Days passed as they lingered near compound, helping caravans, preserving food with frost, practicing quietly on outskirts. Others mocked them as "failures already denied." Huan bristled, Yan wept at night, but Xue smiled faintly. "They mock as before. But wait. Frost will answer in silence."
Then came morning Xue saw him—the boy with black hair tied simply, eyes calm but deep, Blue Silver Grass wrapping faint as spirit. This was Tang San, though Xue did not know name yet. Their gazes crossed only an instant, but weight of fate pressed heavy. Both born same dawn, both carrying secret beyond ordinary—one hidden frost heritage, one hidden tang clan technique. They recognized something mirrored: quiet strength under ridicule.
No words exchanged then. Tang San passed, instructors praised his clarity at young rank. Nobles sneered less loudly that day. But Xue whispered to himself, "There you are. Fire to my frost." In his chest, the Tome beat powerful, approving.
Far on ground, unnoticed, snowflake fell though sky was bright. For Leng Xue, it meant his journey had truly reached turning—Shrek's shadow welcomed him, and destiny aligned roots with stars.