The road narrowed until it became little more than a path carved through mist and stone.
The sleek black SUV crawled forward, headlights cutting tunnels through the fog.
Mountains rose like silent sentinels on either side, their peaks lost to the grey heavens. The world here had forgotten the rush of cities, the pull of time.
Here, there was only breath. Stone. Blood.
At last, the car slowed to a full stop before an ancient wooden gate, weathered by centuries yet standing tall and unbroken. Carvings of flowing vines, cranes, and twin dragons chased each other across its surface — symbols of the old bloodline, untouched by modern hands.
For a moment, the mist thickened.
Then, as if sensing her arrival, the gates creaked open soundlessly.
Waiting there was a figure in grey robes — simple, elegant, and utterly out of place in the modern world.
Liang Feng.
Her mother's elder cousin.
The moment Yue's feet touched the mossy stones of the courtyard, she felt it — the shift.
As if the ground itself acknowledged her presence, whispering along unseen threads that she had finally come home… or at least, to the place where she must become who she was destined to be.
Liang Feng inclined his head in greeting. His face was lined with age, but his eyes — sharp as winter stars — missed nothing.
"Liang Yue," he said, voice carrying clearly through the mist.
"We have been waiting."
Yue bowed low, instinctively formal.
"Liang Feng-shushu."
A faint curve touched his mouth — not quite a smile, but close.
"You are smaller than I expected," he said lightly. Then, more seriously, "But size is rarely the measure of strength. Come."
He turned, robes whispering over stone, leading her deeper into the ancient estate.
Yue followed without hesitation.
The gates swung closed behind them with a final, echoing thud.
---
The estate was vast — but not in the way the new Liang mansion was vast.
Here, space was not built for display, but for purpose.
Low houses stretched along narrow courtyards. Gardens thick with old herbs, black pines, and crimson camellias hid between the buildings. Small shrines stood tucked into alcoves, their incense long since cold.
Everywhere, there was the sense of history pressing close.
Liang Feng spoke little as they walked.
Instead, he allowed the house itself to speak — in the creak of wood, the crackle of distant fire, the murmuring water from unseen springs.
Finally, they reached a central courtyard, where a tall, weatherworn torii gate stood alone.
Beyond it, Yue could see a hall — older than any she had ever entered — its roof sagging slightly under the weight of centuries.
"This is the Heart Pavilion," Liang Feng said.
"Here, you will live, study, and train."
He turned to her fully, studying her face with unreadable eyes.
"You carry not just your family's hopes," he said softly. "But something rarer.
The Fourth Bloodline does not wake easily. It demands everything."
Yue lifted her chin slightly.
"I understand."
"Do you?" Liang Feng murmured, almost to himself.
He seemed to consider her for a moment longer, then simply nodded.
"You will begin tomorrow at first light. Tonight, rest. The journey ahead will not forgive weakness."
He gestured to a nearby structure — a small, simple room set apart from the others.
Without another word, he turned and vanished into the mist, leaving Yue alone beneath the fading light.
---
She stepped into the room.
It was spare, but clean — a low bed, a writing table, a single oil lamp that flickered warmly against the encroaching fog.
Yue set down her things, moving with mechanical care.
She lit the lamp, bathing the room in a soft, uncertain glow.
Outside, the mist coiled and shifted like living things.
She sat at the edge of the bed, cloak still draped over her shoulders, feeling the deep silence of the place settle into her bones.
For the first time since leaving, the enormity of it all pressed in.
She was alone.
Truly alone.
And yet… there was no regret.
Only the steady, measured beat of her heart — telling her she was exactly where she needed to be.
Tomorrow, the ancient training of the Inner Vein would begin.
Tonight, she allowed herself the luxury of memory.
And her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the one face that had been missing at her departure.
---
Meanwhile, back at the Liang Estate:
Liang Jin stood alone in the old greenhouse, where the warm, wet scent of earth and green things filled the air.
It was here he always came when he needed to think.
Around him, the vines he had coaxed into spiraling arcs drooped slightly, sensing his mood.
He had not gone to the gates that morning.
He had not said goodbye to his twin.
And now, as the evening deepened into stormclouds, the weight of that decision sat heavy on his chest.
"You're a coward," he muttered aloud.
But the words rang hollow.
The truth was uglier, sharper:
He had been afraid.
Not afraid of Yue leaving.
Not afraid of her failing.
But afraid of what her leaving meant for himself.
Since they were small, he had always known Yue was different — quieter, steadier, somehow more real.
While he burned bright and reckless, she had smoldered, gathering strength slowly, invisibly.
He had envied it sometimes.
Admired it always.
And now, she was walking a path he could not follow.
A path where he could not protect her, tease her, argue with her, or simply be there.
A path that would widen the gap between them until, perhaps, they would no longer understand each other at all.
He clenched his fists.
In the humid air, the vines tightened around their wooden supports with soft creaks, mirroring his unease.
"I'll catch up to you," he said finally, voice rough.
"I swear it."
And somewhere far away, as the first raindrops began to fall against the old glass panes, Liang Jin bowed his head — not in defeat, but in silent, furious promise.
---
Back in the mountains, Liang Yue sat by the oil lamp, her hand resting lightly over her heart.
The mist pressed against the window like a living thing.
Beyond it, unseen, the future waited — vast, terrible, and magnificent.
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
But tonight, she allowed herself this small moment:
the memory of the brother who had not come to say goodbye, but who, she knew, had never left her side in spirit.
And outside, the storm finally broke — rain falling in soft, endless sheets, washing the world clean.