"Wanwan is not a failure."
"Wanwan will make Mama proud."
"Wanwan will stay in the school."
The little girl who was barely five years old repeated the words like a sacred chant, her small voice shaking as tears streamed endlessly down her cheeks.
Each sentence was a fragile promise she made to herself, each one stitched together with desperation and hope.
Whenever her voice grew soft, whenever doubt crept in and threatened to drown her heart, she would shout the words louder.
Louder, until her throat burned. Louder, until the pain reminded her that she was still trying.
She lifted the wooden sword with both hands.
It was heavy… far too heavy for someone her age.
Her arms trembled as she swung it forward.
The motion was slow, awkward, nothing like the elegant forms the older students performed so effortlessly.
The sword cut through the air with a dull whistle before wobbling out of control.
Wanwan stumbled, barely managing to stay on her feet.
Tears splashed onto the dirt beneath her.
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, smearing the dust across her face, and raised the sword again.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Her grip grew slippery as sweat mixed with tears.
Her arms screamed in protest, aching with a pain she didn't understand but refused to acknowledge.
She had practiced this same motion countless times, yet her body showed no sign of improvement.
Why can't I do it?
The thought stabbed her heart.
The other children were stronger. Faster. Better. They didn't cry while training.
They didn't fall so easily. They didn't get scolded for being slow or useless.
But Wanwan couldn't stop.
If she stopped, she would be admitting it… that she truly was a failure.
So she kept going.
Her tears grew heavier, falling like precious beads from her chin, but her hands never loosened their hold on the sword.
Even when her vision blurred, even when her arms felt like they were no longer her own, she refused to give up.
Time passed slowly, painfully.
Thirty minutes felt like an eternity.
At last, the strength in her hands completely vanished.
Thud.
The wooden sword slipped from her fingers and struck the ground with a hollow sound.
Wanwan stared at it through watery eyes, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.
Each breath felt shallow, as if her heart itself was struggling to keep beating.
She reached out.
Her fingers twitched.
But her body betrayed her.
It wouldn't move.
Her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto her knees, hands resting weakly on the ground.
Her arms felt numb, her shoulders burned, and her entire body trembled uncontrollably.
She was exhausted.
So exhausted.
Her lips quivered as despair flooded her heart.
The tears she had been holding back burst free, threatening to turn into loud, broken sobs.
A terrifying thought echoed endlessly in her mind.
I'm going to fail.
Fail the school.
Fail the teachers.
Fail everyone who believed in her.
Fail Mama.
Her small hands clenched into fists as her shoulders shook. She was just about to cry out in despair when…
"Why does Wanwan want strength so much?"
The voice came from behind her, calm and gentle, yet heavy with an authority she had never heard before.
Wanwan froze.
Her sob caught in her throat.
She slowly turned her head, eyes still filled with tears, and looked back.
Wanwan did not notice Lin Feng's handsome face at first.
What drew her attention was the flowing azure robe he wore.
The color was clean and dignified, embroidered with faint patterns that marked his identity clearly… an instructor of the academy.
The moment she realized this, Wanwan's small body stiffened.
A teacher.
Her heart skipped nervously.
Almost by reflex, she straightened her back, wiped her tears with her sleeve, and bowed deeply despite her trembling legs.
"Wanwan greets the respected teacher of the academy!"
Her voice quivered, and she could feel her heart pounding loudly in her chest.
Memories she didn't like surfaced in her mind… harsh scoldings, cold gazes, and endless corrections that never seemed to be enough.
Her own instructor had never once smiled at her.
No matter how hard she tried, she was always too slow, too weak, too useless.
Because of that, Wanwan had come to believe that all teachers were the same.
Strict.
Distant.
Unkind.
She lowered her head, afraid she might be punished for collapsing during training.
"You haven't answered my question yet, Wanwan."
The voice that spoke was calm, even gentle.
Wanwan froze.
She cautiously lifted her head, expecting to see a stern expression, but instead she saw a faint smile on Lin Feng's face.
It wasn't mocking or cold.
It was soft, almost warm, as though he were speaking to her as an equal rather than looking down on her.
For a brief moment, Wanwan stared at him blankly.
She did not recognize him at all.
She did not know that this man was whispered about throughout the academy as the most useless teacher.
She did not know his name, nor his reputation.
Her days were spent entirely on training… swinging her sword until her arms ached, repeating forms until her body collapsed.
For someone so young, her world was painfully small.
"Hmmm…"
Wanwan hesitated, her fingers curling nervously. She looked down at the ground, then back up at Lin Feng, gathering her courage.
"Wanwan's Mama said… that strength and power are the most important things in the world," she said quietly. "If Wanwan is strong, no one can bully Mama anymore."
Her voice grew a little steadier as she continued.
"With strength, Wanwan can earn lots of money. Wanwan can buy Mama meat every day… and rice… and sweet buns too." She swallowed, then added softly, "Mama likes sweet buns."
As she spoke, the fear in her eyes slowly faded. Though tears still clung to her lashes, a bright, innocent light appeared within them.
A small smile curved her lips, genuine and unguarded, as the image of her mother filled her mind.
In that moment, Wanwan forgot about the pain in her arms.
Forgot about her failure.
Forgot about the fear of being expelled.
All she could think about was her Mama.