Moonlit Courtyard – Frost and Challenge
Moonlight draped the training courtyard in silver, reflecting off frost-tipped flagstones. Tiān Lán's silhouette was still, a shadow among shadows, the memory of the parasol girl's words lingering like a whisper of old storms:
> "Are you still the man I once knew… or just his shadow?"
The air held its breath. Snow swirled lightly, settling into delicate patterns on the stones. Then, movement—subtle, yet deliberate.
---
She emerged from the mist like a living painting. Ink-black hair shimmered faintly, silver embroidery glinting along her sleeves. Her parasol was open now, frost gathering along its ribs as she raised it lightly, shielding herself from the swirling snow.
Her gaze fixed Tiān Lán with a quiet intensity.
> "Prove it."
Tiān Lán narrowed his eyes.
> "Prove what?"
> "That you are truly Yè Tíanshuāng." Her voice was soft, but the tremor beneath it was clear. "If you are only a fragment of him, I'd rather not see you at all."
She flicked her wrist. Snowflakes spun unnaturally, sharpening into glimmering blades suspended midair. Every formation, every motion—a technique foreign to Frostveil Sect, yet hauntingly familiar.
Tiān Lán inhaled deeply. Frost qi coiled around his hands, subtle yet absolute. With a graceful sweep, he dissipated the blades into harmless mist before they could reach him.
Her breath caught.
> "Only he could do that…"
Silence stretched between them—tense, fragile.
Then—
---
A dry, rumbling chuckle cut the quiet.
> "Well, well… Frost arts in the courtyard? You two younglings planning to freeze the sect in its sleep?"
Old Man Wáng emerged from the shadows. Wine gourd in hand, reeking of alcohol and herbs. His beard was tangled, robe frayed—but for a flicker, his eyes burned with sharp clarity.
The parasol girl stiffened.
> "…Uncle Wáng?"
Tiān Lán's gaze snapped toward the old man.
> "You know him?"
> "Knew her father. Long ago. She shouldn't even be here."
Her hands tightened on the parasol, but she said nothing.
Tiān Lán felt the subtle pull of destiny tighten—this girl was far more than a witness. She was tied directly to the storms of his past life.
Old Man Wáng met Tiān Lán's eyes.
> "Boy, fate's threads are pulling tight. Be careful which one you tug… or it'll strangle you."
Then he staggered away, humming incoherently, leaving only the cold wind and snow-laden silence.
---
Morning came, and the plaza erupted in anticipation. Tens of thousands of eyes watched the central circle blaze with runes of lightning.
A voice boomed across the courtyard:
> "Tiān Lán! Face me in the Duel of Honor!"
Liú Qìnghai, his Stormblood qi crackling violently, stepped forward. Each stride shook the ground. Even distant disciples whispered:
> "He's dead."
"One strike and he's finished."
Tiān Lán's calm never faltered. Inside, Lingxiāo stirred.
> "Careful, Master. Reveal too much and they'll know. Hide too much and you'll lose."
A faint smile touched Tiān Lán's lips.
> "Then I'll walk the edge."
---
The gong thundered. Qìnghai lunged, fists wrapped in storm qi. Every step cracked stone beneath him. The crowd gasped as the ground itself seemed to rebel against him.
Tiān Lán slid back with effortless grace, movements smooth, measured, almost casual. His footwork was fluid as frost running over glass—slipping between strikes, letting thunderous force pass by like wind over snow.
> "Fight me seriously, coward!" Qìnghai roared.
A fist grazed Tiān Lán's cheek. Frost crackled faintly, vanishing before it could form. The spectators whispered in awe.
> "That technique—"
"Impossible… I saw that in an ancient scroll—"
Qìnghai then unleashed his storm art, a dome of lightning trapping Tiān Lán. The air vibrated violently, blinding some of the audience.
When the storm subsided—Tiān Lán still stood, calm and unbroken. Frost shimmered faintly beneath his boots, the lightning diverted harmlessly around him.
He gazed at Qìnghai. Eyes faintly glowing.
> "Is that all?"
A single palm strike. Frost surged—controlled, precise. Not fatal, but enough to freeze Qìnghai's legs solid. The stormblood genius collapsed, stunned and powerless.
The plaza erupted in chaos.
> "Impossible!"
"He didn't even use qi!"
"Who… is he?"
Above, the Sect Master's gaze sharpened—unreadable, yet piercing.
And somewhere amidst the crowd, the parasol girl whispered, fingers gripping her handle:
> "You haven't changed at all."