> "If anything happens to you, I'll punch a hole through the sky."
— Lin Zhou
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1 · Before the Storm
The night wind in Frostmoon Camp carried the scent of iron and pine resin.
The campfire crackled, and above it hung a small pot, still bubbling with the broth Crown Prince Chiyan's imperial chef had left that afternoon.
Lin Zhou sat by the fire, whittling a strip of bamboo with one hand and propping his chin with the other, staring at the few drifting scallion slices in the pot as if studying an arcane science.
Xiao Li curled up beside him, gnawing quickly on the half-finished roast chicken leg, intent on erasing all evidence.
"Brother, do you think there's such a thing as salt that doesn't need to be added?" Xiao Li mused seriously. "Like… salty wind?"
"There is," Lin Zhou replied with equal seriousness. "It's called the sea."
Xiao Li gave an "oh," feeling he'd just learned something profound.
A dozen steps away, Hanshuang sat straight-backed on a slab of cold ironstone, sleeping with her spear in hand, armor glinting pale in the firelight.
The sentries rotated their watch; the gun arrays lay low—Frostmoon Camp as strict and forbidding as ever.
It was nights like this Lin Zhou enjoyed: no blades flashing, no talismans blazing, no one shouting that the world was ending—just the faint heat of the pot, like a small life breathing steadily.
"Brother," Xiao Li said, hiding the chicken bone behind him, "tomorrow I'm going to help the chef chop wood. Don't stop me. I want to earn meal tickets."
"Alright," Lin Zhou smiled, "just don't sneak food again."
Xiao Li solemnly raised three fingers in oath—then broke into giggles a moment later.
As they joked, the fire suddenly shuddered as if pinched by an unseen hand, the flame shrinking into a single ember. The wind stilled, and the fog thickened.
Hanshuang's lashes twitched, her eyes slowly opening in the dark.
"They're here."
Her hand was already gripping her spear.
---
2 · Shadow in the Formation
Beyond the camp wall, the mist swelled like a tide reversed, rising into a human-shaped bulge.
A figure in black armor stepped out of the fog, half his face hidden by a bone mask, eyes glowing like brands—dark red and searing.
The night sentries blew the alarm; crossbows drew taut, and the rune-towers lit with pale gold.
Hanshuang rose, her spear point touching the ground, her voice cold enough to frost:
> "State your name and unit."
The shadow gave no answer, striding past the edges of killing arrays. The fog beneath his steps swirled into whirlpools; his presence clashed with the formations, rune-lines flaring and dimming as if being torn away.
Xiao Li vanished in a blur. Before Lin Zhou could react, she had scaled the wall and was circling to the intruder's flank, a small curved blade in her palm catching an inch of cold moonlight.
She was too fast—even Hanshuang couldn't stop her in time.
The figure lifted his gaze, broke the fog in a single step—
That step spanned space itself. His palm opened before Xiao Li's face, bone etchings interlocking like the jaws of a beast snapping shut.
Boom!
Xiao Li's body whipped away like a kite with its string cut, slammed into the outer rock wall by an invisible weight. Stone dust burst, cracks crawling like insects across the surface.
Her shoulder burned, blood welling from her collar, her lips red with it. Pinned in the night, she couldn't make a sound.
"…Xiao Li." Lin Zhou set down the bamboo strip and stood.
---
3 · The Line at the Edge
"You touched her?"
He didn't shout, didn't rush—just stood, brushing the dust from his pants, and took one step forward.
As his foot landed, the entire camp seemed pressed down by an unseen hand—bowstrings drew taut, flames shrank into cold sparks, even the air thinned.
The earth beneath Lin Zhou's feet rose and fell, pebbles trembling by his shoes.
The shadow instinctively stepped back—only to find his legs bound. Not by chains, nor by roots, but by solidified moonlight and folded space, invisible ripples knotting behind his knees and around his ankles.
Hanshuang's knuckles whitened on her spear. For the first time she felt, directly—there was no killing intent in this pressure, only one thing: an absolute no.
"Stand down," she warned quietly. "I'll handle this."
Lin Zhou didn't look at her. His gaze, soft beyond all reason, passed over everything to settle on the face on the rock wall.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" he asked Xiao Li.
She forced a blink, tried to smile, but couldn't.
"Then it won't hurt anymore."
Lin Zhou raised his hand.
The air rippled as if the surface of water had been lifted by a fingertip, revealing a shade deeper than the night.
What fell was neither thunder nor flame, just… a decision.
The shadow had no time to scream—the bone mask split from the brow down, cracks spreading like parched earth. His outline shattered, then faded, and in the next heartbeat he was gone, erased from the world as if it had never allowed his existence.
Only a pinch of fine dust remained, without even a scent.
Lin Zhou didn't pursue, didn't gloat. He simply turned and walked toward Xiao Li.
---
4 · Fire in the Blood
Xiao Li's vision swam. She felt herself falling—not the fall from the wall, but into a bottomless black lake.
The water wasn't cold; it was hot, like thousands of embers burning at the depths. Blood flowed backward, flooding up her bones into her heart, searing every nerve.
She heard voices. Not those of the camp, but far, far away—ancient voices: some calling her name, some like a beast being called home; more speaking in words she couldn't understand, yet they made her want to cry.
Amid them, a heartbeat began—thump, thump, thump.
She knew whose heartbeat it was. She'd fallen asleep to it through countless nights of hunger, cold, and fear—it was Lin Zhou's.
The beat struck like a war drum, each pulse heavier than the last. A thread-thin golden crack flashed in her pupils, then vanished, as if something inside its shell had nudged outward.
"Sleep a bit more," someone whispered in her ear, very softly.
She did.
---
5 · Lights Across the Lands
At that same moment, towers, mountains, and seas far away all lit up.
In the Empire's Obsidian Division, the three-story black iron lighthouse flared fully. The inspector hammered the bronze bell: "Anomalous spiritual pressure—source: Frostmoon Border!"
At Azure Cloud Sect's Qian Yuan Pavilion, seven elders rose at once, star charts forming in their palms: "Who is wielding the power of 'Not Allowed'?"
In the Dragon Clan's Great Hall Observatory, the grand mirror spun; two old dragons exchanged a look: "This aura… like the so-called 'Cursed Child,' but the stray thread isn't from him."
Farther still, a slumbering ancient well in no-man's-land shivered. A faint white ripple rose from its mouth, then vanished again.
Not all eyes were on Lin Zhou. In that instant, another thread of power spilling from him was precisely recorded—thin, swift, like the first sprout of spring breaking soil.
It came from Xiao Li.
---
6 · The Night Deepens
The campfire was stoked again. Hanshuang shoved a pouch of medicine into Lin Zhou's hands. "Treat your wounds."
"I'm not hurt," he said, looking down.
She stared at him for two seconds, said nothing more, and turned to check on Xiao Li.
The camp's medic had opened her collar; the bruise on her shoulder was fading at an unnatural speed. The medic and Hanshuang met eyes, both falling silent.
"It's as if something gentle stitched her back together," the medic murmured. "But not by any means we could."
"Shut it," Hanshuang said coldly.
Lin Zhou draped his coat over Xiao Li with care. She slept peacefully, a trace of chicken oil still on her lashes—she had managed that last bite after all.
His mouth twitched into a smile, then flattened.
That "just barely" feeling was a thorn in his heart. Just barely, and she would have been still.
"Brother," Xiao Li mumbled in her sleep, "I didn't steal food… really…"
"Mm." Lin Zhou tucked her hand back into the coat. "Not a bite."
On the walls, the sentries rotated three times; the fog thickened, the night darker still.
Hanshuang sat in the gate's shadow, spear across her knees, eyes twin visible shards of cold light.
She had seen greater power—mountains falling, seas burning, skies torn like cloth.
But just now—that was not power. That was a rule. A line written into the world's foundation: Not Allowed.
"Whose hand wrote it in?" she murmured.
No one answered.
---
7 · Morning Wake
The sky paled; mountain birds called twice. Xiao Li's eyes opened. She reached out for the coat, clutched it tight, instinctively nuzzling into it. Rolling over, her shoulder gave a soft click, like some gear in her body had just found its notch.
"Awake?" Lin Zhou put down the wood chip in his hand and leaned in. "Don't move, the medic said you—"
He broke off. In Xiao Li's eyes, a tiny golden star flashed deep in her pupils, then went dark again. It was so brief only someone staring right at her could notice.
"I'm fine," Xiao Li sniffed softly. "Brother, I dreamed."
"What about?"
"I dreamed people were calling my name, so many… They all said 'come back.' But I didn't know them." She paused. "I just wanted to come back to you."
Lin Zhou hummed in reply, without smiling. He signaled subtly toward the medic; Hanshuang understood and told him, "Don't speak of it. And don't dwell on it yourself."
"Yes," the medic bowed.
None of them mentioned the faint golden thread under Xiao Li's skin, starting from her heart, winding half around her collarbone, then vanishing into her shoulder blade—destination unknown.
---
8 · The Wind Rises
By afternoon, the fog thinned; sunlight filtered through the clouds, gilding the camp.
On the mountain road outside, three different sets of footprints appeared: one light as wind, one heavy as iron boots, one scattered like straw sandals.
Beyond the hills, detection talismans flared in three directions, then went dark again.
An Azure Cloud Sect acolyte entered the forest, plucked a few leaves, pocketed them, and ran.
A Dragon Clan ranger sniffed the air and murmured to his companion, "Smells like new sprout."
The Empire's Obsidian agents pulled a charred bone fragment from under a rock, shared a look, pocketed it, and said nothing.
Farther away, "invisible invitations" had already been sent, landing on the desks of major sects, clans, and academies.
Each carried a single simple message:
> "At Frostmoon Border, there is a 'sensitive' sprout."
They had many names for it: "Spirit Fetus," "Echo Body," and the bluntest—"A vessel attuned to a curse."
The news would not spread loudly, but like the tide, it would seep in without a sound.
---
9 · Words Left Here
By evening, the chef returned with soup, spice bottles clinking, the long copper pipe on his back puffing fragrant steam like a small fire dragon. He set the pot down, glimpsed Xiao Li bundled in a coat, and after a moment's pause, smiled more broadly. "Brought something sweet for the young… for the young lady as well."
Xiao Li blinked and glanced at Lin Zhou. He nodded. "Go ahead."
The dessert was sweet; halfway through, Xiao Li's eyes reddened for no reason.
"What's wrong?" Lin Zhou asked.
"Nothing." She covered the bowl. "Just… suddenly felt the world is very noisy."
"Noisy?"
"Mm." She touched her chest. "Someone's talking here."
Lin Zhou didn't smile. This time he rested his hand on her head, gentler than ever. "Then don't listen. Tomorrow I'll take you somewhere quiet."
"Where?"
"The back garden of the Spirit Herb Workshop. The soil there likes to sleep."
Xiao Li grinned, tears still hanging on her lashes like two bright dewdrops.
Hanshuang watched without speaking. She planted her spear in the ground, resting her hand on its butt, her gaze deepening. The wind had shifted; she knew what would come next—sects, clans, academies, royal courts.
They wouldn't strike at Lin Zhou directly. They would take the gentler path: inviting Xiao Li to "fulfill her potential."
"Creditor," she called.
"Mm?"
"They're coming to take her."
Lin Zhou gave a flat "oh" and stacked the empty bowls. "Then let them come."
"You'll let her go?"
He looked at Xiao Li as if memorizing every eyelash at this moment. "When they can truly teach her to be safe, I'll consider letting her take a step away."
Hanshuang studied him, then nodded slightly. "Alright."
---
10 · Closing and the Door Outside
Late at night, Lin Zhou tucked the coat back over Xiao Li. She slept deeply, breathing light, a small bundle.
He stepped outside to the gate to stand in the wind. Hanshuang was there too, shoulder to shoulder, neither speaking. The wind brushed the spear tip, making a faint sound.
"Don't worry," Hanshuang broke the silence. "Anyone coming will have to pass my spear first."
"I'm not worried about others," Lin Zhou said.
"Then what worries you?"
"That she'll feel alone. I've never feared fighting—I fear her eating alone."
Hanshuang looked at him, the cold light in her eyes sinking an inch. "Then they'd better learn—how to eat with her first."
Outside the gate, a streetlamp flared and went out, as if pinched.
By dawn, the first invitation had arrived at Frostmoon Camp's gate. The ink was still wet, signed by the renowned Upper Clarity Academy—gentle words, full promises:
> "We specially invite Miss Xiao Li to enroll, to be taught the art of complete attunement."
Almost at the same time, another invitation was slipped into a crack in the wall—from an unnamed sect, just eight characters:
> "If she comes, we guard; if she leaves, we guard."
The third was delivered in person by a Dragon Clan envoy:
> "The Dragon Clan does not take disciples, only kin."
Hanshuang handed all three to Lin Zhou. He didn't take them, instead turning to the still-sleeping Xiao Li. "When you wake, we'll choose together."
He turned back to Hanshuang. "Tell them I have conditions."
"What conditions?"
"Whoever teaches her to eat well, sleep well, and keep a steady heart—may take her. Whoever can't—can get lost."
Hanshuang's lips twitched. "Alright."
She opened the gate a crack; the wind rolled in, carrying the scent of mountains and trees, and the sound of approaching footsteps from afar.
"From today," she said, "Frostmoon Camp welcomes no guests—only teachers."
Lin Zhou smiled without speaking. He pushed the door open a little wider to let the wind in, then returned to the fire, holding the warmed dessert in his hands, waiting for someone to wake.