Xu Lian had never been a morning person.

  Yet, at the crack of dawn, long before even the faintest hint of sunlight touched the sky, she was rudely jolted from her slumber by the unmistakable presence of Mo Chen looming at her bedside.

  She groaned, burying her face into the pillow, willing him to disappear.

  "Go away," she mumbled, her voice muffled by sleep. "It’s too early for whatever brooding you need to do."

  There was no humor in Mo Chen’s tone, only cool indifference. "You were the one who issued a challenge yesterday. Now, it begins."

  Xu Lian peeked one bleary eye open, then immediately shut it again with a dramatic groan. Her mussed hair spilled around her face. "Later. Later would be better. Like… after the sun is actually in the sky?"

  She felt, rather than saw, the unimpressed look he must have been giving her.

  "The world does not wait for convenience," he stated, his voice flat.

  "Well, the world is rude," she shot back, curling deeper into the blankets.

  The next thing she knew, the warmth was ripped from her body as Mo Chen yanked the blanket off her entirely, leaving her exposed to the frigid morning air of the temple.

  The rush of cold air against her skin was instant and merciless.

  Xu Lian yelped, jerking upright. A surge of heat—part fury, part mortification—flared through her chest.

  What if she hadn’t been decent?

  Her heart stammered, her fingers clutching the front of her robe instinctively, as if to shield herself from some unseen humiliation. As it was, even with her inner robe still properly in place, the act was entirely inappropriate.

  Her voice, still rough from sleep, sharpened into indignant outrage.

  "What in the name of the heavens do you think you’re doing?!"

  She glared at him, her dark eyes ablaze, cheeks tinged with residual heat. Was he completely lacking in shame? A man as old as time itself, and he had the gall to rip the covers off a sleeping woman—without so much as a word of warning? Did he forget the proper etiquette between a man and a woman?

  Mo Chen stood completely unmoved, as though her anger was a minor inconvenience at best.

  "Getting you out of bed," he replied, utterly unconcerned.

  Xu Lian’s jaw clenched. "And if I—" she huffed, cheeks darkening, "—if I hadn’t been wearing my underdress?"

  Mo Chen didn’t so much as blink. "Then you would have learned to sleep more appropriately in another’s home."

  She gasped, genuinely gasped.

  Her grip on her robe tightened, her entire body rigid with scandalized fury. "Mo Chen, you—!"

  His gaze remained steady, unshaken, as though none of this was particularly remarkable. "If you have the energy to complain, you have the energy to stand. Get up."

  Her mouth opened, then snapped shut.

  This man was impossible.

  Her entire body burned, not just from embarrassment, but from the sheer audacity of this cold, unbothered immortal treating her as though she were an unruly disciple rather than a guest he had personally saved from death. It was like a switch had been flipped.

  Xu Lian exhaled through gritted teeth, hands trembling from the force of holding back her next words.

  "I hate you," she grumbled under her breath, dragging herself up, her pride the only thing keeping her from flinging a pillow directly at his stoic, unrepentant face.

  Mo Chen barely spared her another glance.

  "You’ll hate me more by the end of today."

  Mo Chen, completely unaffected, tossed something toward her.

  She caught it on reflex.

  A sword.

  Not a real one of course, a peach wood practice sword, delicate yet sturdy, its surface smooth and warm beneath her fingers.

  Xu Lian blinked at it, instantly more awake.

  The wood smelled fresh, like it had just been carved, as if it still carried the breath of the tree it had come from. Fine etchings ran along its length, subtle and intricate, following the natural grain of the wood as if guiding the energy within.

  It felt alive.

  She glanced up at Mo Chen. "Where did this come from? I didn’t see it anywhere in the temple while I was cleaning."

  His gaze flickered with what could have been a hint of warmth, no, something else, considering his expression before he answered, as if the question itself was of no consequence.

  "I made it."

  Xu Lian stared at him, then back down at the sword, as if seeing it for the first time.

  "You... made this?" she echoed, running her fingers over the smooth hilt, feeling the care put into its construction.

  "Last night," Mo Chen clarified. "While you were sleeping."

  She blinked.

  It was a simple statement, but for some reason, something about it lodged itself firmly in her chest.

  He had carved this. For her.

  Not conjured from magic, not something left behind from the past… he had taken the time to shape it, refine it, make it hers.

  Mo Chen had created something.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  For someone who claimed to be merely waiting for the world to end, it was an oddly intentional act.

  She swallowed the strange warmth rising in her throat and rolled her shoulders, shaking off the lingering remnants of sleep.

  "Well," she sighed, "I suppose I did ask for this."

  Mo Chen raised a brow. "Regretting it already?"

  She smirked, standing up and gripping the sword properly, the weight of it comfortable in her hands. "Not a chance."

  The first lesson had begun.

  The courtyard was not as she had remembered it.

  Then again, she had never truly seen it before. The night she had arrived, she had been too desperate, too broken, too near death to take in the details of her surroundings. Now, in the misty light of morning, Xu Lian stood at the threshold of the temple and truly looked.

  Beneath her feet, the stone tiles were laid in intricate, swirling mandalas, their patterns worn smooth by time and the elements. The once-precise carvings had softened at the edges, but the artistry remained, the careful geometry speaking of a place once revered, once alive. Here and there, grass had crept between the cracks, the earth reclaiming what had long been abandoned.

  To her right, a small pond sat nestled between the stone and soft patches of green, its surface rippling faintly as koi fish swam lazily beneath the water. Their colors—pale gold, deep crimson, and faded white—should have stood in contrast to the gray lotus blossoms that floated on the surface. But there was no contrast.

  The lotus should have been vibrant, its petals a defiant burst of color against the bleak mountain air. Instead, the blossoms were drained, gray as smoke, as if the very life had been leached from them by the passage of time.

  A shiver ran through her as she stared at them.

  It was as if the mountain itself had devoured their vibrancy, leaving only echoes of what once had been.

  To the side of the courtyard stood a small, round table, surrounded by a few barrel-shaped stone stools, their surfaces smooth from years of wind and rain. The table sat beneath a twisted, ancient tree, its gnarled branches stretching outward like the grasping fingers of a forgotten ghost. There were no leaves. No blooms. Just the skeletal remains of wood, carved by wind and time into something resembling a thing long dead, yet refusing to fall.

  Above her, tattered lanterns swayed from the eaves of the temple, their faded silk whispering against the morning breeze. But despite their ragged state, each one glowed warmly, casting soft pools of golden light over the stone beneath them.

  Xu Lian frowned.

  Mo Chen had lit them.

  She had not seen him do it, nor had she expected him to care about such things. Yet the effort had been made, and now, the small flickering flames gave warmth to the coldness of the temple.

  She turned, glancing past the courtyard toward the mist-shrouded landscape beyond.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  The world ended here.

  Just beyond the flat expanse of the courtyard, the land vanished into nothingness, a sheer drop-off that plunged into a violent, thrashing river far below. The churning water cut through the valley like a severed vein, winding its way toward more hospitable lands.

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  This must have been where Mo Chen tossed the 噬魄妖 (Shì Pò Yāo).

  She exhaled, the wind pulling at the edges of her robe. The realization left an odd sensation curling in her chest. Had she been only moments slower that night, she might have joined the demon in that fall.

  A movement in her periphery drew her attention.

  She turned back toward the temple.

  Mo Chen stood at the very center of the intricate round mandala pattern of the courtyard floor, his dark robes motionless in the breeze. The silver threads of the embroidery pattern glinted like moonlight off the waves of a dark pool as the sleeves fluttered slowly.

  He did not speak, merely lifted a hand and motioned for her to approach.

  She hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, her soft shoes echoing noiselessly against the cool stone.

  Then, with deliberate ease, he reached for the hilt at his side and unsheathed his sword.

  Xu Lian’s breath caught.

  She had not noticed his sword before.

  And now that she saw it, she could not look away.

  It was beautiful—terrifyingly so.

  The blade was dark steel, forged with a shimmer like distant starlight, as if the metal had captured the sky within its edge. It was neither overly ornate nor weighed down with unnecessary embellishments. Instead, its beauty was in its precision, its deadly simplicity.

  And then she saw it.

  Along the length of the blade, seven faint engravings glowed softly—seven stars, etched in perfect alignment.

  北斗 (The Big Dipper.)

  The celestial constellation shimmered as Mo Chen moved, each star pulsing faintly like the heavens themselves had been pressed into steel. The sword was not just a weapon.

  It was an artifact of the night sky. A celestial force, a guiding beacon, and a bridge between the mortal and the divine. It governed fate, longevity, and the balance between Yin and Yang. It is said that every soul’s fate is tied to the movement of these seven stars, the 北斗 (The Big Dipper), and those who understand their mysteries can peer into destiny itself.

  To wield such a weapon was to wield the authority of the heavens, or to defy them outright.

  It is said that if a cultivator can fully resonate with the seven stars of Beidou, their blade will become an extension of the cosmos itself, and each strike will bear the weight of destiny.

  "You’re staring," Mo Chen noted dryly.

  Xu Lian lifted her eyes from the sword to his. "It’s impressive."

  His gaze flickered toward her, his eyes dark, but there was something there—something coolly amused.

  Then, without warning, he lifted Beidou and pointed it directly at her.

  Xu Lian’s muscles tensed on instinct.

  "Draw your sword," he commanded.

  She hesitated, glancing down at the peach wood blade still clutched in her hand.

  "That’s not much of a match for yours," she muttered.

  His grip did not waver. "Lesson one," he said smoothly. "The fundamentals of cultivating the sword." Mo Chen’s expression turned into iced marble stone as he stepped closer to her.

  She exhaled, shifting her stance and gripping the wooden sword properly before raising it in front of her.

  Mo Chen nodded approvingly, though his expression remained unreadable. "A sword cultivator’s path is not just about technique," he began. "It is about balance, resonance, and intent."

  Xu Lian furrowed her brows. "Intent?"

  Mo Chen took another slow step forward, his own sword gliding through the air in a graceful, effortless arc. "The sword is an extension of its wielder, but it is also a force of its own," he explained. "One does not simply wield a sword. One communicates with it. If you are distracted, hesitant, or uncertain… it will not respond to you."

  She frowned, shifting her grip. "That sounds… a bit dramatic."

  Mo Chen’s lips curved slightly. "Is it?"

  Without another word, he took another step, and in an instant, the air changed.

  Xu Lian barely had time to register the shift before she felt it—a pulse, a ripple in the very space around them. It was not chi, not in the way she had felt before, but something deeper, something woven into the blade itself.

  Beidou hummed, the stars along its edge pulsing faintly, responding to Mo Chen’s quiet command.

  Xu Lian swallowed. Her spit, laced with appropriate fear, slid down her throat like bitter acid. Her pulse quickened, and her stomach churned deeply inside her core.

  Maybe it wasn’t so dramatic after all.

  Mo Chen lowered the sword slightly, watching her reaction. "If you cannot align yourself with your sword," he continued, "you will never master it. And if you cannot master it, you will never survive true battle."

  Xu Lian exhaled slowly, gripping the wooden sword tighter. A shiver danced its way up her spine. It settled at the base of her neck, an electric buzzing tightening her scalp, sending pleasurable pulses throughout her body.

  She paused and took a deep breath before asking, "So I just have to… communicate with it?"

  Mo Chen’s gaze held hers. His inky black eyes filled with the weight of expectation. The soft glow of Beidou’s seven-star engravings reflected faintly in his irises, casting fleeting, celestial glimmers within the darkness—a mirror of the heavens hidden in a man who had long forsaken them.

  "You have to earn its recognition."

  Xu Lian swallowed, gripping the wooden sword just a little tighter.

  "Alright, then," she said. "Show me how."

  Mo Chen lifted Beidou again, his stance poised, unwavering.

  "Watch closely."

  And with a single, fluid movement, he began.

  a test, a guide, a reflection.

  who do you think will break first, teacher or student? ?????

  ?? Current Work: "When the Heavens Turned Away" (天道无归 – Tiān Dào Wú Guī)

  ?? Themes I Write: Xianxia | Wuxia | Cultivation | Poetic Tragedy | Immortality & Fate

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