Lian walks through the courtyard gates alongside Takeshi, still on edge from their journey home. Every rustle in the bushes along the road had set her nerves jangling, though nothing had materialized from the shadows. The threat had remained just that—a threat, hanging in the air like storm clouds that never broke.

  "You're dismissed for the evening," her father's steward announces, appearing at Takeshi's side. "The family requires privacy."

  Takeshi gives a slight nod, his eyes meeting Lian's briefly. Something in his gaze—a warning? concern?—makes her stomach tighten. He turns without a word and walks toward the guest quarters, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his simple tunic. Lian watches him go, the unspoken message in that final glance leaving her unsettled. In the weeks since he'd become her guard, she'd learned to read his subtle expressions, and this one carried a weight she couldn't quite decipher.

  "Your parents await in the study," the steward tells her, his tone unusually formal.

  Lian's shoulders tense. The study means serious matters, official business. The last time she was summoned there had been to meet Takeshi. What now?

  She follows the familiar path through the main house, past scrolls of calligraphy and landscapes that have decorated these walls her entire life. The door to her father's study stands open, revealing both parents inside—an unusual sight. Her mother rarely participates in her father's business affairs.

  "Lianhua," her father says, gesturing to the chair before his desk. "Sit."

  Lian complies, glancing between them, her pulse quickening with unease. Her mother's face is composed into that perfect mask of serenity that Lian has come to recognize as forced—the same expression she wears at formal gatherings when pretending to enjoy tedious conversation. Behind that careful veneer, Lian detects a hint of tension around her eyes. Her father looks... satisfied. Proud, even. The slight upward tilt of his mouth and the way he sits straighter in his chair suggest he believes he's orchestrated something remarkable. Whatever this meeting is about, they've clearly reached some decision about her future without her knowledge—a realization that sends a cold ripple of dread through her stomach.

  "We have excellent news," he begins, straightening a stack of documents on his desk. "Provincial Lord Wei has agreed to consider you as a potential match for his second son."

  The words hit Lian like a physical blow. Her lungs seem to forget their purpose, refusing to draw breath.

  "This is a tremendous opportunity," her mother adds, her voice gentle but firm. "The Wei family's standing is far above our own. Such an alliance would elevate our entire household."

  "Marriage evaluation?" Lian finally manages, the words coming out strangled.

  "In two months time," her father confirms, nodding. "Lord Wei's son will visit, along with their family's matchmaker. You'll be expected to demonstrate appropriate accomplishments—calligraphy, music, perhaps some modest display of cultivation talent. Nothing too aggressive, of course."

  "I don't understand." Lian's voice sounds distant to her own ears. "When was this decided?"

  "We've been in discussions for quite some time," her father says, unmistakable pride coloring his words. "Your brother's entrance into the Stone Sentinel Sect was the decisive factor that persuaded Lord Wei our family possesses adequate potential."

  "Quite some time?" Lian echoes, feeling hollow inside. "You've been arranging this... while watching me struggle at the academies?"

  "Your entire life has been preparation for this moment, Lianhua," her father says, his tone suggesting she should be grateful. "We've been cultivating connections with suitable families since you were a child. Every decision—which tutors to hire, which social gatherings to attend, even which academies might polish your talents without encouraging inappropriate ambitions—all of it was in service to securing you a proper future."

  The realization crashes over her like ice water. All those years fighting for recognition, believing her parents simply didn't understand her passion—when in reality, they had been systematically steering her toward this predetermined path, tolerating her cultivation interests only as a temporary diversion.

  Her mother offers a condescending smile. "Your fascination with martial pursuits has been a charming phase, but now it must serve a greater purpose. A cultivated young woman with modest wind talents will be seen as refined, not threatening—the perfect addition to a noble household. We've tolerated your enthusiasm precisely because such controlled abilities would enhance your marriage prospects. With your brother's cultivation future now secured, your own path clearly lies in another direction."

  "Clearly?" Heat surges through Lian's body as her fingers clench the chair arms. "There's nothing clear about this! I've dedicated years to training—I possess genuine talent with wind and—"

  "Which will be an asset to any potential match," her father cuts in. "A slight cultivation refinement is considered elegant and your... gifts a bonus. The Wei family will appreciate a bride with just enough spiritual awareness to be cultured, but not so much as to be unseemly or distracted from proper household duties. And naturally, a potential advantage for any children you might bear."

  "Children?" The word tears from Lian's throat, sharp as a blade. "I am fourteen years old! I've dedicated every waking moment to understanding the wind, to feeling its currents, to moving as one with it. I've endured bruises, exhaustion, and ridicule pursuing what calls to my very spirit—and you dismiss it as a passing fancy, as a goal for child bearing?"

  Her chest heaves as she struggles to contain the storm building within. All those nights practicing forms until her muscles screamed, all those mornings rising before dawn to feel the first breaths of wind stirring—reduced to nothing more than a quaint hobby to be abandoned at her parents' convenience or benefit for her children.

  The calculated precision of his words made Lian's insides clench. Everything that defined her—her wind affinity, her spiritual awareness, the strength she had clawed to cultivate—reduced to decorative attributes, like skill with a needle or a pleasant melody. A novelty to be displayed at formal gatherings before being tucked away to fulfill her "true purpose."

  "Subtle? Feminine?" The words scraped against her throat. "You've watched me fight for every shred of respect from every master in this city, and all this time you were planning to—to barter me away?"

  Her father's expression darkened, his voice rising with each word. "Respect? You speak of respect when you've run off every private instructor we've found and been dismissed from nearly every reputable academy in Yuanxin? Your instructors have sent report after report of your inability to follow basic forms, your stubborn refusal to adhere to proper techniques. Each time we've secured you another opportunity, you've squandered it with your willfulness!"

  The accusation struck Lian like a physical blow. She had tried—truly tried—at each academy, but something within her always rebelled against their rigid structures, their insistence that she conform to methods that felt wrong, that stifled the natural flow of her connection to the wind. But how could she explain what she herself didn't fully understand?

  "Lianhua," Her mother's carefully maintained composure tried to smooth over tensions.

  "Is that why you finally permitted my continued studies at Master Yao's academy? To keep me occupied while you arranged my life without my knowledge?" The betrayal cut deeper with each passing heartbeat. "Is that why Takeshi was employed? Not for my safety, but to preserve your investment until the arrangement was finalized?"

  Her father's face hardened. "You will mind your tongue, daughter. This alliance would bring honor to our family. Lord Wei's son is cultured, distinguished, and his family commands respect throughout the province. He will be attending the Iron Dragon School later this year."

  "And what of my aspirations?" Lian challenged, rising from her seat. "What about my cultivation? My training?"

  "You've been indulged in those interests far longer than most young women of your position," her mother replied, her voice soft and soothing. "It's time to set aside youthful distractions and embrace your responsibilities."

  "Youthful?" The word struck like a physical assault. "My connection to the wind isn't youthful. It's essential to my very being!"

  "It's a passing interest," her father dismissed. "One that has caused more trouble than value, with your persistent struggles at every academy."

  "Because they try to force me into methods that aren't aligned with my nature!" Lian's voice rose. "Because no one sees what I'm truly capable of!"

  "Enough." Her father's palm struck the desk. "The arrangements are underway. You will prepare to meet Lord Wei's son and make a favorable impression. This discussion is concluded."

  Lian gazed at them both, these strangers wearing her parents' faces. All her recent compliance—attending lessons without complaint, practicing diligently, even tolerating Takeshi's constant vigilance—had meant nothing. While she strove to prove herself worthy of serious training, they were negotiating her future away.

  "I've tried," she said, voice unsteady. "I've done everything asked of me these past weeks. I've been the daughter you wanted."

  "And now we're asking you to continue being that daughter," her mother said, reaching for her hand.

  Lian stepped back. "No. You're asking me to become someone I'm not."

  She turned and exited the study, her steps quickening in the corridor. Behind her, she heard her father call her name, his tone more commanding than concerned. She didn't falter.

  The courtyard blurred past. The gate guards stood attentive as she neared, but she was through before they could stop her. The streets of Yuanxin spread before her—familiar pathways she'd traversed throughout her life, now feeling like confining walls closing in.

  Where was she going? It didn't matter. Away. Somewhere to breathe without constraint. Somewhere the wind didn't feel stifled in her chest.

  Her feet carried her toward the city's edge, toward the open lands beyond. Tears stung her eyes but remained contained. She wouldn't grant them that victory, even in their absence.

  Throughout her years, she'd fought against limitations—the rigid techniques of the academies, the patronizing attitudes of masters, the restrictions imposed because of her gender and station. But this? This felt different. Inescapable. A trap with no release.

  The wind whispered around her, tugging at her clothes, her hair—urging her forward, away from limitations and rules and arranged marriages to strangers.

  Lian ran, and for once, didn't look back.

  * * *

  Lian ran until her lungs burned, until each breath came in ragged gasps. The wind seemed to carry her forward, away from Yuanxin, away from the life being forced upon her. Her thoughts tumbled chaotically—betrayal, anger, and beneath it all, a crushing disappointment that her parents had never truly seen her.

  The familiar paths gave way to less traveled roads. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the landscape. She knew these outskirts well enough—the river crossing lay ahead, the one travelers used when heading north. Beyond that, open country where she could... what? Run forever? The practical part of her mind knew this was foolish, but the wounded part didn't care.

  The river came into view, its waters glinting in the late afternoon light. Lian slowed, catching her breath. She hadn't brought supplies, hadn't planned anything. All she'd wanted was escape, however temporary.

  Movement caught her eye—figures emerging from the treeline near the crossing. Five men, rough-looking, with weapons poorly concealed beneath tattered cloaks. The warnings about bandits near the river flashed through her mind.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Lian froze, weighing her options. She could turn back, but they'd already spotted her. The closest man nudged his companion, gesturing in her direction with a chin tilt that sent ice through her veins.

  "Well now," the largest of them called out, stepping forward. "What brings a young lady like yourself out here alone?"

  Lian straightened, channeling qi to her core. "I'm just passing through. I suggest you do the same." She forced steel into her voice, though her heart thundered in her chest. The qi flowing through her gave her a familiar warmth spreading from her center. She widened her stance slightly, the way her combat instructor had taught her, and lifted her chin in defiance. The pendant at her throat felt suddenly heavy, a reminder of everything she was running from—and everything she might need to protect herself. She could feel the wind stirring around her, responding to her agitation, though she tried to keep her expression impassive. These men couldn't know what she was capable of. Or what she wasn't.

  They laughed—a harsh sound that carried no humor. The leader's eyes narrowed, assessing her fine clothes, the jade pendant at her neck.

  "Passing through to where, little bird? No escort? No guards?" His gaze sharpened as they landed on the the pendant. "Noble family, by the look of you. Worth something to someone, I'd wager."

  They spread out, forming a loose semicircle. Lian's heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her expression neutral. She'd trained for this—hadn't she? Years of forms and techniques. She could handle common bandits.

  "I'll give you one chance to walk away," she said, shifting her stance subtly, drawing on her connection to the wind.

  The leader smirked. "Spirited. I like that." He gestured to the others. "Take her."

  Two men rushed forward. Lian moved, channeling qi through her meridians, feeling the familiar rush as the wind responded. She sidestepped the first attacker, using his momentum against him, just as she'd practiced countless times. Her palm strike caught him in the chest, wind-enhanced to send him stumbling backward.

  Pride flared—it was working! Her training was—

  The second man's fist connected with her shoulder, pain exploding through her body. This wasn't like sparring at the academy. There was no restraint, no careful control. Just brutal intent.

  Lian recovered, spinning away, trying to create distance. She executed a perfect Wind-Walking Step, enhanced by her qi, moving faster than an ordinary person could track. Her foot connected with the man's knee, and she heard a satisfying crack.

  He howled, dropping to the ground. Three remained standing, including the leader, who hadn't moved yet. Something about his stillness unnerved her more than the others' aggression.

  "She's got training," one of them muttered.

  The leader's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't matter."

  He stepped forward, and Lian felt it immediately—the heavy pressure of cultivated qi, far stronger than her own. Core Formation, at least. Her stomach dropped. This wasn't a common bandit. This was someone who'd walked the cultivation path for years, possibly decades.

  Still, she wouldn't surrender. Lian gathered her qi, channeling it through her open meridians, feeling the wind respond to her call. She executed the modified Eight Winds Form she'd been practicing, the one that felt natural to her body's flow.

  For a moment, she thought it might work. The air around her stirred, forming currents that pushed against her attackers. The two remaining subordinates hesitated, but their leader merely smiled.

  He moved, and Lian barely saw it—a blur of motion, then pain as his hand closed around her wrist, twisting sharply. Her technique shattered, qi dispersing uselessly. She struck at him with her free hand, but it was like hitting stone.

  "Pretty technique," he said, voice low. "But pretty doesn't win fights."

  Before Lian could react, his hand cracked across her face with stunning force. Her head snapped sideways, vision blurring as pain bloomed across her cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth where her teeth had cut the inside of her lip.

  The bandit leader's fingers closed around the jade pendant at her throat, yanking it free with a sharp snap of its cord. Panic surged through her as she felt the familiar weight disappear.

  "Jade! Very nice," he said, examining it in the sunlight. His expression shifted suddenly, eyes widening as he stared at her with newfound interest. "Wait... you have two open meridians already?" His grip on her tightened. "You're just a child. How do you have open meridians?"

  Lian sealed her lips, determined to give the bandit nothing. She attempted to wrench herself from his grasp, but his fingers only burrowed more painfully into her flesh, his hold unrelenting.

  He twisted harder on her arm, applying pressure at a sickening angle. Something in her wrist gave way with a sickening pop. Pain shot up her arm, and Lian cried out, dropping to one knee. Tears sprang to her eyes, but through them, she saw him draw a curved blade from his belt.

  "Answer me," he growled, bringing the blade close to her face.

  *This wasn't supposed to happen. She was better than this. She'd trained for years. Why couldn't she—*

  A whisper of movement cut through the air. The bandit leader's expression changed, eyes widening fractionally before he released Lian's wrist and leapt backward. Where he'd stood a heartbeat before, the ground smoldered with residual heat.

  Takeshi stood between Lian and the bandits, his presence radiating controlled fury. The Crimson Blade gleamed in his right hand, a faint red glow emanating from its edge. His left hand extended outward, and Lian gasped as she saw what looked like a whip of pure flame extending from his palm. The whip coiled and writhed like fire, stretching nearly two meters in length, its heat palpable even from where she knelt.

  This wasn't the quiet, reserved guardian who had shadowed her journey. The man before her now stood with the unmistakable poise of a veteran warrior, his stance revealing years of battlefield discipline. His eyes, usually so carefully guarded, now burned with focused intensity that made Lian's breath catch in her throat. For the first time, she understood why people whispered his name with such reverence and fear.

  "Leave," Takeshi said, his voice unnervingly calm.

  The leader's eyes narrowed. "The Crimson Storm. I'd heard rumors you were in the area." His hand tightened on his weapon. "Your reputation precedes you."

  "As does yours, Hu Wuji." Takeshi's stance shifted slightly. "Three young women in the past month alone."

  The bandit leader's eyes narrowed, but Lian caught a flicker of unease crossing his face.

  "The magistrate in Yuanxin has posted your description at every checkpoint," Takeshi continued, his voice carrying the weight of certainty. "The provincial guard patrols have been looking for you."

  The man—Wuji—smiled thinly. "And now they'll find you dead beside another."

  He attacked, moving with the speed of an experienced cultivator. His subordinates followed, weapons drawn. Lian scrambled backward, cradling her injured wrist, expecting to see Takeshi overwhelmed by the coordinated assault.

  Instead, Takeshi exploded into motion.

  The Crimson Blade became a blur of red light, intercepting Wuji's strike with a sound like a thunderclap. The fire whip lashed out simultaneously, catching one of the subordinates across the chest. The man didn't even have time to scream before he collapsed, the front of his tunic charred black.

  Takeshi moved like nothing Lian had ever seen—no wasted motion, no flashy techniques, just brutal, efficient combat. The bits and pieces of the foundation forms she'd watched him practice were evident in his movement, but executed with a speed and precision that transformed them into something lethal. The fire whip sailed around him in a deadly dance, its burning length cutting through the air with a whispered hiss before connecting with flesh and bone. Each strike was purposeful, calculated—the movements of a man who had spent decades perfecting the art of ending lives.

  Lian watched, transfixed by the horrifying elegance of it all. This wasn't the showy combat of training yards or the exaggerated tales from traveling storytellers. This was death made manifest, fire and steel wielded in perfect harmony. The bandits, for all their ferocity, moved like stumbling children against Takeshi's fluid grace, their attacks meeting nothing but empty air or the burning kiss of his blade.

  Two more bandits fell in quick succession, one with a slash across his throat, another with a burning hole where his heart had been. Wuji fought with desperate intensity, but Takeshi matched him strike for strike, the Crimson Blade leaving trails of fire in its wake. With each of his men that dropped to the blood-soaked earth, Wuji's movements grew more frantic, his strikes wilder. Lian could see the fear creeping into his eyes as he realized he was facing not just a skilled opponent but a legend made flesh.

  The bandit leader's confidence crumbled with each exchange. Where he had once moved with predatory grace, now his footwork faltered. His blade, which had so terrified Lian moments before, seemed like a child's toy against Takeshi's measured precision. The Crimson Storm wasn't just fighting—he was dismantling his opponent with methodical efficiency, his expression as calm as if he were performing a routine exercise.

  When Wuji attempted to retreat, Takeshi's fire whip lashed around his neck with serpentine precision. The burning cord yanked the bandit leader backward with terrible force, his scream dying as the flames seared through flesh and sinew. Lian watched in horror as the man's throat charred black, his eyes bulging in the final moment of realization before the light fled from them.

  Takeshi stood amid the carnage, his breathing barely elevated. He extinguished the fire whip with a flick of his wrist and turned to Lian, his expression unreadable.

  Lian stared [open mouthed], unable to reconcile this man with the silent, seemingly passive guardian who had followed her for weeks. This was the Crimson Storm of legend—the warrior whose name had been whispered in fear across battlefields. She had half-believed the stories were exaggerations, that perhaps Takeshi wasn't truly the legend they claimed. After his steadfast refusal to fight outside the academy walls, his reluctance to even acknowledge the whispers that followed him, she'd begun to wonder if he was merely a skilled cultivator who borrowed the reputation of a greater man. But that thought had evaporated like morning dew in summer heat, burned away by the terrifying efficiency with which he'd dispatched five armed men. The legends, if anything, had understated his lethal grace.

  Unflinching amid the carnage he'd created, Takeshi stood as living proof of what cultivation truly meant in the hands of a master. Cherry blossoms drifted down around them, the last remnants of spring's beauty twirling through the air in stark contrast to the violence below. Several petals caught in the residual heat of Takeshi's attacks, curling and blackening as they spiraled to the blood-soaked earth. The gentle pink of the blossoms against the crimson splatter created a macabre painting that seared itself into Lian's memory—delicate beauty and brutal death intertwined in a single, terrible moment that crystallized the true nature of power.

  Five men. Less than a minute. All dead. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the acrid smell of burned flesh, creating a nauseating miasma that filled Lian's nostrils. Her stomach heaved violently, and she bent double, emptying its contents onto her shoes.

  * * *

  Lian stared at the ceiling of her room, unable to close her eyes without seeing death. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across her floor, but all she could see were the shadows of men falling, their lives extinguished like candles in a storm.

  Her parents had been waiting at the compound gates when Takeshi returned with her, his face impassive, his clothes pristine despite the carnage he'd wrought. She'd been half-carried, half-dragged between them, her legs barely functioning, her wrist throbbing despite Takeshi's makeshift splint. Father's face had drained of color when he saw her state, while Mother's scream had brought servants running from every corner of the compound.

  "You will not leave these walls again until your marriage evaluation," Father had thundered once the healers had been summoned. "Do you understand what could have happened? What nearly did happen?"

  Lian had been too numb to argue, the image of Takeshi's fire whip slicing through Wuji's neck replaying in her mind.

  "The Provincial Lord's son arrives in two months," Mother had added, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. "If he had seen you like this—blood on your clothes, wild-eyed, broken—all our arrangements would be ruined. Years of preparation, wasted!"

  The family healer had arrived shortly after, a stern woman with callused hands who'd examined Lian's wrist with practiced efficiency. The woman had channeled her qi through meridian points, alleviating pain and accelerating the healing process. Though the bone would need time to fully mend, the immediate agony had subsided to a dull ache.

  Now, hours later, Lian felt suffocated by the walls of her room, by the weight of expectations pressing down on her like stones. The bandit attack had shattered her confidence, exposing how unprepared she truly was for the world beyond Yuanxin. Yet instead of offering comfort or understanding, her parents had only reinforced the cage they'd built around her.

  Unable to bear the confinement any longer, Lian slipped from her bed and made her way to the training yard. The familiar space had always brought her solace, a place where she could feel the wind and move with it, forgetting for a moment the constraints of her position.

  She hadn't expected to find Takeshi there, seated cross-legged in the center of the yard, his sword laid across his knees. In the fading light, his profile seemed carved from stone, weathered and unyielding.

  Lian hesitated at the edge of the yard, suddenly aware of her tear-stained face and disheveled appearance. The man before her had killed five people that morning with terrifying efficiency. She had seen his power, felt the heat of his flames, witnessed firsthand the legend of the Crimson Storm.

  Yet something compelled her forward until she stood before him, her shadow falling across his still form.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice cracked. "About what real fighting is like? About what you really are?"

  Takeshi opened his eyes slowly, regarding her with that same unreadable expression he'd worn by the river.

  "Would you have believed me?"

  The simple question struck Lian like a physical blow. Of course she wouldn't have. She'd dismissed him as a has-been, a relic trading on an exaggerated reputation. She'd mocked his practice of foundation forms, questioned his abilities, challenged his very presence in her life.

  Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "I couldn't do anything against them. All my training, all my techniques—worthless. They would have—" She couldn't finish the thought, her throat closing around the words.

  "Yes." Takeshi's agreement was neither cruel nor kind, merely factual. "They would have."

  Lian sank to her knees in the dirt, cradling her healing wrist. "And now I'm trapped here again. My parents won't let me leave until the Provincial Lord's son comes to evaluate me like a prized mare. After that, I'll be shipped off to be someone's wife, to bear children and host dinners and forget I ever knew what the wind feels like." She looked up at him, desperate. "What can I do? What can anyone do against fate like that?"

  Takeshi regarded her silently for a long moment. The Crimson Blade gleamed in the dying light, its edge catching the last rays of sun.

  "I cannot interfere in family matters," he said finally.

  "Then what should I do?" Lian's voice rose, frustration cutting through her despair. "Just accept it? Let them sell me off? Pretend I don't feel the wind calling to me? What would you do?"

  "The only thing we can ever do," Takeshi said, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. "Train."

  Lian stared at him, incredulous. "Train? That's your answer? I just watched you kill five men. I just learned my entire life has been a lie—a gilded cage decorated with false promises and hollow achievements. And your solution is to train?" Her voice rose with each word, trembling with the force of her emotions. She gestured wildly at the empty practice yard around them, at the walls that suddenly seemed to loom closer, at the very air that felt too thick to breathe.

  The absurdity of it struck her like another blow. Here she sat, broken and frightened, her entire world collapsing around her, and this legendary warrior offered nothing but the same routine she'd been following her entire life. As if more forms, more stances, more practice would somehow free her from the prison her parents had constructed.

  "Only through training ourselves can we forge our own path." then he walk out of the courtyard leaving Lian stunned once again.