The next morning, the safehouse buzzed with a new kind of tension. Sheng Long paced the war room, deep in thought, while Yan Shuo tapped rapidly at a comms device, securing stronger surveillance grids around the perimeter.
Xiao Lin stood at the doorway, watching with wide, serious eyes.
He still felt the burn of Fei Ren's gaze from the night before.
Still heard the silk-smooth voice like a dagger at his throat.
But what weighed heavier on his chest was the fury — the helpless anger at himself for needing to be protected yet again.
He wasn't a child.
He didn't want to be just something precious kept under glass.
"Marshal," Xiao Lin said suddenly, stepping forward. His voice was quiet, but carried a stubborn edge. "Teach me."
Sheng Long stopped mid-step. His dark eyes locked onto Xiao Lin's, unreadable.
"You're already training," Sheng Long said after a moment, voice cool.
Xiao Lin shook his head, fisting his hands. "Not just fighting. I want to learn... everything. About defense. About enemies. About the world. I don't want to slow you down."
A small silence fell.
Yan Shuo, from his seat, looked up sharply but said nothing.
Sheng Long studied the young ger in front of him — his silver hair catching the morning light, his red eyes filled with a fierce kind of hope.
For a moment, something twisted deep in Sheng Long's chest — an emotion unfamiliar and unwanted.
Protectiveness... pride... and something even more dangerous he didn't dare name.
Finally, Sheng Long spoke.
"You will train," he said. "But you will obey orders without question. You will live. That is the condition."
Xiao Lin nodded so hard his hair flopped into his face.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Sheng Long's mouth before he crushed it.
"Then prepare yourself," Sheng Long said. "Training begins now. And you'll be under tighter guard than ever."
Later, in the private training ground:
Xiao Lin huffed, sweat pouring down his back as he sprinted obstacle after obstacle, his fox tail flicking frantically behind him.
Yan Shuo barked out corrections.
"Lower your center of gravity!"
"Eyes up — watch your flanks!"
Sheng Long watched silently from the shadows, arms crossed, eyes sharp and measuring.
The exercises were grueling — dodging moving targets, blocking blunt weapons, navigating confusing sensory illusions designed to mimic a battlefield.
Several times Xiao Lin stumbled.
Twice he was knocked flat by a low-swinging arm.
Each time, he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up again.
Not once did he whimper. Not once did he ask for rest.
The fire inside him refused to be snuffed out.
Nightfall:
Xiao Lin sprawled in the small courtyard, gasping for breath, the stars spinning dizzyingly above.
Sheng Long approached, holding a small vial of nutrient fluid.
Without a word, he knelt and offered it.
Xiao Lin took it with both hands, drinking gratefully.
When he finished, he dared glance up at Sheng Long through his lashes.
"Did I... do okay?" he asked, voice rough with exhaustion.
For a long second, the Marshal said nothing.
Then, he reached out — awkwardly, almost shyly — and ruffled Xiao Lin's silvery hair.
"You did well," Sheng Long said, the praise gruff but real.
Xiao Lin blinked, stunned. His fox ears twitched once, then he smiled — a soft, rare thing that made Sheng Long's breath catch in his throat.
He coughed roughly and stood up, turning away.
"Don't get cocky," Sheng Long muttered.
Xiao Lin giggled behind his hand.
It was a fragile, fleeting peace.
But both of them clung to it for the night.
Elsewhere, in the city:
From a rooftop shrouded in mist, cloaked figures watched the safehouse.
The assassins of the royal court.
And behind them, something even darker lurked in the shadows — the writhing minds of Zerg spies.
Both enemies had come for the fox healer.
Both would not stop until Xiao Lin was dead.
They were growing bolder.
Soon... very soon... blood would be spilled.