Before the sun touched the stone paths of the inner courtyard, Liang Yue was already in motion. Her nine-year-old frame moved with quiet precision—fluid, sharp, each strike and turn practiced to the edge of perfection. She had trained for three years now, and though her body still ached, she no longer allowed it to slow her.
Her cloth-wrapped fingers were raw, specks of blood seeping through the linen as she struck the wooden post with relentless focus. She did not wince. She did not pause.
From the shadow of a balcony above, Liang Zhen, the eldest sibling and a decorated army general, watched in silence. His uniform, crisp even off duty, caught the morning light, but his expression was gentle.
"She's getting faster," he murmured.
Liang Mei stood beside him, her long braid swaying as she leaned against the carved railing. Her eyes were calm, thoughtful. "She's pushing herself too far. But Mother won't stop her—not when the bloodline is stirring."
Zhen's jaw tightened. "Neither will Father."
The Liang family breakfast was a gathering of subtle power. Around the long rosewood table, the family assembled beneath the filtered light of hand-carved window screens. The scent of steamed dumplings, jasmine tea, and fresh herbs filled the hall, but so too did the quiet charge of legacy.
Liang Fei, second-born and CEO of the family's conglomerate, arrived fashionably late. Sleek in his tailored suit, tablet in hand, he slid into the seat beside Yue with a lopsided grin.
"Yue Yue," he said casually, "I saw the footage. Nice kick this morning. But don't hyperextend your wrist—again."
Yue blushed. "Yes, second brother."
Across the table, her twin brother Liang Jin laughed mid-bite. "She only looked fast because I tripped on purpose."
"You tripped over your own feet," Yue shot back, smirking.
"Semantics."
Liang Mei chuckled softly. "Eat before Father arrives—or before Ran wakes up and empties the table."
As if summoned, a small yawn echoed from the corridor. Liang Ran shuffled in, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes. She climbed into Mei's lap, reaching for a bun with tiny, determined fingers.
Ran's powers hadn't manifested yet, but there were signs—sharp instincts, odd dreams. The family treated her with tenderness and quiet caution. At four, she had once pointed at a smiling servant who was later caught spying.
Their mother arrived next—Lady Liang, regal in crimson silk. Her expression was unreadable, poised and commanding. Her eyes swept the room and landed briefly on Yue. In that fleeting glance, something silent passed between them.
Then came the slow, purposeful steps of Liang Tian, the patriarch. Clad in a dark changshan with silver phoenix embroidery—a mark of his honored place in the bloodline—he entered without a word. His presence, though he held no power himself, quieted the room.
"Good morning, my children," he said.
The siblings echoed greetings. Even Fei looked up from his device.
Tian's gaze settled on Yue. "I heard you broke three sparring posts this week."
"Only two, Father," Yue replied quickly.
He smiled, nodding once. "Control is strength. Temper your fire with patience, and you'll become more than a weapon."
As he passed behind her, he added quietly, "Even strong roots must learn when to bend, my little moon."
Later, Yue wandered back to the garden. She unwrapped her bandages, touched the bruises blooming along her palm. A memory rose, sharp and vivid—
Three years ago, she had stood trembling in this very courtyard. It was the day after her sixth birthday, and tradition dictated the beginning of training. Her mother knelt before her, smoothing her hair.
"You will hurt," Lady Liang had said. "You will bleed. But you will survive. Because one day, someone will try to take what belongs to us."
Yue had nodded. Even when she fell, even when pain made her retch, she did not cry. Her father had watched from the window, pride and sorrow warring in his eyes.
A twig snapped behind her.
"You're favoring your left again," Zhen said, stepping into view.
Yue turned, wiping her palm with her sleeve. "I'm fixing it."
He handed her a cold cloth. "Your strikes are strong, but your rhythm's too easy to read. Predictability gets you killed."
She hesitated. "Do you think I'm strong enough?"
Zhen knelt so they were eye-level. "Strength isn't in how hard you hit. It's in getting back up when you fall."
From the house, chaos echoed—Jin arguing over stolen buns, Ran giggling, Mei's voice scolding both.
Yue's lips twitched into a smile. "We're a strange family."
Zhen rose, chuckling. "Strange? Definitely. But strange keeps us alive."
Yue turned to face the sun now rising high. Her fingers brushed over her knuckles, and beneath her skin, she felt it—something deep and old, coiled in her blood, waiting.
She was Liang Yue, bearer of the Fourth Bloodline.
And this was only the beginning.