Liang Wei woke because something was wrong.
Not sudden. Not loud. Just a weight that had settled low in her body, deep enough that breathing felt different. She stared at the seam in the canvas above her head and waited for the sensation to sharpen into something clearer.
It didn't. Instead, it spread. A dull pull, steady and insistent, as if her body were quietly claiming its due. She exhaled through her nose, already counting days in her head. The timing aligned whether she wanted it to or not.
Her period.
She closed her eyes for a moment longer, not in denial, just in calculation. Cloth. Water. Movement kept controlled. No lapses. No mistakes.
When the worst of the ache ebbed enough to tolerate, she rolled onto her side and sat up slowly. The tent tilted, then steadied. She waited until the ground felt solid again before standing.
Dressing took longer than usual. She fastened each strap carefully, ignoring the ache that flared when she bent. She adjusted, adapted, continued. There was no room in camp for softness. There was barely room for privacy.
The sword rested beside her pack. She did not touch it yet.
By the time she stepped outside, the camp was already awake. Smoke curled from cook fires. Metal rang as soldiers checked gear. Someone laughed too loudly. The sound grated.
Li Běichén was already awake when she reached the training ground. He always was.
He stood near the weapon racks, speaking to two officers. He didn't look at her immediately. That irritated her more than the pain. She took her place without being told, posture correct, expression neutral.
"Report," he said at last, still facing away.
"I completed the sorting," Liang Wei replied.
"I know." He turned then, eyes passing over her once. They lingered for a fraction of a second longer than usual. Not on her face. On her posture. The way her weight favored one leg.
"You will assist with drills," he continued. "Observation only."
Her fingers curled before she could stop them. "Observation," she repeated.
"Yes."
The word landed badly. After yesterday, after the work that had stripped her thin. After graves. The nights spent awake with her body reminding her of its limits. Observation felt like dismissal.
She inclined her head. "Understood."
The drills were basic. Formation changes. Weapon transitions. The kind of repetition meant to grind instinct into bone. Liang Wei stood at the edge of the field, hands folded, eyes tracking movement. The sun climbed. Heat pressed down. The ache in her abdomen tightened, then loosened, then tightened again, like a slow tide she could not escape.
Her irritation bled outward in small ways. She corrected a stance too sharply. Her gaze lingered too long when a soldier dropped something. When one of the officers glanced her way with a half-smile, something cold sparked behind her ribs.
Not hunger. Not a call. Just awareness, like a vibration felt through bone rather than skin. A low hum brushed the inside of her wrist where it rested against the hilt. She adjusted the scabbard, shifting it slightly so it wouldn't press.
The sensation followed.
Li Běichén dismissed the formation and motioned her over. They stopped a few paces apart, close enough that she could smell dust and iron on him. "You are distracted," he said.
"I am functional."
"That is not the same thing."
The pain flared sharply then, sudden enough to steal her breath. She inhaled through it, slow and controlled. Her vision narrowed at the edges.
"Speak," Li Běichén said.
She looked at him. At the calm certainty in his expression. At the way his gaze flicked, once, to the sword. "You assigned me to watch," she said. "I'm watching."
"You are lost." He said quietly.
"You test me with work meant to empty me. If this is assessment, then say so."
"And if it is discipline."
"Then it is misplaced."
The air between them tightened. A few nearby soldiers slowed, pretending not to listen.
Li Běichén's eyes sharpened. "You are in pain."
The statement landed too close to the truth. "Yes," she said, before she could stop herself. Then, because the moment had already broken, she added, "It is abdominal pain. And it is irrelevant."
Silence followed. Not the awkward kind. The kind that recalibrates. Li Běichén did not react the way she expected. No dismissal. Only a brief narrowing of his gaze. "Pain is never irrelevant," he said. "But it does not excuse loss of control."
"I have not lost control."
"Not yet."
The sword pulsed once, faintly. Her hand tightened on the strap. She exhaled. Slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was even. "Then give me work."
He studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded once.
"Very well," Li Běichén said. "You will spar."
Several heads turned.
"With whom," she asked.
"With me."
The circle formed quickly. No ceremony. No announcements. Liang Wei stepped into the space, each movement precise despite the drag in her limbs. She bowed. He returned it.
They moved.
He pressed her immediately. Not fast. Not cruel. Just steady pressure, the kind meant to test endurance rather than skill. She parried cleanly, footwork tight, breath measured. Each turn sent a dull flare through her core. She used it to anchor herself, to stay sharp. The sword stayed sheathed. It sang anyway, a thin internal note that made her teeth ache.
Li Běichén stepped inside her guard. She twisted, redirecting, using leverage rather than force. For a moment they locked, close enough that she could see her own reflection in his eyes. Pale. Controlled. Fractured.
"You are holding back," he said softly. "That will kill you."
She did not answer.
She broke contact deliberately, stepping back before the restraint cracked. The murmurs rose.
"Enough," he said. "Return to your quarters. Rest."
She inclined her head. This time, she did not argue.
As she walked away, pain and hunger twisted together beneath her ribs, sharp enough to demand attention but familiar enough to endure. She neither welcomed nor resisted them. She simply kept moving.
Behind her, Li Běichén watched until she disappeared from sight.