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✦𝓜𝓪𝔂𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓫𝓪𝓭...✦

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Huan watched from the sidelines, hands in his pockets, as the cultural students stood in disciplined rows, quietly listening to Zhan's instructions. He felt a relieved; the tech students weren't expected to participate today. Observing the rigid formalities and strict forms the cultural students practiced, he wondered what Akira thought of all this.

Akira, standing diligently to the side. He wore his family's uniform. His katana was strapped to his side, his hand resting lightly on its sheath, thumb poised on the hilt. Akira's expression was calm, but he was stiff in the way he stood.

When YanMing, who was present only to observe, suggested a duel to bring their training to life, Huan felt his shoulders tense. Zhan agreed with a sharp nod, then turned to Akira. "Akira," YanMing called, "would you do us the honor?"

Without a word, Akira nodded, slipping on his mask as he stepped forward. Huan bit his inner cheek. Akira's calm acceptance of the challenge was typical, yet Huan wondered if he felt even a trace of hesitation underneath.

Zhan faced Akira, unsheathing his spiritual sword, its blade glowing faintly, infused with qi, QīngBō was its name. Akira responded with a quick, graceful draw of his katana, and the two warriors began to circle each other, testing the space between them. Akira's katana, gleaming deadly with what seemed to mirror his focus. Huan observed him closely, noting every shift in his stance.

Zhan attacked first, his blade thrusting forward in swift, controlled strikes. Akira responded with his katana flashing as he deflected each blow. He moved fluidly, conserving his energy, only striking back when absolutely necessary. Huan could see Akira's plan—he was waiting, assessing, studying Zhan's rhythm.

But then, Zhan shifted his stance, stepping way back and raising his free hand, murmuring an incantation that sent his spiritual sword hovering mid-air. Huan's breath caught. With a focused look, Zhan closed his eyes briefly, directing his sword to float before him, spinning fast as it duplicated into multiple ghostly replicas.

Huan's attention sharpened. He felt the spiritual energy radiating from him. The multiple swords formed a glimmering arc around Zhan.

With a flick of his wrist, Zhan sent the spectral of swords flying toward Akira. Akira's grip tightened as he faced the onslaught, his body taut, his posture unwavering. He moved with speed, his katana whirling as he deflected one sword, sidestepped another, and pivoted to avoid the next. Huan held his breath, watching the sharp, precise movements, each deflection sending a sword crashing to the side before it disintegrated.

But Zhan wasn't finished. QīngBō returned to his hand, and Zhan pointed her at him. Akira stood there, katana in hand waiting for Zhan's next move. The same swords regrouped behind him.

Zhan was fast, launching right at Akira. Akira shifted, narrowly dodging a thrust that grazed his shoulder, then pivoting to parry two swords that came at him simultaneously. His katana blurred with the speed of his movements, each swing and block executed flawlessly.

Huan watched—Akira was trapped, surrounded by the relentless swords, yet he was unyielding. Then, with a quick shift, Akira broke free of the corner Zhan had forced him into. He attacked his blade slicing through the air in a fluid counter-strike that shattered Zhan's rhythm.

The two locked eyes, each testing the other's will as they moved in for a final exchange. Zhan pulled his spiritual swords back, hovering them at his sides before lunging forward with a decisive strike. Akira met the attack head-on, his katana clashing with Zhan's sword in a powerful, resounding impact. For a heartbeat, they held each other's gaze, locked in an intense, struggle.

"Enough," YanMing's voice cut through the air, ending the duel. "It's a draw."

Both fighters lowered their weapons, breathing heavily but with a calm composure. Huan, realizing he had been holding his breath, which he let out slowly.

Akira removed his mask, pushing a few damp strands of hair out of his face as he met Zhan's gaze. They bowed towards eachother respectfully.

"Well fought, Akira," Zhan said, his tone even. "You managed to break through that technique—very few do."

Akira gave a nod, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "You didn't make it easy," he replied, his voice steady but carrying the faintest edge of exhaustion. "But maybe next time I'll keep up a bit longer."

Zhan chuckled, "Is that a challenge?"

"If you'll accept it," Akira responded, sheathing his katana.

YanMing stepped forward, eyes on both of them. "You both handled yourselves well. This is exactly the kind of composure and control the Celestial Trials will demand."

Akira bowed his head slightly, accepting the praise without comment. He looked over his shoulder, meeting Huan's gaze from across the field. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe relief or pride, Huan couldn't quite tell.

YanMing, ever the instructor, clapped his hands to bring the focus back. "Alright, enough chit-chat. Everyone take five. Let's prepare for the next exercise."

As the students began to disperse, Huan walked over to Akira, who was adjusting his katana and breathing more steadily now. He hesitated, then spoke.

"That was...impressive," Huan said, quieter, trying to avoid drawing attention. 

Akira looked at him, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks. "Thanks. It's...easier when someone's watching," he said, "You know to show off." He winked.

Huan smirked, patting his shoulder before stepping back. "Good, because I don't plan to stop watching."

_●°•°•°●_

As the afternoon sun stretched across the hall, the lingering nosie of chatter softened, and Huan glanced around, feeling like a stranger in this space. The hall was bustling with cultivators—men and women seated side by side, sharing laughter and stories over steaming dishes. It was so different to the rigid customs of his past, where even the act of sitting together was sharply divided between the sexes.

Beside him, Akira was happily slurping his noodles, loud and unbothered, his focus entirely on the food. Huan couldn't help but feel the itch of envy at how easily Akira fit in here, like he was just part of the noise, the laughter, and the feast. Meanwhile, Huan was struggling with each bite, only nibbling at his rice while his gaze drifted over the table—a spread of delicacies, from steaming dumplings to roasted meats, all laid out in elegant array. But even though the food looked and smelled incredible, a strange reluctance lingered, a knot of unease that kept him from reaching for more.

"Not hungry?" Akira's voice broke his thoughts, and Huan looked up to find Akira peering at him with a quizzical frown, a noodle dangling from his chopsticks.

Huan hesitated. "I don't know..."

Akira tilted his head, then pointed it towards a plate near Huan. "Well...try eating one gyōza," he suggested, nudging the plate toward him. "They're delicious."

A faint smile tugged at Huan's lips. "You mean jiaozi?" arching a brow at him.

Akira rolled his eyes with a little smirk. "Call it whatever makes you want," He quipped, his smirk growing. "But I'm telling you—you're missing out."

With a reluctant sigh, Huan picked up his chopsticks and reached for a dumpling. He examined it for a moment, then took a small bite, feeling the savory warmth of the filling hit his tongue. The flavors were delicate but rich, and to his surprise, he found himself finishing it almost too quickly.

"See? Good, right?" Akira grinned, his face lighting up with satisfaction as if he'd accomplished a great feat.

Huan nodded, feeling his tension ease, even just a little. "Yeah...it's good," he admitted softly.

Encouraged, Akira leaned a bit closer, lowering his voice. "You should try the pork buns too. They're amazing."

Huan pursed his lips, "Don't push your luck."

"I try," Akira chuckled.

After a few moments, Huan noticed a smear of sauce on Akira's cheek, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "You've got...a little something here," he murmured, tapping his own cheek.

Akira's eyes widened at little, his hand flying up to his face, but he managed to miss the spot entirely. Huan smirked, picking up a napkin. "Here," he said, reaching over to gently dab the sauce away. Akira's face flushed slightly under his touch, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.

"Thanks," Akira murmured, his voice softer now. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away, but there was a warmth in his expression that hadn't been there before.

They continued eating, but the silence between them felt different—companionable, easy. Huan found himself smiling without thinking, the knot of unease loosening with each shared glance, each shared bite.

But, all too soon, Akira had to leave for training. Huan watched him go, the warmth lingering in the air long after Akira disappeared around the corner. With a quiet sigh, Huan stood, wondering what to do with the rest of his day. The bamboo forest nearby came to mind.

So, he headed in that direction. The path to the forest wove through open courtyards and then wound up a small, well-worn hill. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy overhead, casting dappled patterns onto the forest floor. The tall bamboo stalks swayed gently in the breeze, creaking faintly like an old, quiet melody.

The deeper he walked, the quieter the world became. Only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds filled the stillness. Eventually, Huan found a large, moss-covered rock beside a babbling stream and sat down. He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath as he felt the golden core within him hum, its energy aligning and steadying.

Letting his breaths deepen, he began circulating his qi. Warmth trickled through his meridians like a gentle current, wrapping his limbs in a comforting, weightless sensation. For the first time that day, Huan felt completely at peace, his mind clear and his body light as air.

But the tranquility didn't last.

A sudden rustle broke the silence, snapping him from his meditation. His eyes flew open, scanning the trees around him. Nothing appeared out of place. He shook his head, letting himself relax again—until a faint beep sounded nearby, followed by a familiar voice.

"Master Huan, I am bored." Woliu, his sword, hovered toward him

Huan's eyebrows shot up. "What the hell are you doing outside your case?!"

The sword beeped in annoyance. "Are you deaf? I said I am bored."

Huan's fingers twitched as he imagined strangling her—if only swords had necks. "Do you know how risky it is for you to be out here?! What if someone saw—"

"I am booooored," Woliu whined, cutting him off.

Before Huan could respond, a soft chuckle sounded nearby, and he froze. That laugh was all too familiar. Turning, he found YanMing emerging from the bamboo, his presence almost ghostly in the afternoon light.

"A sword locked up in a case... must be very bored," YanMing said with a wry smile.

Huan's heart plummeted. Right now, he'd have preferred flinging himself off Mai Bai Mountain over facing this guy like this. Awkwardly, he got to his feet and gave a respectful bow. "Hello, senior..."

YanMing studied him, his expression both amused and knowing. "Ruòxīn mentioned that you refused to enter the library. Was it... because of the barrier?"

Huan swallowed, unsure what to say, so he kept silent.

The monk's smile softened. "Well, then. Since you're putting in the effort, let me give you a hand." From the folds of his robe, YanMing pulled out a thin, well-worn scroll—a cultivation manual bearing the Chen Clan insignia.

He held it out to Huan, whose eyes widened. Hesitation rooted him in place, but YanMing, noticing, chuckled quietly. "It's familiar, isn't it? I thought it might suit you best." He patted Huan's shoulder with a warmth that made him tense even more. "And... I see your cultivation base has changed. Is it ice or...metal?"

Huan's head snapped up, his face shocked and confused. Ice... or metal? Growing up, his cultivation base had been ice. But as he thought back, he recalled the changes he'd experienced while cultivating at SSE in America, surrounded by technology. A realization dawned on him, horrifying and undeniable. His gaze darted to Woliu, who floated there, suspiciously silent. Woliu wasn't just alive because of him; she was alive because of his altered qi base.

The truth hit him like a blow. Woliu's independent personality, her quirks—it was his qi's interaction with the tech around them. His heart raced, and he felt slightly faint as he reached for the manual, his hands trembling.

With a low bow, he managed to say, "Thank you, senior..."

YanMing nodded and left him, disappearing silently into the shadows of the bamboo grove. Alone again, Huan took a steadying breath and carefully unrolled the Chen Clan cultivation manual. The characters on the page glimmered faintly, infused with qi, waiting for him to activate their secrets. He felt a nervous thrill—returning to his roots like this held both familiarity and a sharp sting, but he pushed those thoughts aside, determined to focus on his training.

As he began, Woliu hovered nearby, watching with what he could only describe as boredom.

"Master Huan," she piped up, breaking the silence. "May I roam around while you train?"

Huan's eyebrows knit in annoyance. "No. Stay close, Woliu. I don't need you wandering off."

"Please" she groaned. "No one will notice me. Besides, the monk only knew I was there because he used senses other than his eyes."

Huan hesitated, his mind recalling the unsettling realization that YanMing was, in fact, blind. It was the monk's honed senses, beyond sight, that had betrayed Woliu's presence and even his own. It might not be that dangerous to let her out for a while.

He sighed, feeling slightly uneasy. "Fine, but be careful. I don't need any surprises."

Woliu buzzed with excitement, a faint hum of energy radiating off her. "Thank you, Master Huan. I'll be back soon."

With a final shimmer, she darted off into the forest, disappearing among the bamboo as Huan shook his head, returning to his training.

As the afternoon melted into evening, Huan focused himself in his practice, following the manual's detailed instructions to circulate his qi, feeling it flow through his meridians in refreshing waves. His golden core pulsed in harmony with the energies around him, as if he were finally tapping into something long dormant, lying just beneath the surface.

Finally, as the golden hues of sunset spilled across the bamboo, Huan paused to catch his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. Just then, a faint rustling signaled Woliu's return.

He glanced up, expecting her alone—but his eyes widened when he saw Akira walking beside her, his expression curious.

Akira raised a brow as he approached. "I didn't know you'd be out here training," he said softly, eyes glancing from Huan to Woliu. "Your... sword...Woliu led me here."

Huan's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and annoyance, shooting a glare at Woliu, who floated beside Akira innocently.

"Really?" Huan muttered, trying to regain his composure. "Well, I suppose she has a mind of her own."

Woliu buzzed proudly. "It was my pleasure. Master Huan's been cooped up too long, and young master Fujisawa was as always, lonely."

Akira chuckled, poking the swords hilt, "you are so rude..."

With an awkward pause, Huan motioned for Akira to join him on the rock. As they sat side by side, silence stretched between them, this time surrounded by the intimacy of dusk. The golden light casted soft shadows on Akira's face, highlighting the way his eyes grey seemed to glimmer under the fading sky.

Finally, Huan broke the quiet, voice low and thoughtful. "It's strange... being here and training like this. Almost feels like... home."

Akira tilted his head, gaze softening. "I get that. It's like you're reconnecting with something deeper." He offered a gentle smile. "You look more at peace out here, yet still so...worried."

Huan nodded, and for once, he didn't feel the need to hide the truth. "Maybe I am."

Woliu's voice broke the tranquil moment. "Can we go flying?" she pleaded.

Huan wrinkled his nose, shaking his head. "Not yet."

Akira glanced at Woliu, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Perhaps at midnight when everyone's asleep,"

Woliu beeped as if groaning dramatically. "I want to be used..."

Akira chuckled, placing a hand on his chest. "Trust me, you don't." Then, struck by curiosity, he shifted his gaze to the scroll Huan was holding. After a moment of hesitation, he raised his hand. "May I?"

Huan blinked, momentarily surprised. "Oh..." He carefully handed the scroll to Akira.

Akira took it and began to skim through the elegant characters, his expression shifting from intrigue to something more guarded as he read further. His lips tightened midway through the text. Then, abruptly, he stopped and closed the scroll, his cheeks blooming a faint pink.

"Even... dual cultivation is included in this," Akira muttered. His blush deepened as he turned his gaze away from Huan. "Who gave this to you?"

Huan stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. He felt heat rush to his face as he snatched the scroll back from Akira's hands. "Senior YanMing." he blurted out, his tone defensive.

"Eh?" Akira's eyes widened in disbelief. His blush darkened as he sputtered, "So... uh..." He trailed off, looking anywhere but at Huan.

Huan didn't need words to understand the implication Akira wasn't voicing. His own face turned crimson as he brandished the scroll like a weapon, swatting Akira's back. "That is not why he gave it to me, you pervert!"

"I didn't say anything!" Akira winced, shifting away. "I just—didn't know he was aware of your... predicament..."

"Oh really?" Huan huffed, narrowing his eyes. "Your face said otherwise."

Akira pouted, his shoulders slumping slightly. "How could I possibly have such thoughts? I come from a prestigious family, after all."

Huan snorted, rolling his eyes as he tucked the scroll safely away. "Fine, fine. Whatever you say, esteemed heir."

Akira glared at him for a moment before breaking into a sheepish grin, his earlier embarrassment fading into something warmer. Despite his frustration, Huan couldn't help but feel the corners of his mouth tug upward as well. Woliu, watching them bicker, buzzed.

"Are you two done?" she asked, her tone deadpan. "Because someone still wants to fly." She was promptly ignored.

Akira stood, brushing the dirt from his hakama as he stretched. "Alright," he said casually, turning to Huan. "How about we duel? Let's see how much you've learned."

Huan blinked, taken aback. "A duel?" He hesitated, glancing at Woliu floating lazily by his side. "I'm not sure if I'm ready for that..."

"You'll never know if you don't try," Akira said, rolling his shoulders as he unsheathed his katana. The polished blade gleamed under the fading light. "Come on, it's just practice. No stakes."

Huan frowned, unsure if he could match Akira's skill. But there was something in Akira's steady gaze—encouraging, challenging—that made him tighten his grip on Woliu. "Fine," he said, stepping into position. "But don't hold back."

Akira smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The moment Huan swung Woliu, the air around them seemed to itch with energy. Woliu's edge cut clean through the space between them, a golden arc of qi shimmering in its wake. Akira sidestepped, countering with a swift horizontal slash. Huan deflected it, the clash of steel ringing out like a bell.

"Not bad," Akira said, his voice light, teasing. He moved with precision, each strike deliberate, pushing Huan back with every clash.

Huan's grip on Woliu tightened as he tried to anticipate Akira's movements. He feinted left, aiming for Akira's shoulder, but Akira was too quick. He twisted, disarming the attack with a flick of his blade, and countered with a downward strike that Huan barely managed to parry.

"Your stance is too rigid," Akira observed, circling Huan like a predator. "You're relying too much on Woliu's strength. Use your own."

"I am trying," Huan muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.

"Then stop thinking and just move!" Akira lunged, his katana a blur. Huan barely had time to block, their swords locking together in a crackling standstill.

For a moment, their eyes met, Huan's filled with determination, Akira's calm and assessing. Then Akira shifted his weight, twisting his blade in a maneuver that sent Woliu flying from Huan's grasp.

Huan gasped as Akira's katana stopped mere inches from his neck. Akira raised an eyebrow, his expression smug. "And I won," he said, lowering his blade.

Huan staggered back, panting. "You didn't have to go that hard," he muttered, rubbing his wrist.

Akira sheathed his katana with a flourish, the soft click echoing in the quiet bamboo grove. "You're not bad, but you've got a long way to go."

Huan glared at him but couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, yeah. Next time, I'll win."

Akira grinned, extending a hand to help Huan up. "I'll hold you to that. But for now, how about we get some dinner? I'm starving."

Huan accepted his hand, standing with a groan. "Fine, but we return back for a re-match"

"Deal," Akira said with a laugh.

While Woliu's blade was stuck on a bamboo "That hurt," she huffed, "I am never doing this again."

Huan sighed, glancing over his shoulder. "We'll take you flying later, okay?"

"You'd better," Woliu grumbled, as she freed herself.

Maybe this isn't too bad.

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