Chapter Three: Blood Is a Language
The first time Lin Yuexin drew blood, it was an accident.
That, she would later decide, was the most honest kind.
She was ten.
They brought her into the lower training hall before dawn, when the Pavilion smelled of stone dust and cold iron. The torches were low, their flames bending toward the floor as if bowing. Yuexin stood barefoot on the etched circle at the center, hands wrapped in linen, a wooden blade strapped at her side.
Madam Qiao paced around her.
"Today," she said, "you learn restraint."
Yuexin blinked. "That's new."
Madam Qiao stopped in front of her. "You think killing is the goal."
"It seems popular here."
A murmur of amusement rippled among the instructors lining the walls.
Madam Qiao leaned down until her eyes were level with Yuexin's. "Killing is noise. Control is art."
She straightened and snapped her fingers.
"Bring him in."
They dragged the boy forward.
He couldn't have been more than thirteen. Thin. Bruised. Shackles on his wrists. His eyes darted wildly until they landed on Yuexin—and softened, just a little.
"Please," he whispered. "I won't tell anyone."
Yuexin's stomach twisted.
Madam Qiao's voice cut in sharply. "He is a thief. He stole Pavilion property."
"I was hungry," the boy said desperately. "I didn't know—"
"You know now," Madam Qiao replied.
She turned to Yuexin.
"Disarm him."
Yuexin hesitated. "With the wooden blade?"
"No."
Madam Qiao tossed her a real knife.
The weight of it shocked her. Metal. Sharp. Final.
Yuexin stared at the boy.
"If I don't?" she asked quietly.
Madam Qiao's answer was immediate. "Then he dies anyway. And you will join him."
The boy started crying.
Yuexin exhaled slowly.
"Well," she muttered, "this morning got unpleasant fast."
She stepped forward.
The boy lunged.
Everything happened wrong and right at the same time.
He slipped on the stone. She reacted on instinct, twisting, blade flashing up to protect her throat.
The knife went in.
Warmth spilled over her hand.
The boy froze, eyes wide with shock.
Then he fell.
Silence crashed down.
Yuexin stared at her hand. Blood soaked into the linen, dark and sticky.
She waited to feel something dramatic.
Nothing came.
Madam Qiao approached, examining the body.
"Messy," she said. "But effective."
Yuexin looked up. "He wasn't trained."
"No," Madam Qiao agreed. "You were."
Yuexin wiped the blade on her sleeve and asked, "Am I in trouble?"
Madam Qiao paused. Then smiled.
"No."
---
They didn't punish her.
They promoted her.
From that day on, Yuexin trained separately.
Harder. Faster. Sharper.
Her new instructor was Master Jian, a thin man with ink-stained fingers and eyes like still water.
"You think too much," he told her during their first sparring session.
Yuexin parried his strike. "I like thinking."
He disarmed her with a flick of his wrist. "Thinking gets you killed."
She hit the floor.
Later, while bandaging her scraped elbow, she said, "You hit like you're annoyed."
Master Jian glanced at her. "You move like you expect the world to apologize."
"It hasn't," Yuexin replied. "I'm waiting."
He snorted.
---
That night, Yuexin dreamed of the boy.
Not his face.
Just the sound his body made when it hit the stone.
She woke up irritated.
"Rude," she muttered to the ceiling.
She sat up—and noticed the air had changed.
The shadows in the room stretched unnaturally, pooling at her feet like spilled ink.
Her heart began to pound.
"What," she whispered, "is that?"
The shadows moved.
They responded.
Yuexin's breath hitched as the darkness curled around her fingers, warm and alive.
She yanked her hand back.
The shadows receded.
The door slid open.
Elder Han stood there, watching her carefully.
"You felt it," he said.
Yuexin swallowed. "I think the room is broken."
He smiled faintly.
"You have inherited abilities," he said. "Mythic blood. Dormant until now."
"Does that mean I'm cursed?"
"It means," Elder Han replied, "you are expensive."
She considered that.
"Well," she said, "I hope you plan to get your money's worth."
He studied her for a long moment.
"I believe," he said slowly, "that you will cost us more than we expected."
As he turned to leave, Yuexin called after him.
"Elder Han?"
"Yes?"
"Next time," she said, voice calm, "don't make me practice on hungry boys."
His steps paused.
"There will be worse," he said.
Yuexin lay back down, staring at the ceiling as the shadows settled obediently into place.
"Good," she murmured.
"I was getting bored."
---
.