The morning sun spilled across the Liang estate, painting the old wooden beams in hues of gold. Servants hurried about, preparing for another day of anxious waiting. Rumors of advancing armies had spread like wildfire, and though the manor walls still stood tall, every heartbeat inside carried the weight of uncertainty.
In her chamber, Liang Yue sat before a bronze mirror as a maid arranged her hair into the elaborate style expected of noble daughters. Jade pins gleamed in the sunlight, but Yue's gaze was distant, fixed not on her reflection but on the rolled-up silk scroll tucked away in her sleeve.
"Young Mistress, the ministers will meet Lord Liang again today," the maid whispered, her hands trembling as she fixed the last pin. "They say the Emperor demands even more tribute for the war. Will our house survive this storm?"
Yue forced a smile. "Storms break the weak, but blossoms bend and rise again. Do not fear." Yet inside, her heart twisted. How much longer could her father shield them from the greed of the court?
When the maid left, Yue slipped out of her formal robe and changed into a plain cotton dress. She bound her hair simply, her hands quick with practice. She could not waste the morning in idle waiting; her restless spirit demanded movement.
She crept into the abandoned courtyard at the far edge of the manor, a place overgrown with weeds and fallen petals. This was her sanctuary, hidden from prying eyes. Drawing out the wooden practice sword, she recalled the movements she had studied the night before.
Step. Breathe. Cut. Turn.
The air hummed faintly as she repeated the forms, each motion sharper than the last. Though untrained, her movements carried a raw, unpolished strength. It was as though her body remembered something her mind did not. The scroll's teachings whispered to her bones.
She was so focused that she did not notice the presence watching from the shadows until a voice broke the silence.
"Young Mistress," said Old He, the gray-haired steward of the Liang household. His voice was heavy with concern. "If your father discovers this, he will be furious. The path of the sword is not meant for you."
Startled, Yue froze mid-swing. "Uncle He," she breathed, lowering the wooden blade. "You cannot tell Father. Please."
The old man's wrinkled face softened, though sorrow clouded his eyes. "Why do you walk this dangerous road? A daughter of the Liang should not stain her hands with steel. Your future lies in marriage alliances, not bloodshed."
Yue's grip tightened on the sword. "And what future is that? To be sold to a husband who sees me as nothing but a pawn? To watch our house burn while I sit idle, powerless?" Her voice trembled, yet her gaze was steady. "If no one protects the Liang, then I will."
Old He's heart ached. He saw in her the reflection of her late mother, Lady Mei, who had once been whispered to wield a blade in secret. "You carry your mother's fire," he murmured. "But fire can burn as easily as it warms. If you walk this road, there will be no return."
"I have already chosen," Yue replied, raising the sword again. The blossom tree above swayed gently, releasing petals that swirled around her as she moved through the forms once more. For a moment, it seemed the blossoms themselves danced to her rhythm.
Old He sighed deeply. "Then at least… let me guide you. Your strikes are too stiff, your footing unbalanced. You wield your spirit, but not your body."
Surprise lit Yue's eyes. "You… you know swordplay?"
The old man chuckled bitterly. "Long ago, before I swore loyalty to your father, I was a wandering swordsman. Those days are buried, but perhaps Heaven has placed me here for this moment."
Yue bowed deeply, her heart swelling with gratitude. "Then please, Uncle He. Teach me."
And so, beneath the canopy of blossoms, the hidden training began. Old He corrected her stance, guiding her arms with patient hands. He showed her how to breathe, how to let her movements flow like water, how to feel the world through the tip of her blade.
"You must listen," he said, his voice low and steady. "The sword is not merely for killing. It is the extension of one's heart. To wield it, you must know who you are, and what you fight for."
Yue's breaths came heavy, but her spirit soared. For the first time, she felt the path of cultivation open like a distant horizon before her. She was no longer just the sheltered daughter of a failing house—she was a girl standing at the edge of destiny.
As the lesson ended, Yue lifted her wooden sword once more. The sun now blazed overhead, its rays scattering through the blossoms. She struck forward, and though her blade was dull, the force of her spirit made Old He's eyes widen.
"Such resolve…" he whispered. "Perhaps Heaven truly does watch over the House of Liang."
But far beyond the manor walls, a lone swordsman trudged the dusty roads, his hand resting on the hilt of a scarred blade. Wei Chen, a wanderer with vengeance burning in his heart, paused for a moment beneath the same sun. His path, too, was pulling him toward Jiangdu.
The crimson thread of fate grew tighter.