The world from the Frost-View Tower was one of silent order.
Duchess Lián Méi sat at a desk of polished moon-white marble, her figure a stark contrast against the cold elegance of her study. The morning light streamed through tall, leaded windows, illuminating ledgers of estate management, trade agreements, and magical tax reports. Her hand moved with methodical precision, her signature a sharp, commanding stroke of ink.
But her other hand lay still on the desk, fingers absently tracing the smooth curve of a jade hairpin. It was a simple piece, milky white veined with emerald. A gift from a husband a lifetime ago. Her gaze, for a fleeting moment, drifted from the columns of numbers to the vast, quilted landscape of her estate—the endless emerald rice paddies, the silver thread of the river, the dark smudge of the Celestial Forest in the distance. It was all hers. And it was a weight she carried alone.
A soft knock sounded. "Enter."
Steward Feng, a man whose face had been carved by decades of loyal service, bowed deeply. "My Lady. The weekly reports from the western prefectures. All yields are optimal. However…" He paused, a slight tension in his shoulders. "Bandit activity has increased on the old forest road. Two minor merchant caravans reported harassment this week."
Lián Méi did not look up. "That is a matter for the local guard captain. Increase his budget by five percent and tell him if the problem persists, I will replace him with someone whose competence matches his excuses." Her voice was like chilled water—clear, smooth, and devoid of warmth.
"Understood, My Lady."
As he retreated, the silence descended again, thicker than before. Her eyes lifted to the small portrait on the far wall. There she was, years younger, her raven hair longer, her deep-set eyes actually alight with something softer than calculation. Beside her, her husband, Lord Jian, his hand on her shoulder. And before them, a small girl with serious eyes—Xiao Xiao, captured just before she left for the Imperial Academy. The portrait spoke of a life that felt like a story belonging to someone else.
The duchess turned back to her work. The jade pin felt cold against her skin.
Her enchanted palanquin, a sleek construct of dark wood and silver sigils, glided soundlessly a hand's breadth above the paved road to the capital. Inside, Lián Méi was a vision of contained power and sensuality. She wore a gown of deep, liquid emerald, the silk cut daringly across her chest to frame the lush swell of her breasts—a statement of confidence, not invitation. The fabric clung to the mature, generous curve of her hips before flowing outward. At six feet tall, her presence was regal, imposing. Her shoulder-length jet-black hair was swept back, held partly by that same jade pin, emphasizing the elegant line of her neck and the cold, perfect symmetry of her face.
She was reviewing a ministerial brief when she felt it.
A spike of raw, chaotic energy, coming from the west. The forest road.
It was magic, but unlike the disciplined, polished power of the Academy or her own refined core. This was wild, desperate, and blazingly potent—like a lightning strike trapped in a jar. It flared and sputtered with the unmistakable, terrifying signature of a first, violent manifestation.
Her lips thinned. A latent, she thought, and a powerful one. Stressed into awakening. The bandits.
It was beneath her. It was a trivial matter. Yet, the sheer force of it prickled her mage's instinct. With a sigh that held no patience, she tapped the crystal conduit beside her. "Divert to the western forest road. Now."
The palanquin banked smoothly. Within minutes, the scene of chaos unfolded: a merchant wagon tipped over, bandits—rough men with cruel faces—looting and jeering.
Lián Méi did not wait for her guards. The palanquin door slid open, and she stepped out.
Her arrival was a shock of color and authority against the grimy backdrop. The bandits froze, gawking. She did not raise her voice. She simply lifted a hand, palm down, and pushed.
The very space around the six bandits thickened, crystallized, and locked. They weren't frozen in ice; they were paralyzed in invisible amber, their faces masks of terror and confusion, unable to twitch a muscle. It was an effortless, disdainful display of S-tier spatial manipulation.
"Dispose of them," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly to her captain. Her eyes were already scanning for the source of the magical flare.
And there he was.
Behind the main wagon, cornered against a large pine, a young man stood protectively in front of a cowering merchant child. He was tall but painfully lean, his clothes threadbare. A fresh cut bled above his brow. But his hands were outstretched, crackling with volatile, golden-white energy that hissed and spat, tearing tiny fissures in the air around him. His eyes, a warm, stubborn brown, were wide with a mix of fear and furious determination.
He saw her, this impossibly elegant, terrifyingly powerful woman who had just immobilized six men without breaking a sweat.
"Stay back!" he growled, his voice rough. The energy around his hands flared wildly. "I'll… I'll…"
Lián Méi took two slow, measured steps forward, her hips swaying subtly with a mature grace. She arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Her gaze swept over him, assessing, calculating, lingering for a fraction on the raw power churning in his core—a power so bright it was almost vulgar in its untamed state.
"You'll what?" Her tone was like silk dragged over frost. "Set the forest on fire with your lack of control? You are destabilizing the local elemental flow. Cease this childish display."
Before he could react, she flicked her wrist.
It was not an attack. It was a correction. The violent, sputtering energy around Goro's hands was suddenly smoothed, gentled, and coaxed back into a calm, swirling sheath around his fingers. He felt her will—vast, deep, and impossibly controlled—brush against his own raw consciousness. It was like being immersed in a still, bottomless ocean after standing in a hurricane. The shock of it stole his breath, and the last of his defiance sputtered out. The energy winked out.
He stared at her, panting, his proud shoulders slumping slightly in awestruck recognition of the gulf between them.
Her guards moved efficiently, rounding up the bandits, aiding the merchants. The captain approached, bowing. "My Lady, the situation is contained. The boy…?" He gestured to Goro, who now stood awkwardly, the adrenaline draining to leave him looking young and exhausted.
Lián Méi's gaze rested on Goro. She saw the S-rank potential, a brilliant, uncut diamond in the mud. An asset. A weapon, if honed. But her eyes also caught the way he had positioned himself in front of the child, not behind. The stubborn set of his jaw even in defeat. The intelligent, observant eyes that were now taking in her, her guards, the sigils on her palanquin, with a desperate, hungry curiosity.
She could leave him. The local guard would process the orphan. He would likely be conscripted into a labor battalion, his potential squandered.
"Bring the boy," she said, her decision made in an instant. "Have Healer Wen see to his wounds. Quarter him in the East Guest Pavilion." She saw the captain's barely-concealed surprise. The East Pavilion was for minor nobles or scholars of note. Not for ragged orphans.
"At once, My Lady."
As she turned back to her palanquin, she felt Goro's eyes on her. She did not look back.
The night over the Jade Willow Estate was serene, bathed in the soft glow of enchanted moonstones embedded along pathways and rooftops. From her tower, Lián Méi should have found peace.
Instead, she was distracted.
A new, distinct pulse of energy beat against the edge of her awareness from the direction of the East Pavilion. It was no longer chaotic, but it was bright, warm, and unsettlingly vibrant—like a steady, untamed sun compared to her own cool, lunar resonance. It was… present.
Under the thin guise of inspecting the night-blooming spirit orchids near the pavilion, she descended.
She found him on the veranda, cleansed of blood and dirt. The simple grey guest robes they had given him were clean. He was not looking at the gardens, but up at the towering central keep, its spires piercing the starry sky. There was no resentment on his face, only a profound, contemplative awe.
He sensed her approach and turned quickly, dropping into a deep, respectful bow. "My Lady."
"You are not resting. Healer Wen's ministrations were insufficient?" she asked, stopping a few paces away.
"No, My Lady. They were more than sufficient. I… I was just… It's very large." He gestured vaguely at the estate, his words simple.
"It is an entity that requires constant management," she replied, her tone allowing for no argument.
He nodded, then, after a moment of clear internal debate, spoke again. "The water in the channels… it doesn't flow by gravity alone, does it? There's a pulse. A low-frequency enchantment network in the soil that directs it and enriches it with qi." He said it not as a question seeking praise, but as an observation stated to be confirmed.
Lián Méi went perfectly still. That particular subtlety of her estate's irrigation was a masterwork of geomancy few trained mages ever noticed.
She looked at him anew. "You sensed that."
"It's hard not to feel," he said quietly, his eyes earnest. "It's like… a heartbeat. A calm one. Different from the forest today." He met her gaze, then quickly looked down, remembering his place. "It must be… a heavy responsibility. To make the heartbeat for all of this."
For a long moment, she said nothing. The night insects sang. The words lonely and heavy hung in the air between them, words no steward, minister, or sycophant had dared utter in her presence for over a decade.
She did not thank him for his insight. She did not admonish him for his familiarity. She simply turned to leave, the silk of her gown whispering against the stone.
"Sleep, boy. Your potential is worthless if you are fatigued."
"Yes, My Lady. Thank you, My Lady." His reply was filled with genuine respect.
She walked back through the perfumed darkness, the cold, ordered walls of her world feeling strangely insubstantial. The night air was warm, but Lián Méi felt a long-forgotten shiver trace its way down her spine. It wasn't the chill of the grave she was so accustomed to.
It was the terrifying, unwelcome heat of a spark catching kindling.
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