Lin Qinghe leaned against the railing of Qingyun Peak, arms crossed, looking like he had just descended from the heavens and yet felt the whole world was beneath him, though in truth he was mostly trying to figure out how to take a nap without anyone noticing.
Today was the day new disciples were being assigned, and the elders had given him more than three long speeches about "responsibility," "example," and "prestige," which he had nodded at with such vigor that someone had probably fainted from surprise, though he had not actually heard a word past the first syllable. A group of trembling young cultivators shuffled in, bows stiff and faces eager, when Lin Qinghe waved lazily and said, "Pick whoever looks quiet. Quiet means they won't talk, which is good for me."
One disciple choked on his breath, another fainted immediately, and the head elder cleared his throat in a way that clearly signaled impending doom.
Lin Qinghe ignored it entirely and tilted his head toward the far corner, where a boy in a gray robe stood as still as a statue, expression neutral, eyes sharp enough to slice through rock, and somehow radiating an air of "I will follow you anywhere, even if it kills me." Lin Qinghe blinked, a small smile tugging at his lips, and muttered, "Huh. This one's probably harmless. Or terrifying. Either works." He waved him over with one lazy finger.
Xie Liang approached with the solemn precision of someone walking on thin ice, stopping exactly three steps from Lin Qinghe, bowing low enough that anyone else would have scraped their forehead on the stone, then standing again with a calm that made the air feel too still.
Lin Qinghe squinted, scratching his temple. "You… you'll be my disciple," he said, voice casual, as if offering a cup of tea.
Xie Liang nodded, perfectly serious, and Lin Qinghe's lips twitched in amusement. "Fine, don't get in my way, or I will kick you out," Lin Qinghe added, then immediately yawned, realizing he had said far too much.
Xie Liang didn't flinch. He merely inclined his head again, eyes glinting faintly. Lin Qinghe shivered, not unpleasantly. Why do I always attract the extraordinary?
The first "lesson" was chaos disguised as instruction.
Lin Qinghe seated against the railing, one leg lazily dangling over the edge, and waved his hand vaguely toward the practice field. "Alright. Focus your energy, meditate, swing your sword a bit, maybe shout at the clouds—whatever feels right. Just don't break anything important. Or breakable. Actually, break what you want. Whatever."
Xie Liang blinked, processed this, and nodded seriously. Half an hour later, the boy's movements were flawless, leaving faint shimmering traces in the sunlight. Lin Qinghe blinked twice, staring. "Did… that just happen?" he asked no one in particular.
Rumors spread faster than wildfire: Qingyun Peak had a hidden genius under the Peak Lord's care, the sect whispered.
Despite all this, no one in the sect had volunteered to take Xie Liang, and whispers had already begun weaving themselves into a tapestry of fear and fascination. The boy was an orphan, that much was known; no one could claim to understand his family, his background, or how he had come to Qingyun Peak. Some elders muttered cautiously about his origins, while juniors leaned close and whispered with wide eyes, "He's never wielded a sword, yet he never loses… it's unnatural."
One particularly dramatic disciple had even suggested, in a low voice that carried to half the courtyard, "Perhaps he is cursed… or worse, a reincarnation of something dangerous."
Lin Qinghe had overheard snippets of this while lounging lazily, one hand draped over his eyes as if shielding himself from the sun. He had smiled faintly, a delicate curve that made the wind pause for a heartbeat. "Yes, yes," he murmured, "he is out of the ordinary… but no need to turn him into a legend before lunch."
Still, the rumors persisted, growing wilder with every retelling. By mid-morning, disciples were tiptoeing past Xie Liang as if the boy might explode with some hidden power at any moment. Elder Mu, usually a stoic man who rarely raised his voice, had been overheard telling another elder, "I don't trust him. One day he'll do something terrible, and I'll be blamed for ignoring the signs." To which the other had replied, "Or perhaps he'll save the sect in ways we can't comprehend."
Lin Qinghe had chuckled quietly to himself, tilting his head. Always with the exaggeration. Every word is worse than the last. Xie Liang is extraordinary, yes, but he is a human, not a walking disaster waiting to happen.
Xie Liang, oblivious to the gossip but perfectly aware of the subtle glances and whispered caution, continued his practice with unnerving precision. Every movement, every step, every turn of his sword seemed ordinary, yet carried a sharpness that made even the elders glance away briefly. He did not smile, he did not falter, and he certainly did not explain himself. Lin Qinghe, watching from his perch, leaned back and yawned.
"See?" he muttered softly, "Nothing to worry about. Just a boy who takes instructions a bit too seriously."
Though Xie Liang rarely spoke, his eyes were remarkably expressive, a quiet language that seemed reserved only for Lin Qinghe. Every so often, when he executed a difficult move flawlessly, he would pause mid-step, just long enough to glance toward the shizun, as if silently asking, 'Did you see that?'
It became a little game between them. Xie Liang would attempt a complex stance, barely shifting his weight, eyes darting toward Lin Qinghe for that elusive acknowledgment, and Lin Qinghe would sigh dramatically, sometimes clapping once, sometimes merely raising a hand, or even muttering, "Hm, acceptable." The boy would nod ever so slightly, satisfied, before continuing as if nothing had happened, yet always ready for the next glance.