Lu Yin stepped out his room, the cool air brushing against his face as he wandered aimlessly through the outpost Wang Xuance had so intricately built. With each quiet step, the weight of life softened, and he let the wind carry him wherever it pleased.

  Eventually, his path led him to a secluded courtyard. The stone was cold beneath his feet, and the sky above had turned deep with twilight—stars already beginning to blink through the stillness.

  He walked slowly, head tilted toward the heavens, lost in thought.

  Then—

  Swoosh.

  A sharp gust of wind swept through the space, tugging at his robes.

  Lu Yin paused mid-step.

  His heart beat once as he shifted his gaze to a new scene in front of him.

  Under the open night sky, a girl danced.

  Her long black hair flowed with the breeze, each spin and step like water weaving through moonlight. Graceful. Controlled. Bold, yet elegant. Her movements weren’t just beautiful—they were alive. Each one seemed to speak a language of its own.

  Something stirred deep inside Lu Yin. Something wordless. Something forgotten.

  Before he realized it, his hand moved.

  Fingers brushed over the flute at his waist—the dizi. He didn’t think. He simply felt. And he began to play.

  From the shadows, his melody joined her dance.

  A soft note. Then another.

  His music fell into rhythm with her movements. It wasn’t a performance—it was connection. A silent, perfect harmony between two souls who had never met.

  The girl looked up.

  She couldn’t see his face—only a silhouette half hidden by the dark.

  But she didn’t stop.

  She couldn’t.

  The music held her, pulled her forward. She moved in tandem with the rich sound, guided by the powerful emotion in every note.

  And Lu Yin—he poured everything into that melody. His grief, his longing, his wonder.

  He let everything out through the music.

  The courtyard blurred. The wind faded. Time slowed.

  As if the world was shifting to their distant duet, everything felt closer, more real.

  The stars shone brighter, the wind blew stronger—and in that fleeting moment, the world belonged to no one but them.

  Then—silence.

  Lu Yin stopped, realization catching his breath.

  What was that? What am I doing? He stepped back, his instincts returning. Without a word, he slipped into the shadows, disappearing just as quietly as he’d come.

  The girl remained still, the song still echoing in her chest.

  She took a step forward, wanting to chase the sound.

  But stopped.

  A single tear.

  And then another.

  The girl blinked, startled. She hadn’t cried in years.

  She had thought it was something she could no longer do.

  Lu Yin left the courtyard quickly, uncertain if the girl dancing would try to follow. When he finally reached a quiet space, tucked behind a storage hall near the edge of the outpost, he sat down and slowed his breathing.

  Why did I play my dizi like that? Did I really… get caught up in her dance? Her movements?

  He closed his eyes, trying to replay it in his mind—the way she moved.

  Like water.

  Fluid, deliberate. Each step flowed into the next, neither rushed nor slow. Graceful. Controlled. And somehow… powerful.

  Then something clicked.

  Lu Yin recalled the words he said before: “If I’m going to fight… I want my style to be controlled. Precise. Lethal—if necessary.”

  The words he had once spoken returned to him with new weight.

  This… this is how I can do it!

  Lu Yin rose to his feet, his mind alight. He began mimicking her steps from memory—at first clumsily, then more fluidly. He didn’t try to copy her art. He translated it.

  Turning flow into footwork. Evasion into stance. Rhythm into readiness.

  He moved without thinking—no sword in hand, just his body tracing patterns across the stone.

  The more he lost himself, the more he felt something stirring inside him. And when he was completely immersed—

  The wind shifted.

  A breeze stirred, wrapping softly around him. Eight leaves, caught by the wind, descended in a perfect circle around his feet.

  Lu Yin stilled.

  His breath caught as a voice echoed within him—his own voice, yet not spoken aloud:

  Eightfold Trigram Path

  He froze.

  What… what was that? Those words—they came from me… but not from my thoughts. Why did they feel so real?

  Lu Yin had many questions but no answers. He only knew one thing. Something had changed.

  He felt it in his chest, in his spine, in the very center of his being. As if a door had opened—one he hadn’t known existed. He felt… aligned.

  Complete.

  His hand curled unconsciously at his side.

  These movements… they aren’t just improvisation anymore. They’re becoming form. They’re becoming foundation.

  Lu Yin pondered on the words that he had heard in his mind.

  Eightfold Trigram Path?

  A memory surfaced—an old book he once read, something his master Renfu had given him.

  The Eight Trigrams.

  Symbols used to explain the natural world. Cycles. Balance. Transformation. Each representing a different force of nature.

  He thought of the girl’s dance again—fluid, shifting, evasive yet potent.

  That movement was like the nature of water.

  A name to describe his new fighting stance came to him clearly now. Not forced. Not chosen. Discovered.

  “Kan,” he whispered to the night. Not a name he gave—but one the world had been waiting for him to remember.

  On the other hand, Lu Yang—true to form—had gotten himself lost within the outpost.

  “Where in the world am I?” he muttered, glancing around the unfamiliar halls.

  He had set out to find the training grounds, but his path had twisted and curved through corridors that grew quieter and colder the farther he went. Eventually, he found himself standing before a stone stairwell that descended into darkness.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  An entrance to an underground wing of the outpost.

  “Huh…” He scratched his head. “This definitely doesn’t look like anywhere I’m supposed to be.”

  Still, something about it pulled at him. A low, hollow draft drifted up the stairs, cool against his skin. The air was thicker down here—damp, quiet, and still.

  The stairwell was dim, lit only by old torches along the narrow stone walls. The flames crackled faintly, casting shifting shadows across the walls that seemed to dance just outside his vision.

  Every step he took echoed louder than the last.

  “Maybe I should turn around,” he muttered. “This place definitely isn’t for training...”

  He was just about to turn back—when he heard it.

  A sound.

  Faint. Guttural. Low.

  A growl.

  Lu Yang froze.

  It was far, but close enough to send a chill up his spine. A growl not born from anger—but pain. The sound of something wounded… and breathing.

  His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

  He should leave.

  He knew he should leave.

  But instead, his feet moved forward.

  Excitement prickled at his chest. Curiosity, fear, and something else—something deeper. Like something was waiting for him.

  Calling him.

  Lu Yang continued forward until finally—he saw it.

  A single cage—towering and rusted, chained together by several locks.

  And inside—eyes.

  Bright yellow eyes shined, and Lu Yang could see the beast caged inside. The tiger’s breath rolled from behind the grate, low and guttural, filled with pain.

  “A tiger? Why is it locked up in such a secluded place? And it looks like it’s dying.”

  Seeing the tiger in such a state tugged at Lu Yang’s heart for a reason he couldn’t explain. That pain. That suffering. Lu Yang somehow related to the feeling.

  The tiger lay almost lifeless when it finally noticed Lu Yang’s presence. The tiger slowly rose, baring its teeth. Lu Yang slowly came closer, completely calm, feeling connected to the beast.

  When the tiger finally locked eyes with Lu Yang, something shifted.

  The beast’s low growl faltered—just for a second. Its eyes, once dulled by pain and confinement, seemed to flicker with something else.

  Recognition.

  Not of a person… but of something deeper.

  Of spirit.

  The tiger bared its fangs weakly, but didn’t lunge. It didn’t roar. It simply stared—like it saw itself reflected in Lu Yang’s gaze.

  A soul caged.

  Lu Yang took another step forward, slow and steady. His hand left the hilt of his sword. He didn’t need it.

  “You’re not angry,” he whispered. “You’re just tired… like me.”

  He knelt beside the cage, lowering his posture so the tiger didn’t feel challenged. Just watching. Just breathing. The silence between them was heavy, yet strangely calm.

  Then—

  The tiger moved.

  It stood—shakily at first, its legs trembling. Wounds marked its hide, and its ribs showed from days without proper care. But the fire in its eyes had returned.

  It growled again. This time not in pain—but defiance.

  And slowly… it approached the bars. One heavy step after another, until it stood just inches from Lu Yang, staring directly into him.

  And then—

  It lifted its paw.

  Slow. Deliberate.

  Pressing it softly—against the bars, against Lu Yang’s hand on the other side.

  Lu Yang’s eyes widened.

  A strange warmth surged through him, spreading from his chest out to his limbs. His muscles tensed. His breath caught.

  The flame inside him... awakened.

  A pulse.

  The air shifted.

  CRACK!

  Without warning, the cage groaned—the locks shuddering violently. A rush of energy burst from Lu Yang’s body, wild and untamed. Like Qi itself had answered the tiger’s roar inside him.

  The metal bindings snapped.

  The chains fell.

  The cage door swung open with a thunderous creak.

  The tiger didn’t bolt.

  It stepped forward, slowly—shoulder brushing against Lu Yang as it passed. Silent. Proud. Alive.

  From the hallway behind—shouts.

  Soldiers.

  The tiger turned, raising its head. It crouched low in a battle stance, its muscles rippling like drawn bowstrings. Its breathing slowed. It became still. The tiger looked back at Lu Yang one time as if saying farewell.

  Lu Yang somehow understood.

  “Go. You weren’t born to be caged… be free.”

  Then—

  It moved.

  Explosive.

  Controlled chaos.

  It ran like lightning, claws barely grazing the soldiers as it passed but enough to show dominance. It didn’t kill. It didn’t need to.

  And as Lu Yang watched while shadowing behind, everything clicked.

  That stance. That presence. That fury held back by precision. That was his fighting style.

  Not reckless. Not wild.

  A predator with purpose.

  The feeling within him surged again.

  Symbols burned into his mind—four glowing marks.

  Four Fangs.

  He didn’t know how he knew the name.

  But it was his.

  The tiger was too fast for Lu Yang—or any of the soldiers chasing after him.

  Soon, it vanished into the trees beyond the outpost walls, free at last. One final roar echoed across the mountains, shaking the air like a farewell.

  Lu Yang stood still, staring into the distance, breath steady. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from clarity.

  A small smile touched his lips.

  “Yin… I’ve found my way now.”

  Lu Yang quickly ran from the scene before the soldiers could figure out it was him who freed the tiger.

  Time had passed quickly, and he knew it was about time to meet with the squad for the strategy meeting. He struggled, but eventually found the way to the room he and Yin were assigned to.

  Excited to tell Yin everything that had just happened, he ran toward the room—only to see Yin running too. And when they finally met at the door:

  “Yin! You won’t believe what just happened.”

  “Yang! You won’t believe what just happened.”

  In perfect sync, the brothers spoke at the same time, both eager to share their experience.

  They laughed, both happy at the new, unknown feeling inside them.

  Yin cut in, “Let’s go inside first, then you can tell me what happened.”

  After they got inside, Yang immediately spoke, “Did something good happen to you too, brother?”

  “I can’t quite tell if it’s good or not, Yang, but something definitely happened. Something big.”

  “It’s the same for me! I feel different somehow.” They were about to continue their conversation further when they heard the door—

  Knock… Knock.

  Lu Yin glanced at the door, still riding the energy of his moment with Yang.

  “That must be the general,” he said, walking over.

  He pulled the door open—

  And froze.

  Standing in the doorway was a girl with long black hair tied neatly behind her shoulders, dressed in an elegant but practical deep green uniform. Her posture was confident, but relaxed. Her presence… striking.

  Her face.

  Lu Yin’s eyes widened slightly—recognition washing over him in silence.

  It was her.

  The girl from the courtyard.

  The dancer beneath the stars.

  “You two are already behind schedule,” she said with a faint smirk. “My father sent me to drag you back before the general does it himself.”

  Lu Yang blinked. “Your father?”

  She turned her gaze toward him, tone even. “Wang Hua. Daughter of Strategist Wang Xuance.”

  “I see now. Well, I’m Lu Yang. We’re new soldiers directly training under the general. This is my brother, Yin.”

  Lu Yin still hadn’t said a word.

  Wang Hua tilted her head slightly, as if amused by his silence. “Is something wrong?”

  Lu Yin quickly regained composure, forcing a polite nod. “No. Let’s not keep your father waiting.”

  Wang Hua’s gaze lingered on him for a half-second longer than necessary—something flickering behind her eyes. Then she turned briskly.

  “Follow me.”

  The brothers followed as she led them through the outpost.

  Lu Yang quickly nudged his brother as they trailed behind. “Yin, what was that? Did seeing a beautiful girl really make you freeze up like that?”

  “No. I’ll explain later.”

  “Okay, you better. Also, quit staring before you scare her,” Lu Yang teased.

  “Shut it, Yang, before she hears you.”

  Yang laughed and left him alone for now. He caught up to Wang Hua, starting some small talk.

  She’s really Wang Xuance’s daughter?

  That dance and song… she doesn’t know it was me, right?

  Lu Yin’s thoughts continued nonstop with his head down. He sounded everything out without even realizing it.

  He was so deep in thought that he didn’t realize his brother and Wang Hua had stopped in front of him, reaching the place of the meeting.

  Thud.

  He walked straight into her.

  Wang Hua turned, amusement on her face.

  Lu Yin stiffened. “I—uh—sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” She gave him a slow once-over, her eyes sharp yet sparkling with mischief. “Aren’t you two training under the general? I thought his students would at least have some better reflexes.”

  Lu Yang chuckled, not missing this rare opportunity to tease his brother. “Hmm, he usually has the best reflexes. You alright, Yin? You’ve been a little off since you saw her.”

  Yin shot a cold look at his brother, already thinking of a way to hit him.

  “Oh really?” Wang Hua raised an eyebrow, then stepped forward confidently, closing the distance between her and Lu Yin.

  She tilted her head slightly, gaze locked onto Lu Yin’s with a slight grin. “Did I do something? Is there a reason I’m making you nervous?”

  Lu Yin gathered himself. He didn’t blink and met her gaze, voice steady, “I don’t get nervous. I was thinking of something important to discuss with the general. Let’s head into the meeting.”

  Wang Hua’s grin didn’t fade, but her voice softened just slightly.

  “Thinking, huh?” she mused. “I’ll believe you this time.”

  She stepped past him, but as she did, she reached out and gave a gentle flick to his forehead with two fingers—just a light tap.

  “Next time, don’t walk into a lady like she’s invisible,” she said with a smirk, her voice soft but teasing.

  Then she turned on her heel and kept walking, her pace unhurried.

  Lu Yin blinked, more surprised by the gesture than the words. He stood there a moment, brushing his fingers over the spot where she flicked him.

  Lu Yin watched her go, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

  So, this is the girl capable of such a beautiful dance.

  As the brothers stepped into the strategy hall, the atmosphere shifted.

  The general, Wang Xuance, and the four lieutenants were seated around a large, map-covered table—mid-discussion. But the moment Lu Yin and Lu Yang entered, the entire room fell into silence.

  A heavy silence.

  Not the kind born from awkwardness—but the kind born from realization.

  All eyes turned toward them. Not in casual greeting—but with something more intense. Something knowing.

  Lu Yang blinked. “Uh… is something wrong?”

  Even Wang Hua looked confused. “Why did everyone just go silent?”

  Her father, Wang Xuance, raised a hand—signaling her to hold her questions.

  He rose slowly, eyes fixed on the brothers. Then he smiled—small, approving.

  “You’ve really outdone yourself, Lushan,” Xuance said. “To think you would find such talent… and awaken it this quickly.”

  Lu Yang tilted his head. “What are you all talking about? What talent? What’s happening?”

  Lu Yin glanced around, noticing the energy in the room—the way every gaze lingered. The subtle shift in the energy around him.

  He exhaled slowly. “It must be what we experienced earlier,” he said calmly. “Let them explain.”

  Suddenly, a booming laugh erupted from the center of the room.

  “To think it already happened,” An Lushan said, rising from his seat. “I knew you had the potential. I just didn’t expect it to bloom this fast.”

  Li Yi leaned back with a quiet smile, eyes on Lu Yin. “I knew something had changed. I felt it before you even walked in. Figures it’d be you, Yin.”

  Yin Zhongkan grunted in approval. “Their Qi—it’s changed. Deeper. Sharper. As if their very essence has taken form.”

  Shi Siming leaned forward, arms crossed with a wide grin. “Feels like the two of you finally figured it out. I could sense the pressure the moment you stepped in.”

  Liu Fang spoke up last, adjusting his glasses. “No doubt about it. They’ve awakened their Soulprints.”

  Lu Yang’s eyes widened. “Soulprints?”

  An Lushan stepped forward, his voice firm yet proud.

  “You’ve taken your first step into what separates a soldier from a master. Your Soulprint—the Qi of your very soul—has awakened.”

  He looked between the two brothers, the fire in his gaze burning bright.

  “You’ve both entered a path that few even touch in their lifetimes. From this point on, your strength will no longer come just from your training… but from who you are.”

  Wang Xuance folded his hands behind his back, his tone calm but intrigued. “And I must admit… I’m curious to see what form that strength will take.”

  An Lushan smiled and gestured to the seats beside him.

  “Sit. The lesson begins now.”