The night was cool, the moon pale, the willow trees swaying gently by the river path. Jing Kong's breath came steady as he hurried down the narrow trail. His heart, though calm, carried a faint spark of anticipation.
It was the night of his monthly meeting with Lian.
Each month, once without fail, she would slip away from her village and meet him beneath the old willows. In those quiet hours, away from the mockery of others and the weight of his family's struggles, he found a fragile kind of peace.
But tonight, when he reached the clearing by the riverbank, the spot was empty. The willows rustled, their branches dipping low into the water, but Lian was nowhere in sight.
Instead, a tall youth stood waiting.
"Jing."
Jing's steps slowed. Recognition softened his expression. "Zhou Wei?"
Zhou Wei was his only true friend in Lian's village. Unlike the others who mocked him, Zhou Wei had never spoken cruelly, never turned away. Jing had often wondered why, for Zhou Wei was neither weak nor poor. Perhaps he simply had a heart that valued honesty.
At first, Jing was glad to see him. But then he noticed the hesitation in his friend's eyes, the heaviness in his stance.
Zhou Wei stared back, and for the first time, his eyes widened in surprise. "You… Jing… you're not limping."
Jing stood calmly, moonlight outlining the hard lines of his body. In only a few days of training with the Heaven-Fallen Mirror's guidance, his shoulders had broadened, his frame steadied, his breath deepened. He was still young, still far from strong — but he no longer looked like the crippled boy everyone pitied.
Zhou Wei let out a quiet breath. "You've changed. Stronger… steadier. Even your eyes… you look older than your years."
Jing's calm expression did not waver. "I've been training."
"That much is clear." Zhou Wei paused, then looked away. His voice grew heavy. "But I didn't come here to speak of strength. I came to bring you news."
Jing's chest tightened, though outwardly he remained composed. "Where is Lian?"
For a long moment, Zhou Wei said nothing. Then he lowered his head.
"She's gone, Jing. Yesterday, her uncle came again. He brought her away to the city of Redcloud — the closest city in the Azure Spirit Kingdom. She left with him."
The words struck like a silent blow. Jing's fists clenched at his sides, but his expression did not break. His gaze lifted toward the willows swaying above the river, their branches empty of the one person who once made them shine.
"When will she return?" Jing asked, voice steady.
Zhou Wei's eyes flickered with pity. "Jing… she may not return. Her uncle believes her beauty will open doors in the city. There… she might catch the eye of a young master. You know what that means."
Jing's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Zhou Wei sighed. "You should forget her. Some things can't be fought. You're my brother, so I'll give you the advice others won't: let her go. The world is vast, and her path may no longer walk beside yours."
Jing's gaze remained calm, fixed on the flowing river. His voice, when it came, was quiet but firm. "Strength decides everything. If I were strong, no one could take her away."
Zhou Wei fell silent. In that moment, he realized his friend's calmness was not the calm of acceptance, but of steel hardening in fire.
Finally, he cleared his throat and shifted the subject. "Jing… I will also be leaving for Redcloud. In six months, the Scarlet Phoenix Martial Clan will hold their entrance testing ceremony. Every young man in the kingdom dreams of joining, but without an invitation, you cannot even step through their gates. My family has secured me one."
He hesitated, then added softly: "I want to try. In a clan, you have access to techniques, resources, masters. If I pass… my life will change."
Jing's eyes narrowed slightly. "Scarlet Phoenix…?"
The name stirred something faint in his memory. Slowly, his thoughts turned to the stories his grandfather used to tell when fever left him restless. A martial clan, powerful and ancient, once employing countless servants…
And then he remembered.
His grandfather. The years of servitude. The crude body method passed down from that very place.
Yes. It was the same clan.
The Scarlet Phoenix Martial Clan.
Jing's expression remained calm, but within, a spark ignited. His friend spoke of invitations and opportunities. But to him, the name itself was a summons — a reminder that his own bloodline had brushed against power once before, even if only as a servant.
"Six months…" Jing whispered inwardly. His crippled leg was already healing. His body was already awakening. If the mirror continued to guide him, if he carved his way forward, who could say what he might achieve by then?
He said nothing further, only gazed up at the moonlit sky, calm and steady as stone.
Strength decides everything.