The longer Xue stayed, the more villagers leaned on his frost. He cooled grain storage, healed fevers with chilled wraps, eased fatigue of beasts hauling crops. He grew no richer, accepted no reward, but soon whenever he passed, elders nodded, children smiled shyly, whispering "Frost brother."
At Shrek gates, Tang San's group deepened training. More often Xue glimpsed them. Particularly Tang San: quiet, earnest, eyes filled with same layered endurance. Though they never spoke, Xue felt kinship of shared patience. Blue Silver Grass twined like creeping vine; Frost Crystal endured like glacier. Roots everlasting, snow eternal.
Fate circled tighter. Zou Wuji overheard merchants praising frost boy preserving cargo miles away, curiosity deepening. Other Shrek elders began whispering: "Perhaps worth test, though unfit by rules." Each murmur, each glance, only bound future closer.
Xue remained humble outside, never forcing door open, only sitting cross‑legged, training hour after hour. He reminded himself that clan needed endurance, not glory. Yet in his heart, he felt soon the Tome itself would shift again, writing: Entrance gained, frost path widened.
And so, beneath stars, he whispered a vow: "When Shrek calls, I will answer. Clan above self, frost above flame. Sooner or later, gates will not keep me out. My frost belongs among monsters."
Unseen pages glowed faint in soul, approving silently.