Wei narrowed his eyes. What the hell was the child in front of him talking about?

“You say you’re aiming for my trust. What exactly do you want my trust with?”

Xue perked up, placing a hand against her chest. “Matters involving the sect!”

Wei felt a vein in his forehead swell up, close to bursting. He leaned forward, slapping the table. “And how do you even know we have a sect?!”

“Well...” Xue glanced to the side... “you kinda confirmed it just now, Grandpa.”

Ridiculous! She knew nothing! She was a frog in a well, begging for swan meat!

--brazenly asking to be a DIRECT disciple?!

She was nowhere near qualified! Her every motion was clumsy and awkward. Even at a glance, he could tell she’d never been trained or tested in combat. She didn’t even know a single movement from the Eternal Sun sect’s basic forms.

The process of transforming her from a lump of clay into a martial artist would be long and arduous.

...The men of the family wanted nothing to do with it.

So why the hell was she so confident?

“First,” Wei said, “all the reasons you presented for me to trust you... are also reasons why I should not.”

“O... oh,” Xue said. Her expression fell along with the strength of her voice.

“Furthermore,” Wei continued, “Consider how distant we’re related. Your mother, Yan Bai, is from a branch family. And I am her... great grand-uncle.”

Xue paused... furrowing her brows, deep in thought. She splayed out her fingers and tapped her fingertips.

“...So what does that make me?”

Wei took a deep breath.

Indeed... What did that make her?

“I permit you to call me ‘grandfather’ as you have been,” he waved.

He smiled wryly before adding, “Your... bravado deserves at least that much.

Xue clapped her hands together, “So when can we start training?”

Wei sighed. He almost wiped some of the spilled tea with his sleeve before remembering he wasn’t 20 anymore.

“Xiaoxue,” he said.

“Grandpa!” Xue said happily.

Hm.

She was a strange child, but... hearing the emotion attached to being called ‘grandpa’ was...

--it was frustrating. Why didn’t any of his actual grandchildren call for him like that?

“You’ll receive basic training, for now,” he said... “But don’t expect too much, Xiaoxue. Even if I bring you into sect matters, the women of the Song family are not valued for their martial strength. They’re valued by the prospective political gains of their marriages.”

Upon saying it aloud, Wei realized how dated the notion was.

Why had he been so insistent on supporting his sons when they’d only grown to be cowards and weaklings?

If his daughters or granddaughters revealed even half the courage of Xiaoxue, why wouldn’t he allow them to cultivate?

“That’s perfectly fine with me!” Xue grinned, “Then I’ll marry the most powerful man in Archangel and make him fall so in love with me that he’ll never betray our family!”

“Ha?”

“We’ll have three kids, two boys and one girl. I have a list of names-- oh. But one of them’s gonna have to be Wei-- or Raymond? That’s your English name, right, Grandpa?”

“What?”

She was right, but that wasn’t the problem.

“Oh, should I do the bowing thing?” Xue asked.

She stood up and knelt down on the floor.

Even with all of Wei’s martial training, he remained stunned in his seat as Xiaoxue tried to kowtow.

He winced at the dull smack of her forehead against the uncarpeted floor.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

She didn’t need to do that. He hadn’t accepted her as his disciple, nor was he planning to. But among other things, Xiaoxue was sincere. On that account alone, he could accept a bow of familial piety.

“Xiaoxue?”

Strange.

Wei stood up to look over his desk. And he confirmed that the child had... knocked herself unconscious.

He sighed before buzzing the intercom on his desk. “(Secretary Fu, take Xiaoxue to rest.)” He glanced at his desk before adding, “(And bring in some paper towels.)”

Despite the whirlwind of madness that was his granddaughter... for the first time in weeks, Wei looked forward to the coming days.

----------------------------------------

A woman stirred awake. She kept her eyes closed, extending her senses.

She was in an unfamiliar bed. No one else in the room.

She sat up, observing her surroundings.

The bed and its effects, incomparably luxurious.

--and soft... and comfortable.

She would have loved to sleep in, but the prospect of not knowing where she was--

Ah.

She couldn’t recall who she was, either... but that notion didn’t concern her much. It did, however, annoy her greatly.

The room was appropriate for royals or foreign dignitaries; patterned wooden walls, a red-and-gold rug with a dizzying level of intricacy... cute vase with a single pink flower atop the bedside table.

Whoever was keeping her at least kept her well.

���� tossed off her covers and got to her feet.

...She was light. Judging by her hands, she was young.

She moved her arms and legs, punching and kicking at the air. Her balance was off. Her core muscles were weak. Her hands-- they lacked callouses. Her arms were... frustratingly soft.

She undid her cloth belt to inspect her body.

No injuries... nor even scars.

How, then, had she become so weak?

She fixed her robes, sensing the approach of a warrior-- a source of answers.

His attire was peculiar... a black jacket, trousers, and an odd neckband. And when he spoke... she didn’t understand a damn thing he said.

���� groaned before reciting an incantation. Once the spell activated, she felt her mana circuits tremble.

It was an odd feeling. It was as if she’d never cast a spell in her life.

“Try again,” she said, gesturing to him.

The man looked confused.

“(What language is that?)” he asked.

���� rolled her eyes. Stupid. Since she couldn’t understand him, the opposite should have been obvious.

To save time and to be absolutely certain the potential intruder would understand, she sent out her thoughts.

⸨Tell me who brought me here.⸩

The man looked around warily. Had he never heard a mental transmission before? Was he a civilian servant? If he was a warrior, he lacked experience.

���� had overestimated her captor. She considered deriving and casting a second spell... something like ‘speak unfamiliar language with at least the proficiency of a toddler.’

...But with the state of her mana circuits, she lacked confidence. Also, she wasn’t smart enough to succeed in only one or two tries.

⸨Who brought me here, human?⸩

The man, more certain, eyed her with suspicion.

“(You’re here under order of Sect Leader Song.)”

A name and a presumably illustrious title. That was a good start.

⸨Summon them.⸩

“(The Sect Leader is not a person you can call on a whim,)” the man glared.

There... was... an infuriating degree of disrespect in the human’s tone.

����’s first instinct was to kill him.

Her second instinct was to mutilate his face.

But... she was taught to be better than that. She was trained to be better.

Answers. She needed answers, first. A lesson in respect would come later.

She grabbed the vase off the table, shattering it against the edge. She grabbed the biggest shard of ceramic and held it to her neck.

What was her life worth?

It was at least worth the intruder’s uncertainty.

But was it enough to summon her captor?

“(You wouldn’t,)” the man said, his voice weaker than before.

���� pressed harder... piercing the skin. She felt the heat of fresh blood run down her neck.

The man’s eyes widened-- and he ran out of the room, shouting.

Good.

���� sighed, shaking her head. So she did have some importance.

She followed the man out, walking out onto a wooden deck that circled an expansive courtyard. Smooth, grey bricks paved a winding path. A small pond to the side was being filled by a miniature waterfall with no discernible origin.

Elemental magic, perhaps. While she lacked the skill for elemental spellweaving, she always found it fascinating. And whenever she had questions, that person always had the patience to explain it to her.

And where was he? She turned her head.

A statue sat at the center of the garden, a blazing red that contrasted with the peace and harmony of the trees and shrubbery. Its loathsome scales and four-fingered claws stoked an ire in ���� that made her blood run hot.

A dragon...

It sat, fat and arrogant, atop its pedestal, carrying a white orb in its mouth. Its eyes looked down upon her, as if she was the lesser being.

What a blasphemous, accursed world she’d opened her eyes in.

She shot her hand up toward the sky. By the steel of her will, mana swirled around her hand, forming a dual-edged sword.

Gold... like the Unconquered Sun.

She struck the hideous statue, cleaving its face in twain. She hacked off its four claws. She carved a deep gash into its scales. She lopped off its head and it fell to the ground, cracking into a dozen pieces.

She channeled mana into her bare foot, crushing its stone eye into powder.

“Dragons. don’t. exist.”