At the beginning of a new day, Yuyan woke before sunrise as always. The courtyard still slumbered in darkness, the faintest hint of dawn brushing the eastern sky. Her body ached terribly from yesterday's practice, each muscle knotting as if iron chains bound her limbs. She stretched slowly, gritting her teeth against the soreness.
I almost didn't get out of bed, she admitted to herself as her bare feet touched the cold floor. But as Father said…
Her father's stern voice echoed in her mind: "Discipline before strength."
That phrase had become her shield. Strength could fail her, but discipline must never falter. With that thought, she tied her sash firmly, washed her face with cold water, and stepped outside.
The morning air bit her skin as she made her way toward the training grounds. Mist hung heavy in the gardens, silvering the stone paths. As she passed the servants' quarters, two women carrying baskets of laundry paused and bowed.
"Morning, young miss," they greeted in unison, their faces kind.
Yuyan stopped and inclined her head politely. "Good morning, big sisters."
The women exchanged warm smiles. As she walked past, their voices drifted after her.
"The young miss is so cute," one said softly.
"And respectful," the other added.
Their laughter followed her down the path. Yuyan's cheeks warmed, but she did not look back. Compliments meant little if she failed on the training grounds.
At last, she arrived. Her father, Lin Jinhai, stood waiting beside Fang Zhi, the clan's most loyal retainer. Both men were already prepared, arms crossed and expressions calm.
Yuyan bowed deeply. "Good morning, Father. Good morning, Uncle Fang."
Jinhai inclined his head. "Morning, Yuyan."
Fang Zhi smiled faintly. "Good morning, young miss."
There was no more delay. Training began.
⸻
First was the boulder lift. Yesterday she had needed help from both men just to steady it, but today her grip was stronger. Her small hands dug into the rough surface, and with trembling arms she heaved it up.
One breath. Two. Three. Her shoulders shook. She lasted a full minute before her legs buckled and the boulder thudded back onto the ground.
Sweat dampened her forehead. Her chest heaved. Yet a spark lit within her eyes.
I will surpass this.
So she tried again. And again. The minutes stretched into hours. Fang Zhi watched closely, ready to catch her if she collapsed, but Yuyan's stubbornness burned hotter than the pain in her arms.
Finally, after two hours and thirty-six minutes of relentless effort, she lifted once more—her body quaking like a bowstring at its limit—and endured for one minute and twenty-eight seconds before the weight overcame her.
When she dropped the boulder, she collapsed beside it, gasping, but her smile was radiant.
"I… I did it," she whispered.
She wanted to try again, but Jinhai's sharp voice cut through her excitement.
"Yuyan, let's move on. If not, there will be no time."
There was a rare edge of urgency in his tone. Yuyan's shoulders slumped, disappointment flashing in her eyes, but she nodded obediently. "Yes, Father."
⸻
The next exercise was stance-holding, a wooden tray balanced in her palms. Yesterday she had barely managed two minutes.
She inhaled deeply, planting her feet firmly in the training yard. The tray weighed far more than its size suggested, and within moments her arms began to tremble. Seconds dragged. Her legs wobbled. Sweat dripped from her brow. At two minutes her body begged her to quit—but she gritted her teeth, refusing.
She remembered the servants' voices. Respectful. Cute. But she wanted more than admiration. She wanted strength—strength no one could deny.
The tray tilted. She steadied it. Her vision blurred. Her breath grew ragged. When her arms finally dropped, the tray clattered to the ground.
She stared, stunned. Ten minutes and seven seconds.
"I… actually did it," she gasped, joy swelling inside her chest.
Both Jinhai and Fang Zhi exchanged looks. Fang Zhi's lips curved into a rare smile, but Jinhai only nodded curtly. "Do not grow complacent. Each step forward must be hardened with the next."
⸻
Training continued: log carrying, sandbag striking. Yuyan stumbled often, her knees bruised from repeated falls. Once she collapsed entirely, trembling so hard she could not stand. Jinhai placed a flat, blood-red pill on her lips. Its bitter taste seared her tongue.
"This was forged from my own blood," he said. "Do not waste it."
Warmth spread quickly, lending her strength enough to rise again. And she did. Each failure was met with determination; each fall, with another attempt.
By evening, her body was battered, her small hands raw and sore. Yet she sat cross-legged, entering meditation as her father instructed. She pricked her finger with a small blade, letting a single drop of blood float in midair. It trembled, shimmering faintly under the dying sunlight.
She guided it through the Scarlet Pulse Circulation. Her body warmed, the ache easing from her muscles. The blood drop glowed brighter, quivering as if alive—then, slowly, it burst into a faint crimson flame.
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.
I… I did it.
On the courtyard steps, her mother watched silently, pride and worry mingled in her gaze.
Jinhai's voice broke the stillness. "Body Tempering has nine stages. You are at the very first—Muscle Ignition. Even a Qi Gathering brat could crush you. But this is the road of our bloodline."
Yuyan's tiny frame shook under the strain, yet she clenched her teeth. If I collapse now, it's barely an improvement.
The flame flickered. The log she lifted earlier nearly slipped. She bit her tongue, forcing another drop of blood into circulation. Heat surged through her veins, scarlet light spiraling along her forearm.
For the first time, a true shimmer of the Xuèyàn flame coiled around her skin.
Lin Jinhai's eyes narrowed. In that faint flicker, he saw not childish determination, but the undeniable spark of inheritance.
Moments later, Yuyan collapsed, arms limp, chest heaving. Fang Zhi set down herbal salves beside her.
Jinhai draped a cloak over her small body. His voice softened, carrying both command and affection.
"You endure well, child. Endurance is our clan's root. One day, this flame will not flicker—it will burn the heavens."
⸻
The Azure Sky Sentinels were not men of hesitation. At dawn, their formation had already left the Heavenly Dao Sect, sapphire cloaks whipping in the mountain winds as their boots thundered against the stone steps. Each bore a crimson-tasseled spear, their march as disciplined as the beating of a war drum.
At their head strode Captain Tian Lianxu, eyes cold as the steel at his side. The Sect Master's command echoed in his mind:
"Erase them."
It was not the first time the Heavenly Dao Sect had moved under the veil of righteousness, but this mission carried a heavier weight. A child. The last spark of the Xuèyàn flame.
Behind their captain, the Sentinels whispered among themselves.
"Is it true? That the Xuèyàn girl survived?"
"She can't be more than seven summers old."
"Then why does Sect Master fear her so?"
None dared voice the thought aloud, but unease spread like frost.
Far above, in the jade hall of the Sect, Dao Shenxing watched the soldiers depart through the clouds. His expression was serene, hands folded as if in blessing. To the disciples gathered below, he was the image of a saint sending his flock to guard the world.
But when the last of the Sentinels vanished beyond the mountain pass, his smile sharpened.
"Run, little Xuèyàn flame," he murmured to the silent hall. "Burn brighter, so that when I crush you, the heavens themselves will see who holds true dominion."
Outside, bells tolled once more, their echo rolling across the peaks—an omen that the Heavenly Dao Sect had begun to move in earnest