By any ordinary standard, Ren Lin had trained for two months.
By any honest one—she was still clumsy.
She could perform the basic footwork. She could shift her weight without falling. She could pivot and retreat without completely exposing herself.
But only barely.
Feiyun Xing watched her finish a sequence, then stopped her with a raised hand.
“That’s enough for today.”
Ren Lin wiped sweat from her brow. “So?”
He thought for a long moment.
“You understand the steps,” he said finally. “You can execute them...”
She waited.
“But they don’t belong to you yet,” he continued. “Your body obeys… reluctantly.”
Ren Lin’s lips twitched as she hissed in her mind. “After all of this I am still not good enough?! It’s just the basics and I’m failing.”
Seeing her unsatisfied expression the prince spoke, “you must keep going. Every step, even if it’s just a little one—brings you closer to your goal. I have never seen anyone training so tediously. You are strong. Stronger than you might think. And you deserve to see what happens when all your hard work pays off.”
A laugh erupted from her. “You are exactly—exactly like you.”
“What does that mean now?” The prince raised his brow as he chuckled along awkwardly.
Of course, she couldn’t say that he was like she had written him.
“This is all so bizarre. One moment I was writing, the next I’m trying to learn how to fight from a prince!”
“Life indeed has twists we could never foresee,” Feiyun Xing replied.
She wiped a tear as she calmed down. “Hah… yes, thank you for your words.”
“Hm… perhaps you learn quicker with a sword in your hands?” He handed her his spare tang dao from the Serpent Cache Core.
Her eyes shone as she took it.
“It’s wielded with just one hand, come take this stance.” Feiyun Xing led.
Following suit, Ren Lin copied it. A few things were off but her stance was quite solid.
It was as though his entire body swung his sword down as he demonstrated. “Now you. Try to put your weight in.”
Ren Lin held the sword above her head and forced it down in a straight line.
“No, no. It’s not a hammer. Use the entire chain of your body and pull through. Bring in a twist from your hips.”
She tried again. The sword came down too fast; before her hips even twisted.
Staring at the asynchronous movements of hers, Feiyun Xing sighed softly. “The Tang Dao requires too much precision. And we have to leave this island as soon as possible..”
After an hour of teaching he retrieved the sword. Then pulled out a new weapon—a long spear. Its shaft was thick purple wood, reinforced with metal rings, ending in a long, arrow-shaped head.
“This is what you will use,” he said.
Ren Lin looked from the elegant prince to the crude weapon. “A spear? Why?”
“Precisely,” Feiyun Xing confirmed. “This weapon is used by common or new soldiers. It doesn't require a decade of dedication to master the perfect diagonal cut.”
He hefted it, demonstrating a quick, sharp jab.
“The spear exploits your strength, not your precision,” he explained. “It is held with two hands, using the leverage of the shaft to create immense force. You don’t need hips of steel; you just need to thrust forward.”
He handed it to her. The weight felt light, as though lifting just a wooden stick.
“Forget the footwork for finesse. We focus on the lunge and the defense,” he said. “It is the only way to make you useful quickly.”
Ren Lin nodded, a thrill of cold, practical ambition replacing her frustration. He was choosing efficiency over elegance.
“But why did you swap my weapon out of nowhere?”
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“The lower gravity here is destroying our bodies. Though it’s not much lower, it still has an effect. Our bones will weaken, that’s why we will need to leave soon.”
“Mhm… but then again, why waste the time to teach me the sword?”
“It wasn’t wasted, on the next islands we will continue your training, here we had enough time to get you some basic knowledge. The spear is just temporary for self defense.”
When she took it, the spear felt alien in her hands. But as Feiyun Xing guided her through the basic grip and stance, she understood it more and more. It was a weapon of distance and leverage.
“Don’t think of it as a blade,” he instructed, adjusting her rear hand. “Think of it as a lever. Your back hand is the anchor. Your front hand guides. To thrust, you don’t push with your arms—you step and let your body’s momentum become the weapon.”
Displaying the stab again, the air around the spearhead hissed as he lunged forward.
For a few days, they drilled nothing but that single motion. The monotony could be counted as meditation. Her frustration melted into a grim focus.
Finally, one afternoon under the pale aurora-light, Feiyun Xing took up his sword and faced her across the clearing.
“Show me,” he said, his voice flat. “Don’t aim to hit me. Aim to stop me.”
Ren Lin swallowed, her knuckles white on the shaft. He moved first—a casual, testing step forward. She reacted, thrusting on instinct. Her form was a little off, step too wide, yet the spear shot out, forcing him to deflect it with a sharp clang of steel on metal-reinforced wood.
He didn’t press. He circled. “Again.”
She reset, her breath fogging. He feinted left, then came right. This time, she was late. Blocking his attack, the flat of his sword slapped against the spear’s shaft, vibrating her arms. Stumbling back, she gritted her teeth.
“You’re watching my sword,” he said. “Watch my shoulders. My hips. The sword is the last thing to move.”
The next time he advanced, she saw the tension coil in his leading leg a split-second before he lunged. She thrust, not at where he was, but where he was going. The spearhead missed his ribs by a hair’s breadth as he easily twisted aside, still—his attack was broken. A faint, approving grunt and smirk escaped him.
For an hour, they continued this brutal, repetitive dance. He was a ghost, his movements fluid and effortless. She was a statue learning to topple in the right direction—clumsy, predictable, but increasingly solid. She never touched him, however, she began to make him work. To parry. To dodge.
Finally, he stepped back and sheathed his sword. Ren Lin was heaving, sweat on her temples, her muscles screaming.
“Enough,” he said. “You understand the principle. That is all we have time for.”
She leaned on the spear, using it as a crutch. “I didn’t hit you once.”
“Some day you will,” he replied, patting her back. “But for now you were just meant to survive. And you did. Tomorrow, we will go for the ice.”
Ren Lin nodded. Even though the training was harsh, there was something she enjoyed in it. The surroundings were beautiful, the people were kind.
Some days she even asked herself if her goal was that important. It seemed like a childish act of defiance to her sometimes. And maybe it truly was just a late rebellious phase. But that didn’t matter. She swore to herself that she would bring her story back to how it should have been. Ren Lin has gotten a second chance, and she wasn’t going to waste it over a little sentiment.
After bathing they went up to the village chief and informed him. Sui Zhuan Yang then asked to speak with Feiyun Xing alone. When Ren Lin saw him again he had a complex expression, but didn’t tell her why.
In the subsequent morning, the leader talked to Ren Lin alone too. He just wished her luck and told her that she should take care of such a good man. Then he touched her head with a strange object, before swiftly hiding it, saying it was a traditional ritual.
Heading out, the protective warmth of the Sui village faded quickly, replaced by Bingmeng’s true, teeth-chilling breath. The landscape changed from sheltered valleys to windswept, glacier-scarred plains. The silence here was deeper, older, pressed flat by the weight of the sky.
As they got closer to their destination, the wind screamed across the plains. In the blizzard distance turned into a lie.
Feiyun Xing stopped so abruptly Ren Lin nearly collided with him. He raised his hand—then slowly curled his fingers, as if grasping something unseen.
“Stop,” he whispered.
Ren Lin sank into a crouch, spear sliding into her palms. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer at first. Focusing on all of his senses instead.
“Something is moving,” he said quietly. “Near us. Six… no—five beasts, all rank two.”
A chill crept up Ren Lin’s spine that had nothing to do with the temperatures.
She squinted into the whiteout. At first there was only the wind-scoured emptiness. Then the storm seemed to thin in places, as if the snow itself were parting around unseen bodies. Shadows detached themselves from the horizon—wrongly shaped.
They were not the lumbering Snow-Lurkers, they were something more feral.
These beasts were low and lean, built for endurance rather than strength. Four long limbs carried them in an effortless glide, paws splayed wide to skim over the ice without sinking. Their fur was a layered mat of grey, and dirty frost. Along their ribs, the hair grew thin enough to reveal pale, veined skin beneath, as if the cold had eaten them from the inside out.
Their heads were narrow, elongated snouts. Breath steamed from slit-like nostrils in slow, steady plumes. Their ears—tall, sharply pointed—twitched constantly, rotating to catch sounds swallowed by the wind. Their eyes reflected no color, only a dull, frozen sheen, like ice over deep water.
Their eyes sat abnormally high up. They were black soulless dots locking on their prey.
“Glacial Hounds,” Feiyun Xing murmured. His hand rested on his sword hilt now, thumb tense. “They don’t stalk. They endure.”
The pack drifted forward, loose and unhurried, spreading without command. They weren’t looking for cover. They didn’t need it.
“They run their prey,” he continued, voice flat. “Hours. Days, if they must. They don’t kill until the body gives up first.”
One of the hounds—larger, its shoulders ridged with thicker frost, came to a halt. It lifted its head slowly and turned, gaze staying on them.
Ren Lin’s breath caught.
“They’ve noticed us,” Feiyun Xing said. “Scent, heat, sound. Doesn’t matter.”
Slow, unnatural laughter came as they approached the two. It didn’t resemble anything like it came from an animal. It sounded demonic.
The hounds broke into motion.
No, a hunt.
They loped forward in silence, spreading wide, forming a crescent that widened with every breath. The wind carried them, their bodies low and tireless, never accelerating, never slowing.
“Stay with me,” Feiyun Xing said. “Do not turn your back. Those beasts can tear through hesitation faster than flesh.”
Ren Lin’s heart pounded violently, but her grip remained iron-tight. She leveled the spear, the purple wood searing cold into her skin.
“Thrust,” he ordered. “Retract immediately. You overextend, they’ll drag you down and let the cold finish the rest.”
She swallowed. “Understood.”
The nearest hound lowered its head, frost cracking along its jaws as its lips peeled back—showing its long sharp teeth.
They were close now.
Feiyun Xing drew his blade, the steel whispering free.
“Here they come.”
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