The first light of dawn spilled through the paper lattice windows, casting golden patterns across the wooden floor. Qin Lian stirred beneath her light blanket, blinking slowly as the scent of morning dew and distant pine trees filtered in with the breeze. The grey rabbit nestled beside her gave a soft snore, curled like a furry dumpling.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. It was still strange—waking to birdsong instead of alarm clocks, to koi ponds instead of traffic. But there was peace in that strangeness. A rhythm she could almost feel pulsing in the walls and earth.
She stretched, slipped on the soft green robe folded by her bedside, and padded across the room. Her hair was still a mess of sleep-tousled waves, but she tied it up loosely and washed her face in the stone basin.
Today, her new life truly began.
She stepped outside into the courtyard, the chill of morning clinging lightly to her skin. The sky above Emerald Wind Peak was the color of pale jade, and the wind whispered gently through the pear blossoms. Somewhere high above, she spotted a floating crane gliding toward the waterfall cliffs.
When she reached her grandfather's courtyard, she found him already seated beneath the tall gingko tree, sipping tea from a wide-lipped cup. He looked relaxed, dressed in his usual green-and-white robes, but today his long hair was loosely tied back with a ribbon of dark silk. He looked every bit the master of a peak, and yet when he saw her, his expression warmed into something infinitely gentle.
"There you are, little plum," Yan Zhenwu said, his voice soft and rich like aged tea. "Did you sleep well?"
She nodded, bowing politely. "Good morning, Grandfather."
"No need to be so formal when it's just us." He chuckled and patted the seat beside him. "Come, sit. It's a lovely morning. You'll never find skies like these in the mortal world, hmm?"
Qin Lian smiled as she sat. "I don't remember much of the mortal world, but I believe you."
He hummed and poured her a small cup of tea, the steam fragrant with chrysanthemum and ginseng. "Today, we start with something simple. I'll have one of my disciples show you around, help you get your uniform, and collect your first spirit stone."
"Spirit stone?" she echoed, sipping carefully.
He nodded. "Your allowance, child. One spirit stone a month for outer disciples. Enough to trade for simple tools, spirit rice, or even a scroll or two if you save up."
Her eyes widened slightly. It sounded like a currency—but far more valuable.
Yan Zhenwu set down his cup and called lightly, "Yun'er!"
A few moments later, a young man appeared from the side path—a disciple dressed in a long-sleeved robe trimmed with emerald thread. He was tall, with calm eyes and a sword at his back. His expression was respectful, but not stiff.
"You called, Master?"
"Yes. Yun Wen, this is my granddaughter, Qin Lian."
The disciple's eyes widened slightly. He bowed low. "It is an honor, junior sister."
Qin Lian blinked at the title, then awkwardly returned the bow. "Nice to meet you, senior brother."
Yan Zhenwu chuckled. "Good. Good. Yun'er has been with me the longest. A steady hand and a kind heart. He will escort you to the Supplies Hall and help you with registration. After that, return to me."
"Yes, Grandfather," she said, standing.
"Stay close to him," he added gently, his voice lowering to that tone she was starting to recognize as purely grandfatherly. "You're still new. And the sect may be kind, but not everyone walks the same path with the same feet."
She nodded, a touch more solemnly. "I understand."
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Good girl. Off you go, then. I'll have something warm waiting when you return."
Yun Wen gestured toward the stone path that led east. "This way, junior sister."
As they walked, Qin Lian found herself watching him out of the corner of her eye. He moved like someone who had spent years in discipline—each step quiet, each breath measured. He didn't seem to mind the silence, which was nice.
The path wound past several open courtyards where groups of disciples were already gathering for sword forms or quiet study. There were flower beds tended by hand, spirit cranes perched on rooftops, and far-off music from a zither drifting across the breeze.
"So," she said softly, "you've been in the sect a long time?"
"Since I was nine," Yun Wen replied. "I came from a small mountain village near the southern border. The sect master recruited me when I showed affinity with wood qi."
"And you're… what stage?"
"Late Core Formation," he said. "It's slow going, but steady."
She smiled. "That sounds comforting."
He looked at her, something like amusement flickering in his eyes. "Don't let others rush your pace. Some flowers bloom faster. Some deeper."
They arrived at a tall pavilion surrounded by soft blue banners. Inside, scrolls lined the walls, and tables held stacks of robes folded in neat piles. A middle-aged woman sat behind a lacquered counter, flipping through ledgers.
"New arrival?" she asked as they entered.
"Outer disciple, Qin Lian," Yun Wen said respectfully.
The woman scanned her face, then her presence seemed to soften. "You're the one from the Heaven-grade water root, yes? We've heard." She rose and moved to the shelves. "One uniform, size small. Token of registration. One mid-tier spirit stone, outer disciple allotment."
Qin Lian accepted each item with care. The robe was soft, dyed the pale green of early spring, with the Verdant Sky insignia embroidered near the hem. The token was a square of jade carved with her name and root type. The spirit stone shimmered faintly in her palm, like a fragment of moonlight caught in crystal.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Wear the robes to your first morning meditation," the woman said. "You'll be assigned a class schedule after you register tomorrow."
Yun Wen offered a quiet bow, and they left the hall.
As they walked back, Qin Lian turned the jade token over in her fingers. "It's real," she said softly. "I'm… really here."
"You are," Yun Wen replied. "And everyone is watching."
She faltered. "They are?"
He nodded. "Heaven-grade roots are rare. People will expect a great deal from you."
"Oh." Her voice was small.
"Don't let it weigh on you," he added. "You are you. The path you walk belongs to your feet. Not theirs."
She smiled at that, grateful.
When they returned to Yan Zhenwu's courtyard, he was right where they left him—only now with a tray of warm lotus buns and a steaming pot of millet porridge waiting on the table.
"Back already?" he said with a smile. "Quick feet, Yun'er."
"Master," Yun Wen bowed.
"Thank you, child. You may go."
With a final respectful nod, Yun Wen turned and left.
Qin Lian sat beside her grandfather again and held out her token like a child showing off a drawing. "I got it."
"So I see." He examined it with a small smile. "Very good. Did you remember your spirit stone?"
She held it up, and he chuckled.
"I still remember my first," he said, tone warm with nostalgia. "Spent it on a bowl of spiritual duck stew I immediately regretted. Too spicy. Nearly choked."
She laughed, covering her mouth. "You?"
"Even old men have regrets."
He poured her a cup of tea and handed her a bun. "Eat, then rest. Tomorrow, you begin your true cultivation path."
"Will you teach me?" she asked softly, her voice almost lost in the rustling of the trees.
Yan Zhenwu set his teacup down and turned to her, eyes warm with that deep, enduring affection only a grandfather could hold.
"Of course I will," he said, voice low and steady. "You're my granddaughter. I'm not comfortable leaving your growth to the hands of others."
Qin Lian blinked, a little stunned at how simply he said it.
"I'll take you in as my direct disciple," he continued, calmly but with unmistakable gravity. "You'll be my third. And likely the last."
Her heart jumped. "Direct disciple…?"
He nodded. "It's not something I grant easily. Over the last century, I've only accepted two. Yun Wen, whom you met today, and Lu Yingshi, who is currently away on a long training mission."
He paused to look at her, gaze soft but serious. "Most cultivators take in dozens of students throughout their life. But I've always believed that to teach someone truly—to guide them not just in swordplay and cultivation, but in understanding the Dao—you must care for them deeply. You must know them."
He reached out and gently adjusted the collar of her outer robe, smoothing it down with paternal familiarity. "And I know you, even if time has stolen some things from us. You carry our blood. You carry her smile."
Qin Lian's throat tightened.
"So yes, I'll teach you," he said. "You'll train under me, directly. You'll learn the sword, the breath, the stillness. You'll stumble, and I'll catch you when you do. That is what it means to be my disciple."
She didn't know what to say. The title felt like both a promise and a weight—and yet… she didn't feel afraid of it.
Instead, she whispered, "I'll do my best."
Yan Zhenwu smiled, eyes creasing at the corners.
"I know you will, Lian'er," he said. "I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise."