Note: Previous Chapters were written with Claude 3.5.  These next are under Chat-GPT-o4-mini {cost}

The sun broke through the morning mist like a divine yawn—late, vaguely dramatic, and mostly unhelpful. Shen Mingyue stood at the edge of the martial training terrace, arms crossed and expression bored, while dozens of fresh outer disciples tried to look intimidating with cheap swords and awkward stances.

“Today,” bellowed Instructor Wu—whose voice had the gentle nuance of a landslide—“you will engage in foundational sparring.”

Mingyue barely suppressed a sigh. The words foundational sparring suggested something reasonable and civilized. What actually unfolded looked more like a chaotic weapons expo hosted by over-caffeinated teenagers. Some disciples postured with dramatic weapon flourishes. Others bounced on the balls of their feet, brimming with energy and bad decisions.

“Pair up!” the instructor barked. “Precision and discipline shall be rewarded! Sloppiness will be punished—with bruises.”

Mingyue turned toward Li Mei, ready to volunteer as her safe sparring partner, when a familiar voice cut in.

“I’ll spar with her,” Wei Lun announced. Tall, broad-shouldered, and always one insult away from being publicly suplexed, the Earth-root disciple smirked as he stepped forward. “Let’s see if the genius can fight.”

Mingyue offered him a sweet, unsettling smile. “Why Wei Lun, I didn’t know you were such a fan. Watching my trials that closely—should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Shen Mingyue. Wei Lun. Arena three,” Instructor Wu intoned.

Of course.

She stepped into the circle calmly, brushing back her sleeve out of habit, only to pause. Her needle pouch was tucked safely in her spatial ring. But she didn’t reach for it.

She’d already decided.

No weapons today.

She turned toward her opponent and rolled her shoulders. “No needles this time. I want to see how much damage I can do with just two fingers and a good understanding of muscular architecture.”

Wei Lun blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Oh yes,” she said, stepping into stance. “Let’s test the limits of your deltoid stability.”

The elder called out: “Begin!”

He came at her fast—faster than she’d expected for someone built like a wall. His saber whistled toward her shoulder, a heavy, sweeping arc. But she didn’t dodge.

She stepped inside the arc, twisted, and drove the heel of her palm into his wrist, redirecting the force down and away. With her other hand, she flicked two fingers against the underside of his upper arm—just below the biceps tendon.

“‘Quelling the Dragon Point,’” she murmured. “Excellent for over-excited limbs.”

Wei Lun’s entire right arm spasmed, his grip on the saber loosening instantly. He staggered back, snarling.

“What—what did you—?”

“Anatomy,” she said. “You should try learning it sometime.”

He lunged again, this time aiming low. She leapt, pivoted midair, and drove her knee into his sternum—lightly, but at the precise qi-gathering node just above the solar plexus. The impact sent him crashing backwards, coughing.

The arena fell silent.

Wei Lun groaned, trying to sit up, only to find his left leg twitching uncontrollably.

“Oh,” she said, tilting her head. “I might’ve hit ‘Wandering Soul Gate’ by accident. Awkward.”

Instructor Wu stepped forward, brows raised. “Winner: Shen Mingyue.”

A ripple of murmurs followed her as she stepped off the platform. Some curious. Some uneasy. Some impressed. All watching.

She muttered to herself, “Well, that’s one way to make friends.”

She didn’t get far before a warm pulse flared from beneath her robes.

The egg.

Still nestled in her portable spirit furnace, tucked deep in her layered belt sash. Still glowing faintly.

But now… it throbbed.

And then—

Crack.

She froze mid-step. No one else seemed to notice, but she felt it. Like a ripple of internal qi shifting. Not just warmth now—heat. The kind that sang to her Flame root, rich and instinctive.

She glanced down.

A jagged line split the shell’s surface. A tiny flicker of golden-red mist hissed out like a sulking teapot.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “Not now.”

The egg pulsed again, this time with a faint, indignant squeal. Not audible, but definitely there.

She pressed her hand lightly against it. “Listen, baby bird. Mommy is still under probation and barely passing ‘how to politely bow’ class. Can we wait until I’ve got enough points to buy an actual nest?”

The egg responded with a rhythmic twitch.

Great. It had opinions. And possibly expectations.

Later that night, she climbed the winding path to Jiang Feng’s secluded residence. As always, the mist curled gently around the quiet pavilion, the wards humming low and comforting.

She found him in the garden courtyard, seated on a low cushion beneath a maple tree whose crimson leaves glowed like embers in the starlight.

“You watched,” she said without looking at him as she sat.

“I did,” Jiang Feng replied calmly. “You chose not to use your needles.”

“I wanted to see if I could fold someone in half with two fingers and a bit of qi disruption. Turns out I can.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You also made enemies.”

“I’m used to that. The ER was basically a sect of internal grudges and passive-aggressive hallway glares.”

Jiang Feng gestured toward the low table. A small jade dish sat waiting. Inside were three meticulously sealed packets, each labeled in elegant calligraphy.

She leaned in to examine them:

• Blazeflower Nectar – Essence of flame-rich blossom, distilled during solar convergence.
• Ashplume Seed – Charcoal-black seed said to bond with flame-aligned spirit beasts.
• Char-infused Yolk Gel – A thick golden jelly with a smell that could stun a yak.

Mingyue stared. “Is this… is this fire-bird baby food?”

“Technically, it’s a spirit blend for flame-type avian beasts with latent bloodline traits,” he corrected. “Rare, but not impossible to acquire.”

She picked up the yolk gel, sniffed it, and gagged. “Smells like burnt rubber and regret.”

“High-protein,” he said solemnly.

She grinned. “You really are spoiling me.”

“It’s not for you.”

“Sure, but I have to feed it. And endure the attitude.”

She stored the ingredients into her spatial ring with care. The egg pulsed again beneath her robe, as if sensing its next course was finally on the way.

She looked at Jiang Feng, eyes softening slightly. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head. “You’ve earned it.”

As she stood to leave, she paused. “By the way, the egg may be hatching soon. If it explodes into flame in the dorm, I’ll blame you.”

“If it explodes,” he said dryly, “it’s because it takes after you.”