The roof of the Lu family courtyard glistened under the moonlight. Tonight, its tiles were only faintly trembling from galeous winds—yet every other roof around its vicinity was stripped of them, but not a single tile from the courtyard of the Lu's flew away, as if there was something holding it together.
But something—someone else, was holding tighter to the tiles of the edge of the Lu's roof. Above its trembling surface is none other than the young master of the Lu's himself. His sleeping gown was flowing gently despite the galeous winds, standing in contrast was his long black hair, thrashing around like hungry snakes. And despite his hair obscuring most of his vision, he didn't hold his hair back, nor will his eyes leave what was before it.
A figure dancing in their courtyard. Accompanying its dance was a shimmering silver sword, held to its right, then to its left—then stabbing ever so simply yet deadly. It suddenly arched, then slashed, leaving an afterimage.
The Lu young master's gaze kept intently on the sword rather than the figure, each and every night he would come to the rooftop to watch the figure dance with the same rhythm, and the same flow whether it be spring, summer, autumn, or winter. And despite tomorrow being his 16th birthday and the most important day of his life, he watched. And in spite of the galeous winds trembling his heart, he released his fingertips from the tiled roof, and rose ever so slowly.
His vision never left the figure's sword that is dancing freely around the courtyard. And like every other night, after the first night, he unsheathed his very own sword, and danced.
With each hand holding the hilt of the sword, he slashed forward. The sword howled alongside the galeous wind that is hindering his right leg from taking a step. But he did. It was the first step of the dance, a probing slash, seeking to measure someone's strength and technique from how they respond to it. But there was no someone. There never was.
His stance faltered, the wind forcing him backward and making him fall much more behind the figure's dance tonight.
His left foot supported the twist of his torso. He stabbed fiercely as his left foot followed. The second step, a fierce stab that uses the information he gathered from his illusionary enemy. But tonight felt different, the winds fought back to his stab, yet he didn't relent as he pushed his sword forward.
A tickle ran down the right side of his brain, an emptiness he never thought was there, revealed itself from him. A welling emotion deep within the depths of his soul, surged as a brilliant light flashed in his eyes.
The third step.
His left hand released his sword, as he deftly pulled the hilt to the side of his neck. His body followed as it descended, squatting till his buttocks were on the ground. Sword and body united at this moment as he leapt forward, becoming an arrow that pierces fearsome winds.
No matter how many sword techniques that he has encountered in manuals or in person, never once did he ever see a sword technique so dreadful yet beautiful as the mysterious figures'.
His feet planted firmly on the roof, then shifted his torso to the right while holding his stance, preparing for the fourth step. A faint inkling of an insight over the mysterious sword technique flashed within his mind.
Tonight, he felt the edges of the root of this emptiness. His frustration over not being able to perfectly mimic the figure's dance tonight, due to the wind, made him near to a threshold he didn't know he had.
He stabbed once again.
The fourth step, the fifth step…the seventh step!
His body flowed tonight despite the raging winds, he felt nature dance with his own rhythm, and everything fell into place. Each time he swung, it was of almost similar cadence to the figures, the stabs were just as deadly but less refined. However, there was still a small gap of emptiness, a lack of something—someone?
The wind forced him back, so he fought back. It couldn't stop him from trying to swing a sword, nothing could. And when his feet was about to cross this threshold—
He saw the shadow figure nearer than ever before. He then tried to mimic the eight step and it clicked.
However, he fell.
The drop was instantaneous as he could imagine. Despite being on the roof and practicing the figure's dance every night, never once did he ever fall down from its edges. But despite his imminent fall, all he could feel is the frustration of losing the breakthrough. His years of trying to perfect the figure's dance were about to pummel.
Still, he gathered his bearings, time slowed down as he processed his fall. This high of a fall would break a limb, and that meant that he might never be able to properly swing a sword anymore. He might as well die than to never be able to wield a sword again. And so in spite of the bleak future flashing within his mind, he shifted his torso once again. His instincts screamed at him for trying to fall face flat to the ground, but he would rather have his heart and skull fractured than to live immobile.
A dull thud reverberated throughout his body. And within a flash, every inch of his flesh and bone clawed at itself.
This must be how it felt being stepped on like an ant.
But just as the pain came. It receded like a tide.
He wanted to know why.
Did he die?
He fiercely pushed his eyelids to open. Only managing to open his left eye, revealing his once clear black pupils, now tainted with red.
He was flat in the ground, with half of his vision covered with their freshly cut grass. But the vision before him spun around. Familiar shrubs and trees dashed around like immortals leaving afterimages, and the earth and heaven reversed.
Still, his vision anchored at something. A shadow, ever so growing bigger. It was the mysterious figure. Darkness loomed over its body, and only did he now notice that the figure had jade-like skin, to which it scooped his back—cradling him like a child.
"Jian…yu?"
The voice came out muddled, like his ears were filled with water.
He tried to glimpse at the face of the mysterious figure, but the world kept spinning and everything slowly faded into chaos. However, a strange feeling of safety encompassed him, making him ultimately succumb.
It was a rather eventful night before the rather supposedly eventful day. Numerous servants and guards of the Lu family were punished tonight, due to their young master being suddenly discovered passed out in the middle of their courtyard by a screaming servant. They didn't know the reason, but seeing him with a sword in his hand, they couldn't help but blame their young master's enthusiasm for the sword. Especially so when despite his pale skin and shallow breath, he was tightly clinging over his beloved sword.
The news didn't bode well for their patriarch, ordering for the event to be covered up; not letting news of it get out of their residence, essentially locking everyone inside before this matter gets resolved.
Tomorrow was supposed to be a case for celebration, it was their young master's awakening ceremony, to which their patriarch has been preparing for a long time, even with his disagreements with his son. It was a bad omen for an accident to happen the night before an important celebration. They were so focused on tomorrow that they didn't see what was before them.
Luckily, the next morning, there weren't thunderous clouds looming over the Lu family courtyard despite the windy weather last night. Especially towards the fact that, apparently, the young master woke up that morning without problems according to their healers. It was as if he just wanted to sleep in the grass rather than his silky sheets.
"Young master…"
Jianyu didn't immediately reply, as he stared blankly over the painting right in front of his bed. It was an ink painting of a sword that was dangling by a thread. It was a rather simple sword without any flair, but it was as if the essence of a sword encompassed it. He loved seeing this painting to the point that he didn't even order his servants to move the painting in the room, he did it himself.
"Come in."
The door opened immediately as if the person behind the door actively waited for this moment.
Jianyu already knew the person before he came in just from the soft yet deep tone. It was his personal servant, Ping'an. His black hair was long and delicate, cascading down like a waterfall, completely unlike Jianyu's wild unruly hair.
Ping'an bowed before saying, "Young master, pardon me for intruding your cultivation."
"You're excused, but I'm no cultivator, yet."
The saying was common in that whenever someone's alone, all sorts of activities, whether that be writing, exercising, or just like Jianyu in which he was simply appreciating a painting, can be determined to be an act of self-cultivation.
That is if you were a cultivator.
"Young master…pertaining to last night's events…"
"I merely slept there last night, the winds felt nice to my skin as I was practicing the sword, and I didn't bother going back to my quarters from exhaustion."
Jianyu lied smoothly. He has already determined that the best course of action was to keep last night's event a secret, and with Ping'an asking about his state, it seems that his father or anyone close to him wasn't the mysterious figure.
As Jianyu mulled over who the mysterious figure was, a slam against the wooden floor resounded beside him. He sharply looked over to see Ping'an kowtowing to him.
"What!?" Jianyu sharply exclaimed. "What are you doing, Ping'an? Stop it this instant and stand!"
But his servant wasn't responding at all and kept kowtowing hard to the ground. Never once did he see Ping'an kowtow to the ground, not even when he made mistakes in serving him. Although he was his servant, Ping'an was more like a brother to him more than anything else, so it filled him with rage seeing him doing such a pathetic display.
"Who is it that is making you do this?! Was it father!? Have I not made it clear to him that—"
"No young master!" Ping'an said. "It was my fault I wasn't by your side that night. If I didn't go out last night with Rouxian, this would have never happened. It's all my fault that your awakening ceremony might be delayed—"
"Delayed!? What do you mean delayed? I have been waiting for this moment since last night. That's why I couldn't sleep!"
"Yes young master," Ping'an bowed, but only so little that his face wasn't shown, "the patriarch deemed the incident a bad omen, and has ordered the servants to halt all preparations this morning and proceed for tomorrow instead."
Jianyu's awakening ceremony being delayed was something he could not accept. He couldn't wait any day longer to finally be able to cultivate, and a day passing after his ceremony can slowly become his heart demon. Whether he can awaken or not.
The awakening ceremony was the most important part of one's life. Even though his father and mother weren't cultivators, giving him little to no chances of gaining an affinity to cultivation, he wanted to take his chances and he wasn't going to just stand here and do nothing about it. He wasn't just going to accept the fact that his ceremony would become a ceremonial tradition.
"Ping'an!"
"Yes young master?"
"Inform father that I am in perfect condition," Jianyu grabbed his sword that was laid at his bedside table. "And the ceremony must proceed or else…"