Chapter 23: Training Day, Disaster Style
"You want me to fight him?!" Mei Xiao shouted, pointing dramatically at the tall, stone-faced martial artist standing in the courtyard. "He looks like he could lift an ox with his pinky finger!"
The man—Master Yan—didn't even blink. He stood with arms crossed, built like a brick wall and possibly just as expressive.
Murong Jing He, naturally calm and annoyingly composed, replied, "He'll go easy on you."
"That's what executioners say before they swing," she muttered.
"You said you wanted to help. This is how."
She grumbled under her breath and squared her shoulders. You've survived awkward Tinder dates, late-night subway stations, and Aunt Wu's spicy hotpot. You can survive this… probably.
Master Yan raised a single hand. "Come at me."
Mei Xiao blinked. "I—uh, excuse me? Isn't there supposed to be, like, a warm-up? A safety talk? Maybe some stretching?"
Before she could blink, Master Yan stepped forward, lightning-fast, and booped her forehead with one finger. She stumbled back, landing flat on her backside.
"...Did I just get owned by a forehead tap?" she groaned.
"Again," Jing He said from the side, arms crossed, not hiding his amusement this time.
"I hate you."
"I know."
---
After several humiliating rounds of what she insisted were "strategic retreats," Mei Xiao finally managed to stay on her feet for more than two seconds.
That's when it happened.
A pulse. Heat. Fire—not around her, but from her. Her fingers glowed, faintly at first, then brighter.
Master Yan stepped back, eyes widening. "Control it," he barked.
"I don't know how!" she shouted, waving her hands like she was shooing flies. Sparks flew, one of which landed directly on Jing He's robes—igniting a very majestic, very expensive sleeve.
"Ah!" she yelped. "Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!"
Jing He calmly patted out the flame with one hand, expression unreadable.
"I told you not to wear silk today," muttered Elder Yu, passing by.
Mei Xiao looked horrified. "I burned the Sect Leader!"
"He's fine," Master Yan grunted. "He needed humbling."
Jing He met her eyes, a flicker of something playful hiding behind that stoic face. "That's one way to make sparks fly between us."
Her jaw dropped. "Did you just make a joke?"
"I'm mysterious, not humorless."
"You're lucky you're cute," she blurted, then immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.
Dead silence.
Then Jing He—calm, cold Murong Jing He—smiled.
"Training continues tomorrow," he said, and walked off.
Mei Xiao groaned and collapsed onto the training mat. "Great. Now I have to live with the fact that I flirted with China's version of Batman."