Chapter 3: Special Treatment

The morning after his interrupted wedding night, Zhao Yang stood before his nine martial sisters in the main hall of the mansion. They had arrived at dawn, each dressed in their wedding finery, but there was something different in their expressions—a knowing look they shared among themselves.

"Did you sleep well, Junior Brother?" Lin Shuoyue, his First Senior Sister, asked. Her typically cold demeanor seemed softened today, her eyes holding a warmth he rarely saw.

"I... had strange dreams," Zhao Yang replied carefully, searching their faces for any hint of what had transpired. Had they truly agreed to his master's visit, as she had claimed? Or had it all been an illusion?

"Dreams often speak truths that daylight conceals," Su Mengyan, his Second Senior Sister, remarked with a cryptic smile, her phoenix eyes flashing with mischief.

Before he could question them further, a messenger arrived bearing news that required his immediate attention as Great General. The wedding would have to wait—again.

As his martial sisters nodded in understanding, Zhao Yang couldn't help but feel that all of them—his master included—were participants in some elaborate performance, the true meaning of which escaped him alone.

---

*Thirteen years earlier*

"It's preposterous! Unheard of! Against every tradition of Xuanqing Palace!" Elder Bai's voice echoed through the Hall of Celestial Harmony, her wrinkled face flushed with indignation. "A male disciple? The first in our thirty thousand years of history? Mistress, I implore you to reconsider!"

Two years had passed since Zhao Yang's arrival at Xuanqing Palace. Now twelve, he knelt outside the grand hall where the palace elders had gathered to debate his fate. Though instructed to wait at a distance, his curiosity had drawn him closer, and now he pressed his ear against the cool jade of the wall, heart pounding as he listened to the discussion that would determine his future.

Inside, Murong Qingxue sat at the center of the hall, her expression serene despite the storm of opposition swirling around her. "The Destiny Mirror has spoken," she said, her voice cutting through the clamor like a blade of ice. "In ten thousand years, it has never been wrong."

"But he is male!" Elder Bai persisted, striking the floor with her staff. "Our cultivation methods were designed for female practitioners. The very essence of our teachings relies on the balance of yin energy. A male's yang energy would create disharmony, instability!"

A murmur of agreement rose from several elders, but not all. Elder Yu, known for her wisdom and moderation, raised a hand for silence.

"I have observed the boy," she said thoughtfully. "His energy is... unusual. There is yang, yes, as one would expect, but also a strong undercurrent of yin. Perhaps this is why the mirror accepted him."

"Or perhaps the mirror has been corrupted," snapped Elder Bai. "We cannot risk ten thousand years of tradition on one anomalous reading!"

Murong Qingxue rose, her white robes catching the light like freshly fallen snow. The room immediately fell silent. When she spoke, her voice was quiet yet carried to every corner of the vast hall.

"I understand your concerns, honored elders. They mirror the doubts I myself harbored when I first found the boy." She paused, her gaze sweeping the assembly. "But there is more to this situation than you know."

From her sleeve, she withdrew Zhao Yang's jade pendant, holding it up so all could see its pale green surface carved with ancient symbols. "This pendant belonged to the boy's father. Observe."

She set it on the central table, then removed her own jade pendant—the one Zhao Yang had noticed on the day they met. Placing it beside his, she channeled a thread of spiritual energy into both. The pendants immediately began to glow, their light intensifying until all present had to shield their eyes.

When the radiance faded, the two pendants had moved toward each other, joining along their edges like pieces of a puzzle.

Gasps erupted throughout the hall. Elder Bai's face had gone ashen. "The Twin Jades of Destiny," she whispered. "But they were lost centuries ago, after the Great Calamity."

"Not lost," Murong Qingxue corrected quietly. "Hidden. Protected. Waiting for the right time to be reunited."

She separated the pendants, returning hers to her sash while holding Zhao Yang's in her palm. "You all know the prophecy associated with these jades. 'When the divided becomes whole, the broken path will be restored, and Xuanqing's greatest trial will begin.'"

A heavy silence fell over the assembly. Even Elder Bai seemed at a loss for words.

"The boy stays," Murong Qingxue declared, her tone brooking no further argument. "I will personally oversee his training. He will learn our ways, but his cultivation path will be unique—tailored to his particular energies."

She turned to leave, then paused. "And one more thing. The boy is not to know of the pendants' significance. Not yet. When the time is right, all will be revealed."

With that, she swept from the hall, leaving the elders to exchange troubled glances and whispered concerns.

Outside, Zhao Yang barely had time to scramble away from his eavesdropping position before the great doors swung open. He pretended to be practicing a meditation posture as Murong Qingxue emerged, her face unreadable as always.

"Did you hear anything interesting, unruly disciple?" she asked without looking at him.

Zhao Yang froze, then sighed in resignation. Nothing ever escaped his master's notice. "They don't want me here," he said softly. "Because I'm a boy."

Murong Qingxue regarded him thoughtfully. "Does that trouble you?"

"No," he replied with surprising firmness. "I'll prove them wrong. I'll work harder than anyone. I'll show them I deserve to be here."

Something flickered in his master's eyes—approval, perhaps, or pride—before her expression returned to its usual cool detachment. "Bold words. We shall see if your actions match them." She turned and began walking toward the cultivation fields. "Come. Today we begin your real training."

Zhao Yang jumped to his feet, hurrying after her. "Real training? What have we been doing for the past two years?"

"Preparing you," she replied cryptically. "Now we see if you are truly capable of walking the path of Xuanqing."

---

Word of Zhao Yang's special status spread quickly through Xuanqing Palace. While the elders had been sworn to secrecy regarding the twin jade pendants, the very fact that a male disciple had been accepted—and was receiving personal instruction from the Mistress herself—was enough to set tongues wagging from the highest peaks to the lowest valleys of the vast complex.

"Have you seen him? The boy disciple?" Disciples whispered behind cupped hands when they thought no one was listening.

"They say Mistress Murong teaches him herself, every day at dawn."

"I heard Elder Bai say he has a peculiar energy signature, unlike any she's ever encountered."

"Well, I heard he's actually the reincarnation of a great cultivator from the age of legends, returned to help Xuanqing face some coming calamity."

The rumors grew more outlandish with each telling, and Zhao Yang found himself the subject of intense scrutiny wherever he went. Some disciples avoided him as if he carried some contagious disease. Others observed him from a distance, curiosity warring with generations of ingrained caution toward males. A few, particularly the younger disciples, approached him with tentative friendliness, their natural curiosity overcoming traditional barriers.

Among these was a girl named Yan Ruoxue, the youngest and newest disciple, barely eight years old. Where others saw an anomaly, she saw simply another child who looked as lost and overwhelmed as she felt in the vast, ancient palace.

"Do you want to see the lotus pond?" she asked him one afternoon, finding him alone in the courtyard after a particularly grueling training session with Mistress Murong. "There are fish with scales like rainbow crystals!"

Zhao Yang, tired and sore from hours of attempting to channel the unfamiliar energies his master insisted he possessed, looked up in surprise. Few disciples initiated conversation with him. "Won't you get in trouble for talking to me?"

Yan Ruoxue giggled, a sound like silver bells in the quiet courtyard. "Why would I? You're a disciple too, aren't you? Besides, Master said we should all train together and learn from one another."

"Your master said that? About me?" Zhao Yang couldn't hide his surprise.

"Mm-hmm. Master Su is very wise. She says traditions are important, but so is growth and change." She tugged at his sleeve. "So, do you want to see the fish or not?"

Against his better judgment—Mistress Murong had assigned him extra meditation exercises to complete before sunset—Zhao Yang allowed himself to be led to a secluded pond nestled among weeping willows. True to Yan Ruoxue's description, it teemed with fish whose scales gleamed with all the colors of the rainbow as they darted through crystal-clear water.

"It's beautiful," Zhao Yang admitted, momentarily forgetting his fatigue.

"I come here when I'm sad or when training is too hard," Yan Ruoxue confided, skipping a stone across the water's surface. "It reminds me that there's more to life than just cultivation."

Zhao Yang glanced at her in surprise. Such a thought would be considered heresy in many cultivation sects, where the pursuit of immortality and power was the sole purpose of existence. "Doesn't your master scold you for thinking that way?"

Yan Ruoxue shrugged. "Master Su says balance is key to true cultivation. All work and no joy makes for a brittle spirit that will shatter under pressure."

Before Zhao Yang could respond, a cool voice interrupted their conversation. "Sage advice. Perhaps you should heed it, unruly disciple."

Both children whirled to find Murong Qingxue standing beneath a willow, her white robes making her appear as ethereal as the wisps of mist that drifted across the pond's surface. How long she had been there, neither could say.

Yan Ruoxue immediately dropped into a deep bow. "Mistress Murong! I... I was just..."

"Showing our unique disciple the wonders of Xuanqing Palace," Murong Qingxue finished for her, no hint of rebuke in her tone. "A commendable gesture of fellowship." Her gaze shifted to Zhao Yang. "Though I recall assigning certain exercises to be completed before sunset."

Zhao Yang lowered his head, shame washing over him. "Yes, Master. I'll return to them immediately."

"No." The unexpected response made him look up in confusion. Murong Qingxue's expression had softened almost imperceptibly. "Disciple Yan is right about balance. You have pushed yourself hard these past weeks. Perhaps an afternoon of... fish-watching... is what you need to restore your spirit for the challenges ahead."

Both children stared at her in disbelief. Murong Qingxue was known for her strict adherence to training schedules and uncompromising standards.

"That said," she continued, a familiar steeliness returning to her voice, "tomorrow's training will begin an hour earlier to compensate for today's respite."

Without waiting for a response, she turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Disciple Yan? Your Master Su is looking for you. Something about a missed calligraphy lesson?"

Yan Ruoxue's face fell. "Oh no! I forgot!" She bowed hastily to both Murong Qingxue and Zhao Yang before dashing off, her small form quickly disappearing among the willows.

Left alone with his master, Zhao Yang fidgeted uncomfortably. Her unexpected leniency confused him.

"Thank you, Master," he finally managed. "For allowing me to stay."

Murong Qingxue regarded him with an unreadable expression. "I wasn't referring to just now," he clarified. "I meant... at Xuanqing Palace. I know not everyone wants me here."

For a long moment, Murong Qingxue said nothing, her gaze shifting to the rainbow fish darting beneath the pond's surface. When she spoke, her voice carried a weight he hadn't heard before.

"In three thousand years, I have never made a decision based on what others want or expect," she said quietly. "I follow the path that destiny reveals, regardless of tradition or convenience."

She turned back to him, and for a fleeting moment, Zhao Yang thought he glimpsed something beyond her usual stern demeanor—something almost vulnerable. "Your presence here serves a purpose, Zhao Yang. One day, you will understand why you, alone among males, were chosen to walk the path of Xuanqing."

Before he could question her further, she had gone, leaving only a faint scent of winter plum blossoms in her wake.

---

Over the next months, Zhao Yang's special status at Xuanqing Palace became even more pronounced. While other disciples trained in groups under various masters, he received one-on-one instruction from Murong Qingxue herself. His schedule was different, his exercises unique, his entire curriculum seemingly designed specifically for him.

This special treatment did not go unnoticed—or uncriticized.

"It's favoritism, plain and simple," Zhao Yang overheard one senior disciple complaining in the library pavilion. "What makes him so special that Mistress Murong devotes hours to his training each day? Some of us have been here for decades and barely receive a word of personal instruction in a year!"

"Perhaps it's pity," another suggested. "Everyone knows male cultivators progress more slowly than females in the higher realms. Maybe she fears he'll fall hopelessly behind without extra attention."

A third voice, softer but more cutting: "Or perhaps there's another reason entirely. Have you noticed how she looks at him sometimes? As if she's searching for someone else in his face?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing. Everything. Who knows? Mistress Murong has lived for thousands of years. She has secrets we couldn't begin to fathom."

Zhao Yang had slipped away then, troubled by what he'd heard. It was true that his relationship with his master was... complex. At times, she drove him with merciless rigor, pushing him to the limits of his endurance and beyond. At others, she showed surprising moments of concession, even tenderness—like the afternoon at the lotus pond.

Sometimes, during particularly intense training sessions, he would catch her watching him with an expression he couldn't decipher—not quite sadness, not quite hope, but some complex emotion that made him feel as though he were being measured against an invisible standard only she could see.

And then there were the nights.

Zhao Yang had discovered quite by accident that his master came to watch him sleep. The first time, he had awakened from a nightmare to find her sitting beside his bed, her face illuminated by moonlight, her expression softer than he had ever seen it in daylight hours. She hadn't noticed him watching through barely-opened eyes as she reached out, hesitated, then gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

After that, he had occasionally pretended to sleep, waiting to see if she would return. Sometimes weeks would pass without a visit. But inevitably, she would come again, always on nights when the moon was full, to sit silently beside him for exactly one hour before departing as silently as she had arrived.

He never spoke of these visits, instinctively understanding that to acknowledge them would be to end them. But they contributed to his growing sense that there was far more to his presence at Xuanqing Palace than anyone was willing to tell him.

---

"Concentrate, unruly disciple! Your mind wanders like a butterfly in a flower garden!"

Murong Qingxue's sharp reprimand snapped Zhao Yang back to the present. Now twelve, he stood in the center of the Secret Realm of Yin Convergence, a hidden training ground deep within Xuanqing Mountain. Around him, nine jade pillars rose like the fingers of some titanic hand, each inscribed with arcane symbols that glowed with soft blue light.

"I'm trying, Master," he said through gritted teeth, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chamber's cool air. "But the energy... it feels wrong somehow. Like trying to force water uphill."

"Of course it feels wrong," Murong Qingxue replied, circling him with critical eyes. "You're trying to channel yin energy through meridians designed for yang. It's like threading a needle with a sword."

"Then why must I learn this?" Zhao Yang couldn't keep the frustration from his voice. "If my nature is fundamentally incompatible—"

"Because," his master cut him off, "your nature is not what you think it is." She stopped before him, her gaze intense. "Close your eyes. Forget everything you think you know about cultivation. Forget male and female, yin and yang, all the rigid categories that limit understanding."

Reluctantly, Zhao Yang obeyed, closing his eyes and trying to empty his mind of preconceptions.

"Now," Murong Qingxue continued, her voice dropping to a hypnotic murmur, "reach deep within yourself. Past the surface energies, past the obvious currents. There is a core within you, hidden, dormant. Find it."

Zhao Yang searched within himself, pushing past the familiar rivers of yang energy that had responded so readily to his earlier basic training. Deeper and deeper he went, until...

"There!" he gasped, his eyes flying open in shock. "I felt it! But it's... it's..."

"Yin energy," Murong Qingxue finished, a rare smile of satisfaction curving her lips. "Powerful, ancient, and as much a part of you as the yang that dominates your outer being."

"But how is that possible?" Zhao Yang asked, genuinely bewildered. "I thought..."

"That males possess only yang and females only yin?" His master shook her head. "A convenient simplification taught to beginners. The truth, as always, is more complex. All beings contain both energies, though usually in imbalanced proportions."

She placed a cool hand on his forehead, and immediately Zhao Yang felt the strange new energy respond, rising to meet her touch like a flower turning toward the sun.

"You, however, are different," she continued, her voice holding an emotion he couldn't quite identify. "Your balance is... unusual. Special. It is why the Destiny Mirror accepted you. Why you alone can learn the techniques of Xuanqing Palace."

Zhao Yang searched her face, sensing there was more she wasn't telling him. "Is that why the elders opposed my training? Because they didn't believe a boy could possess enough yin energy?"

Something flickered in Murong Qingxue's eyes—caution, perhaps, or calculation. "Yes," she said after a slight hesitation. "That is part of the reason."

"And the other part?"

His master withdrew her hand, her expression closing like a door being shut. "The other part is not for you to know. Not yet." She turned away, gestured toward the jade pillars. "Now, try again. This time, draw from the yin core we've discovered."

Zhao Yang bit back his questions, recognizing the finality in her tone. But as he resumed his stance and reached for the newly discovered energy within him, one thought persisted:

*She's hiding something from me. Something about who—or what—I really am.*

---

Back in the present, standing in his interrupted wedding chamber, adult Zhao Yang fingered his jade pendant, the memories of those early years at Xuanqing Palace crystal clear in his mind. The special treatment, the whispers, the secret training, his master's inexplicable nocturnal visits—all pieces of a puzzle he still couldn't solve.

"What aren't you telling me, Master?" he whispered to the empty room. "What is the truth about my place in Xuanqing Palace?"

Outside, the sounds of the household stirring reached his ears. His wedding to his nine martial sisters would proceed today—unless more mysterious interruptions occurred. But now, with the memories of his youth fresh in his mind, Zhao Yang found himself wondering if he had ever truly known the woman who had raised him, trained him, and now appeared in his wedding chamber in bridal red.

Who was Murong Qingxue, really? And more importantly, who was he to her?