The next morning, after breakfast and clearing the dishes, I lay across the table, thoughts sinking like a stone in a still pond.

I stared out the window, blank and unmoving, like a scarecrow in a windless field.

“Servant, what’s wrong with you? This early, and you’re already like mist before dawn.”

Xinuo came over and sat beside me, her gaze tilting curious, like a sparrow cocking its head.

“Mm, it’s nothing. Ever since you drew out the power of the Shattered Light Sword, I’ve had this odd feeling—like a tug under the skin before rain.”

I plucked a candy from the plate, let the sweetness melt like frost on my tongue, and shook my head.

“Oh? Strange feeling? What is it, like a hidden cricket in tall grass?”

Hearing me, Xinuo’s interest lit up, eyes bright like starlight on a river.

“Mm… let me think…”

I shut my eyes; the feeling rose again like a fish in dark water, but I couldn’t catch the words for it.

“Uh… I don’t know how to say it. It’s like my thoughts resonate with the Shattered Light Sword, two strings humming in tune.”

Since I couldn’t name it, I just dropped it in the quiet like a pebble.

“I see. I didn’t expect it this soon, like spring sprouting before the frost is gone.”

Xinuo watched me, a flicker of surprise cresting like a paused wave.

“Xinuo, do you know what this is?”

I lifted my head; her tone felt like someone reading the wind.

“Of course,” she said, steady as a mountain.

She smiled and set her hand on my cheek, pinching, fingers curling like warm vines.

“What is it then?”

“Well, it’s a sign your Sword Intent is about to form. But Servant, your cheeks knead like soft dough—too satisfying.”

Excitement surged through me like a spark catching dry grass. “Sword Intent?! Does that mean I can cultivate it?”

I’d been itching for a way to train it; Xinuo had never told me, and itched like ants under bark.

“No.” Xinuo shook her head, wind scattering my flicker. “Though this feeling is a sign, you’re still far from forming Sword Intent.”

Huh? My excitement doused like a rain on embers. “How come?”

“It’s nothing… Fine, I’ll explain Sword Intent,” she said, like opening a scroll under lamplight.

Xinuo lifted the teapot, poured black tea, added a spoon of sugar, stirred; steam curled up like morning mist as she took a sip.

“But before that, let me ask you: what’s a living being’s greatest strength, the mountain at its core?”

“Uh… no idea. Talent?” I guessed, a seed born bold.

I thought and found nothing; my thoughts circled like moths around a lamp.

“Not talent,” she said, iron under silk, “but will.”

“Huh? How?” The answer jarred me like a loose cartwheel.

I was stunned. How could will outstrip talent? Doesn’t talent decide a person’s rise and fall?

“Nothing strange about it,” she said, like a river explaining its own path.

She finished her tea, lifted a pastry; crumbs fell like snowflakes as she ate.

“No matter the race, no matter how gifted the body, it falls one day. When that comes, your earth-shaking talent means nothing—you still return to dust on the road.”

She turned to me and spoke each word like a bell: “But will is different. If one’s will climbs high enough, it fuses with the world, like a mountain joining the sky, and endures immortal.”

“Impossible!” It burst out of me like a spark snapping from flint.

“What’s impossible? You’ve seen the Sacred Decree, right? The Sword Intent on it is Sheng’s will. After centuries, it hasn’t weakened; it’s only grown stronger, like a flame fed by wind.”

Xinuo frowned at my outburst, then seized my cheeks and pinched hard, a playful cat with claws—owie.

“So, a living being’s strongest edge is will alone!” Her words rang like a blade honed by storms.

“Ow, Xinuo, I get it—easy, easy! It stings like nettles!”

Alright, I finally understood Hill’s mood last night; pain thumped like a drum.

“Boss, so pitiful…” Hill had somehow settled beside me, eyes soft as misty rain.

“Hmph. Servant, stop freaking out so easily—it’s embarrassing,” Xinuo snorted, like a rooster scolding a chick.

After a while, she let go; my cheeks puffed up like steamed buns, and throbbed.

“Alright, let’s talk about Sword Intent,” she said, like opening gates to a windy plain.

“Mm!”

I ignored the swelling, sat up straight like a bamboo shoot after rain, and listened, ears cupped to catch it like falling water.

“Sword Intent is, in truth, a Sword Wielder’s will. Forming it isn’t easy. First, your will must be strong—strong enough to resonate with your sword, like thunder answering a peak.

“Beyond that, there are many ways to train: the body, the mind, the movement. The hardest is will. You don’t just train will; it’s forged by what you’ve lived, like iron made in fire, not polished with cloth.”

She pointed at the teapot, a light tap like a queen’s fan. I understood and poured.

“Mm. Tea poured by Servant tastes better,” she said, like clear spring water, then took a sip and nodded, crescent-eyed.

“This is why many elder powerhouses look down on young prodigies. Those prodigies are greenhouse flowers—beautiful, but they can’t weather a storm.

“But the elders are different. They’ve seen many things and fought many battles. Their will has been tempered like steel in a forge—far beyond those fragile prodigies.

“Still, if you want your will to reach immortality, this is far from enough—there are mountains beyond mountains, rivers beyond rivers.”

Xinuo glanced at me and smiled. “Servant, your path has been smooth, like a greenhouse flower untouched by storms. Your will is still weak and far from forming Sword Intent.”

A chill hollowed in me like fog over a field. “Then what do I do?”

Her words left me dejected, a kite with its string gone slack, and she was right—

Born in the Mizumi Clan, I had anything I wanted; everything flowed smooth like a clear canal. Even after leaving the clan and the Central Continent, it stayed the same. With Hill and Xinuo guarding like twin suns, I never had to worry about experts above the Sacred Realm.

In such shelter, trying to harden will is nearly impossible, a blade wrapped in velvet never meeting the grindstone.

“Servant, why are you drooping like a willow with no wind?” Xinuo shot me a look.

“Your will is innately strong,” she said, iron hidden under silk. “I call it weak because you don’t know how to use it. Naturally, you can’t form Sword Intent yet.”

Hope flickered like a spark in ash. “So…”

“Therefore, what you lack is a trigger,” she said, a smile like lightning behind clouds. “A chance for your will to erupt like a storm.”