The day of departure came, quiet but heavy. The academy's instructors barely noticed three northern youths leaving; they considered them minor among countless pupils. Yet whispers already lingered of Leng Xue—the "boy who won without spectacle."
Packing was simple—robes, spears, frost‑etched codex of notes. Yan carried inscriptions in small bundle. Huan carried endless pride and grin. Xue looked only once back at stone walls, murmuring, "Thank you for showing me what brightness blinds. Frost seeks deeper soil."
They joined caravan moving south. Horses clopped, wheels creaked, merchants bantered. Heat thickened gradually. Xue's frost veil shielded companions, allowing cold breaths even beneath noon. Merchants muttered admiration, offering extra coin to help preserve goods. In that moment Xue realized something—his frost had value beyond battle. Preservation, cooling cargo, endurance across roads. He scribbled notes instantly; one day, this too could grow into clan livelihood.
Nights by campfires, Huan trained aggressively, slashing at shadows. Yan asked often, "Xue, is this Shrek truly place to risk everything?" He smiled calmly, answering, "It is not risk, but inevitability. Destiny whispers. I cannot ignore." Deep down he sensed more—Tang San, boy of same birth, would be there. Though he could not explain why, every instinct told him frost and fire would meet.
The caravan rolled slowly toward Suotuo, toward a poor academy mocked by nobles, toward monsters gathered in secret. Leng Xue sat quietly but eyes gleamed steady. Second life's true trial, he felt, was only beginning.