"Just hold on tight!" Xue Wuya shouted, his voice nearly swallowed by the fierce mountain wind. The world rushed by in a blur of white and green as their spirit beast bounded through the snowy forest. Yu Xiao grimaced, startled by the sudden burst of speed, and instinctively clung tighter, her cheek pressed against the reassuring firmness of his back.
"I feel my spirit separating from my body," she muttered, swallowing hard as her stomach churned. "My stomach is turning."
A cold, prickling sensation crept up her spine, making her skin crawl beneath the many layers of her ceremonial robes. The wind bit at her cheeks, sharp enough to sting, but sweat beaded at her temples despite the icy chill. The trees and rocks along the path blurred together, a painted mosaic of twisting branches and glints of snow, all streaking past so fast she could barely distinguish one from another. Colors smeared across her vision, and the world seemed to tilt.
Xue Wuya glanced back, his lips quirking in a mischievous smile. "Are you still breathing?" he teased, a low chuckle slipping out as Yu Xiao struggled to catch her breath, eyes squeezed shut against the dizzying rush.
The ride seemed to last forever, though it was only minutes before the spirit beast's powerful leaps slowed and the wind quieted. The landscape opened out, revealing a broad, flat expanse at the base of the mountain—a place transformed by the careful hand of cultivators into a training ground of legend.
Xue Wuya slid down from his spirit beast in a single, practiced movement, landing lightly on the packed snow. He turned and offered his hand to Yu Xiao, who attempted to dismount with as much dignity as she could muster. But as her feet touched the ground, her legs wobbled beneath her, and a wave of dizziness nearly sent her sprawling. High-speed travel, she decided, was absolutely no joke.
Xue Wuya was quick, steadying her with hands gentle but firm on her arms, concern flickering in his dark eyes. "Your Highness, what's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.
Nausea surged. Yu Xiao barely managed to turn away before she bent double, mortified, and retched onto the snow. The world spun as she tried to steady herself, her face flushed with embarrassment.
Xue Wuya moved with quiet efficiency, positioning himself to shield her from the curious eyes of nearby disciples. He rubbed her back in slow, comforting circles, his presence a silent reassurance. He didn't speak, didn't laugh or scold—just stayed by her side until the worst had passed.
After a moment, Yu Xiao wiped her brow with her sleeve, still pale and unsteady, but determined not to let embarrassment win. She turned to face Xue Wuya, her breath still coming in shallow pants.
"Whew!" she gasped, forcing a weak smile. "I almost collapsed on that ride." She glanced around, blinking as she tried to get her bearings. "Where's the wolf?"
Xue Wuya's eyes sparkled with barely restrained amusement, his lips quirking up in a teasing grin. "We just arrived, and you already miss it?" he teased.
Yu Xiao pouted, her arms crossing over her chest in annoyance.
"You call that fun? You almost killed me," she grumbled, giving him a pointed glare.
Xue Wuya's expression fell, his brows drawing together with guilt. "Are you mad at me, Your Highness?" he asked, voice low and uncertain.
Yu Xiao shot him a withering look, her displeasure clear. He drew a quick breath, chastened, and his posture stiffened.
"Not anymore. What am I going to do with you?" she muttered, her voice softening into reluctant resignation.
Silence lingered between them—a gentle, unspoken understanding that bridged the awkwardness.
But it didn't last long. Xue Wuya's lips curled into a smirk, his gaze warm and teasing. Yu Xiao caught his look and dropped her arms, staring at him in disbelief. "What are you so smug about?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.
He only continued with that infuriating, close-lipped smile, refusing to answer.
"Haist!" she huffed, spinning on her heel, her heavy robes swirling around her as she strode away.
Xue Wuya watched her retreat, a chuckle finally escaping his lips despite himself.
She's cute even when she's frowning, he mused, trailing after her at a respectful distance.
A moment later, Yu Xiao reached the grand entrance of the Beiming View Pavilion—known to all as the Frost Gateway—a majestic, arching portal that stood as the only formal entry to the elevated structure beyond. The gateway was a testament to the sect's long-standing heritage: three interconnected arches soared skyward, rising from a wide, floating jade platform that hovered impossibly above the snowy ground, supported by ancient, invisible formations.
The arches were carved from translucent Beiming Glacial Jade, their surfaces shot through with veins of glowing azure runes that pulsed gently in the mountain wind. Curved eaves swept upward like a phoenix's wings, each tile glazed in Nightfall Azure that shimmered with faint silver frost, casting ethereal reflections on the snow below.
Flanking the central arch, twin pillars bore intricate cloud-phoenix carvings, their surfaces so finely wrought that the mythical birds seemed poised to take flight. Atop the pillars, crystal lotuses burned with pale blue Eternal Frostflame, casting a serene, unwavering glow, even as gusts of winter wind howled around them. A broad staircase of moon-white spirit-marble climbed from the training fields, the steps elevated above the snow and guarded by subtle, nearly invisible wards—only those with the correct sect tokens, or those accompanied by authorized members, could pass.
From below, the gateway appeared as a luminous crown suspended amidst the mountain peaks—an open invitation to the worthy, and an unbreakable barrier to those who would trespass.
Beyond the archway, the Beiming View Pavilion itself seemed to float like a white jade island above the fields: broad marble platforms connected by arched frost-crystal bridges, ringed by translucent railings that caught and scattered moonlight into a thousand shimmering fragments. Lanterns of Eternal Frostflame hung from the eaves, their pale blue light unwavering, even in the fiercest gales. The gentle, otherworldly glow rendered the entire scene both welcoming and impossibly distant.
For the disciples, this was sacred ground—a stage upon which reputations were forged and broken in flashes of sword qi and showers of ice lotuses. For elders and visiting sect masters, it was neutral, hallowed ground—a place where alliances were quietly negotiated, disputes mediated, and the fragile balance of power in the Northern Domain maintained with careful courtesy.
"So this is the sect training ground," Yu Xiao murmured, gazing up in awe at the grandeur before her. Xue Wuya stepped to her side, his shadow falling across the snow.
"We're here," he said quietly, his voice low and steady. "Let's go inside." He led the way, and she followed, lifting the hem of her ornate robes to keep them out of the snow—a gesture so regal and precise, she almost laughed at herself, remembering the fussing of the maidservants that morning.
At last, they reached the platform. The air here was sharp and tinged with the faint, sweet scent of frost flowers—delicate blossoms that only bloomed in the coldest mountain air.
Still pale, Yu Xiao let Xue Wuya guide her to a secluded, cushioned bench at the edge of the training grounds. The seat was elevated, offering a perfect vantage point to observe the vast, snowy platforms where disciples practiced. The bench itself was carved from glacial jade, its surface cool to the touch but softened by plush, embroidered cushions.
Xue Wuya sat her down gently, then reached into his sleeve and produced a small, elegant vial—a clear, softly glowing restorative elixir. He uncorked it and handed it to her, his hands steady despite the concern in his eyes.
"Your Highness," he murmured, his voice gentle, "drink this. It'll help."
Yu Xiao hesitated, embarrassed, but accepted the elixir. The taste was cool and faintly sweet, and as she swallowed, warmth spread through her chest, chasing away the lingering nausea and restoring a measure of strength to her limbs.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she glanced up at him. For a moment, they simply sat in companionable quiet—Xue Wuya standing protectively nearby, his eyes attentive, making sure she was truly alright before turning his gaze to the field.
A moment later, the training grounds came alive with movement and sound.
Disciples in pristine white soared on flying swords, leaving trails of frost qi sparkling in their wake. Others clashed in controlled spars, sword intent flashing like auroras beneath the winter sun. Elemental techniques blossomed in the air—ice lotuses shattering in bursts of crystalline shards, miniature snowstorms summoned and dispelled in the space of a breath. The air itself thrummed with suppressed power, every breath tinged with spiritual energy.
Yu Xiao's eyes widened, completely mesmerized—and just a little intimidated.
"So… this is what cultivation looks like?" she whispered, half to herself, as the truth of her new world truly struck her. Here, people danced on air and wielded the elements with a flick of their wrists, while she was still quietly celebrating the fact that she hadn't vomited again.
Xue Wuya remained at her side, his expression gentle. He began to explain the techniques she was witnessing—naming the sword forms, the elemental arts, the subtle differences between realms and disciplines. His voice was low and patient, never overwhelming her, and whenever she turned to him in confusion, he met her gaze with a rare, reassuring smile.
After the first match, two male disciples ended their spar with a final clash of frost qi, diamond dust scattering across the platform in a sparkling arc. The victor bowed deeply to his opponent, both retreating with practiced, graceful steps as the onlookers murmured their approval.
The air seemed to hold its breath—a brief, shimmering pause—before an elder's voice rang out, clear and authoritative across the snow.
"Next: Senior Sister Lan Qingwei versus Junior Sister Mu Xuexin."
Two women ascended the central platform, their movements light and unhurried, as though stepping onto a stage crafted from purest ice.
Lan Qingwei was tall and poised, her long hair swept into a high knot, adorned with a single glacial jade pin. Her robes, layered in the palest azure and white, flowed like waterfalls frozen in mid-cascade, embroidered with subtle phoenix motifs that caught and reflected the winter sunlight. She carried a slender sword of translucent ice-crystal, its blade humming faintly with restrained qi.
Mu Xuexin, though smaller in stature, radiated a quiet confidence—her hair fell in loose, glossy waves like fresh snowfall, her eyes sharp and bright as winter stars. Her robes were a deep indigo, edged in silver frost, the wide sleeves billowing elegantly as she moved. In her hands, twin short swords shone with cold blue light, their surfaces etched with runes in the shape of swirling snowflakes.
They faced each other across the platform, bowing deeply in unison—a gesture of mutual respect that drew the crowd into hushed anticipation.
Yu Xiao stood, fingers gripping the hem of her robe as the tension in the arena mounted. Beside her, Xue Wuya remained silent, his presence a steady anchor.
The duel began in a heartbeat.
Lan Qingwei moved first, her sword tracing a smooth, sweeping arc. A wave of crystalline ice lotuses erupted in midair—petals sharp as blades, spiraling toward Mu Xuexin in a formation as beautiful as it was deadly.
Mu Xuexin spun, her twin swords blurring as she shattered the lotuses into harmless powder that drifted to the platform like snow. She countered in a heartbeat, summoning a flurry of frost butterflies—illusory constructs of qi that fluttered chaotically, masking her rapid advance.
Their clash was a dance—less brute strength, more flowing artistry. Swords met in ringing chimes rather than thunderous booms; qi manifested as swirling blizzards, frozen plumes, and delicate veils of mist. Every strike melted seamlessly into defense, every parry flowed into a counter—a ballet of winter, breathtaking and perilous.
Yu Xiao watched, utterly spellbound by the grace, precision, and artistry unfolding before her.
As the match reached its crescendo—a whirlwind of snow and sword-light enveloping both women—Yu Xiao realized she was holding her breath, heart pounding with excitement and awe.
This was cultivation as poetry, as art... and it was utterly incredible.