In front of a lavish castle that stood like a jade pavilion amid the molten glow of Crimson Dragon Valley, Celia Maya carried a basket of pastries and black tea she’d made herself. She came to visit Crimson Dragon Heart.
“Isn’t that Lady Maya? What brings you here in person?” The maid at the gate, broom in hand, hurried over with a respectful bow, like a crane folding its wings.
“I’m here to see Xinyin about something. Is she in?” Maya smiled, the warmth in her voice like spring sunlight through mist.
“She is. The Crimson Dragon is practicing in the rear garden. If you don’t mind, I can guide you.” The maid set her tools aside and gestured invitingly, her movement neat as a flowing ribbon.
“Alright, I’ll trouble you.”
The castle’s rear garden was a training ground, the air dense with laws and order, like invisible currents shaping the breeze. The elements felt pure here, clean as mountain snow. On Dragon God Island, it was one of the finest places to cultivate.
At the garden’s heart, a beautiful woman in a fire-red plain dress moved with a sword. She looked twenty-five or so, her face bright as a painted dawn. To a bystander, her swordplay seemed slow and graceful, a dance you’d watch with wine in hand beneath lantern light.
Maya saw the truth, and her breath stilled like a pond at night. It wasn’t slow at all. It was so fast the blade warped space, bending light into the illusion of leisure.
The sword itself drew the eye. A long blade, crystal-clear, with a crimson glow burning down its core, like a coal-veined flame alive in metal.
A layman watches the spectacle; an adept reads the craft. That’s the way of it.
“Huh? Maya, what brings you?” Xinyin finished her set right as she noticed Maya. She walked over, fluid as heat shimmer on stone, while the maid bowed out and left.
“Xinyin, I want to ask a favor. Do you have time in the coming days?” Maya spoke gently, intent steady as a drawn line of ink.
“Hmm. This month, I’m free. I’ll be staying in the Crimson Dragon Castle.” She reached into the basket and popped a pastry into her mouth, eyes lighting like embers. “Mm. As expected, Maya’s pastries taste best.”
“I’ve told you how many times—wash your hands after practice before you eat.” Maya caught her second reach and tapped it away, firm as a teacher’s stick.
“What? It’s not like it’ll do me in.” Xinyin sighed, then shaped a globe of water with magic and rinsed her hands, clear as a spring cupped in air. “So, what’s the favor?”
“I’d like you to teach two people—on swordsmanship.” Maya laid it out, her tone calm but purposeful, like setting stones in place.
“Oh? If it made you come in person, they must be important.” Xinyin’s eyes narrowed with interest, keen as a blade testing wind. “Are they from the Mizumi Clan Hill brought a few days ago?”
Xinyin nailed it in one glance. If the Dragon God’s wife came to ask her to instruct someone, only the Mizumi Clan would warrant that courtesy.
“That’s right. After losing in the Basiloth Empire last time, they want to get stronger. Two of them are Sword Wielders, two are magic users. I suggested you take the Sword Wielders, and I’ll handle the mages.” Maya nodded, words steady as a drumbeat.
“I see. Teaching Sword Wielders does sound interesting. Are both from the Mizumi Clan?” Xinyin’s curiosity flickered like sparks.
“One isn’t, but her background’s no smaller.” Maya’s voice carried a hint of awe, like finding a dragon scale in river silt. Dragon God Island rarely had visitors. This time, every guest came with a thundercloud of a name.
“Not smaller than the Mizumi Clan… don’t tell me—” Even Xinyin, tempered by storms, swallowed, tense as a string under a bow.
“You guessed it. Her master is a supreme being of the Origin Realm.” Maya let the words fall like a struck bell.
“Figures.” Xinyin had anticipated it, yet the truth still landed like a sudden gust. A disciple of the Origin Realm—someone on par with the Mizumi Clan’s weight.
“Don’t be shocked yet. The Mizumi Sword Wielder’s background is bigger.” Maya’s smile quirked, playful as a hidden fan. It had been a while since she saw Xinyin truly surprised.
“If they’re from the Mizumi Clan, what could be bigger, unless—” Xinyin cut herself off, not daring to finish the thought, like a candle raised in a wind.
“You’re right again. The Mizumi Sword Wielder trained under Sir Xino.” Maya’s tone carried a soft boast, the joy of pulling silk from a sealed chest—mostly because Xinyin’s expression was priceless.
If Xinyin had only been mildly surprised before, now she was struck wide, shock bright as lightning. She knew Sir Xino by name, the way a mountainside knows the storm. In swords, there was no one in the world who could match even a tenth of Xino’s art—save the other beings of the Origin Realm.
“…Whew.” Xinyin drew a long breath, letting it settle like ash after flame. “Maya, don’t put pressure on me like that. If I fail to teach Sir Xino’s disciple, it’ll be rough.”
“Relax. It’ll be fine. Sir Xino and Lixue’s teacher left because of the Worldgate incident and haven’t returned. For those disciples to grow further, they need guidance. Right now, we’re the best choice.” Maya smiled, reassurance warm as tea in winter. In cultivation, a good guide beats wandering alone.
“You’re right.” Xinyin’s eyes steadied, like steel cooling in oil. “I need to prepare. Have them come in three days.”
She thought it through and agreed in the end. Even with the pressure—both Emperor and Lixue having teachers from the Origin Realm—she believed she could manage it at this stage. She would teach Emperor and Lixue.
“We’ve talked so long the tea’s going cold. Let’s go in, enjoy the pastries, and hammer out the details.” Maya lifted the basket a little, the promise of sweetness like a flag raised.
“Yeah. I don’t know their exact situations yet. Better to sit in the hall, eat, and talk.” Guiding others isn’t easy. You need to know them, then tailor the plan, like cutting cloth to measure. Even as the famed Sword Emperor of the Dragon Realm, Xinyin had to focus with all twelve parts of her spirit.
More than that, she was eager to witness a Sword Wielder’s combat and cultivation firsthand. A disciple of an Origin Realm sovereign—if she could glean a spark from their path and temper her own edge, wouldn’t that be perfect?
