“Hey, little Tangxue—Sister Qing sent me, like sunrise through shutters, to remind you to eat breakfast.”

Xuanxiao stepped into the dawn training yard and found me flailing a sword taller than me, wind snapping off it like a ragged flag.

I stared, silence pooling like dew on stone.

Frustration pricked like cold rain. Without Frostwhisper, finding a sword that fits is like climbing a sheer cliff. I should rest a bit.

“Eh? Sister Xuanxiao, why are you here?” My surprise fluttered like a startled sparrow as I turned, and she stood watching me with a tangled look, clouds braided in her gaze.

“Little Tangxue… your sword dance is truly unique—like a crane with two left wings, hehe.”

“It’s not me; it’s this sword. It swings like a stubborn ox dragging its hooves.”

“Mm-hmm, I get it,” she said, nodding like raindrops tapping a window.

“What do you even get?” My voice rose like a kettle about to whistle.

“Pack up and go eat, quick. Sister Qing’s waited so long her patience is frosted like windows. She held back and only then sent me. If you dawdle more, breakfast will go cold.”

Warmth pooled in my chest like tea steam; probably just from moving too long.

“Got it. I’m going.” We tidied the yard together, scuffs and leaves settling like raked sand in a zen garden; it’s just the two of us here.

On the way, mischief fizzed like soda. “Right, Sister Xuanxiao—weren’t you dead sleepy before? Why’re you so lively now?”

She rubbed her head, bashful as a cat tucking its ears. “It’s my weird version of morning grumpiness. I did nap yesterday, and every time I wake, I want a little more drift, like a leaf on a stream.”

“Is that so…” My tone drifted like fog over water.

“Oh, don’t get all snarky like a prickly hedgehog. Hurry up and eat. Kids should act like kids, simple as rain.”

“Wah—don’t shove me, Sister Xuanxiao! I’m not a wheelbarrow on a muddy field!”

Soon we reached the spot we’d agreed on, and sat as the morning light pooled like honey on the table. Dreamsound slid a chair back and lifted me onto it, gentle as a spring breeze.

Honestly… always doing the extra, like folding napkins into paper cranes.

“Toast? The jam’s fine; as long as it’s not plain bread, I won’t howl.” Bread has haunted me so long that square food now spooks me like a looming boxy shadow.

“What’s wrong with bread? I think it’s tasty.” Xuanxiao bit her toast, neat as a sparrow pecking grain.

“Maybe I just hate bread alone—like someone used to rice hating plain rice without sides, snow without trees.”

I licked the last toast clean of jam and tossed the square to Dreamsound. Hmph—who told you to bring me another boxy thing?

Dreamsound only chuckled, soft as bell chimes in mist, then lifted a slice and took a gentle bite, a fox nibbling snow.

“Ah, Sister Qing, how can you waste food like leaves falling unpicked?” Xuanxiao grabbed the other half. “Eat it like this—reoreoreoreo—like carving a crescent out of the moon.”

“Aaaah! You maniac, don’t eat like that!” My shriek scattered like a startled flock.

I snatched my handkerchief and flung it at her face, quick as a sparrow flicking across a hedge.

“Oof!”

“Whew—after we finish, let’s go play in the snow mountains. They’re one of the far north’s famed sights, white as dreamcloth.”

“Ah, I know that place like the lines on my palm!” Xuanxiao yanked the handkerchief off, quick as grass springing upright.

How are you familiar with everywhere… I stared at her, speechless as a stone in the rain.

Anyway, we can slack off today, drifting like fish under reeds.

Radiant Empire, Qinglan City.

This is the capital, its name gleaming like sun on armor. Only the royal mainline and close kin live within the imperial city’s walls, along with ministers whose merit shines like banners. To dwell here is the highest grace; legend says gods themselves built this citadel for their descendants, and the world-essence here hangs rich as mist in a valley. The city has stood for over ten millennia, stones layered like tree rings.

Kerlinveil Xuewei—one of the Empire’s strongest enforcers—carries a thousand honors like stars on a dark river. She’s a Ninth-Rank peak Magus-Warrior, who recently broke through to a demi-god tier, and her weapon is Iceflame, a force that checks water and fire, burning cold as winter lightning.

A Magus-Warrior is simply someone who trains both magic and steel, a braided path like river and road. The Mage Sanctum and Warrior Sanctum don’t favor it; few master both streams without drowning. Some do walk both banks, yet they still lose to specialists, and tongues will sneer like crows on a fence.

Later, someone refined the method: use mana to fortify the body, so you can wield sword forms while casting spells—wind and blade as one. Then Magus-Warriors flourished, banners unfurling across noble courts, and the path became required study, crests stamped like seals in wax.

Kerlinveil Xuewei isn’t some half-baked dabbler. She’s true dual cultivation, iron and frost in one hand. Even without boosting herself with mana, she can punch through a fully warded Eighth-Rank paladin, bare-handed, like thunder splitting an old tree.

Many warriors can’t do that; it’s enough to let her claim the War-God seat of the Warrior Sanctum, throne looming like a mountain. As for magic—heh—from a hundred meters you can feel Iceflame’s killing chill press like midnight on a lake. Just call her an Archmage and be done.

Most people only ever see her use Iceflame, one strike that falls like a winter comet. Blame Iceflame; it’s too strong.

Now, she sat at home, a storm cloud over tea, and frowned.

“This is nonsense!” Across from Xuewei, a blond middle-aged man fumed, voice snapping like dry twigs. “Xuewei, last time you returned, I said I’d find you a good husband. Then you ran to the sea to chase a corpse and almost lost your life!”

“Father, I said I don’t want those people. And Big Brother didn’t die.” Xuewei’s tone was flat as a calm lake, her face unreadable as a snowfield.

“Didn’t die? If he didn’t, where’s he been? And he’s not your brother! Your surname is Kerlinveil, royal bloodline. His surname is Ling, some stray mutt. How many times must I say it?” His anger boiled like a pot left too long.

Bloodline coercion, again. How many times will you play this card, Father? I held my silence like a stone under frost.

“Do you know how hard it was to find this son-in-law?” His voice swelled like a wind squall. “He’s from a noble house, earned the Ninth-Rank Archmage title in his twenties, handsome, suave, born to silks. He’s leagues beyond that useless ‘brother’ of yours!”

Noisy… the word throbbed like a headache.

“Oh? And then?” My reply cut crisp as a knife on ice.

“And then? You stood him up! Their family’s at our gate now, demanding answers. Where am I supposed to put this old face?” He clutched his dignity like a slipping cloak.

“You go date him then.” The words slipped out like a fish from a hand.

Father froze, thunderclouds parting with shock. He hadn’t thought his daughter would shoot that arrow.

“You—what did you say?”

“I said I don’t want to go. I won’t marry strangers I’ve never even met. Is that clear enough, Father?” My stance was steady as a pine in wind.

“Enough! Today you’ll go, whether you want to or not! They’re already here. Handle it yourself.”

“Oh? Then I’m heading out. Bye.” My tone was light as a flicked leaf.

“You! Kerlinveil Xuewei! If you don’t go to this meeting today, don’t step into this house again!” Kerlinveil Derrick’s fury surged like a geyser; he almost spat blood.

“Oh, that’s perfect. I was just planning to settle in Starfate City. You take your time here. Bye now—I’m leaving.” I rose, breeze in my robe hem.

“Cough, cough! You unfilial girl! You’ll be the death of me!” His anger rattled like an old door.

At the doorway, Xuewei stopped, snow settling in her voice. “Unfilial? Tell me—beyond being my biological father, what else are you to me? The mansion you live in is a reward from Her Majesty, given to me, shining like a medal. Our branch became the foremost line under the royal house because of me, the ‘Heaven’s favored daughter.’”

“When I was still small, Brother picked me up from a forest, moss damp as tears. In the orphanage, he cared for sickly me from dawn to dusk, like a lamp in winter. He spent his hard-earned coins to buy me cakes, sweet as clouds.” Xuewei wiped her eyes, water glinting like dew. “Later, when I learned I wasn’t an orphan, I was happy—so happy. Even when I was dragged endlessly to practice magic and marksmanship, body striped with bruises like bark, I was happy, because I had family. Until you drove Brother out—for not having royal blood, for lacking talent. Heh. You just wanted a tool to hoist the clan, a ladder against a wall. I repaid the debt of birth. I’ve become the Empire’s youngest enforcer, our house’s banner in the wind. From then on, I didn’t want to keep carrying you. I want to do my own things. I want to be with my brother.”

“Nonsense! Even if that boy’s talented, so what? Without royal blood, he’ll never pass this gate. I’ve seen toads dream of swan meat; I’ve never seen a phoenix try to roost in a henhouse!” His sneer curled like smoke.

“Phoenix?” Xuewei’s lip tilted with snow-cold scorn. “Would you have taken me in if not for my talent? Whether I was kidnapped by bandits or deliberately abandoned when I was young—none of that’s been fully cleared, fog still clinging.”

Ling Xuewei had known for a long time, though the exact threads were tangled like vines; she didn’t want to tear the last knot.

Derrick’s face flickered with panic, a shadow across water, then smoothed. “You… you truly won’t go?”

“What changes if I go, and what changes if I don’t?” Her words fell like stones into a pond.

“Their family’s at the door. They want a say.” He felt suddenly old, like a candle guttering in a draft.

Derrick isn’t weak; he’s an Eighth-Rank Magus-Warrior. But in the royal house, monsters cast long shadows, and those with modest gifts must swallow storms like bitter tea.

“…Troublesome.” Xuewei’s brow creased, fine as a drawn string. “I’ll take a look. But this is the last time. After this, I’m going to Starfate City.”

“You… sigh.” Derrick’s breath left him like steam fading.

Xuewei stepped out. She opened her senses like lanterns in fog and felt a cluster of people sitting in her hall. Head aching like a tight band, she whooshed across the yard, flight clean as a hawk’s glide.

In the hall, besides a row of people who looked like debt collectors, there stood a young man wearing helplessness like a damp cloak. His looks weren’t bad; even Xuewei blinked. He was impeccably dressed, eyes like peach blossoms after rain, and his manners were gentlemanly, soft as silk. He had that leading-man aura, stage lights catching cheekbones like blades.

That nudged her impression upward; Xuewei’s a sucker for good looks, a moth to a pretty flame. Too bad he wasn’t her type, flavor flat as lukewarm tea.