Days passed.
Qing'er trained relentlessly under Yao Yan's watchful eye. She had talent, but talent wasn't enough.
She needed strength.
Yao Yan stood before her, arms crossed. "Again."
Qing'er, panting, raised her sword and attacked.
Clang!
Yao Yan blocked her strike with a single finger.
"Not fast enough," he said.
Gritting her teeth, she adjusted her stance and struck again.
This time, Yao Yan let her blade come closer—then sidestepped at the last moment.
Wham!
His palm met her stomach, sending her flying.
Qing'er hit the ground hard. Dust rose around her as she gasped for air.
"You're hesitating again," Yao Yan said, walking toward her. "Why?"
Qing'er wiped blood from her lip. "Because…"
She clenched her fists.
"Because I don't want to rely on you forever!"
Yao Yan paused.
Then, he smiled.
"Good."
Qing'er blinked in surprise.
Yao Yan extended a hand. "Then let's make you strong enough to stand on your own."
Qing'er hesitated for only a moment—then took his hand.
The real training began.