In these weeks, even Zhu Yan—once a prideful, arrogant talent whose ego burned like a small sun—changed.
Zhu Yan had chosen Heaven-Opening Origin Art, unwilling to abolish his cultivation but finally ready to temper it.
Now he stood alone in the Earth Hall, spear in hand, true essence circulating in new spirals. His thrusts no longer flew out in scattered bursts; they pierced straight and clean, each motion flowing into the next. His cultivation had reached Early Bone Forging; under Heaven-Opening's boost, his combat strength finally began to match the pride he'd been wearing from the start.
One night, he stopped mid-practice and stared up at the glowing array that Ren Ming had inscribed above the Martial House—lines of light that quietly adjusted the world's energy.
"Ren Ming…" he muttered.
His fingers tightened on the spear shaft.
"I won't fall behind."
Far away, atop a distant roof, a man in plain robes watched him with an easy, unreadable smile.
"Good," Ren thought, the wind tugging at his sleeves. "Even spoiled seeds can sprout if you bury them deep enough."
He turned away.
There was much more to do.
…
Of course, nothing in the Seven Profound Martial House moved without stirring the waters.
As the days passed, the Martial House changed.
The training platforms were busier deep into the night. The once-lazy Human and Earth Hall disciples woke before dawn without needing to be scolded. The rhythm of breathing methods now rose and fell like tides; the smell of sweat and blood mixed with faint medicinal fragrance.
The Na sisters walked through the corridors like two flames wrapped in dragon shadows, their foundations tempered, their Fire Laws budding. Ling Sen stood on the training field with his saber, Ashura Intent no longer leaking uncontrollably, but compressed around him like a silent battlefield. Even ordinary disciples—boys and girls who would have remained mediocre for life—now pushed against bottlenecks that had once seemed absolute.
Elders who had cultivated for decades looked at these changes and felt a thin chill seep into their bones.
"This speed is too fast…" one muttered in the shadows of an attic, watching Ling Sen practice. "Are we really still in the body transformation realm?"
"Guest Instructor Ren's methods are too overbearing," some complained in tea rooms, their tones half worry, half jealousy. "If this pace continues… can those foundations really last?"
A cup set down with a sharp clack.
"Demonic sects also offer rapid improvement," another said darkly. "The price only shows later."
But inevitably, someone would glance at the training fields and add, more quietly:
"Still… look at Ling Sen. Look at Murong Zi. Look at Bai Jingyun…"
"Look at Na Yi and Na Shui. They were nobodies from the Southern Wilderness. Now…"
The conversation always died there.
Reality was difficult to argue with.
Those who remembered the stories of Southern Wilderness cultivators, their rough clothes, their cautious eyes, their thin frames, could not reconcile them with the two girls who now walked in the Martial House's uniform, true essence steady and clean, Fire Martial Intent faintly rippling behind their gazes.
The whispers did not vanish.
They sank deeper.
The rumors that Ouyang Dihua had instructed Zhang Guanyu to spread did not stop; they twisted.
"Guest Instructor Ren abolished someone's cultivation," a voice said softly in a corner. "What sort of sane teacher does that?"
"They say his breathing method is similar to certain heretical manuals," another replied. "Twisting meridians in strange ways… what if we reach Pulse Condensation only to find our foundations ruined? At that time, there will be no medicine to cure regret."
Yet the ones who muttered such words did so while secretly copying the modified breathing patterns, while sneaking glances toward the Earth Hall where Ren's disciples trained until their bones ached and their hearts grew firm.
Malice did not disappear just because poison failed to bite on the first day.
It went to the roots.
…
Zhang Guanyu's smile grew thinner by the day.
From his high balcony in the Heavenly Abode, he watched the training fields below—watched Murong Zi's wild laughter as her spear swept like a burning dragon, watched Bai Jingyun's guarded gaze soften in subtle increments around Ren, watched Qin Xingxuan's calm eyes turn toward that man more often than they should.
In another thread of fate, he might have grabbed them into his orbit over years.
In this one, Ren Ming had compressed the process with a single wisp of Law flame and two cultivation arts that evolved their bodies.
Zhang Guanyu tightened his grip on the railing until the veins stood out on the back of his hand.
The higher that man lifted them…
…the more bitter the taste in Zhang Guanyu's mouth became.
"This is my territory," he thought coldly. "These are my pieces."
Every time he saw Murong Zi ignore him to consult Ren about spear forms, every time Bai Jingyun left a Heavenly Abode gathering early to attend Ren's lectures, every time Qin Xingxuan's expression grew calmer, less shaken by his presence…
…something in his chest twisted.
It was not just jealousy.
It was fear.
Fear of losing control of the board.
…
And Ouyang Dihua's hatred was colder still.
The distant Acacia Faction core disciple listened to every report passed through shadowy channels: Bai Jingyun's growing reliance on Ren's teachings, Qin Xingxuan's unexpected closeness, Murong Zi's casual, thoughtless "Master Ren."
Once, these threads had all been neatly tied to his hands.
Once, Bai Jingyun's engagement had been his to tighten or loosen.
Once, Murong Zi and Qin Xingxuan had been within his range of manipulation, bound by the Heavenly Abode's politics and the Seven Profound Valleys' rules.
Now, another man's hand rearranged them.
Ouyang Dihua's eyes, usually soft and smiling, lowered as he studied the latest jade slip.
"…So," he murmured. "You dare meddle with my pieces."
His fingers traced a line along the table, following the imaginary path from Sky Fortune Kingdom to the Seven Profound Valleys' main sect, then further north toward the Divine Phoenix Province and Phoenix Island.
"You came from nowhere," he mused. "You stand in front of the Seven Profound Valleys' gate and act as if you own the courtyard…"
His lips curved slightly.
"…and you think I will simply watch?"
He did not rage.
He did not shout.
He simply began to write new plans.
…
Ren Ming felt it all as faint ripples at the edge of his perception.
His Spirit Sense stretched through the Martial House like invisible threads. Every whisper, every cold gaze across a corridor, every small gathering of elders in a side hall—all of it traced lines inside his mind, forming a map of killing intent, jealousy, fear, and greed.
He could have ignored it.
But he had never been a man who let poison sit quietly in the soil.
He never allowed enemies to plot at their leisure.
Standing alone beneath the night sky, the distant lights of Sky Fortune City faintly visible beyond the Martial House walls, Ren smiled—a curve of the lips that was half calm confidence, half ruthless decisiveness.
"Time to clean out those ugly Ouyang rats anyway," he murmured. "If they want to crawl, I'll decide where their tunnel ends."
To be honest with himself, he knew he could have cut it all off at the root on the first day—walked up to the Heavenly Abode, destroyed Zhang Guanyu, crushed Ouyang Dihua, followed the filth-scent of the Acacia Faction back to its source and burned it out completely.
He didn't.
Not because he lacked the strength.
Because this was still Sky Fortune Kingdom. Because the Seven Profound Valleys stood behind this Martial House. Because above Seven Profound Valleys, there was Divine Phoenix Island, the Divine Phoenix Sect, and the Divine Phoenix Province's complicated web of power.
Most importantly—
Because if he overturned the Seven Profound Valleys too early, he'd overturn the lives of girls who had only just begun to walk his road.
Murong Zi, who laughed too loudly and speared straight through every obstacle with a heart that refused to bow.
Bai Jingyun, who pretended to be distant but warmed faster than anyone else once her guard cracked.
Qin Xingxuan, whose calm eyes hid a heart that would rather break than retreat.
And far beyond this little Martial House, a Phoenix Island girl who hadn't met him yet—but would. He didn't intend to greet Mu Qianyu with a mess of corpses and sect collapse splattered across her future.
The Seven Profound Valleys were a tributary under the Divine Phoenix Territory. If he shook them too hard, the ripples would reach that distant phoenix nest long before his plan was set.
"So," he decided, "we do this slowly."
He focused on the girls and his disciples.
He let the Martial House adjust to the Na sisters' transformations, to Ling Sen's sharpened Ashura Intent, to Heavenly Abode disciples being forced to bow their heads in actual contests instead of mere titles. He let the elders mutter, let Sun Sifan watch from afar, let the Seven Profound Valleys' hidden eyes peer down and decide—for now—that this "Guest Instructor Ren" was dangerous but still within the realm of being "managed."
Only when that pressure began to settle into a new "normal" did he move.
…
"…All right," Ren murmured one evening, standing alone in his courtyard.
The spirit spring reflected the array lines in the sky like a patient, half-lidded eye. The old pine creaked softly in the wind, its branches whispering against one another. The scarred blue stone slabs where someone had once practiced saber forms waited in silence, bearing faint imprints of blade intent.
Ren's gaze drifted toward the distant Heavenly Abode.
"Time to make a bit more noise."
A thought flickered.
Three transmission talismans appeared between his fingers.
They burned silently, turning into streaks of light that shot through the Martial House like shooting stars.
Murong Zi.
Bai Jingyun.
Qin Xingxuan.
"Come to my courtyard," the message carried, his calm voice ringing directly in their minds. "I'll teach you something really good tonight."
He paused, then added, amused:
"Try not to faint on the way."
The talismans vanished.
Ren chuckled and turned back to the spirit spring. Ripples spread across the water, reflecting a face that looked relaxed, almost lazy—only the depth in his eyes betrayed the calculations turning behind them.
…
By the time the sky darkened into deep indigo and the Martial House's lanterns began to glow one by one, three figures appeared at the entrance of his courtyard.
Murong Zi came first.
Of course she did.
Her spear was slung lazily across her back, long hair tied high in a ponytail. She walked with the careless swagger of someone who believed the world owed her a straight road—and had started to gain the strength to actually demand it.
The heat of her true essence was unrestrained yet no longer chaotic. Weeks of Ren's adjusted breathing methods and the remapped meridians of Chaotic Virtues had tempered that wildness, shaping it into a hotter, sharper flame.
Behind her walked Bai Jingyun, white robes immaculate despite the hour, sword hanging quietly at her side.
Her aura was restrained, thin and sharp like a hidden blade wrapped in silk. Her Sword Dao was one of clarity and precision; she did not waste motion, did not squander emotion. Her gaze swept Ren's courtyard once—walls, pine, spring, stone—before finally settling on him.
Qin Xingxuan arrived last.
She wore simple training clothes, her hair tied with no ornament. Her posture was straight, her steps silent. On the surface, she was the calmest of the three—but the true essence under her skin was the deepest, her foundation refined through countless drills. Peak Altering Muscle, bones and muscles tempered by a spear path that had never turned aside.
Ren leaned against a pillar beneath the eaves, arms loosely crossed.
The lantern light brushed his features in warm gold. The spirit spring behind him held a reflection of the stars. The old pine cast a shifting shadow across his feet.
"You came fast," he said with a smile. "Eager to get started?"
Murong Zi snorted.
"You called us in such a serious tone," she said, eyes bright. "If you were just going to lecture us about footwork again, I was going to stab your door."
"That would just prove your footwork needs more work," Ren replied mildly.
Murong Zi clicked her tongue, but her lips curled upward.
Bai Jingyun's lips twitched despite herself, as if she wanted to hide a smile and only managed half.
Qin Xingxuan stepped forward, cupping her fists.
"Guest Instructor," she said, bowing. Her eyes flickered up, then down again, a faint warmth she did not quite manage to conceal.
Ren pushed off the pillar.
"All right," he said. "Let's skip the suspense. I called you here for something very simple."
Murong Zi's eyes immediately lit with mischief.
"You're finally going to admit you've been flirting with us on purpose?" she asked bluntly.
Bai Jingyun coughed, ears tinting pink.
Qin Xingxuan's fingers tightened at her sides, the tips of her ears turning red.
Ren laughed.
"That too," he said easily. "But tonight, the main topic is fire."
He lifted his hand.
A tiny flame bloomed above his palm.
It was not large. It did not roar into the sky or twist into dragons. It simply burned—steady, deep, impossibly clear.
The temperature in the courtyard rose in an instant.
True essence fire in the earth veins shivered. The faint warmth leaking from the Martial House's protective array condensed, drawn toward that single wisp. It wasn't just heat; it was order. Dao lines of fire gathered from the surroundings, threaded, compressed. Within a few breaths, that tiny flame held more terrifying power than a full-force strike from a late Houtian expert.
Murong Zi's pupils shrank, spear-hand itching.
Bai Jingyun's fingers tightened on her sword hilt, Sword Intent instinctively responding to that refined flame.
Qin Xingxuan felt her breath catch. Her spear-heart trembled, reacting like a bowstring to a perfect note.
Ren closed his hand.
The flame vanished.
"You saw a little of this in the lecture hall," he said. "Na Yi, Na Shui, Ling Sen—each of them has started to touch the edge of this road."
Murong Zi clicked her tongue.
"The edge?" she muttered. "Na Yi and Na Shui walk through the city as if clouds are under their feet. Ling Sen suppresses half the Earth Hall just by breathing. If that's only the edge, what's the lake?"
Bai Jingyun's lashes lowered.
"…Laws," she said softly. "Your method of cultivating… it doesn't exist in the Martial House's repositories."
Qin Xingxuan said nothing.
She didn't need to. The memory of that wisp of flame from the lecture hall—the Law essence woven into it, the way it made every Fire-type manual in the depository feel dull and shallow—was carved into her heart.
Ren nodded.
"Exactly," he said. "What Na Yi and Na Shui touched is the first layer of the Fire Laws. The Concept of Fire has many levels; they're just standing at the threshold. The rune-wheel you've felt from their bodies is Fire Martial Intent—a step further. It makes the world's flame obey them instead of just lending them a hand."
He let his gaze sweep over the three.
"Your foundations are ready," he said. "Murong Zi—your spear-heart is already fierce and straightforward. Bai Jingyun, your sword is sharp enough to draw fine lines in the Dao. Qin Xingxuan… you've been quietly asking 'why' at every turn in your circulation. You've all been walking around this pond long enough."
His smile deepened, carrying a playful edge.
"So," he said lightly. "Tonight, I'll push you in."
Silence fell.
Then—
"Wait," Murong Zi blurted. "You're saying—just like that—you're going to help us comprehend Fire Laws and… Martial Intent? The thing even extreme powerhouses need heaven-defying luck to touch?"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it shook.
Bai Jingyun's heartbeat quickened, her eyes darkening.
Qin Xingxuan's breath turned shallow.
Ren's expression stayed relaxed.
"If I'd tried this the day we met," he said, "your bodies would've exploded. And even a few weeks ago, it would've been too early; the Martial House would have panicked. Elders, Martial House Master, the Seven Profound Valleys behind them—their nerves can only handle so much at once."
His eyes curved.
"But now… now that some time has passed, if you three suddenly show signs of Law comprehension… with your talent, it will still be heaven-defying, but not impossible. They won't go insane. Probably."
Bai Jingyun stared at him.
"…You arranged all of that… for us?" she asked quietly.
Ren gave a crooked smile.
"I also have some selfish intentions," he said. "Some things are better done slowly than by crashing through the front gate on the first day."
He tilted his head.
"Besides," he added, voice light, "teaching people I like how to burn brighter—how could that be a hardship?"
Murong Zi, Bai Jingyun, and Qin Xingxuan all flushed deeper than the flame he'd just shown.
"You… like us?" Murong Zi muttered, looking away.
Ren chuckled.
"Naturally. Now come," he said. "Sit. Cross-legged, backs straight. We'll start with the Laws."
They sat in a rough triangle on the blue stone slabs: Murong Zi on the left, Bai Jingyun on the right, Qin Xingxuan facing Ren directly. The spirit spring murmured nearby. The old pine whispered overhead. The world seemed to narrow until only breath, heartbeat, and the faint trembling of heaven and earth remained.
Ren walked to the center of the triangle and sat down.
He exhaled once.
The air changed.
True essence stirred in his dantian.
Behind him, Fire Martial Intent bloomed.
A red-gold rune-wheel unfolded in the air, spinning in silence. Its spokes were formed from compressed Law lines of heat, combustion, and transformation. Within its field, every trace of fire element in the courtyard was drawn in: the warmth from the lanterns, the hidden fire in the stone veins below, the tiny sparks of vitality in their blood.
All of it was compressed, purified, forced to burn at a higher order.
The temperature climbed.
Murong Zi's skin prickled, sweat beading at the nape of her neck.
Bai Jingyun felt the air turn razor-thin, each breath sliding along the edge of a blade.
Qin Xingxuan's heart pounded harder, the beat echoing in her ears.
"Close your eyes," Ren's voice came, deep and steady. "Don't circulate your usual methods. Just breathe. In through the nose… out through the mouth. Let your true essence settle. Let my fire touch it."
They obeyed.
Ren's Immortal Soul Bone stirred.
Complexity turned into clean lines in his perception. Every meridian layout, every circulation method, every small twist in their qi paths appeared as clear diagrams in his mind. He saw Murong Zi's aggressive, spear-like flow; Bai Jingyun's smooth, water-like currents; Qin Xingxuan's steady breathing that always lingered a little longer at each acupoint, as if listening.
He smiled.
"First," he said, "I'll let you hear the Dao."
Fire Dao lines descended.
They did not slam into the girls' bodies. They unfolded like fine red-gold threads, brushing lightly across their meridians, tasting their true essence, searching for resonance.
Murong Zi's world flashed.
She stood on a scorched battlefield, spear in hand. Flames roared around her, wild and furious, licking at her clothes, her hair, her weapon. Each thrust tore open the air, dragging fire along its path. Heat beat against her skin like waves crashing against rock.
"This is tempering," Ren's voice echoed through the burning sky. "Rough, violent. Ordinary flame can temper, but it is not Law."
His tone softened, yet carried unquestionable authority.
"Stand still. Breathe. Listen."
Murong Zi forced her feet to still.
The battlefield slowed.
The roar of the fire sank, like a tide receding. Beneath the chaos, she began to feel… pattern.
The way each flame curled around her spear tip in arcs that matched her strikes. The way some thrusts made the blaze surge higher, while others caused it to shrink. The subtle rhythm of expansion and contraction, destruction and rebirth.
Her grip tightened.
She shifted her stance—just a fraction. Her next thrust cut through the air, and the flames did not resist.
They followed.
Fire and spear moved together.
A thin red-gold line appeared along her spear's edge, as if the weapon itself had awakened to a forgotten instinct.
Outside the illusion, Murong Zi's brows furrowed. A faint, nearly invisible wisp of Fire Law coiled around her body, at first scattered, then gathering along the path of her meridians.
Ren's eyes flashed with approval.
"Good," he murmured. "That's the first step."
His attention shifted.
Bai Jingyun's world was different.
She stood in an endless, dim hall.
In front of her floated a single sword, suspended in the air, its edge so sharp it seemed to cut the darkness itself.
Around it, candles burned in a ring—some tall, some short, some flickering, some steady.
Her heart, usually calm, felt unsteady, on edge.
"The sword can cut anything," Ren's voice said quietly beside her, "but if you only ever think of 'cutting,' it will never grow. Look at the flames."
Bai Jingyun obeyed.
At first, they seemed identical—just candle flames. But as she watched, she began to see it: how some flames leaned subtly toward the sword, burning higher, while others shrank away. The faint, nearly invisible threads of connection between the sword's aura and the flames' movements.
Her Sword Intent stirred.
She reached out, fingers brushing the hilt.
The sword hummed.
All the candle flames bent toward it, elongating, thinning. For an instant, each flame resembled a slender sword—edges defined, heat compressed into a narrow edge rather than scattered.
A red-gold light flickered at the borders of her perception.
In the courtyard, a very fine filament of Law essence traced along the edge of Bai Jingyun's sword, still sheathed at her side. Her true essence tightened and focused, becoming sharper without becoming brittle.
Ren's lips curved.
"As expected of a swordswoman," he thought.
Finally, he turned toward Qin Xingxuan.
Her world was silent.
Snow fell softly around her.
Each flake was distinct, delicate, cold. An endless white plain stretched in all directions. In the center of that emptiness stood a single lantern, its flame small and steady.
"The world will always test you," Ren's voice said, quiet as the falling snow. "Sometimes with battles, sometimes with loneliness. Fire is not only destruction. It is persistence. It is the refusal to go out."
The wind howled.
Snow fell harder, battering the lantern. The flame bent under the onslaught, guttered, shrank. Qin Xingxuan felt something twist in her chest.
Her hand moved on its own.
She stepped forward and cupped the lantern, shielding it with her body.
The flame steadied.
Warmth seeped into her fingers, into her bones. It was not the blazing heat of Murong Zi's battlefield, nor the cutting sharpness of Bai Jingyun's hall. It was a quiet, stubborn warmth that refused to die no matter how the wind screamed.
She had always walked a quiet path.
Her family's expectations. Her own ambitions. The loneliness of standing between ordinary girls and peerless geniuses. She rarely shouted. She rarely charged ahead like Murong Zi. But she had never retreated once she chose her way.
That quiet refusal—that also was "fire."
The lantern's flame deepened from dull red to a clearer red-gold.
Snow still fell.
It no longer smothered.
Instead, each flake that touched the light melted, feeding the flame instead of extinguishing it.
In the courtyard, a faint red-gold ring appeared around Qin Xingxuan's body, so subtle that only someone like Ren could fully perceive it. Her true essence began to vibrate at a slightly higher frequency, every circulation pulling a little more Fire element into her body.
Ren exhaled softly.
"As expected," he thought. "Her resonance is the deepest."
Time flowed.
The night darkened. The Martial House's lanterns burned low. In distant halls, a few elders paused mid-cultivation, feeling an elusive heat brush against their senses before fading.
Under the old pine, Ren continued to guide.
He did not "give" them his Laws. That would have been an insult to both them and the Dao. Instead, he let his rune-wheel wrap around their perceptions, filtering the raw Fire Dao of heaven and earth into forms they could understand: battlefields for Murong Zi, silent halls for Bai Jingyun, quiet snow and lantern light for Qin Xingxuan.
Then he stepped back and let their hearts walk.
When their first steps stabilized, he moved to the second stage.
…
"All right," he said at last, voice firm but still relaxed. "You've touched the Laws. Now we condense the Intent."
The pressure in the courtyard spiked.
Fire Martial Intent flared.
The red-gold rune-wheel behind him spun faster, its spokes blurring into streaks of light. Within its field, every strand of Fire Law the girls had just grasped was drawn out, magnified, and reflected back at them.
"Martial Intent," Ren said, voice carrying clearly, "is how the Dao bends around you. Heaven and earth have their laws. You have your will. When the two collide and neither yields, that clash is intent."
He raised his hand.
"Murong Zi. Bai Jingyun. Qin Xingxuan," he said softly. "Show me what kind of fire your hearts seek."
They did not answer with words.
Murong Zi's hand clenched.
Her spear rose with a sharp, decisive motion, the tip pointing toward the sky even though her body remained sitting. Her true essence surged. The battlefield flame she'd seen roared up behind her, but now it flowed along her spear instead of scattering aimlessly.
Above the courtyard, the rune-wheel responded.
One spoke aligned perfectly with her spear tip.
A streak of red-gold fell like a shooting star, sinking into her dantian.
Bai Jingyun's fingers wrapped around her sword hilt.
She drew a third of the blade.
No more.
Sword Intent rose, clean and shining—a razor-thin edge drawn between heaven and earth. The candle flames in her hall twisted into threads and flowed into her sword, each one adding a layer of refinement.
Another spoke of the rune-wheel turned and descended, Law essence etching itself along her meridians with the delicacy of calligraphy.
Qin Xingxuan simply breathed.
Her hands remained on her knees.
Inside, the lantern flame she had shielded began to spread. Its warm, stubborn light flowed from her center into her bones, blood, and meridians. Heat seeped into every inch of her being, not as wild burning but as enduring warmth.
A third spoke of the rune-wheel aligned with her heart and fell like a slow, steady meteor into the depths of her soul.
Ren's Immortal Soul Bone moved.
He guided those descending lines of Law and intent, not changing their nature, only smoothing their path. He redirected excessive pressure, prevented tiny cracks from growing into fractures. The modified Heretical God Force within their bodies acted as an "inner governor," turning each pulse of power into tempering instead of pure strain. Chaotic Virtues' remapped meridians in Murong Zi and Bai Jingyuns' bodies looped the force, buying their organs and bones time to drink.
This was not a calm practice.
It was a battle.
Their meridians burned as if filled with molten iron. Bones creaked under invisible weight. Souls trembled as the outline of Fire Laws burned itself into their consciousness.
Murong Zi tasted blood at the corner of her mouth and refused to wipe it away. The battlefield in her mind trembled under a storm of flaming spears; she roared back, spear sweeping arcs that matched the curve of the red-gold Laws.
Bai Jingyun's arms shook. The hall around her filled with blades made of flame, rising and falling in endless patterns. She watched, memorized, cut away every unnecessary motion until only the cleanest arcs remained. Her sword sliced through the flicker between "ordinary fire" and "Law fire," carving her own path.
Qin Xingxuan felt her heart squeeze under the weight of memories—her family, the Martial House, Lin Ming's distant back, her own dreams. Snow and wind tried to smother her inner lantern again and again.
The lantern burned.
She did not allow it to go out.
Hours passed.
By the time the rune-wheel slowed and faded, the horizon had turned pale. The first hint of dawn brushed the edges of the sky.
Ren opened his eyes.
Three new auras burned in front of him.
Murong Zi's true essence, once a rough blaze, had compressed. Flames no longer leaked from every pore. A thin red-gold corona circled her, hugging close to her body, like countless spear shadows made of fire.
Bai Jingyun's sword hummed softly in its sheath. She seemed sharper even while sitting still, like a sheathed blade that could cut simply by existing. If one's perception was keen, they could see the outline of a tiny red-gold sword above her head, hovering quietly.
Qin Xingxuan's aura was the calmest.
On the surface, she looked almost unchanged. But her breath had synchronized perfectly with the subtle fluctuations of Fire Dao in the air. Every inhale drew a strand of Fire element into her being; every exhale blended it with her will. Deep in the quietest place of her soul, a small red-gold lantern burned, its light pulsing in steady rhythm with her heart.
Fire Martial Intent.
Still young. Still growing. But real.
Ren let out a slow breath.
"Open your eyes," he said.
They did.
Murong Zi's eyes flared red-gold for an instant before settling. She gasped, hand flying to her chest.
"I—this feeling—"
She raised her hand instinctively.
A flame appeared above her palm, then twisted into the shape of a spear tip. It was not large, but it was clean. Every line of flame matched the lines of a thrust, the heat compressed at the tip, ready to pierce.
Bai Jingyun looked down at her sword.
She drew it a fraction.
A faint red-gold arc traced along the edge, too thin for ordinary vision. She made a light cut toward the air.
The space in front of her parted.
There was no loud explosion, only a soft tear. For a heartbeat, the line remained—reality itself unwilling to close until the Law allowed it.
Qin Xingxuan slowly lifted one hand.
A tiny flame rose above her fingertip.
It did not move wildly, did not lash out. It simply burned.
The night breeze brushed past. The faint breath of the others brushed against it. The flame did not even flicker.
The heat it gave off was not scorching. It sank into the bones, chasing away the deeper chill that came from doubt and weariness.
Murong Zi stared.
"Fire Martial Intent…" she whispered. "This… this is truly Martial Intent…"
Bai Jingyun's lips parted.
"In one night…" she said softly. "We stepped onto a road that people chase their entire lives…"
Qin Xingxuan's fingers trembled as she slowly extinguished the flame.
Her eyes lifted to Ren.
In that gaze was shock, gratitude, awe—and something quieter and far more dangerous to a man's heart.