Sleep had evaded me.

  I had lain on the edge of my silk-covered mattress, eyes fixed on the ceiling where shadows shifted with the flicker of the lantern flame. The quiet hum of the estate at night should have soothed me, but instead, it felt oppressive—heavy with thoughts I couldn’t silence. It wasn’t discomfort that kept me awake. It was the unease. The uncertainty. The quiet storm churning within.

  Xue was leaving in the morning.

  That simple truth echoed inside me like a drumbeat. I had turned onto my side, gaze falling on the wooden sword propped against my bedside. It had become a companion of sorts—a constant reminder of what I lacked and what I still struggled to understand. Beyond the window, the moonlight spilled over the courtyard like silver mist. The stillness outside called to me.

  I threw off the covers.

  If sleep wouldn’t come, then I would meet the night on my feet—with motion, with purpose.

  I sat up in bed, my fingers brushing against the wooden sword lying beside me. The weight of it felt heavier tonight—not because of the wood, but because of everything I carried within. Sleep had slipped from my grasp, like it had every night for the past few weeks.

  Without a sound, I rose and made my way to the door. As I slid it open, the faint creak was met with silence from the two guards stationed outside. They stood there, still as stone, armor gleaming faintly in the low lantern light. I didn’t acknowledge them. I didn’t need to. My mind was elsewhere—cluttered, restless.

  The night air struck me with a cool dampness. Clouds pressed low in the sky, thick and brooding, the sharp scent of rain already in the wind. The moon fought to shine through them, casting broken silver light across the quiet courtyard.

  Two more guards flanked the steps leading down, eyes tracking me. I barely noticed. Their presence was familiar—expected. But tonight, they were just shadows at the edge of my focus.

  I stepped onto the stone tiles at the heart of the courtyard, beneath the great maple whose leaves rustled like restless whispers. I took a breath, slow and full, and unsheathed the wooden blade from my back.

  My stance widened. I let the silence settle.

  Then I began.

  Each movement flowed into the next, drawn from the Zhang family’s sword manual—Silent Frost Steps and Piercing Leaf Flow, stances passed down for generations. My arms remembered what my mind sometimes doubted. Frost-Edge Reversal. Shifting Petal. Winter's Respite. I performed them not with Qi, but with everything else I had—discipline, muscle memory, frustration.

  Strike. Shift. Parry. Turn. Again. Again. Again.

  I pushed the blade through the motions until the world dulled around me. Until I no longer noticed the guards watching from the shadows or the ache in my limbs. My mind cleared, bit by bit, with each breath, each form.

  Thunder murmured in the distance, like a warning. The wind picked up. I tightened my grip.

  And still, I moved.

  The rhythm of my movements deepened. Each arc of the wooden blade carved through the air with growing precision. My body moved automatically now—Frozen Vein Spiral, Crescent Drop, Mist-Drift Advance—each technique unfolding like a verse of a song I had heard since childhood but only now began to understand.

  The wind shifted.

  A soft, cold drop struck my shoulder. Then another tapped against my cheek. Within moments, the clouds above broke open, and rain began to fall—slow at first, like the heavens were hesitant, then heavier, steadier. The stone beneath my feet darkened, water streaking through the cracks. Still, I didn’t stop. I let the rain soak through my robes and into my skin, cooling the fire that burned behind my ribs.

  There was a strange clarity in the downpour. Each motion felt sharper, each breath more focused. My frustrations—my thoughts of my sister leaving in the morning, the pressure of expectations, the maddening absence of Qi—all of it seemed to wash off me like the rain.

  I struck forward with a final thrust—Petal Severance, the ending form of the family’s opening kata—and held my stance there. Breathing. Listening.

  Then I felt it.

  A presence.

  Not the guards—they were still silent and distant, like furniture that knew better than to speak. No, this was different. Closer. Focused.

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  A figure stood at the edge of the courtyard, just beneath the eaves, hidden partly in shadow.

  “You’ve improved,” came the calm, familiar voice.

  I didn’t move right away. But the moment the voice cut through the rain, I knew.

  “…Yes, Mother,” I said quietly.

  I released my stance and lowered the sword, letting the rain run freely from its edge. My shoulders relaxed, though the tension never truly left.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, turning to face her fully now, the storm around us thick with questions.

  My mother stepped further into the courtyard, the rain parting slightly as if even the storm dared not cross her path. Her robes, untouched by the weather, fluttered gently with each step—calm, precise, controlled. She stopped a few paces from me, her eyes sharp beneath the hood that shadowed her face.

  For a moment, neither of us spoke. Only the rain filled the silence, a steady, rhythmic curtain around us.

  But inside, my thoughts churned.

  I had been thinking about it all night—the scroll.

  I shouldn’t have taken it. I knew it then, and I know it now. Accepting a Qi technique from a stranger in a moment of desperation… it was reckless. I had been blinded by frustration—by the widening gap between me and Xue, by my fear that I’d always be left behind. The craving to feel Qi in my body had made me act without sense. What would she think if she knew?

  “Training in the rain?” my mother finally said, her voice calm but edged with something unreadable. “That’s not like you.”

  I glanced down at the soaked wooden blade in my hand. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You’ve been restless for days.”

  I didn’t deny it.

  Instead, I met her gaze. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  She studied me carefully. I couldn’t tell if she already knew—about the scroll, the stranger, the foolish hope I clung to—or if she was waiting for me to speak it aloud. The silence that followed pressed in on my chest, heavier than the rain.

  “Xue leaves at first light,” she said. “You know this.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you troubled by that?”

  I hesitated. “It’s not just that.”

  She didn’t press. She didn’t need to. The weight of her silence demanded answers all the same.

  So I exhaled, slow and careful, and finally said, “Mother… have you ever been so desperate for something that you made a mistake just chasing the possibility of it?”

  Her eyes narrowed—just slightly.

  I tightened my grip on the wooden sword. The rain whispered around us.

  “I thought maybe—if I tried something else, even if it wasn’t… rational… it might help.”

  Her expression didn’t shift, but her presence grew colder. Not angry—watchful. As if measuring the weight of my words and the intent behind them.

  She exhaled through her nose, sharp and short. “We’ve already discussed this, and I don’t feel like repeating myself.”

  I looked down at the rain pooling around my feet, unsure whether it was the cold water or her words that sent a shiver up my spine. I had nothing to say.

  She stepped closer, her presence like a weight pressing down on the air between us. “You're too impulsive, Yue. Taking that scroll without knowing the identity of the man who gave it to you—it was reckless.”

  “I just…” I hesitated, voice barely above the patter of the rain, “I just wanted to feel what it’s like. To touch Qi, even if only once.”

  Her gaze didn’t soften. “Desire without patience breeds ruin.”

  The silence lingered between us, broken only by the rain tapping gently against the tiles and leaves around the courtyard. I stood motionless, the wooden sword still at my side, my mother’s words echoing louder than the storm above.

  She looked at me, her expression unreadable beneath the shadows of the eaves. “You’re still young,” she finally said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “And your impatience is understandable… but there’s no free meal in this world.”

  I swallowed hard, her words sinking in deeper than I wanted to admit. I hated how right she was. That scroll—just one strange scroll—had already weighed down my mind heavier than any blade ever could.

  “I didn’t expect it to be easy,” I said, meeting her gaze. “I just… I thought maybe—if I worked hard enough—if I pushed myself…”

  She shook her head slowly. “Even the strongest effort can’t outpace consequence. What you seek is not impossible, Yue. But if you take shortcuts, you’ll only invite the kind of attention you cannot afford.”

  My hands tightened around the wooden hilt. The storm inside me churned harder than the one above.

  “Then what should I do?” I asked, the frustration slipping through. “Wait? Watch everyone pass me by?”

  Her eyes softened, but only slightly. “You train. You listen. And when the time comes, you choose—not with desperation, but with clarity.”

  She paused for a moment, then added with a note of finality, “Leave the solutions to me. I’ve already sent word to your grandfather. He will know how to proceed.”

  My breath caught slightly at her words. She was taking this seriously—far more than I had expected. And if grandfather was now involved… things were beginning to shift.

  -------‐--‐-----------

  Morning mist clung to the courtyard stones like breath held too long. The rain had passed, but its scent still lingered—earthy and clean. The sky, pale and overcast, cast a soft light on everything. I stood in silence by the outer gate, watching as Zhang Xue adjusted the straps on her travel pack.

  She looked poised, as always. Her new robes bore the insignia of the Azure Cloud Sect now—light blue, almost silvery in the morning haze, trimmed with elegant cloud patterns that whispered of prestige. It felt strange seeing her wrapped in those colors. Like she belonged to something beyond our family now. Something bigger, farther away.

  “I’ll write,” she said, breaking the stillness with that calm, steady voice of hers.

  I nodded, my throat tight. “You better,” I tried to joke, but the words came out flat, barely hiding the weight behind them.

  She smiled faintly, then stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it grounded me.

  “Don’t slack off while I’m gone,” she said, her tone half-teasing, half-command.

  “I won’t.” I meant it. But part of me already missed her.

  She gave one last look, then turned without another word and stepped toward the waiting carriage. A sect disciple held the door open—his robe matching hers in color and dignity. With one last breath, she vanished behind the carriage’s painted door.

  The wheels creaked to life on the damp stone path, and the carriage pulled away, fading into the gray horizon until even the Azure Cloud crest was swallowed by the mist.

  And just like that, she was gone.

  _________________

  A few hours had passed since Zhang Xue’s departure, but the stillness she left behind lingered like a shadow.

  I found myself back in the inner courtyard, seated beneath the old plum tree whose blossoms hadn’t yet returned. The sky remained dull and clouded, but the mist had burned off, leaving the air heavy with the scent of wet stone and moss.

  The silence was different now—emptier.

  My fingers absentmindedly traced the grain of the wooden training sword resting across my knees. I hadn’t touched it since before dawn, but the weight of it was familiar, grounding. I had hoped to clear my mind with practice earlier, but now, with the morning behind me and my sister gone, clarity felt further away than ever.

  I leaned back against the tree trunk, eyes half-closed, thoughts turning to the scroll. That damn scroll.

  The reckless choice still burned in my chest, no matter how I tried to rationalize it. I had wanted Qi—needed it. I thought maybe if I just pushed hard enough, if I just reached fast enough, I could catch up to her. To all of them.

  But now… now I was stuck in a waiting game. My mother’s words echoed from the night before: "You're still young, and your impatience is understandable—but there's no free meal in this world."

  And worse—“Leave the solutions to me.” She’d already contacted Grandfather. Which meant this was out of my hands.

  I hated feeling powerless.

  A gust of wind stirred the branches above, rustling a few lingering leaves. I looked up, squinting at the pale sliver of sun behind the clouds. Somewhere out there, my sister was riding toward her future while I remained here, trapped in the consequences of a decision I couldn’t undo.

  But sitting around wouldn't change anything.

  I stood slowly, gripping the wooden sword tight in my hand. If nothing else, I could train. I could move. I could fight the weight in my chest one swing at a time.

  _______________________