Lin Tian in General Yun Fei's Manor
The morning mist clung to the jade-glazed tiles of the rear courtyard, coiling like pale silk between the bamboo stalks that lined the stone paths. Dew beaded on the leaves, catching the sunlight like scattered stars. In the quiet calm, only the crisp clack of wooden swords echoed—sharp as a drumbeat in the fog.
Lin Tian stood at the edge of the training floor, hands clasped behind his back, gaze unwavering.
Before him, Yun Xiaoyue moved through a series of practiced strikes, her ponytail swaying with each pivot. Her blade dipped—just slightly—on a turn, her weight shifting backward.
"Too slow," Lin Tian said, voice cutting through the silence like a blade through silk. "Your balance is off again. Weight on the heel. That strike would've left your core wide open."
Yun Xiaoyue's brow twitched. She stilled mid-form, grip tightening.
"You say that every time," she muttered, frustration simmering. "Maybe that's just how I fight."
Lin Tian didn't blink. "Then you'll lose. Every time."
It wasn't scorn. Just fact—delivered with the cold detachment of a scholar pointing out a flawed equation. But for Yun Xiaoyue—daughter of the famed General Yun Fei—it stung more than any insult.
Her teeth clenched. "I'm only out here because Father ordered it," she snapped. "You're not some immortal sword saint. Stop acting like one."
The wooden sword clattered to the ground. Without another word, she turned, her braid slicing through the mist as she stormed into the main hall.
Silence returned. A crane cried faintly in the distance.
Lin Tian remained still. His eyes lingered on the fallen sword. Maybe he'd been too blunt. But it wasn't his fault her form was flawed. In real battle, a misstep meant death.
A rustle of metal—measured, deliberate—broke his reflection.
General Yun Fei stepped into view, emerging from the side corridor in light ceremonial armor. His gaze was steady and unreadable.
"She stormed off again, didn't she?"
Lin Tian straightened. "Yes, General."
Yun Fei sighed. "You're not wrong… but you are unwise."
Lin Tian's brows drew together. "Sir?"
The General paced slowly, arms clasped behind his back. "Skill without tact is a blade without a handle. You may cut down your enemies, but you'll bleed yourself in the process."
Lin Tian frowned, uncertain if this was reprimand or wisdom.
"I only meant to help her improve."
Yun Fei nodded. "Then learn to shape, not shatter. You are clever with the sword, boy. But if you hope to lead one day… temper that edge with humility."
Lin Tian's face was unreadable, but his thoughts stirred.
Then, the General drew closer, his voice lowering.
"And it seems… Her Majesty has taken notice of you."
Lin Tian's eyes flickered.
Yun Fei produced a scroll—fine parchment, sealed with golden wax, marked with the imperial phoenix.
"The capital's abuzz. The Empress has announced something called the Grand Imperial Literature Competition."
Lin Tian received the scroll and unsealed it with care.
There, in flowing imperial script, was his name: Lin Tian, etched below the Empress's golden sigil.
"Literature?" he asked, brow furrowed. "Why me?"
Yun Fei chuckled. "That's what I asked. A swordsman on a scholar's stage?" He shook his head. "Either someone made a mistake… or the Empress sees what others don't."
The mist had begun to lift, and the courtyard grew clearer.
Lin Tian's eyes turned briefly to the corridor Yun Xiaoyue had vanished into. His jaw clenched—not from resentment, but something deeper.
Resolve.
> Then I'll go. If blades can carve through mountains… then words can split the skies.
> Let them all see.
---
The clouds parted over the estate as the morning passed, but not all storms had settled. While one disciple accepted the call of fate, another wrestled with her pride.
---
The late morning sun filtered through a lattice of carved wood, casting intricate shadows across the polished floors of Yun Xiaoyue's chamber. The soft scent of plum blossoms drifted in through an open window, brushing against the silence like a whisper.
But there was no calm in her room.
Yun Xiaoyue stood tense before her weapons rack, arms crossed, jaw locked. Her robe was still damp with sweat from training, but she hadn't changed or rested. She simply stood—boiling in silence.
"Two days," she muttered under her breath. "He's been here two days and already acts like some sage from the Sword Sect."
She could still hear Lin Tian's voice in her mind—calm, clinical, utterly unaffected.
> "Your weight's on your heel. That strike would've left your core wide open."
Not even her father's officers corrected her so bluntly. And worse—he was right.
Her door creaked open.
Yun Fei stepped in, clad in a simple indigo robe, bearing a teacup in one hand and a silver-bound scroll in the other.
"I take it training didn't go well?" he asked dryly.
"I don't need a stranger lecturing me like he's a sect elder," she said, back still to him.
"He pointed out a flaw."
"He delivered a sermon." She whirled around, eyes sharp. "He acts like he knows everything."
Yun Fei set the scroll on her desk. "Then perhaps he'll enjoy this."
She approached, frowning as she unrolled the parchment.
The imperial phoenix gleamed at the top. The ink was fresh, the script elegant.
> Grand Imperial Literature Competition — One Week Hence Recipient: Lin Tian.
Her eyes narrowed. "Literature?"
"Straight from the inner palace," Yun Fei confirmed. "Sealed by the Empress herself."
"But… why him?"
"That's what I wondered. But if the Empress sees something, it's worth noticing."
"He's not even noble-born. He barely bows."
"And yet, he's the one chosen."
Yun Xiaoyue rolled the scroll sharply. "You're impressed by him."
"I'm cautious," Yun Fei corrected. "And I know what pride looks like when it's wounded."
She turned away, face tight with emotion.
"Listen well, Xiaoyue. You don't have to like him. You don't have to speak to him. But don't waste your energy resenting someone who's already focused on surpassing you."
She didn't answer. Not with words.
"Fight with your blade. Or your mind. Not with tantrums."
With that, he left, door clicking shut behind him.
Yun Xiaoyue stood still for a moment longer.
Then she turned to her sword, lifting it from the rack. Her grip tightened.
> Let him think he's the only one rising.
> I'll show him what real strength looks like.
---
"While the war general's daughter remained cloaked in silence, elsewhere in the estate, the boy at the heart of it all readied himself—not for praise, but for a battle without blades.
---
The guest wing of the estate was quiet, wrapped in stillness. A soft breeze stirred the drapes as sunlight painted shifting patterns across the floor.
Lin Tian sat cross-legged by an open window, robe half-loosened, dark hair tousled by the wind. A poetry scroll lay across his lap, its edges frayed with time. His eyes moved slowly, drinking in each verse like a blade tests the air before the draw.
One line caught him:
> Autumn frost kisses the blade's edge— Silent, it speaks louder than thunder.
He stared at it for a long while.
Outside, faintly visible through the haze, the palace spires shimmered in gold and gray.
He didn't understand Yun Xiaoyue's anger. He hadn't meant offense. Was it wrong to point out flaws? Would she rather be praised for imperfection?
Before the thought could deepen, a faint pulse stirred from the ring on his right hand.
The iron band, dull and ancient, shimmered faintly.
A voice echoed within his mind—calm, timeless, layered with authority.
> "You don't need to understand her. You weren't summoned for friendship. You were summoned to rise. And I will ensure you do."
Lin Tian blinked.
The voice—his secret guide—had been silent since the duel. But now it stirred again.
> "The Grand Imperial Literature Competition is not a stage of verse. It is a stage of veiled war. Hidden knives, watching eyes. Let others falter with pride."
> "You'll have me."
Lin Tian slowly rolled the scroll shut. His eyes fixed on the far horizon.
He no longer looked like a youth contemplating poetry.
He looked like a blade, unsheathed.
---
End of Chapter 26
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