The wind rustled through the bamboo grove beside the lake, casting ripples across its still surface. A young man sat cross-legged in quiet meditation, sweat beading on his brow, breath shallow from exertion. This was the beginning of a journey—one that had started not with grand destiny, but with a kindness he had never expected.
Li Yong's memories drifted to his early days at the sect—a time marked by humiliation, silence, and survival.
He had arrived from a humble background, clutching a worn satchel and modest talent. His cultivation was barely average, and the sect disciples wasted no time in establishing dominance. They mocked his clothes, stole his herbs, and cornered him in alleys to take the few resources allotted to him.
He learned quickly that strength ruled everything.
---
The Turning Point
That day was the worst.
A group of senior disciples surrounded him, demanding the spiritual elixirs he'd received that morning. When he refused—something deep inside him finally too tired to submit—they beat him brutally.
Fists struck ribs. Boots crushed his shoulder. His vision blurred as blood trickled from the corner of his lips. He braced himself for darkness.
And then—
"What do you think you're doing?"
The voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to cut through the fog of pain.
All heads turned.
A girl stood nearby—dressed in flowing white robes, her eyes cold and clear as frost. The moment the disciples saw her face, panic bloomed in their expressions. Lu Wei.
She wasn't just a disciple. She was the disciple. A prodigy. A core member of the sect's top division. Known to all as Cold Face Fairy, Lu Wei's icy demeanor made her seem unreachable.
Yet she had appeared—for him.
The bullies scattered without another word. And Lu Wei—without saying much—knelt beside him, examining his bruised face.
"Are you okay?" Her voice was gentle, her brows slightly furrowed.
He nodded, trying not to cough up blood.
She reached into her storage ring, produced a small jade vial, and pressed it into his hand. "Take this pill. It'll heal your wounds."
Li Yong hesitated, confused. Why would someone like her…?
She noticed his reluctance and sighed. "It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking."
And with that, she walked away, her silhouette blending into the fading light.
---
The Next Day
The healing pill worked. The swelling faded, the internal injuries stabilized, and within hours, he could stand again. He stared at the pill's empty case, fingers tightening around it.
He had grown up with a single rule: Never owe anyone anything.
So the next day, he found her by the lake.
"Here's your pill back," he said, holding out a similar one from his own limited stash. "Thank you. You helped me save my own resources."
He turned to leave.
But her voice stopped him.
"Can I ask why you don't fight back?"
He hesitated, then slowly turned.
"Because their leader's a core disciple. If I raise my hand, he'll bury me. Not physically—but with power, with influence. He's already told some instructors not to teach me. If I cause more trouble, I'll be finished."
His laugh was bitter, and his words cut deeper than any blade.
Lu Wei didn't respond at first. She knew exactly what he meant. In the shadows of the sect, corruption festered even among the gifted.
Then she made an offer that stunned him.
"If you're interested, I could teach you martial arts… and cultivation."
He blinked. "Won't that bring you trouble?"
"I'm a core disciple too," she answered plainly. "Let them try."
Li Yong stared at her in disbelief. Was this real?
"Do you want to learn?" she asked again, more serious this time.
"Yes."
---
By the Lake – Days Later
Each morning, Li Yong arrived before the sun, his clothes damp with dew. Lu Wei was already there, dressed in white, hair tied in a single braid down her back.
She didn't speak much, but her teaching was profound. She didn't just recite techniques—she taught him how to feel energy, how to breathe with the world, how to understand martial arts like poetry and rhythm.
Where others taught by routine, Lu Wei taught by connection.
Days turned into weeks. His cultivation rose sharply. His spiritual control became fluid. Even his swordsmanship, once clumsy, took on the form of grace.
And yet, despite all her guidance, Li Yong never dared speak of his feelings.
Not yet.