The arena was alive with anticipation as the crowd settled from the previous match. The morning sun had climbed higher as Xue Lan stood at the edge of the stone, her blue and white robes fluttering in the breeze, her misty blue eyes calmly observing her opponent. Across from her, Ye Ling of the Blood Moon Sect adjusted the twin daggers at his belt, his movements smooth and silent. He was young—barely older than Xue Lan herself—but his reputation for stealth and illusion was known far and wide.
The referee raised his hand.
"Xue Lan of the Heavenly Demonic Sect versus Ye Ling of the Blood Moon Sect. Begin!"
Xue Lan bowed, her hands resting lightly at her sides. Ye Ling returned the gesture, a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips. The moment the referee stepped back, Ye Ling vanished—not in a blur, but as if he had melted into the air itself.
The crowd gasped. Xue Lan's eyes widened. She had not expected such speed or subtlety. She inhaled deeply, grounding herself in the present, and waited patiently.
Then an almost silent whisper in the air—the faintest rustle of fabric.
Xue Lan spun around, her sword raised to block, but nothing was there. Instead, from the other side, a faint glimmer of steel arched in the air. She leapt back, narrowly avoiding the slash of a dagger. Ye Ling materialized for a heartbeat, then dissolved again, his laughter echoing strangely.
"You're quick," his voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "But can you see through my mist?"
As if answering his call, a blood-red mist began to rise from the stone, swirling around Xue Lan's feet. It thickened rapidly, filling the arena with a crimson haze. The scent—sharp and metallic, like blood and old incense—filled her nostrils. The world around her blurred, the crowd's voices muffled as if being heard through water.
Xue Lan's heart pounded rapidly. She had heard of the Blood Moon Sect's unpredictability and trickery, but experiencing them was something else entirely. The mist coiled around her, and suddenly, the arena was gone.
She stood in a forest at twilight, the trees towering and unfamiliar. The ground beneath her feet was soft with snow, the cold air heavy with the scent of wet earth and pine. Everything felt so real and alive.
A child's laughter echoed through the woods.
Xue Lan's gasped. It was a memory—her own, dredged up from the depths of her mind. She was a child again, lost and afraid, searching for her family in this endless winter. The laughter came again, closer this time. She turned, and there, between the trees, she saw herself as a little girl, eyes wide with fear.
"You're lost," the child whispered. "You'll never find your way home. Your parents left you because you were a burden."
Xue Lan's chest tightened. This was not just an illusion—it was her own fear, her own trauma, turned against her. The mist thickened, and the child's laughter turned mocking. The world around here becoming a daze.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down.
"This is not real. This is not real." She chanted repeatedly, trying to rid herself of the rising emotions.
Her eyes snapped open, freeing herself from the memory. But there was no time to rest, as three figures emerged from the mist—Ye Ling, each identical, each holding twin daggers. They moved in perfect unison, their steps silent, their eyes cold and calculating.
They circled her like vultures, their daggers flashing in the dim light. Xue Lan backed away, her countless hours of training kicking in. She had to find the real Ye Ling—but how? The illusions were perfect, the mist disorienting.
The first clone lunged. Xue Lan sidestepped, her sword deflecting the dagger. The second attacked from behind, and she twisted, barely avoiding the blade. The third feinted, then slashed low and towards her legs. Xue Lan leapt, her robes flowy as she spun in midair.
She landed lightly, her breath growing faster. The clones did not pause. They attacked again, their movements fluid and precise, their daggers a blur.
Xue Lan focused, recalling her master's words:
"When faced with illusion, trust your instincts. The mind can be fooled, but the heart knows the truth."
She closed her eyes again, calming her nerves. She could hear the clones' footsteps, but there was something else—a heartbeat, faint but steady. She focused on that sound, letting it guide her.
The clones charged towards her again and attacked as one. Xue Lan moved, her body flowing like water. She dodged the first dagger, parried the second with her blade, and swept her leg out, tripping the third. The clone dissolved into mist, revealing it was an illusion.
Two remained. They circled her, their daggers flashing. Xue Lan feinted left, then struck right, the hilt of her sword connecting with the clone's chest. It, too, vanished into the mist.
Only one was left—the real Ye Ling. He grinned, his daggers twirling.
"Impressive, as expected from a disciple of the Demon Lord. But the mist is still with you."
The red haze thickened, and the forest returned. Xue Lan found herself back in the memory, the child's laughter echoing around her. The fear was overwhelming—the fear of being lost, of being alone.
She clenched her fists.
"I am not that child anymore."
She focused on the sound of Ye Ling's heartbeat, letting it anchor her. The forest wavered, the mist thinning for a moment. She saw Ye Ling—just a shadow, but real.
He lunged, his daggers flashing. Xue Lan sidestepped, her hand striking out in a precise counter. Ye Ling twisted, his qinggong carrying him effortlessly out of reach. He landed lightly, then vanished again, his laughter echoing, taunting her.
The mist swirled, and the clones returned—four this time, each indistinguishable from the real Ye Ling. They attacked from all sides, their daggers a whirlwind of steel and deceit.
Xue Lan moved with grace and precision, her body a blur as she dodged and countered. She swung her sword, the blade ripping through one clone's arm and cutting open another clone's stomach. They dissolved into the red mist as two remained. Unfazed, another clone slashed at her arm, drawing a thin line of blood. She gritted her teeth and pressed on.
The mist thickened again, and the memory returned—stronger this time. Xue Lan was a child, shivering in a cave, the night closing in and a blizzard raging outside. The fear and cold was paralyzing. She could hear her own fading heartbeat, loud in her ears.
As her eyelids grew heavier, a figure approached her, his expression one of empathy and sadness.
"How cruel, to think they would abandon a young child in this weather. Heartless Orthodox bastards."
She recognized him, it was her savior and master, Mo Yanluo. It was their first encounter that changed her grim fate.
He carefully picked her up in his arms, using his Qi to warm her body and heal her frostbitten limbs.
"Why don't you join me and be my disciple? It'll be better than freezing to death in this nameless cave."
Xue Lan nodded weakly as he carried her away, sheltering her from the pelting snow.
She closed her eyes, letting the memory wash over her. She accepted the fear, the loneliness, the pain. And embraced the warmth and kindness of her master.
The mist wavered. The clones flickered. She could see Ye Ling now—his heartbeat, his breath, his presence. He was real, and she was ready.
Ye Ling lunged, his daggers flashing. Xue Lan moved, her body light as a feather. She dodged the first dagger, parried the second, and struck out with a precise slash Ye Ling twisted, his qinggong carrying him out of reach, but Xue Lan had predicted it.
She feinted left, then struck right, the hilt of her sword connecting with his chest. Ye Ling staggered back, his eyes wide with surprise. The mist thinned, the clones dissolving into nothingness.
Xue Lan advanced, her movements calm and deliberate. Ye Ling recovered quickly, his daggers dancing in the air as he countered. They traded blows, their movements a blur of steel and silk. The crowd watched in awe, the arena silent but for the clash of their weapons.
Ye Ling leapt back and threw his one of his daggers toward her. Xue Lan deflected the attack, but Ye Ling lunged again, faster this time—aiming at the lapse in her defense. Fortunately, she twisted sideways and avoided a crippling blow, as the dagger tore through her robes, biting deep into her arm, causing blood to spill out.
However, Xue Lan ignored the burning pain and swung her sword again, the sharp edge aiming to decapitate Ye Ling. It was too late for him to block or dodge, but the sword stopped right before reaching his neck.
He collapsed to the ground, panting, sweat running down his face, but his eyes wide were with respect.
"You… you saw through the mist. I admit defeat."
Xue Lan nodded, her chest rising and falling with exertion.
"I faced my fear. And I overcame it."
The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers echoing across the arena. The referee announced Xue Lan's victory, and she turned to leave, her heart light with triumph.
The memories and trauma that she had locked away had resurfaced and lingered on her mind—the cold and unforgiving blizzard, the cruelty of her abandonment, but most importantly the unconditional warmth and tenderness that her master showed her that day despite being strangers.
As she exited the arena, she caught sight of her master, Mo Yanluo, watching from the stands. He waved his hand, a wide smile plastered on his face. Xue Lan bowed her head in gratitude, then joined her fellow disciples, ready for the challenges yet to come.