Ashes. A promise beyond death

Chapter 9 -Petals and Blades

The morning sun filtered through the wooden lattice windows of the Water Palace, spilling golden light across the polished tiles like a blessing from the heavens. The air was warm, perfumed by cherry blossoms drifting from the trees outside, their petals clinging to the silken drapes like shy messengers of spring.

Yu Bin stood at the edge of the private training ground, arms folded tightly, her delicate brows furrowed in growing irritation. Her embroidered robes—silver threads dancing over pale blue silk—fluttered gently in the breeze, but the wind did little to soothe her fraying patience.

"Master Bao Fang is late," she muttered, tapping her foot in rhythm with her annoyance. The sun had fully risen; birds had begun their serenade; the koi in the garden ponds were already awake. But her teacher? Nowhere.

The past week had been a lesson in endurance—though not the kind she had expected. Her mother had insisted on formal training, claiming that destiny had carved a path for her beyond silk halls and diplomatic smiles. But this path... it felt more like endless hours of silence, breathing exercises, and correction after correction.

Yu Bin had imagined swordplay as elegant as poetry, leaping across rooftops and slicing through wind. Instead, she was taught how to stand, how to hold her spine, how to breathe.

"She's always late," Yu Bin mumbled, her voice tinged with petulance. "It's like she thinks making me wait is part of the training."

A soft sound broke the air—footsteps, measured and unhurried, as though time itself bowed before them.

Bao Fang entered the courtyard with a quiet grace that unsettled everything around her. Clad in simple robes of sky blue, her presence seemed to silence the world. A weathered scabbard rested across her back, its surface worn but revered, like the memory of a forgotten war.

"You've been here ten minutes, Yu Bin," Bao Fang said gently, yet with an edge that felt sharper than any blade. "Impatience is the enemy of discipline."

"You said dawn. This is after dawn."

"I said come prepared. You are not."

Yu Bin opened her mouth to retort, then closed it, biting her tongue.

"This is unfair," she grumbled.

Bao Fang's lips twitched into a faint smile. "War, politics, and fate rarely concern themselves with fairness."

Yu Bin hated how calm she sounded. Always so composed. Like the world could crumble, and she'd still sip tea and offer wisdom.

Reluctantly, she picked up the wooden practice sword beside her—a blade she had come to both respect and despise.

Bao Fang unsheathed her own weapon, stepping into the circle of worn stone with an elegance born of years and sorrow. "Take your stance."

Yu Bin obeyed. Legs apart. Knees bent. Elbows loose. Grip steady.

But Bao Fang circled her like a shadow.

"Too rigid," she said softly. "You're fighting your own body."

"I'm doing exactly what you taught me."

"No. You're trying to remember steps. That is not the same as learning."

Frustration boiled beneath Yu Bin's skin. She had trained every day. Pushed through soreness, endured bruised pride, fought back tears. And yet, it never felt like enough.

They moved through forms, one after another. Bao Fang offered corrections, always minimal, always exact. Her words were never cruel, but they cut through ego with surgeon-like precision.

At one point, Yu Bin stumbled mid-spin, her blade slipping awkwardly from her grip. Heat flooded her cheeks. She snatched it up and turned away, ashamed.

"Enough for today," Bao Fang said.

Yu Bin lowered the sword. Her breath came in shallow bursts.

"You expect everything to come easily," her master continued, not unkindly.

"I've worked hard," Yu Bin said, too quickly.

"You've struggled. That's not the same."

Silence fell.

Bao Fang turned her gaze to the cherry trees lining the yard. Blossoms trembled in the breeze, soft and white.

"When I was your age, I already carried a real blade. Not because I was ready, but because I had no choice. War arrived at our doorstep. The first life I took wasn't a stranger—it was someone I had known. A friend. It still lives with me."

Yu Bin blinked. It was the first time Bao Fang had spoken of her past.

"I don't teach you to kill," she said. "I teach you to choose. There is a difference."

Yu Bin's voice softened. "Why did you agree to train me?"

Bao Fang glanced at her. "Because your mother asked."

"No... really."

The older woman paused. Her gaze softened.

"Because I see fire in you. But it burns in every direction. If I can help you find stillness, perhaps that fire will not consume you."

Yu Bin looked away, throat tight.

Before she could answer, footsteps echoed along the corridor.

A servant bowed low at the gate. "Your Highness. Master. The Crown Prince requests your presence at the east pavilion."

Yu Bin sighed. "Did he say why?"

"No, Your Highness. Only that it was urgent."

Bao Fang's eyes met hers. "Go. Training is not always done with a blade."

Yu Bin gave a short bow, tucking the wooden sword under her arm. As she left the courtyard, her thoughts tangled in quiet knots. There were too many things she didn't understand—about herself, about her master, and about the boy who waited for her now.

---

The east pavilion overlooked the koi lake, where the water shimmered beneath the sky like glass brushed with silver. Dragonflies drifted lazily across the surface, and pale orange koi circled slowly beneath the stone bridge.

Xian Chen stood at the edge of the railing, arms folded, eyes unreadable. The carved dragons of the pavilion curled at his feet, silent sentinels of ancient memory.

Yu Bin approached. "You called for me?"

"You're late," he said.

"I was training."

"Must not have been a productive session if you're this slow."

Her jaw tightened. "What do you want?"

He turned, his gaze locking with hers. "To apologize."

She blinked.

"For calling you annoying. And crazy."

Yu Bin stared at him, searching for the trick in his words. "Is this a game?"

"No. A test."

"What kind of test?"

Xian Chen took a step closer. "To see if you're strong enough to hear the truth."

"What truth?"

"That I wasn't entirely wrong."

Her mouth fell open. "You—!"

"I meant it as a compliment."

"You are the most irritating person I've ever met."

"I know."

A flicker of something passed between them—quick as a breeze, gone before it could be named.

She looked away. Her face was warm.

"Why did you really call me here?"

His expression sobered. "Because Bao Fang is your master now. And because I'll be watching."

"That's... unsettling."

"Then I'm unsettling."

Silence.

Yu Bin sat beside him on the bench, her fingers tracing the wood grain beneath her hand.

"She said I fly in too many directions."

"She's right."

She turned to him, surprised.

"But," he added, voice softer, "that same fire is what draws people to you. And what makes others afraid."

Yu Bin didn't speak. She just listened—to the wind, to the ripples, to the way his words settled like falling petals in her chest.

"Thank you," she said, almost a whisper.

He nodded once.

Then, without ceremony, he turned and walked away, leaving only the echo of footsteps and a thousand unspoken things.

Yu Bin remained seated, eyes on the koi below. Her thoughts swirled like their slow, silent dance—uncertain, endless, beautiful.

In the trees above, Bao Fang stood hidden, watching them both with quiet eyes.

"Fools," she murmured.

But her voice was warm.

And the wind, carrying the scent of blossoms, whispered through the garden like a promise.