5 Days Time
Day 1
Inhale.
The pool's surface was like a sheet of polished jade beneath the night sky, and the doll's body lay almost entirely submerged within it. Only their mouth and nose broke the surface, each breath sending gentle, fleeting ripples.
Above them, a sword hovered, its presence as natural as gravity itself. The Tear of Karanodaka held a slender, unassuming shape at present, a short sword of translucent depth, as though water had forgotten how to flow. Within it, reflections stirred. Things that might have been, things that would never be.
But the doll did not look at them. There was no need.
Their attention was inward.
Exhale.
Qi left the body in a slow, controlled stream, guided through the meridians described in the Unity Sword Manual. The belly hollowed slightly, ribs drawing in, the Sacred Embryo within the dantian dimming by the faintest margin.
Inhale.
The breath returned, deep and deliberate, filling the abdomen until it pushed outward against the water's pressure. Qi followed the breath, drawn from the surrounding world, cold, clean, unresistant, spiraling inward toward the dantian. The Sacred Embryo accepted it without discrimination, without judgment, and refined it into something older and quieter.
From the Embryo, Qi flowed outward again, answering the call of the Unity Sword.
The sword hummed, not with sound, but a resonance felt through bone and thought alike. Qi entered the blade, circulated through its spirit, then returned. Changed, sharpened, carrying impressions too subtle to name.
Sword to core. Core to sword. A closed loop, perfect in theory.
In practice, the doll sensed the truth. The increase was undeniably there, but it was small. A droplet added to an ocean that refused to show its depth. The primary vitality they had been born with, the innate gift nestled within the Sacred Embryo, responded only reluctantly, as though amused by the effort.
That was fine.
Progress did not need to be fast. It only needed to exist.
Time passed.
Inhale. Exhale.
The water around the doll gradually lost its cold edge, becoming almost pleasant.
Success. Harmonization.
Light pressed against them.
Not spiritual illumination. Not Insight. Just... light, against their eyelids.
The doll frowned, the expression faint and slow to form, and opened their eyes.
Morning had come.
Dawn spilled through the high windows of the bathing chamber, its rays scattering across the pool. It was warm because the night had ended, not because the doll had pushed their cultivation forward in any meaningful way.
For a fragile moment, they felt something like disappointment. It passed just as quickly.
The doll stood.
Water slid from their body in smooth sheets, tracing down pale skin and subtle muscle. Their hair, dark and heavy with moisture, clung to their back and shoulders, strands sticking to their neck and collarbone.
They did not shiver. Temperature had long since lost the ability to provoke such reactions.
The Unity Sword rose to meet them.
The doll took it into their hand, fingers closing around the hilt with familiar certainty.
They examined the blade, eyes faintly unfocused as the Eye of the Moment stirred, not fully invoked, but present enough to sense the sword's condition.
No impurities. No disharmony.
Their own cultivation… had advanced. Slightly.
That was enough.
With a casual flourish, the pool parted.
Water split cleanly down the center, held back by the edge of intent, revealing the tiled floor beneath. The doll stepped forward, bare feet touching stone as the divided waters rushed back together behind them. They crossed the chamber unhurriedly and took the nearest towel, drawing it around themselves with practiced ease.
They passed through the inner door and entered their bedchamber.
Spacious, as befitted a direct descendant of the Xun main branch. Silk curtains hung from carved pillars, embroidered with subdued cloud motifs that never quite seemed to move. A low table sat near the window, stacked neatly with unopened scrolls and a single sheathed practice sword. Incense burned faintly in a corner, its scent barely perceptible.
The bed itself was untouched... and empty.
No inner garments. No outer robes. Not even a sash.
They stared at the empty stand for a long moment.
It would be easy to interpret this as neglect. Easier still to feel slighted by it. The thought brushed against their mind, soft and insistent, before being gently set aside.
The servants had yet to wake. That was all there was to it.
They sat before the bronze mirror, towel discarded, damp hair drawn forward and separated. A thin thread of Qi ran through each strand as they worked, drying, aligning, coaxing stubborn locks into obedience. They braided it slowly, methodically, the pattern neither ostentatious nor plain. When finished, the braid fell down their back like a dark ribbon, restrained at the end by a simple clasp of cloud-silver.
Then, clothing.
The doll selected their own clothes. Layered silk in muted whites and deep black, trimmed with faint embroidery only visible at certain angles. They fastened each tie themselves, adjusted the fall of the sleeves, and ensured the inner layers lay flat over the dantian, never compressing, never obstructing circulation.
Jewelry followed.
A narrow pendant at the throat, hollowed and empty, meant to be filled one day with something worth preserving. They paused over it briefly, then let it be.
Before leaving, they lit a single stick of incense, not for scent, but to mark the passage of time, and touched two fingers to the edge of their bed, sending a pulse of Qi through the formation hidden within the frame. It would alert them if anyone entered while they were gone.
Only then did they sheath the Unity Sword at their hip.
The blade settled there as though it had always belonged, its presence perfectly balanced against their center of gravity. They took one last look around the room, found nothing amiss, and stepped out.
The corridors of the estate were beginning to stir.
The doll walked toward the servant quarters at an unhurried pace, footsteps soundless against polished stone. Along the way, they greeted those they passed.
"Good morning."
One older servant nearly dropped the tray in his hands, hastily bowing so low they worried he might injure his back. A pair of maids flushed crimson, returning the greeting with voices that tangled over themselves. Others froze outright, eyes wide, mouths opening and closing soundlessly like fish pulled from water.
The doll nodded to each in turn, unbothered.
They passed into the courtyard that led toward the servant quarters. A tree stood near the path, old, thick-trunked, its branches sprawling wide enough to cast generous shade even as the sun climbed. Beneath it, half-hidden by roots and fallen leaves, lay a boy, arms folded beneath his head, one knee bent, mouth slightly open.
His chest rose and fell in slow, even rhythm.
For a moment, the doll simply observed. The boy's hair was disheveled, catching the light in uneven strands. His features, unremarkable at a glance, resolved into something oddly striking when viewed together. There was a careless harmony to him, the kind that didn't require effort or awareness.
... he should have been awake by now.
The doll tilted their head.
They considered waking him. They considered leaving him be.
Eventually, they spoke.
"Yú."
He was assigned to serve me shortly after his admission into the Xun clan estate. Labor redistribution, proximity, convenience. No one asked whether it suited either of us, but personally, I don't mind.
At first, he was rather... flirtatious? I'm inexperienced in such matters, but he was too unsubtle to interpret as anything else.
Unskilled, too. He spoke without filtering himself, offered compliments that arrived half-formed, and smiled as though the act itself amused him more than any possible outcome. I did not know how to respond.
By the time I attempted to analyze it, he had already stopped.
I assume he learned of my constitution. Information travels quickly in the estate, especially information that encourages distance between commoner and noble.
That would explain it. Although many consider me a Jade Beauty, the primordial chaos swirling within me ought to disqualify such notions entirely. If anything, with a few etiquette lessons, he could make a better candidate. He is strangely fetching for a commoner, drawing the eye without trying, without understanding why, and thus being unable to replicate it at will.
That kind of unintentional presence is rarer than most cultivation talent, but what I appreciate most about him is his honesty.
Not honesty in the sense of truthfulness. He lies constantly, casually, and creatively.
Honesty of intent. He complains when he is tired. He grumbles when he works. He speaks ill of tasks he completes anyway. When he disrespects someone, he does so openly, without the layered malice common among those born into status. His emotions arrive and pass unfiltered.
Even though his existence hinges on the Xun clan's good will, he cannot help but live true to himself.
It's... pleasant.
Perhaps that is why I notice him.
Perhaps that is why I continue to watch.
Perhaps that is why I vouch for him.
When my family attempts to discipline him excessively, I intervene. Because when mistakes would bring punishment down on others, he becomes quiet and efficient. When something fragile must be carried, he does not rush. When blame could be shifted to someone weaker, he absorbs it instead, masking the choice with humor.
It is not favoritism, but accurate judgment.
The young man did not stir. His name was not called again.
Overhead, the morning breeze moved the leaves, scattering flecks of light across his face. Somewhere deeper in the estate, a bell chimed once, an indication that the servants' schedules had officially begun. Yú remained asleep, unmoved by duty, sound, or the presence of a noble standing a few steps away.
It was, objectively, strange for a member of the main family to stand quietly beside a tree, waiting for a servant to wake on their own. Stranger still that the former had no urgency to correct the imbalance. If anything, the reversal carried a faint, indefinable amusement.
Eventually, Yú shifted. His brow furrowed, mouth closing as though he had sensed something amiss. One hand twitched, then reached out blindly, only to grasp empty air.
His eyes snapped open.
For half a breath, he stared straight up into the branches.
Then his gaze slid sideways, and froze.
"Oh shit—" He jolted upright, scrambling to his feet with a speed that suggested long practice. "Ah, Lady Chizi—no, wait, Young—"
"Good morning," the doll said warmly.
Yú blinked at them. His expression twisted into confusion.
"You're... up early," he said cautiously. "Did something happen?"
"I never went to sleep."
"... you joke."
He squinted. Leaned closer. Circled them half a step, as though looking for cracks.
"Is that cultivation?" he asked, scratching the back of his head. "Or are you simply... like that?"
They tilted their head.
"Like what?"
"A beauty that doesn't need sleep..." he muttered, then shook himself. "... what business do you have with this lowly servant?"
"I am going out to shop. I thought of offering you the opportunity to carry my things."
Yú's expression soured immediately.
The doll paused, recognizing the error at once. The phrasing, the implication, the quiet hierarchy smuggled into the sentence.
They opened their mouth to clarify.
Yú's stomach growled.
Loudly.
Both of them looked down at it.
There was a beat of silence.
"I have not eaten either."
They spoke first.
Yú groaned.
"We could have breakfast on the way," they continued, tone even. "My treat."
The boy hesitated, suspicion warring with hunger in his eyes. Hunger won.
"... Fine," he said. "But sweeping all day builds character."
"I never meant to imply the contrary."
The paths widened as they moved toward the outer courtyards, stone giving way to packed earth and trimmed grass. Disciples passed them with measured strides, servants with lowered heads. Reactions followed as before. Stares, startled bows, whispered confusion, but Yú drew some of the attention himself now, his presence beside the doll creating a quiet disturbance in the natural order of things.
Yú noticed. He always did.
"You know," he began, hands folded behind his head, "people are going to think I'm in trouble again."
"You likely are, though not with me."
He laughed. They continued on, the morning sun rising higher. The doll listened as the servant spoke of the food stalls outside the estate, a senior disciple who tripped over his own sword, about nothing of consequence at all.
It was... pleasant.
Soon, they found stone streets, crowded with motion. Vendors called out prices in overlapping rhythms, talismans chimed softly as they brushed against one another, and the air mixed with the scents of incense, metal, ink, and the faint bitterness of refined herbs. The doll walked through it all at an unhurried pace, hands folded within their sleeves, expression serene.
Behind them, Yú lagged.
Bags of woven reed hung from both his shoulders, stuffed with trinkets of every conceivable origin. Exotic pills sealed in jade vials, artifacts wrapped in talisman paper, odd-shaped refining materials that pulsed faintly with residual Qi, weapon components whose purpose was unclear even to their sellers, and manuals bound in cracked, dusty leather.
None of it was meant for their buyer.
He shifted the bags higher on his shoulders, grumbling under his breath as they paused at another stall to examine a cluster of spirit beads. The beads were rejected after a single glance. The stall owner looked personally wounded.
They moved on.
The crowd thickened ahead.
Voices rose, not the usual haggling, but sharp, cutting words edged with accusation. A loose circle had formed around two neighboring stalls, onlookers craning their necks with poorly concealed delight.
At the center of it stood a woman and a man, facing one another like drawn blades.
"You're selling temporary strengthening pills," the woman accused, palm slamming against her stall. "And dressing them up as permanent ones. The price alone gives you away."
He looked her up and down, lips curling. "Oh please. As if you look like someone who knows anything about pill refinement."
A ripple went through the crowd.
She stiffened. Then, with deliberate slowness, ran a hand through her long hair, lifting her chin. "Beautiful, you mean?" she asked coolly.
"A walking corpse! Pale as death, cold as a grave! No one with sense should trust pills from a woman who looks halfway to becoming a zombie!"
Collective gasps escaped from the onlookers.
The woman's eyes darkened, but at that moment, the crowd parted before the doll.
Their voice cut cleanly through the tension.
"Shāhuá."
She is bold where I am demure, smooth where I am sharp, deliberate where I am hesitant. This makes us compatible.
We met when she was still confined to her bed, and her world was limited to the shape of a room and the patience of her family. I did not go to her with intent. I was walking, observing, letting the world run through me as it always does, and I arrived at her side without realizing I had been searching for anything at all.
I had nothing to offer her, nothing to heal her, nothing to soothe her.
Except my company.
For once, I was not the listener. I told her about the latest happenings in the Xun territory, about rumors, conflicts, and she hung onto every word.
Later, I began bringing things. Visual aids, I thought. Proof that the world I described was real. A tapestry from a visiting merchant here, a pill from a family manual there, curiosities that passed through my hands before passing on. It took me longer than it should have to realize that I was learning something new.
Giving is not simple.
To give well, one must understand timing. See not only what a person desires, but what they lack, what they are ready to accept, and what would wound them by arriving too soon.
Some days, she wanted spectacle. Other days, silence. Once, all she wanted was confirmation that the world still existed beyond her pain.
With time, I understood that my company, which I considered lacking, was the greatest gift I could have given her.
Now, she stands in public, radiant and defiant, refusing to fade quietly ever again.
If I am capable of friendship, then she is my closest one. I will play along with any of her schemes. She deserves someone in her corner. Someone who will always look at her.
Although, to be entirely honest, I am also capable of enjoying the mischief for its own sake.
Her earlier fury folded away as though it had never existed. She stepped forward without hesitation, skirts swaying, eyes alight.
"Well," she said brightly, "if it isn't my favorite wanderer."
The doll inclined their head. "You look well."
"I always do."
Then she turned, gesturing grandly toward them with one elegant sweep of her hand. "Allow me to introduce Xun Chizi. Direct scion of the Xun family. Since we're already drawing attention, I'm sure you won't mind if an authority arbitrates from here?"
The man's color drained.
His spine bent almost reflexively as he bowed, far deeper than etiquette required. "Th-this humble one greets Young Lady Xun!" he blurted, fumbling at his robes. From his sleeves, he shakily produced a stamped permit, holding it up as a shield.
"All my products have been verified through the proper channels! I am merely a traveling merchant trying to make an honest living! Please, Young Lady, see clearly!"
The doll accepted the permit with a gentle nod.
Their gaze slid to the pills on the stall.
For a fleeting instant, the Eye of the Moment opened.
Energy unraveled into pale threads, recipes into patterns, intent into imbalance. Temporary surges bound together with clever stabilizers, designed to mimic permanence for just long enough to escape refund claims.
Shāhuá was correct.
They closed the Eye. The proper response was obvious. Take the man aside. Hand him to the Xun's enforcement channels. Let regulation, punishment, and precedent run their course.
They opened their eyes again.
"How do you intend to prove your claim?" they asked calmly instead.
Shāhuá grinned.
"Everyone, pay attention! I'm about to give out a priceless class for free."
Blue flames burst from her fingertips, cold enough that frost crept across the stall's wood. She moved with practiced confidence, hands flashing as she pulled ingredients seemingly from nowhere.
"Your base," she said, pointing at the man's pills without looking at him, "is a Spirit-Strengthening Dew Pill. Low-level. Meant to nourish tendons and bones. For starters, you used Cloudroot Resin instead of True Cloudroot; cheaper, but less stable."
Her hands moved fluidly as she spoke, tossing ingredients into the furnace: Frostleaf Ash, diluted Beast Marrow Gel, White Lotus Seed. Each was named, measured, and refined with ruthless precision.
"And this..." she flicked her wrist, adding a pinch of red powder onto her other hand before clenching her fist.
"This is where you cut the biggest corner. Substituting Bloodwarming Sand with Red Vein Powder. Enough to pass inspection if no one looks too closely."
She opened her palm.
A pill lay there, round and pale, smooth and unassuming. She placed it on the man's stand. It looked identical to his.
Then she produced another pill.
"At a glance," Shāhuá said sweetly, "they're the same. But look closer. The faint inner spiral visible under light, the way permanence settles instead of surges, the quiet density of Qi that does not leak away."
The crowd stepped closer, murmurs rumbling between them. Most were commoners only beginning their path to internal alchemy, yet even they could notice the difference once it was thrust upon their faces.
"With that said," she added, winking at the crowd, "I'll sell the real thing for the same price. For the next hour only. So you might want to get your reimbursements quickly."
The market exploded.
Shouts, accusations, scrambling bodies, all customers surged toward the man's stall demanding refunds, while an equally fervent line formed before Shāhuá. The merchant sputtered, face red with fury.
"S-She stole my recipe!" he shouted, having no defense for himself.
The doll turned to him.
"Your proof?" they asked mildly. "She has provided hers. Surely you are not claiming your recipe is too complex for a fellow alchemist to decipher."
Shāhuá leaned in, smiling sweetly. "If a child watches you bake bread, even they'll know it needs flour," she added helpfully.
The man's hand darted into his sleeve.
A smoke bomb slipped into his palm.
The Unity Sword was already at his neck.
Its wielder's voice was soft, almost kind.
"The Xun clan's punishment will not be worse than death," they said. "So there is no need for this."
Slowly, the man lowered his hand.
After providing refunds, he walked stiffly behind the doll and Yú, head bowed, fate sealed. Behind them, Shāhuá basked in the chaos of commerce, laughter bright as she waved them off.
"Thanks for sorting that out!" she called.
The doll only inclined their head.
[Day 1]
Night settled over the Xun estate without ceremony.
Snow began to fall, fine at first, then steadily, each flake catching faint lamplight as it drifted down onto tiled roofs and stone courtyards.
The doll walked alone.
Their steps echoed faintly through the corridors, the hem of their robes whispering against polished stone. Earlier, they had left Yú in their bedroom amid an impressive chaos of purchases, every table and low shelf stacked with boxes and bundles. He had protested loudly at first, then grown suspiciously enthusiastic once they promised he could choose a trinket for himself at the end.
The corridors led them toward the inner dining hall. At this hour, it was usually empty, servants long dismissed, family members retired to meditation or rest. The doll entered expecting a quiet meal.
They pushed open the doors.
A single figure sat at the far end of the long table, their eyes lifted the instant the doll crossed the threshold.
Lantern light caught sharp lines and familiar features, mirrored yet inverted.
"... Gemini."
I dislike them instinctively.
They were the first to leave me behind, tearing themselves away in the womb, rejecting me before either of us could understand what that even meant.
Where I remained whole and unmoving, they chose division and excess. Where I struggle at the threshold of humanity, they overflow with emotion. While I train to earn Mother's attention, they cling to her skirt without shame, trying to take what neither of us deserves.
The first time our blades clashed, I started it.
We were training with the other disciples. Formation drills. Repetition. Correction.
I was focused, always focused, when I overheard them half-whispering to the others. Soft, precise words. How my form was incorrect. How my breathing was unnatural.
I could tolerate distance. I could tolerate avoidance. I could tolerate my own flesh treating me as something they had to ignore in private.
But not that.
I challenged them on the spot, and demanded they demonstrate exactly how my form was flawed.
They accepted. I suspected that was their ploy all along.
The match ended with both of us bruised, disheveled, and split apart by an elder for a scolding neither of us listened to. They lay on the ground, glaring up at me in stunned silence.
Meanwhile, I felt an overwhelming, undiluted ecstasy, which at the time I could not name.
Now, older, I know it was proof of existence.
Back then, the deepest part of me understood. They had chosen wrong. Separation was a mistake. My path, however empty it could be sometimes, was correct.
There is no greater satisfaction for a daoist than forcing reality to acknowledge them, and there is no greater dishonor than having your path spat on.
Thus, from that point on, our encounters were no longer filled with a vague and undefined loathing, but a habitual, mutual friction.
The second clash was their doing. They challenged me openly during a clan gathering, demanding to see my progress with the Unity Sword Manual, claiming I was squandering it.
I accepted. I always do.
I lost.
Badly.
When I fell, they stood over me, sneering, extending a hand I refused to take.
The third time, they came for me again. It was at the edge of a hunting expedition. Many elders watched. They were fresh and reckless after victory, so I cut through their excess and left them whimpering in the snow.
The fourth clash was all me.
I had just finished showing Mother my full resolve, the Righteous Unrivaled Sword.
She rejected me.
After spending the rest of the day painstakingly improving upon my form, I found them at the edge of the training grounds.
Delighting in my struggle.
I drew my blade and charged, needing to carve all my frustration onto them. Yin swallowed me whole. Their strikes were precise, merciless, designed to erase rather than overpower. I lost consciousness before the final blow could land.
When I awoke, they were gone.
... Sometimes, I try to bridge the gap between us.
I speak carefully. I offer neutrality. I suggest shared ground that does not exist, but could, if we were willing.
Every attempt ends the same way: Their distaste, unhidden and unsoftened. Their unwillingness to change. The sharp reminder that whatever I seek from them is something they do not wish to give.
Each time, something inside me twists until I feel sick, and when it passes, I find that my loathing has deepened.
Only they can summon these emotions from me.
My weakness. My rival. My gemini.
Until Unity or Duality can prove supreme, our blades shall clash forevermore.
"What are you doing here, you wretched thing?"
The warmth of the dining hall seemed to recede.
The doll stepped closer to the table, footsteps unhurried, gaze steady. "Have you grown delusional enough," they asked calmly, "to believe I cannot sit at the same table as you?"
The gemini let out a humorless huff. "Father has left on an expedition. Brother is adventuring as always. Mother is absent. There is no audience." Their eyes narrowed. "No reason for either of us to put on airs and play family. I assumed you understood that. You've left me alone for days."
Something tight coiled in the doll's chest.
"That understanding was yours alone. I would never avoid you. I will always face you." Their fingers curled within their sleeves. "If we did not cross paths, it was out of pure coincidence. Nothing more."
The scrape of wood against stone rang loudly in their ears.
The gemini stared at them from the opposite chair. Then, their seat toppled backward with a dull thud. The food on their plate remained half-finished, steam still rising.
The doll moved without thinking, hand closing around a wrist.
"Come back," they demanded.
The other halted, shoulders tense. They looked down at the hand gripping them, then up, lips curling in distaste.
"Looking at you is like staring at a caricature of myself. I've lost my appetite. There is no reason to linger."
"You have no right to speak of caricatures." The doll's fingers lifted, tracing along the gemini's hair where black gave way to stark white. "With this semblance. You may claim the status of eldest as you please, but there is no denying you are the dregs of my embryo."
The hand was struck away.
"Why are you so eager for battle tonight? Have you already forgotten how our last bout ended?"
"My mood was excellent before I met you. As always. And that battle happened while you were fresh and I was exhausted from training. If... when we clash again, it will not go your way so easily."
"Prove it."
Lantern flames guttered. Frost crept along the edges of the table, then evaporated in a hiss of heat. Yin and Yang pressed outward and swirled inward, violently joining and opposing, the air between them distorting as invisible pressure collided.
For a breath, it seemed inevitable.
Then, the doll turned away, and the spiritual pressure vanished as abruptly as it had come.
They walked toward the exit, footsteps measured, back straight.
"Fleeing?"
"Hardly. I will fetch something. A prize for the victor."
They paused at the threshold. "You should do the same."
A tongue clicked behind them.
"You purchased something for me, didn't you? Now you think better of giving it, and decide to dress it up as stakes."
The doll did not answer.
"I have no need or want for your gifts. The only thing I'll bring to the training grounds is my weapon. You should do the same."
They continued down the corridor, already intent on their bedroom, on something waiting there, whether the gemini wanted it or not.
Day 2
Soaring Dragon Seizes the Heavens.
Stone, tile, and lantern light fell away as though they had never existed. The morning air roared past their ears, cold and thin, snow spiraling upward instead of down as Xun territory shrank beneath them. The estate became geometry, lines and angles reduced to insignificance, then a suggestion, then nothing at all.
The doll rose until the clouds parted and the world became quiet.
Fluttering Dragon Strides the Clouds.
They descended with soft steps. Snowflakes drifted through the sky, slow and delicate. The doll placed their feet upon them, impossibly light, each contact lasting no longer than a thought. Flakes shattered into mist beneath them, dispersing Qi that barely noticed the intrusion. With each stride, the mountains loomed closer, jagged silhouettes wrapped in moonlit frost.
Distance ceased to matter.
Lurking Dragon Sinks to the Abyss.
They folded their legs midair. Before the world could react, they were already crouched in the snow. Powder puffed outward in a perfect ring, untouched beyond its boundary. No sound followed. The mountains stood silent around them, ancient and indifferent. They straightened, breath steady, gaze already tracking motion.
A stream whispered nearby.
They let the Eye of the Moment open, just enough to see the thread of origin, the spring that birthed it.
At the source, they kicked off their sandals and stepped barefoot into the water.
Drifting Dragon Follows the Current.
Their body glided atop the water's surface as though borne by its will rather than their own. The current carried them forward, silent and smooth, until the stream widened and deepened, opening into a lake that had not yet surrendered to ice.
Sunlight fractured across its surface.
On the far shore, something stirred.
Its massive body was layered in pale fur and veined with blue, antlers branching like frozen lightning. Its eyes glowed faintly as it turned, muscles tensing, sensing danger too late.
Raging Dragon Parts the Sea.
The air tore like cloth, followed by a whisper from the Unity Sword. Blood arced briefly through the air, steaming before it fell, flecks drawn hungrily into the blade's translucent depths.
The Frostmane River Elk collapsed without a sound.
The doll stood still, sword lowered, breath untroubled.
They looked at the corpse.
A small frown touched their features.
The Eight Movements of the Dragon flowed without hesitation. The Eye of the Moment revealed every weakness. The Righteous Unrivaled Sword cut true, absolute, unquestioned.
They were sharper than ever.
So how—
Why had they lost yesterday?
Snow crunched softly beneath their steps as they wandered through the tundra without direction.
For a moment, they paused.
The Unity Sword flowed.
Its translucent length stretched and thinned, becoming a gleaming skewer of causal water that slid cleanly through the Frostmane River Elk's massive body. They lifted the blade, and the beast rose with it, meat on a stick.
The doll turned and continued to walk, the dead beast swaying faintly at their side.
They thought of the gemini.
Had they held back?
The idea surfaced reluctantly. Perhaps, somewhere beneath awareness, they had restrained themselves. Subtly dulled the edge of their sword, preserved an opening, all to justify that innocuous gift bought on a whim.
No.
That could not be it.
Were their sword skills lacking?
Impossible.
Every movement had been precise. Every technique executed without waste. There had been no hesitation, no misstep.
Then...
Cultivation.
The doll slowed.
Yes.
That was plausible.
Even with leylines threading the Xun estate, ambient Qi near the palace was diluted by the constant practice of countless disciples, techniques clashing and siphoning energy in overlapping patterns. They had spent their days exploring markets, walking among people, listening, watching, giving. Time well spent, certainly.
But not time spent gathering power.
They had neglected seclusion. Neglected claiming a place where the world's breath ran thick and undisturbed.
... once again, you were left behind.
The thought pressed uneasily against their skull.
Light flickered ahead.
A bonfire burned in the distance, its orange glow cutting a small, defiant circle into the white snow. Smoke rose straight into the still air. Two figures sat near it, one slight, one immense.
The doll called softly.
"Jian. Dashan."
I enjoy listening to him play.
It does not happen often. He keeps to himself by habit and necessity, and I try not to intrude upon that. Seclusion is not always loneliness.
When coincidence allows it, and the erhu echoes out into the mountains or drifts faintly through open corridors, I listen without announcing myself. The sound is restrained, controlled, yet threaded with something raw that never quite resolves.
I feel for him.
I was born without humanity. He, however, was born human. He knew what he was. And now, day by day, certainty is peeled away from him, skin to scale, until even mirrors hesitate before agreeing with him.
Still, I do not believe he should despair.
A dragon can not only embody power or ambition, but also honor. Responsibility. Benevolence. What matters is not the shell that grows around him, but the axis he turns upon. As long as he remains true to himself on the inside, I will acknowledge him as he is.
Family.
I believe Dashan supports him in a similar manner. Their bond is effortless in a way that defies explanation. There is no negotiation, no testing, no hierarchy imposed. When I observe them together, I am reminded of my relationship with the Unity Sword.
Something so perfectly aligned it could be nothing but inevitable. Fated to be unbreakable.
That too, is Unity.
"Good morning," he greeted quietly.
Dashan, already half-risen, inclined his massive stone head in a solemn nod. Snow slid from the Shisa dog's shoulders as he shifted his weight, eyes flicking briefly to the impaled beast with clear interest.
"May I join you?" the doll asked.
Jian nodded at once. "Of course."
They stepped closer to the fire. The Unity Sword shortened smoothly in their hand, its length flowing back into a more compact form until the Frostmane River Elk slid free and dropped into the snow beside Dashan with a heavy thud. The beast spirit wasted no time, stone jaws closing around flesh with an enthusiasm that suggested long familiarity with such offerings.
They lifted one leg, then the other, settling into a lotus position on the air itself, Qi stabilizing their form without visible effort. Opposite them, Jian sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, elbows resting on his knees, gaze moving between the doll and Dashan's increasingly enthusiastic feast.
For a time, only the crackle of fire and the sound of tearing flesh filled the night.
Then, Jian spoke.
"What brought you out here?" he asked. "It's rare to see you this far from the estate."
They considered the question.
If it had been solitude, they would not have come here. Their room was quiet enough, sealed, orderly, untouched by interruption. No one would have visited them.
If it had been to test their techniques, the training grounds were closer. Familiar. Structured.
They exhaled slowly.
"Instinct," the doll said at last.
Jian tilted his head, listening.
"The last time I lost to my gemini, I awoke with no lingering doubt. No exhaustion. I was... restless." Their fingers tightened briefly around empty air. "I traced their trail into the mountains. I intended to fight again immediately."
Jian's eyes widened slightly.
"But when I found them, they were already wounded. A beast had gotten to them first." They paused. "I had no desire to pounce on a bleeding opponent, so I escorted them back home."
The fire popped, sending sparks upward.
Jian stared at them, enraptured. "I wasn't aware you had such a competitive side."
They shook their head, gaze drifting to the flames. "It is not competition, but again, instinct. One belonging to any conscious lifeform. To affirm its existence."
"I... I think I understand," he said slowly. "I struggle with something similar."
"No," they said gently. "You are far better than me."
He blinked.
"You struggle to cling to your humanity," they continued. "I struggle to be human at all."
Jian's silence lingered longer than before.
They sensed the disbelief beneath it, not rejection, not mockery, but the quiet difficulty of reconciling words with perception.
Without announcing intent, they reached inward.
Awareness brushed against the lower dantian, against the Sacred Embryo that rested there in serene indifference. Perhaps it was the cold of the tundra, but this time, it was far easier to tilt the balance towards one side.
Internal heat withdrew. Density softened. Organs responded.
Jian stiffened, eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you doing?"
Shoulders narrowed, waist softened, hips subtly realigned. Their face followed, features refining without losing familiarity, beauty tilting toward a different harmony. Dark lashes lengthened, voice catching faintly as breath passed through a body now tuned to a colder register.
"You cannot tell?" they asked.
"…No," he said honestly.
The answer drew a soft laugh. "That is fair. My mistake."
They let the balance settle, maintaining the form without strain, though it required constant attention. Like holding a breath that never quite burned, but never truly ended either.
"Right now, I have become closer to a normal human," the doll continued. "But it takes effort. Separation. Correction." Their gaze drifted upward, toward the falling snow. "Is that any way to live? Should a bird have to focus on keeping its wings?"
Jian did not interrupt.
"No," they said softly. "Everything is born from One, so humanity must already be within me, waiting. I do not want it as something separate. Something that must be constantly protected from the rest." Their fingers curled slowly. "I want to nurture it until it exists alongside everything else."
The fire crackled. Dashan gnawed contentedly behind them, unconcerned with philosophy.
"But sometimes," they admitted, voice quieter now, "it appears as if everyone around me is taking steps forward. Rising. Gaining things. Losing things. And I'm left behind on the first step, because I refuse to do the latter."
The entire reason for their presence here, the reason for their defeat, the reason for opposing their gemini... it all stemmed from that moment when one stayed behind, clinging to the form of a perfect embryo.
The snow kept falling.
And the doll, balanced between all things, remained suspended, neither ascending nor descending, waiting for something within themselves to finally bloom.
"Then... don't let go."
"...?"
"Most people don't willingly lose what's precious to them," Jian continued. "They're forced by circumstance. If you can cling to everything and not lose it, should you really run recklessly to end up in the same position as everyone else?"
He met their gaze. "They may move faster, by discarding weight to stumble forward. But there will come a point where they won't have anything to walk with. And when you reach that same step, you will still have it. Slow and steady always wins the race."
Something shifted.
Not in the world around them, but the world inside. Some quiet resistance loosened, some long-held tension finally acknowledged it was allowed to exist without resolution.
... once again, you were left behind.
... it does not matter. It has never mattered. If it were impossible to catch up again, you would never have prevailed over them.
... as long as you never lose your sight, they can never truly separate from you. As everything is born from One, everything will return to One.
The doll inclined their head.
"Thank you."
They unfolded their legs, feet touching the snow. The Yin alignment receded naturally, flesh and bone flowing back toward unity without protest.
"I must leave now," they added, almost apologetically. "Inspiration has struck. It would be rude of me to ignore your advice and stop clinging to it."
Jian smiled, small and sincere. "I understand."
The doll turned to Dashan as well, bowing lightly. The Shisa dog rumbled, something like approval echoing from deep within stone.
"Farewell," they said.
Soaring Dragon Seizes the Heavens.
The ground vanished, and she landed atop a distant mountain peak.
Someone was already there.
Earlier, the doll had glimpsed upon a stream's origin. They had also seen the one who swam past it.
A woman knelt near the edge of the peak, posture relaxed despite the sheer drop beyond her. Sunlight illuminated her skin as she painted delicate lines along her forearm with a thin brush.
The doll stepped forward and called her.
"Ri-jiě."
We spar, sometimes.
I fight as a sword cultivator should, blade and will unified, trusting that a single edge refined to its limit can stand against anything.
She is not like that. She relies on the mystical tattoos etched into her flesh, ink bound to Qi and sinew. They enhance her agility, sharpen her reactions, and reinforce her strikes. I see beauty in the simplicity of her swordplay, yet it is clear that her deepest passion does not lie in the blade, but in her art.
There is nothing wrong with that. But it makes her incompatible with my style.
Against it, her layered strengths do not collapse, but they cannot harmonize either. So we must stay content with a quiet impasse.
Sometimes, I do wonder.
If she had been taught the Unity Sword Manual, forged a lifelong bond with a blade, and nourished it with the same patience she gives her art, perhaps there might have been a way for her style to reconcile with mine. Ink inscribed upon steel. Technique etched not only onto skin, but into spirit and edge alike.
But that path is closed.
She already walks her own.
Always painting. Always adding. Never erasing. Adapting without rejection. Layering instead of replacing.
If there is a path where one may climb without abandoning what they carry, she is already walking it.
Then, perhaps reconciliation isn't required of her, but me.
Her brush glided along her forearm with unbroken focus. Only once the line was complete did she lift her gaze, eyes calm.
"Young Master."
"I apologize for intruding," they replied. "I did not mean to interrupt your body refining."
Ri glanced down at her arm, at the fresh ink settling into skin, then shrugged lightly. "It can wait. What brings you here?"
The doll hesitated, not from doubt, but an unfamiliar excitement coiling just beneath composure.
"I have found a path to my next breakthrough. But it will require your Inkbound Bloodcraft."
Ri straightened slightly, brush hovering midair. "Are you certain? Won't your Foundation simply consume the ink the way it consumes everything else?"
The doll nodded. "It will."
Ri blinked.
"But its function will not disappear, as it already belongs to me."
With three precise strokes, they drew a character into the air. Qi followed intent, lines of pale light lingering just long enough to define its meaning.
门.
A gate.
At present, they drew breath through their mouth and nose, which was filtered by the Sacred Embryo. But if a gate was established, then breath may be admitted into their body directly, bringing them closer to the one within. The tattoo would not give them something new, but return something they could instinctively access during birth.
The primordial, embryonic breath, which they never stopped clinging to.
Ri studied the symbol in silence, then exhaled.
"A gate in the body is a hole, exposing you to subtler attacks. Curses. Invasions. Toxins. Yes, your Embryo would filter them, but against an opponent from a superior realm? It might as well be a death sentence."
Before they could apologize for wasting her time, the artist smiled.
"However," she said, "I have a better idea."
She beckoned with two fingers.
The doll paused. "I only wished to broach the topic," they said. "For a later date. I did not intend to delay your cultivation further."
Ri waved the concern away. "I don't mind." Her eyes gleamed with curiosity now, the same look she wore when faced with a blank canvas. "Besides, you've already intrigued me, so it would be ruder to walk away now."
She patted the stone beside her. "Come closer."
Accepting her kindness, the doll crossed the narrow gap between peaks in a single, light hop, kneeling beside her. The mountain wind tugged at their robes, carrying the faint scent of ink.
Ri studied them for a moment, expression thoughtful. "I'll need to inscribe over your lower dantian."
Without hesitation, they loosened their robes and drew the top half down, exposing their torso to the cold night air. Pale skin met sunlight, soft and unblemished.
Ri inhaled.
The world responded.
Qi gathered around her in vast quantities, pulled in by the Inkbound Bloodcraft. It swirled thick and heavy, stifling the mountain air with overwhelming pressure.
"Do not breathe," she warned quietly.
They complied.
The brush, trembling not from uncertainty, but overwhelming power, met skin. The ink did not merely sit atop the surface; it sank in, engraving itself into flesh, meridians, concept. The doll remained motionless as Ri worked with deliberate strokes.
Gills.
They curved outward, elegant and symmetrical, their lines alive with restrained motion. At their ends, opposing characters anchored the intent.
To the Navel.
To Bring breath.
The characters settled, Qi threading through them, binding them into the doll's body as though they had always been meant to be there.
Ri lifted the brush.
"It's done," she said softly.
They released their breath.
Qi entered the tattooed skin, allowed inward by the gate of destiny, passing through flesh and meridians before reaching the Sacred Embryo. They responded in kind, cycling the Qi, and breath left again through the same path.
Two instances of embryonic breathing. Twice the accumulated energy.
Their eyes widened, just slightly.
"Thank you."
"I'm sorry."
The artist winced, and the doll frowned.
"For what? Has something gone awry?"
"It was my first time working on someone with your constitution. I played it too safe with direct characters." She gestured vaguely at the tattoo. "It works, but it's inelegant. If I'd abstracted the concept more, let meaning emerge naturally instead of forcing it..."
She continued, muttering possibilities, revisions, improvements. Even as the ink in their skin dried, and they drew their robes back into place, the doll remained in place, listening to the artist's insights through the morning, a faint line of amusement never leaving their lips.
Day 3
Morning light filtered through the high glasswork of the Xun clan's grand apothecary, refracted into pale rainbows by suspended arrays and alchemical formations. The air was thick with layered scents. Bitter roots, metallic powders, warm resin, and the faint sweetness of refined Qi. Fires burned in disciplined rows, each furnace attended by steady hands and focused minds.
The doll walked through it all unhurriedly.
Eyes followed them wherever they went. Physicians paused mid-diagnosis, alchemists slowed their hand-seals by half a breath, apprentices nearly scorched batches when their attention wandered.
They stopped before a senior alchemist with a braided beard, the man already half-risen from his seat.
"Good day, Young Master," he said, bowing deeply. "To what do we owe the honor?"
"Good day," they replied politely. "I was hoping you could help me locate an alchemist recently accepted here."
The response was immediate.
A young man was dragged forward by two apprentices with alarming efficiency, deposited before the doll like an offering. He looked pale, stiff-backed, eyes darting between the floor and their robes.
"This is Tsolmon," the senior alchemist said. "And this is Young Master Chizi," he added sharply, fixing the young man with a look. "Be on your best behavior."
Then he departed, satisfied.
"It's alright," the doll said gently. "I am here because my elder brother, Linghao, spoke of you."
The response was... not what they expected.
Tsolmon's face drained of what little color it had left. "I-I would never—if I offended Young Master Linghao in any way—!"
They blinked, wondering exactly how their elder brother had recruited this poor young man.
Then, before he could continue with the misunderstanding, they raised the satchel they had been carrying. "Could I labor your profession for a Resplendent Imperial Jade Pill?"
The words worked like a charm.
Tsolmon's shoulders relaxed, tension bleeding out of him as he nodded rapidly. "O-Of course. Please, follow me."
He led the doll to his station, movements brisk now, purposeful. Once there, they laid out the components one by one upon the table:
A sliver of Moonpolished Jade Essence.
Petals of Ninefold Radiance Lotus.
Refined Dew of Morning Cloud Grass.
A pearl distilled from Snowlight Carp bile.
Tsolmon inspected them with practiced speed. "All here... I mean, I didn't mean to imply you might forget—"
"There is no need to be anxious. When will it be ready?"
"At least one hour," Tsolmon replied, swallowing.
"May I observe? Or would you be more comfortable working by your lonesome?"
He hesitated. Then nodded. "... you should do as you please, Young Master."
The young man turned to his furnace, focus snapping into place. His movements grew precise, fervent, hands dancing through seals as flame and Qi responded in kind.
The doll stood quietly nearby, watching.
His hands moved with increasing speed and confidence as the furnace answered his intent.
He formed the Sevenfold Verdant Seal, palms weaving a pattern that stabilized the flame into a translucent jade-green hue. Powdered Moonpolished Jade Essence was introduced first.
Next came the Ninefold Radiance Lotus petals, added one by one, each accompanied by a subtle twist of Qi that preserved their sheen. The Dew of Morning Cloud Grass followed, vaporizing into a mist that wrapped the furnace interior like gauze.
The Snowlight Carp pearl was cracked with a precise strike of alchemical force, its contents binding everything together,
Moments later, the flame subsided.
Tsolmon opened the furnace with a sharp exhale, revealing a single pill resting on a lotus-shaped tray, translucent jade shot through with faint golden veins.
"Finished," he said, voice tight. "Earlier than expected."
Time thinned. Cause and effect peeled back. The Eye of The Moment opened.
The product was excellent, purity high, harmonization flawless, no lingering instability. Its effects would be gentle yet profound.
"Well done."
Tsolmon swallowed, then bowed. "May I ask a question, Young Master?"
They nodded.
"Why," he asked carefully, "do you require a Resplendent Imperial Jade Pill when you already appear to be at the peak of resplendence?"
They smiled faintly. "... thank you for the compliment. It is not meant for me, however. It is for my little cousin..."
"... Moyu."
Maybe it is because I was born as such a mournful little thing, but I cannot imagine holding pride the way she does.
When I assert myself over my gemini, when my blade overwhelms theirs, there is self-satisfaction, but it has nothing to do with the Xun clan, nor even with ourselves as individuals. It is something older, deeper, so primal that, in hindsight, it can feel almost base.
Meanwhile, she carries the name of Xun Moyu like a banner and shield, loud and unapologetic, certain the world ought to bend simply because she exists.
I do not resent her for it. As much as she boasts, she is more than willing to stand where she claims to belong. When the family calls, she answers. When responsibility weighs heavy, she does not shirk it.
Once upon a time, I wished to experience that resolve first-hand.
We sparred.
Her temper ignited quickly, as it usually does. She launched into a storm of strikes, fierce, fast, and poorly aligned. Had I stayed still, more than half may have missed their mark entirely. At the time, I lacked any talent for using my words, so I attempted to speak through our blades.
I deflected. Redirected. Guided her toward cleaner lines, truer angles. I thought that if I showed her, felt her into better form, she would understand my intent
I was wrong.
What I offered as guidance, she received as condescension and dismissal, breaking away to never return.
I did not chase her, and that was another mistake. As someone who clings to everything, I predicted our familial bond would fracture if I insisted on ending that bout properly.
And yet, despite everything we've done to each other, I still consider my rival as family. From now on, I should extend that bare amount of trust onto her, too.
The training grounds rang with the sound of steel. Moyu's blade cut through the air in sharp, decisive arcs, Qi flaring hot and bright around her strikes.
For a moment, the doll stood in place, content to observe her progress.
Then, Moyu turned mid-swing as she sensed them, her blade halting an inch before completing its arc. A small scowl had already formed by the time her eyes found them.
Without preamble, the doll flicked their finger.
The pill arced through the air.
Moyu's eyes widened. Recognition sparked instantly, training overriding surprise as she scrambled to catch it. She fumbled once, cursed under her breath, then secured it tightly in her palm.
By the time she straightened, they already stood before her.
"Good morning."
Moyu lifted her chin. "Hmph. You're bold, showing up like this."
Her gaze flickered to the pill, curiosity seeping into her voice despite herself. "Is this... truly what I think it is?"
"Indeed."
She turned it over, inspecting its surface, the faint golden veins catching the light. Her scowl melted.
"... Who crafted it?" she demanded. "The apothecary doesn't even have the components for something like this." She paused, then added quickly, "Not that I was monitoring it! I am already a perfect beauty, after all."
"... I procured the components myself. As for the alchemist who assembled it, his name is..."
"Tso."
At first, I believed him to be someone who values peace above all else.
He moved carefully through the world, attentive to hierarchy, determined to complete his work without drawing unnecessary attention or displeasure. His apologies came easily, reflexively, as though he learned long ago that staying unobtrusive was the safest way to survive. I mistook that for contentment.
I was wrong.
At some point, without announcement, he began to try for me.
Not merely to fulfill my request, but to exceed it. His seals sharpened. His chants steadied. His timing grew ambitious.
He wanted me to notice.
I did.
I recognize why Brother spoke of him so well, why he was worth bringing into the estate. When allowed to focus, he is precise, almost reverent toward his craft.
Now, I am uncertain.
Was he trying to impress me so he might rise in station? To secure favor, protection, recommendation? Or was he simply ensuring that his work could not be faulted, that no one could use it as an excuse to admonish him later?
Either way, I should likely apologize to him later. Of all the people I could have recommended him to, Moyu is not the kindest choice.
Still, I will not betray the honesty Father instilled in me. Good work deserves recognition. Effort deserves acknowledgment.
If nothing else, I hope one day he will no longer feel the need to tremble and let excellence speak on his behalf.
Moyu's fingers tightened around the pill, her expression hovering between suspicion and pride.
"It's an apology," the doll clarified. "For what happened during our last bout."
"Hah! Very well, I shall be magnanimous and accept this—"
"I should not have held back."
Moyu's eyes snapped up.
"If our blades ever cross again, I won't concern myself with correcting your form or guiding your strokes. Instead, I shall meet you all the way as a fellow warrior, and crush you with the full weight of the Righteous Unrivaled Sword."
"Y-You dare presume you can defeat me?!" she growled. "Kowtow a thousand times! Stamp the ground with your head!"
The doll only smiled.
"I left because I pitied you! I got bored of cornering you against a wall while you stood there taking it like a helpless little doll."
This competitive atmosphere was more pleasant than expected. Certainly less caustic than with the gemini.
"W-Wipe that ridiculous look off your face and get to the ring! I'll make sure to transcend your physique and carve this lesson into your body, so you may never get the wrong idea on where we stand!"
They walked to the heart of the arena, Moyu stalking opposite them. The moment both took position, the training ground's formation activated. Light flared beneath their feet, barriers rising around the perimeter to seal the space. A glowing countdown formed in the air between them.
Three.
Two.
One—
Moyu charged, fierce and uncompromising, blade blazing with Qi. The doll stepped forward at the same time. Twin flashes of steel met, then went past each other, until both wielders stood opposite to where they began.
A metallic clatter broke the silence.
Moyu's blade skidded across the stone behind them, spinning to a stop. She stared, frozen, then whirled around.
"T-That!" She lunged to snatch her sword back up. "T-That doesn't count! I've been training all morning. My palms were sweaty!"
Before the doll could respond, she popped the Resplendent Imperial Jade Pill into her mouth, then chased it with a vitality-boosting pill.
The doll observed the subtle refinements to her features, the way her presence sharpened and her skin cleared.
"I'm glad you accepted my gift. To deem yourself perfect would be a disservice to your beauty, akin to a lotus capable of blooming anew, overshadowing everyone in the Four Territories with each passing year."
Moyu's ears burned.
"M-Mere flattery won't save you now!" she snapped.
She slammed her sword into the ground, activating its treasure ability. The blade split apart midair, fracturing into a thousand identical swords that hovered around her like a storm of steel.
"Try blocking this!"
She charged, nine-hundred and ninety-nine blades following her will.
The doll swung.
Moyu's foremost blade was parried away, rebounding into the swarm with terrifying speed. In a cascade of perfect angles, nine-hundred and ninety-nine weapons lost coherence one after the one, clashing amongst themselves as the two warriors met.
Twin flashes went past each other, and this time, Moyu was disarmed a thousand times over.
Silence fell again. She stood frozen, jaw hanging open.
"Do you wish to try with techniques next?"
The girl recoiled as if struck. "Y-You weren't using yours?!"
The doll tilted their head, their smile never fading.
Wasn't it obvious?
Day 4
"I'm sorry. I must ask again. You want me to refine your sword... to make it weaker?"
"Correct. Yesterday, while sparring with Moyu, I wounded Mohen. The Tear of Karanodaka's effects lingered far longer than I expected."
"Ah. Anti-healing resonance. Nasty thing, that. But then, why not simply use a practice sword?"
"To do so would be betrayal. The blade and I are one. Willingly choosing another would be fracturing that union, and delay the gestation of the sword spirit within it. Worse yet, it may form a spirit that resents me. It would be like telling a cultivator to swap their lungs before showing breathing techniques to a disciple."
"... Romantic. In a way I do not quite understand, but can respect all the same."
A clapping sound rang through the office.
"Very well! Refinement, then! We can create a polarity toggle, switching between active and dormant states."
"That would be ideal."
"Or perhaps a dampening lattice that suppresses anti-healing effects unless Qi is circulated in a very specific rhythm."
"Toggling is sufficient."
"Yes, yes, but while we are inside the sword, we could add a resonance buffer! Or a lightning-triggered override! Or—"
"Just the toggle."
"Or! Better! Tri-state modulation: lethal, sparring, ceremonial—"
The doll called out to the scientist to no avail.
"Heinrich-yisheng..."
Political marriages are commonplace within the Xun clan, so I have hundreds of extended relatives.
With that being said, he is, without contest, the most eccentric out of them.
His thinking is alien to me. His tools even more so. He speaks of pressure, leverage, oscillation, and failure states with the same reverence others reserve for meridians and Dao.
Often, his words sound dangerous. Yet I hold little fear in their meaning, for his devotion is never in doubt. It was born from his love for Wen-yí, and that love has long since extended to the clan itself. He refines for me because he wishes the Xun to endure, adapt, and survive what comes next. That constancy earns my trust more reliably than shared blood ever could.
It is also why I don't mind his gaze, clinical and sharp-eyed, when he believes I'm not looking back.
He is curious about my physique. The family physicians reacted no differently when first confronted with the unity of my existence. Confounded, fascinated, quietly desperate to understand.
I do not object to being studied.
The Sacred Embryo returns all things to unity. There is no lasting harm that can be done to me in such pursuits. On occasion, I even offer myself willingly, to find ways to advance my cultivation.
However, he never asks. Whether this restraint stems from lingering unfamiliarity with me, or from a code of conduct particular to western medicine, I cannot say.
Either way, I am content with relying on his other talents, as an Item Refiner, and an uncle.
"And imagine!" Heinrich barreled on, eyes shining. "A safety limiter keyed only to your Qi signature, so no one else could ever unleash its full effect! Oh! Or we stitch—"
"As I've stated, the blade and I are one. None but me can unleash its full potential in combat."
He sighed. "Before you reject everything, at least consider it. Truly consider it. Then tell me no."
"... Elaborate. On the tri-state modulation. And this ceremonial mode you mentioned."
Heinrich's grin returned at once, bright and irrepressible. "Ah! Wunderbar. You see, ceremonial mode would make the blade a better conduit for Qi, not to sharpen it further, but to transfer it in and out."
He gestured broadly, enthusiasm spilling into motion. "You could embed it into formations, altars, ritual arrays. Thus, an ornament. It would stabilize flows, redirect them, and amplify harmony between components. Elegant, ja?"
An ornament.
They let their fingers brush the hilt.
The Unity Sword answered.
... If it was a matter of flowing energy in a certain way, couldn't they accomplish it through technique alone?
Instead of cycling Qi inward through the blade to condense sharpness, they would circulate it outward, allowing their blade to be the gentle river that irrigates the fields, rather than the steady stream that carves canyons.
Still, that would not be enough to deal with any halfway decent formation. Most of them were simply arrays imposing hierarchy upon ambient Qi, and while anyone could transfer their energy onto them, only those registered to the hierarchy would not be rejected and accepted as a part of the whole.
However, with their primordial chaos Qi, the doll could transcend that step entirely. Placing the Unity Sword not as a node, but a prior condition to the formation's existence, forcing its logic to reconcile with the sword's presence before it could even assert itself.
In theory, every line of the formation would bend to accommodate it, or be torn apart by contradicting its origin.
But theory was wind.
Proof required steel.
As Heinrich continued layering idea upon idea, the doll raised a hand.
"I must excuse myself."
Heinrich blinked. "Now?"
"I would like one last moment with my blade before refinement."
He sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I am trying not to be judgmental, but there should be a limit to that sort of attachment—"
"For you."
From their sleeve, the doll withdrew a thin blue scroll. Heinrich accepted it, puzzled.
"Poems," they clarified. "A collection I purchased recently. I thought it might offer inspiration for your attempts to court Wen-yí."
He burst into laughter, loud and genuine. Tucking the collection under his arm, he ruffled their hair with an unrepentant hand.
"Alright, little sword saint. Go on."
He waved them toward the door, and the doll departed.
"And thank you for your support!"
The doll found her quarters in controlled disarray.
Servants moved briskly through the spacious rooms, folding robes, sealing talismans, packing scroll cases and formation components into lacquered chests. The air thrummed with purpose. At the center of it all stood the person they looked for, sleeves rolled slightly, voice crisp as she issued instructions and corrections in equal measure.
The doll greeted her.
"Wen-yí."
I rarely have time to speak with her. She is always occupied by calculations, by designs, by responsibilities the clan pretends are secondary until disaster proves otherwise. From afar, I admire her cunning. Quietly, I root for her success in forcing them to acknowledge the value of her creations.
I struggle to understand why she is dismissed.
Certainly, I was explained the rules. Hierarchies. Expectations. Who stands above whom, and why. But internally, I have only ever experienced unity. I do not know whether I am meant to look down on women, or accept a place below men, and I was never indoctrinated into either.
So, perhaps this sympathy I hold for her is another symptom of my unfinished humanity.
However, I hope it isn't.
I hope that even when I understand the place I am meant to occupy, I will still want an exception to be made for her.
Effort should be rewarded.
If the world refuses that, then the world is simply wrong.
She turned, sharp eyes softening by a fraction. "Chizi. Good afternoon."
They glanced at the packed belongings. "You're leaving again. The Ghost Domain?"
Wen's lips pressed thin. "Yes. The latest report from the border unsettles me. Too many irregularities. If we wait for the elders to mobilize, we'll be responding to a catastrophe instead of preventing one."
"I wished to test a sword technique," Chizi replied. "One that requires your talent with formations." They paused, then added, "I had also planned to borrow Heinrich-yisheng's services depending on the test's results, but since you will likely take him with you... I wonder if it might be possible for me to accompany you."
Wen raised a brow. "A trip to the Ghost Domain is not a casual excursion. Be patient. When we return, I will spare the time."
"... I understand."
They took their leave without further argument.
Outside Wen's quarters, the wind shifted.
It was subtle. So subtle that most would have dismissed it as nothing more than a draft slipping through layered corridors. The doll did not. The Eye of the Moment fluttered open for less than a blink.
They vanished.
Stone traded places with open air. Snow-dusted tiles stretched beneath their feet as they reappeared behind a young man standing atop a distant rooftop.
They called.
"Cangqiong."
If he finds a partner in the near future, I would feel sorry for them.
Not because of any flaw in his character. On the contrary, he is earnest in his own way.
It is because he is the wind, meant to roam freely and unapologetically. Any woman who tries to walk beside him would either be forced to keep pace, breathless and strained, or be left behind as he comes and goes at his whim.
He has courted me before, but stopped once he learned of my constitution, as all potential suitors tend to do. Even so, old habits linger, and he lets out a flirtatious remark every now and then.
Unlike Yú's odd approach, I was able to decipher his intentions more easily. His romance reminds me of fiction.
Nobles eloping with commoners. Nomadic lovers, wandering the world while slowly circumnavigating each other's body, mind, and soul.
However, he also wants his own offspring, to make his mother proud, and that is where the romance ends. Children need roots, a place they can always return to after their little adventures.
So, rather than wishing him luck in love, I wish him luck in becoming someone who can settle down, for the sake of his future family if nothing else.
Whether he realizes it or not, that is a far more difficult journey.
He turned with exaggerated slowness, as though he had known all along they would be there. A grin spread across his face, easy and unashamed.
"Well, well," he said lightly. "I couldn't help but notice that look on your face just now. Doesn't suit someone so lovely." His gaze lingered, playful. "I could change that, you know."
The doll arched a brow, amused rather than offended. "There is no problem. Only a slight setback, which time shall remove."
Cangqiong hummed. "Is that so?" He leaned closer to the edge of the roof, voice lowering conspiratorially. "There's no telling how long the Ghost Domain expedition will last. Weeks. Months." He tilted his head. "Wouldn't it be nice to see your father while you're at it? He's on the frontlines, isn't he?"
A sigh escaped them before they could stop it.
"Father..."
He was the one who introduced me to the way of the sword.
It was meant to impress Mother, to show discipline, focus, worth. It did not work as intended. But it gave me something I desperately needed: certainty. A line to stand upon. A will sharp enough to shape the formless chaos inside me.
He taught me to be honest in my blade.
Not perfectly. Not with the unbreakable vows he himself lives by. But enough that I cannot lie to myself with weapon in hand.
Thus, he is the foremost pillar in my life. The one who always tried to make time for me, even when the world demanded more of him than it should have. Had he not been there, I think I would have vanished inward, become something quiet and ornamental, married off, sealed away, wasting my days waiting to be useful to someone else.
But because of him, I walk.
Because of him, I cut.
Because of him, I approach humanity.
He is the person I respect the most in this world, and I would sooner die than let anything sour that bond, including distance or time.
"Ah. I thought so."
He straightened. "I've been assigned as scout for Wen and Heinrich's party. Fast routes. Safe paths." He spread his hands. "I could take you with me, ahead of them."
"How kind of you."
"Ah-ah-ah," Cangqiong interrupted, waving a hand. "Not kindness. An exchange. In return, you put in a good word for me with Shāhuá. I hear you two are close friends."
The doll considered this.
"No."
Strictly speaking, they did not need Cangqiong at all. As a main family scion, their authority outweighed Wen's branch status by default. If they so desired, they could insert themselves into the expedition with a single word, regardless of Wen's objections.
They had chosen not to out of respect. Wen had spoken. They had listened.
The doll turned to leave. A hand seized their robes.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Cangqiong clung to the fabric like a drowning man, boots scraping uselessly against the tiles as the doll continued walking despite him. "Please! Kindness! Charity! Benevolence! Think of my poor, aging mother!"
The doll sighed inwardly.
Another consideration surfaced.
Shāhuá's corpse constitution, unfit for bearing children.
In another world, under other circumstances, the two of them might even suit each other, but to encourage such a match knowing what they knew would be cruelty disguised as kindness.
And revealing that truth would be an even greater violation. Some knowledge was not theirs to give away.
They gently disentangled Cangqiong's fingers from their sleeve.
"You must learn how to charm her without my help. If you succeed, it will be because she chose you. If you fail, then no borrowed words would have saved you."
Cangqiong stared at them, stricken.
The doll stepped away, unhurried.
Somewhere, there must be a stray formation whose owners would not mind if it were accidentally destroyed.
Day 5
"The closest one ought to be the training grounds. It's been patched enough times to barely remember what it was meant to do. Every few years a genius unearths an otherworldly technique and overloads it, so no one would mind if it took a little damage. Even if the architects' pride may be stung."
"... the worst-case scenario is not damage. If my Qi overrides its logic entirely, the formation may cease to exist as a structure."
"Hm. Interesting. There is a perfect option, then, if you don't mind traveling past the border. I found a vault formation in the Central Territory, and my Eyes of The Soul tell me it's filled with treasures. Whether you succeed or fail..."
"Who is the owner of the vault?"
"... There were no names inscribed on it."
"Likely a product of age."
"Yet it could also be an inheritance left by a benevolent cultivator. Your eyes can tell its origin when we secure it, right?"
The doll sighed.
"Brother..."
Most of what I knew about him came from the elders' complaints.
Reckless. Unmanageable. Absent. Always somewhere he should not be. Hearing them speak, one might think he was a calamity wearing human skin.
In truth, his constant departures inspired me.
Knowing that someone of my blood walked beyond the compound gave me inspiration to experience the Ten Thousand Things myself. During my earliest excursions, a part of me hoped I might meet him, to speak, even once, with a sibling without hostility.
It never happened.
Then he returned on his own.
In person, he is calmer than I expected. Reckless, but like Heinrich-yisheng, his risks are calculated and purposeful.
Unlike the gemini, our paths are equally capable of converging and diverging. Certainly, my Unity was supposed to be perfect and unchangeable from conception, but in practice, that is not the case. I am still required to cultivate and improve upon my abilities. When I do so, I occasionally feel his gaze upon my back, as if he's trying to catch up to lost time.
It is... reassuring, to know one more person is keeping track of my progress.
He chuckled. "It was worth a gander. Well, there's also an option near the border. Meant to guide caravans through rough weather."
A pause.
"You understand how destroying this would be far worse than someone's inheritance," the doll said.
Linghao shrugged. "Such is the pattern with formations. If you could destroy one with little consequence, then it would not leave the planning stage."
He continued to offer more ideas, and the doll listened, weighing each option.
They discussed distance, surrounding factors that might affect the technique's test, and most importantly, collateral risk. Eventually, they reached an agreement. Not too close to the estate. Not something vital. Not something that would spiral into catastrophe if it vanished.
A small, unused formation meant to suppress beast tides. It had not been activated in decades.
They would depart by the end of the week.
Linghao clapped his sibling once on the shoulder, satisfied, and took his leave.
The doll lingered.
Slowly, they turned, finding a woman with burning hair and cold eyes.
"Mother."
The earliest thing I remember is her embrace.
She was gentle. Soft. Kind. Warm, despite a constitution that should have made such a thing impossible. I remember the sensation more than the shape of it.
Love.
I cannot remember the last time she embraced me.
It may have been a decade ago. It may have been longer. It may be that the first time was also the last.
I understand. I am not human. She cannot train me as a son, nor dote on me as a daughter. I exist outside the roles she knows how to fill, so...
Even so...
Even understanding this...
It still hurts.
When I look into her eyes, and I know I cannot have what my brother had, what the other children had....
I'm always the first one to look away, and she is always the first one to walk away.
In my dreams, it's different.
My gaze remains steady as she approaches, and all the pain disappears, healed by her lovely embrace.
When I become human, I hope that dream will come true. And that fragile wish is what gets me out of bed when the dream ends.
Once again, the doll could not hold her gaze.
After a few heartbeats, they bowed their head instead. The silence stretched. Then came the sound of footsteps, light and measured, receding down the corridor until they were swallowed by distance.
Only then did the doll straighten.
They walked back to their room without hurry. The door closed behind them with a muted click. The space was quiet, untouched, and would be devoid of visitors.
The doll sat on the edge of the bed.
The Unity Sword slid free of its sheath with a whisper that sounded almost like concern. They drew it close, resting the flat of the blade against their chest, arms wrapping around it in an awkward, careful embrace.
It was not the same. This cool metal pressed through fabric and skin could never be the same as that distant memory.
The doll lowered their forehead against the blade.
For a while, the Tear of Karanodaka was not alone.
A few others joined it, quiet, unremarkable, slipping free without ceremony. They traced paths down their cheeks and vanished into the blade's surface.
It responded with mirages.
A pair of arms.
A gentle weight.
That ever-distant dream, that lovely embrace.
Their breath slowed. Qi cycled softly, sword and cultivator rising and falling together, indistinguishable in rhythm.
And they held it there, trusting that eventually, those what-ifs would become reality.