. I will not see my son handled like some… some trinket to be molded into another weapon. He is not… he will not become…" Her voice broke, barely concealing the fear and disgust simmering beneath.
Huiying remained frozen on the floor, silent and wide-eyed. He could feel Ziyue's presence beside him, a steady warmth against the tension that crackled through the air, but his mother's anger weighed on him, heavy and absolute. Ziyue began to speak again, but Lianhua cut her off, her voice trembling with the effort to maintain her composure.
"Please," she said, bowing low before Ziyue, "Honored Qinglan, I beg you, leave us." There was a quiet desperation in her words, her posture rigid as she held herself in submission. "I will accept whatever punishment is due for my insolence, but I ask that you honor this request and… and allow me this moment with my son."
Ziyue's expression softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she looked between mother and son. With a final glance at Huiying, her eyes filled with regret, she inclined her head. She said nothing, but there was a sorrow in her gaze that lingered even as she turned and departed, leaving them in a silence that felt vast and suffocating.