The Moonlit Jade Pavilion had fallen into a rare silence that evening. Beyond its pale jade gates, the wisteria hung heavy with dusk, its violet blossoms trembling as if they sensed a change. Felian Ruoxue stood at the balcony, her fingers resting lightly on the smooth stone railing, eyes tracing the shifting clouds below. The clouds resembled rivers of silver, flowing endlessly, yet in the distance, the Providence Tribe's training grounds waited, hidden partially by mist, their presence both a summons and a challenge.
For the first time in days, Ruoxue felt the weight of expectation pressing on her shoulders—not from the Nine Courts, who had already granted her wishes, but from the world itself. Beyond the Pavilion, the disciples of the Providence Tribe moved with precision and grace, practicing formations and cultivation exercises that spoke of discipline forged over centuries. They were strong, and they did not tolerate weakness.
Yinxiu's voice broke the quiet. "You've been standing there like a statue for hours. The Pavilion isn't going anywhere, but the world is."
Ruoxue turned slightly, allowing a shadow of a smile to cross her face. "Time is not an enemy, Yinxiu. It is merely a measure of what has not yet arrived."
Yinxiu laughed softly, the sound a counterpoint to the Pavilion's stillness. She had been waiting for this moment for days, ever since they had been escorted here from the mountain path. "You always answer like that. I don't even know if you're speaking to me or to the clouds."
Ruoxue did not reply. Instead, her eyes fell to the horizon where the first lights of the Providence Tribe glimmered through the mist. The distance was not great, but enough that it required careful planning to reach it, especially for someone who had lived a life of silence and isolation.
That night, she packed her few belongings, all of them simple: robes, her sword, ink brushes, a few scrolls she had carried from the Petal Courtyard. Nothing else belonged to her. The Moonlit Jade Pavilion itself had been granted to her by the Nine Courts, but she did not think of it as a home—yet. It was merely a threshold, a place between what had been and what was to come.
The journey to the Providence Tribe the next morning was shrouded in mist. The path wound down the cliffs of Wuheng Mountain, over jagged stones that jutted like broken teeth from the earth. Yinxiu walked at her side, arms crossed, keeping pace with the quiet rhythm that Ruoxue set with each step.
"Do you think they've heard of you?" Yinxiu asked, her voice low. "The Providence Tribe… they don't take kindly to outsiders, even from an academy as prestigious as Wangshou."
"They will hear," Ruoxue replied simply. "Whether they welcome me is another matter." Her words were calm, but her mind was already assessing the landscape ahead: the forest's density, the river crossings, the subtle shifts in wind that might reveal unseen observers.
The first signs of the Providence Tribe appeared at the third bend of the mountain path. Torches flickered along the edge of stone terraces, casting shadows across the carved symbols of their crest: a black feather overlaying a burning sun. Below, the main courtyard sprawled, its stone floors polished by centuries of footsteps. Disciples moved with synchronicity, their swords striking in precise arcs, their robes flowing like liquid shadows.
Ruoxue's gaze swept over them, noting the patterns of movement, the slight variations in footwork, the discipline in their posture. It was not just training—it was a language. Every gesture, every strike, every pause carried meaning.
"They are watching," Yinxiu murmured. "I can feel it."
Ruoxue only nodded slightly. "Then let them watch. I will not perform."
The gates of the Providence Tribe opened before them as if acknowledging Ruoxue's presence. Two guards, clad in black robes and silver sigils, studied her silently. Their eyes lingered on the faint pulse beneath her hair—the half-moon sigil that had drawn whispers and fear for twelve long years. Neither spoke, yet their posture shifted subtly, an unspoken recognition that passed like a ripple through the air.
They were led through the main hall, where statues of revered ancestors and previous masters lined the walls. Each figure carried the weight of history; each gaze, whether stone-carved or painted, seemed to measure the intruder passing through. Ruoxue did not flinch. She walked steadily, unbothered, absorbing the architecture, the flow of qi, and the unspoken tension in the air.
At the far end of the hall, a wide staircase led to the training grounds. From above, the instructors observed every motion. At their center stood Zhen Ye. He was waiting, not with surprise or curiosity, but with the calm certainty of one who had already calculated the outcome of every possibility.
"Felian Ruoxue," he said as she approached. His voice was smooth, low, carrying weight that silenced the murmur of surrounding disciples. "The Nine Courts have delivered you here, but you have not yet earned your place."
Ruoxue bowed slightly, her tone respectful but not subservient. "I understand, Master Zhen Ye. I do not seek shortcuts."
Zhen Ye's gaze did not soften. "Good. Then we begin."
Her first day on the training grounds was one of observation and subtle testing. The Providence Tribe's exercises were far more than physical; they were exercises of strategy, perception, and control of one's own spiritual energy. Ruoxue watched silently as other disciples manipulated qi, forming elemental shields, calling phantom blades, bending illusions.
She was unarmed but not idle. Her eyes traced the flow of each movement, mapping the relationships between energy, balance, and intention. Each disciple revealed themselves without words, and Ruoxue read them like a scroll of open text.
By midday, an instructor called her forward. "Demonstrate your control over the qi within you. One move, no resistance, no prior knowledge of what we ask."
Ruoxue stepped forward. The wind stirred around her as if acknowledging her readiness. She did not hesitate. Her hands moved in precise, minimal gestures. Qi surged outward, weaving into the shape of a half-moon before folding seamlessly back into her own body. The instructors exchanged glances, a quiet murmur passing through them.
"You control it well," one said, voice tinged with surprise. "But control alone does not define mastery."
Ruoxue's lips curved slightly. "Then I will learn the rest."
Over the following week, her life settled into rhythm. Dawn was for physical cultivation and endurance. Noon was for spiritual study: meditating on ancient texts, drawing patterns of divine energy, and practicing the flow of qi within her own body. Dusk brought combat lessons, not against others, but against herself—shadows of doubt, hesitation, and fear that took the form of intangible opponents.
Yinxiu remained by her side, offering both companionship and annoyance. She teased, sometimes mocked, and often asked questions that Ruoxue did not answer. Yet even in those brief moments, she sensed Yinxiu's loyalty—a thread of warmth against the cold precision of the Providence Tribe.
One afternoon, while the two walked along the cliff edge overlooking the valley, Yinxiu asked quietly, "Do you ever think about the Petal Courtyard? About what you left behind?"
Ruoxue's eyes did not leave the horizon. "It was a place of silence. I do not carry it forward, but I do not forget it either. Memory is a tool, not a burden."
Yinxiu nodded. "I suppose that's why they fear you. Not because you are strong… but because you are unmoved by their fear."
The turning point of the week came with the arrival of a challenge scroll. It was delivered by a red-cloaked messenger and sealed with the Providence Tribe's insignia. The contents were simple: a request for Ruoxue to defend a sacred relic—the Mirrorveil Stone—against a group of the tribe's disciples who sought to test her limits.
The courtyard cleared as the disciples gathered, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, fear, and ambition. For the first time, Ruoxue faced direct attention. The half-moon sigil beneath her hair, partially concealed, seemed to thrum faintly with anticipation.
The challenge began with illusions. Disciples struck with mirrored blades and phantom shields. They attacked in waves, each more complex than the last. Ruoxue did not move her body initially, allowing the attacks to pass. But her mind moved like a river—calculating, adjusting, folding the energies around her.
With a single step, she redirected the momentum of the first assault, sending the mirrored blade spinning harmlessly into the air. Another strike she caught in mid-motion, twisting it into a harmless arc of light. By the end of the contest, every disciple attempting to test her fell into disarray, not through brute force, but because their actions were read and unraveled before they completed them.
Silence fell. The instructors exchanged looks of astonishment, the whispers of approval passing like wind over the courtyard. Zhen Ye observed from his pavilion above, expression unreadable, yet there was a subtle acknowledgment in the line of his shoulders.
Ruoxue stood alone, composed, untouched, yet entirely present in every moment.
As night fell, the Moonlit Jade Pavilion called her back with the quiet insistence of a home she was slowly beginning to understand. Yinxiu walked beside her, still chattering, though her voice had a tone of awe and respect now.
"They don't even know what hit them," Yinxiu said, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
Ruoxue allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Perhaps. But it is only the beginning."
And as the wind stirred the wisteria around the Pavilion, the half-moon sigil pulsed faintly beneath her hair. Outside, the mountains whispered, and the Providence Tribe's grounds, though disciplined and precise, had felt the ripple of a new force entering their midst—a presence that would soon become impossible to ignore.
Somewhere, beyond the reach of mortals, threads of fate shifted. The Crimson Sky remembered her name.