Yin Shuang stood at the center of this world, an ethereal realm of shifting skies and jagged horizons, shaped by neither time nor wind. A place where silence pressed heavy on the senses and nothing truly lived except steel, spirit and the woman who watched her from afar.
The first time Yin opened her eyes here, she thought she had died. Or perhaps slipped into a dream shaped by madness. But three years had passed, or so the woman said and not once did Yin question the unreality of it.
The woman never gave a name.
She appeared out of the haze when Yin first arrived—clad in pale, flowing robes, eyes masked by a strip of silver cloth, her hair the color of moonlight. Her presence felt less like a person and more like the will of the sword itself, distant, cold, and absolute.
She did not explain where this place was.
She did not explain how the sword had drawn Yin here.
She simply said: "If you wish to live… draw the blade."
And so Yin had.
That was three years ago.
Yin had lost count of how many Qi blades had struck her since.
They came in waves—Qi-forged swords conjured from the void, raining down upon her like heavenly judgment. She had no time to dodge. The only way to survive was to adapt. Block. Parry. Move. Her body learned before her mind could comprehend.
The atacks showed no mercy.
When the Qi swords stopped, the woman would step forward, drawing her own blade with silent grace. They would spar—again and again. And each time, Yin fell. Not from laziness. Not from cowardice. But because the woman fought with precision that bordered on divine.
Yet, she never belittled Yin. Never mocked her failures. She simply corrected them.
"You hesitate before the third form," she once said. "That's when you die."
"Your grip weakens on reverse slashes."
"Too wide on the pivot. Again."
Her voice was soft. Almost gentle. But every word left a mark deeper than any blade.
There was no day or night in this realm. Oly a soft silver mist overhead. Time moved strangely here. Yin felt hunger once, on the second day. Then never again. Her body grew stronger, her mind sharper, her cultivation deeper.
At first, it terrified her.
But soon, the fear faded.
All that remained was the rhythm: train, fall, stand, repeat.
She found a sort of peace in it.
In the real world, she had always been Yin Shuang the orphan. The outcast. The shadow in white robes that bore no light. In the Heavenly Radiance Sect, she was never more than a name, useful, silent, disposable.
But here?
She was steel.
Despite spending three years under the woman's tutelage, Yin had learned little about her. She tried, of course.
"Are you the soul of the sword?" Yin had asked once.
No answer.
"Were you a cultivator once? A warrior?"
Silence.
"Why choose me?"
The woman did not only reply.
And Yin never pushed further.
Then came the day where everything changed.
Yin had just finished a round of sparring, blood dripping from her knuckles, her breaths shallow but steady. She stood taller than she had in months. Her footwork was cleaner, her blade faster. Her cultivation had risen to the Peak of Foundation Establishment, nearly brushing against Core Formation. She had earned every shred of it.
The woman approached, her blade still sheathed. There was something in her voice that felt heavier than usual. Final.
"It is time," she said.
Yin blinked. "Time for what?"
"You've been here three years," the woman replied. "It's time to return."
Yin's heart twisted.
Three years.
It hadn't felt that long—not in here. But outside… everything could be different. Everyone she knew—if they remembered her at all—would believe she had vanished, defected, or died.
"…What will happen to you?" Yin asked quietly.
The woman was silent for a long while. Then:
"This sword is not just a weapon. I exist as part of it."
"Are you trapped?"
The woman turned away. "Irrelevant."
Yin's jaw tightened. "You saved me. You trained me. Why?"
The woman's next words were not cold but sorrowful.
"BThe world you return to is not what it claims to be. The Sect you serve… wears white robes and speaks of purity. But rot clings to its core. And soon, it will fester."
Yin felt a chill roll down her spine.
"You mean… the Heavenly Radiance Sect?"
The woman nodded once. "Not everyone there is what they seem. Trust is a dangerous luxury. You've been given knowledge others would kill to possess. Do not flaunt your power. Do not reveal your growth. Not unless your life depends on it."
Yin swallowed. "…Then why send me back at all?"
The woman's tone shifted—fierce, sharp.
"Because you are not done. You have yet to understand your purpose."
She stepped closer, pressing the hilt of her sword gently into Yin's hands.
"There are evils greater than cowards in white robes. Greater than the scum that you left unconscious near the shrine."
Yin tensed. She remembered him. The senior who had attacked her.
"He is no longer of any threat to you now," the woman said, as if reading her thoughts. "You can end men like him with a single move now. But there are others who walk behind masks. And one day, they will come for you."
Yin met her gaze. "Then let them come."
The woman finally smiled—faint, like a ghost of an expression.
"You've come far, Yin Shuang. But strength is not enough. The sword is yours now. But secrecy will keep you alive."
She held out her hand.
"Swear it."
Yin lowered her gaze and raised her hand.
"I swear. I will not speak of this realm, nor the sword's secret. I will not reveal my cultivation unless I face death. I will not betray what you have given me."
The woman touched her forehead with two fingers. A cold flash passed through Yin's skull, a mark, not of binding, but of remembrance.
"Then go."
The world blurred.
The silver mist around her twisted, collapsing inward. The air grew heavy, then sharp, like the edge of a blade drawn across the skin of reality.
Yin opened her eyes.