**Chapter 2 – The Drifting Shadow Reaches the Shore**
Seven years had passed since the flames consumed Ice-Fire Island.
The boy who once could not cultivate had become a lean, silent youth of seventeen. Lin Wuji's hair had grown long and unbound, tangled by wind and hardship. His once-soft features had sharpened—high cheekbones, eyes like deep winter pools, carrying a quiet intensity that made strangers look twice and then look away. Across his back he carried the oilcloth-wrapped Dragon Slaying Saber, its weight no longer crushing but constant, like a second heartbeat. The chains Xie Yuan had bound around it were long gone; now only faded red cloth and a single iron lock remained, as if the blade itself had chosen restraint.
He had survived the ice caves by eating snow lichen and drinking meltwater that tasted of iron. Then came the fishing villages, where he traded labor for scraps and learned to hide his poisoned meridians. He never stayed longer than necessary. Whispers followed him—tales of a ghost-boy carrying a demon blade, survivor of the infamous Ice-Fire Massacre.
Now the mainland stretched before him: the jagged Greencloud Mountains, cradle of the orthodox sects. Mist clung to pine-covered peaks. Somewhere beyond these ridges lay Bright Peak, headquarters of the Ming Flame Sect—his mother's people—and the hidden paths to rumored Nine Yang legacies that might finally burn the ice from his veins.
He walked a narrow mountain trail, boots crunching on frost. The air smelled of pine resin and distant snow. His stomach had long stopped protesting hunger; it had become a dull companion.
A soft clink of metal ahead—swords being drawn.
Three figures stepped onto the path, blocking his way. They wore the pale blue robes of the Wudang sect, taiji emblems embroidered on their chests. The leader, a man in his thirties with a neatly trimmed beard, held a fine steel sword loosely.
"Young friend," the leader said, voice calm but edged. "This path leads to Wudang's outer perimeter. Strangers do not pass without stating purpose."
Lin Wuji stopped. He lowered his gaze slightly—old habit from years of seeming harmless.
"I seek only passage," he replied quietly. "I have no quarrel with Wudang."
The two younger disciples exchanged glances. One, barely older than Lin Wuji, sneered. "He carries a wrapped weapon. Looks heavy. Smells of blood and saltwater. Probably a pirate or Ming Flame spy."
The leader raised a hand for silence. His eyes lingered on the bundle across Lin Wuji's back. "Unwrap it. Let us see what you hide."
Lin Wuji's fingers tightened on the strap. "It is a family heirloom. Not for show."
Tension rippled through the air. The younger disciple stepped forward, hand on hilt. "Arrogant beggar. You think you can—"
A clear, bell-like voice cut through the standoff.
"Enough."
From a side path emerged a young woman in snow-white robes trimmed with silver lotus patterns—the mark of Emei. Her long hair was bound in a simple jade clasp; a slender sword rested at her hip, its hilt wrapped in white silk. She appeared no older than eighteen, yet her presence carried the quiet authority of someone who had already walked the sword path for years.
The Wudang leader bowed slightly. "Junior Sister Zhou. We were merely ensuring the safety of the mountain."
Zhou Qingruo inclined her head politely, but her gaze fixed on Lin Wuji. Something flickered in her eyes—recognition? Curiosity? Pity?
"I know this one," she said softly. "Or rather… I know of him."
Lin Wuji's heart stuttered. He had never seen her before.
She stepped closer, ignoring the Wudang disciples' protests. Up close, her features were delicate yet resolute: phoenix eyes, pale skin kissed by mountain wind, lips pressed in a line that spoke of restraint.
"Seven years ago," she continued, voice low enough for only him to hear, "Emei sent representatives to the Ice-Fire conference. They returned with stories of a child who escaped the orthodox purge carrying the Dragon Slaying Saber. My master, Abbess Miejue, still speaks of it in closed council. She calls it 'the seed of calamity.'"
Lin Wuji met her eyes for the first time. No fear there. Only a strange, steady sorrow.
"I am not here to cause calamity," he said. "I seek only to heal what was broken in me long ago."
Zhou Qingruo studied him a moment longer. Then she turned to the Wudang leader.
"Let him pass. He travels alone and unarmed in intent. Wudang's principle is harmony, is it not? To bar a lone wanderer without cause would contradict Grandmaster Zhang's teachings."
The leader hesitated, then sheathed his sword with a sigh. "As you wish, Junior Sister. But we will report this."
The three withdrew, leaving Lin Wuji and Zhou Qingruo alone on the misty path.
She regarded him again. "You are dying," she stated plainly. Not a question.
He gave a small, bitter smile. "Slowly. The Nine Yin Poison has rooted deep. But I have heard rumors… of a divine art sealed in ancient ruins, one that can melt extreme yin with pure yang."
"The Nine Yang Divine Skill," she murmured. "Many have sought it. Few return sane. And none who carry cursed weapons like yours."
She paused, then added quietly, "My name is Zhou Qingruo. If you continue up this path, you will reach a small Emei outpost by nightfall. There is hot spring water there that eases meridian pain, at least for a night. Consider it… a momentary kindness."
Lin Wuji bowed slightly. "Lin Wuji. Thank you."
As she turned to leave, he spoke again. "Why help me?"
Zhou Qingruo stopped, back to him. After a long silence:
"Because you look like someone who has already lost everything… and still chooses to walk forward. That is rarer than any divine art."
She vanished into the mist as silently as she had appeared.
Lin Wuji stood alone again. The Dragon Slaying Saber at his back seemed to grow warmer for a moment, as though acknowledging the encounter.
He continued upward.
Far above, on a distant peak, banners fluttered over the grand pavilions of the upcoming Lion Slaying Conference. Orthodox sects gathered to discuss the rising threat of the Ming Flame Sect—and whispers of the two legendary weapons drawing closer to reunion.
The storm was gathering.
And Lin Wuji, whether he wished it or not, walked straight into its heart.
(End of Chapter 2)