“…Just for a breath.”
For that breath, the world felt thinner.
Not quieter. Not slower.
Just – less certain.
Li Wei did not know why his vision had shifted. He did not know what the flicker meant. He only knew that Zhi Yuan’s words lingered strangely clear in his mind.
Think of cold. Not absence of fire. Think of stillness. Containment.
The second beast burst through a wooden stall, splintering beams and scattering baskets of dried herbs into the air. Its hide was darker than the first, its horns longer, its maw glowing with inner heat.
It was angry. It was alive. It was moving. Too fast.
Feng stepped forward out of instinct, lightning trembling along his fingers—but his breath caught halfway. His meridians were unstable. One wrong surge would rupture them.
Ru Yan raised her hand. Water gathered—but thinly. She could slow it.
Not stop it.
The beast lunged.
Li Wei did not step back.
He extended his palm. He reached for ember qi. That part was familiar.
Warmth answered immediately.
But instead of pushing it outward—
He pressed inward. Compressed.
Fire resisted.
Fire always wanted to spread, to leap, to devour.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
He forced it smaller.
Denser. Contained.
The heat in his palm grew violent, shaking against his control. Sweat formed at his brow.
The beast opened its jaws.
For a split instant, Li Wei almost released everything in a desperate counterblast.
But—
He remembered the first beast.
The way its internal heat had destabilized when disrupted. The way motion could be redirected.
Stillness.
He clenched his fingers. And the air around his hand crystallized.
White vapor bloomed outward.
The charging qi met his palm— And faltered.
As if something inside the beast had lost the will to move.
Frost crept along its breath.
Then its teeth. Then its throat.
The creature’s roar snapped into brittle silence as ice overtook its maw mid-sound.
Li Wei stared.
He had not summoned water. He had summoned ice.
He had compressed fire until it forgot how to burn.
The frost surged forward in a violent rush, racing across the beast’s body. Its muscles locked. Its claws froze inches from Li Wei’s chest.
Then — It shattered against the stone road.
Fragments of crystal and scale scattered like fallen glass.
Silence spread across the market street.
Wind passed through broken stalls.
Merchants who had been screaming moments ago now crouched in stunned disbelief.
Feng lowered his trembling hand slowly.
“You froze it.”
Li Wei looked down at his palm.
The frost lingers and fade.
Heat returned. Normal. Untouched.
He flexed his fingers experimentally.
A small, almost disbelieving laugh escaped him.
“So that’s – possible.”
Ru Yan watched him carefully.
She had felt something. Not from him.
From the air.
For the briefest heartbeat—
The flow of spiritual energy had hesitated. Like a river encountering an unexpected stone.
Then it resumed, smoothing itself over.
As if nothing had happened.
Zhi Yuan said nothing. But his eyes were distant.
He had not cast the spell.
He had only given permission. And something had answered.
Across the street, beneath embroidered banners of a recruitment pavilion, the Third Prince stood unmoving.
He had witnessed fire. He had witnessed ice.
He had never witnessed one become the other. “That is not orthodox,” he murmured.
His attendant swallowed. “No, Your Highness.”
The prince’s irritation shifted into something sharper.
Interest. Possession. Control.
“Find out who they are.”
His gaze lingered on Li Wei’s hand.
On the four who stood not as disciples, not as sect members — But as something unclassified.
Above the city, unseen and unannounced, the spiritual currents recalibrated by a margin too small for mortals to measure.
No thunder answered. No heavenly decree descended.
The Dao did not protest. It adjusted.
And continued flowing.
If you enjoyed this direction, please consider leaving a rating or a comment.
