MB - Chapter 1

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The morning after the incident dawned with the kind of hush that meant everyone in Azure Radiance Sect already knew and had formed three competing versions of the story.

Version One: He Yan had created a pill so potent that it tried to ascend on its own, dragging the furnace with it.

Version Two: Shen Xun had secretly challenged the furnace to a duel.

Version Three — the most popular — claimed that He Yan had finally confessed his love to Shen Xun, been rejected, and the resulting heartbreak had ignited his qi, thereby animating the furnace.

He Yan would have personally corrected these rumors, but correcting rumors required one to step outside one’s quarters, and he had not yet survived Elder Yao’s lecture.

He sat cross-legged at his desk, chin propped on one hand, while Snowball snored upside-down on a stack of scrolls. On the table lay the oath token—a thin jade disc etched with paired sigils, one glowing faintly silver. Shen Xun’s half. The other half, pale gold, waited beside it, patient as a promise.

He Yan reached out, tracing the pattern. Bound by an oath token. Shared fate, shared score.

He tried not to grin like an idiot.

A knock came at the door. Measured, precise — as if the knocker had rehearsed exactly how many heartbeats to pause between taps.

He didn’t need to ask who it was. Shen Xun’s presence always felt like the temperature dropping politely by three degrees.

“Enter,” He Yan called, arranging his face into what he hoped was calm professionalism and not hopelessly infatuated alchemist awaiting doom.

Shen Xun stepped inside, bringing a hint of mountain wind with him. He had changed from the training uniform into travel robes, black trimmed with muted silver, his sword resting against his hip like a sleeping dragon.

“He-shidi.”

“Senior Brother.”

They spoke simultaneously, stopped, and both gestured for the other to continue. It was an old dance; they knew the steps too well.

“You first,” He Yan said at last, smiling faintly.

Shen Xun inclined his head. “Elder Yao informed me we are to depart for Twin Peaks within three days. The Sect Leader requests our presence at the strategy briefing in an hour.”

“Three days?” He Yan blinked. “That soon? My pills are still… fermenting.”

“Then stop fermenting them,” Shen Xun said dryly.

“That’s not how alchemy works.”

“Then make it work faster.”

He Yan sighed, standing. “You see, this is why the heavens refuse you a cauldron. No respect for delicate processes.”

“And yet the heavens keep giving me swords.”

“Yes,” He Yan said sweetly, “so you can cut down every conversation halfway through.”

A twitch at Shen Xun’s mouth — there it was, the almost-smile again. He Yan pretended not to notice, turning to gather his notes. The room smelled faintly of crushed herbs and peach-wood ink. When he moved, the light caught the faint burn-scar on his wrist from yesterday’s fiasco, a thin crescent that glowed pale against his skin.

Shen Xun noticed. “You’re injured.”

“It’s minor.”

“Let me see.”

He Yan froze. “It’s fine.”

Shen Xun’s gaze sharpened. “He Yan.”

That tone — low, steady, not commanding but impossible to ignore — always did something strange to his heartbeat. Reluctantly, he extended his wrist. Shen Xun took it gently, thumb brushing over the burn. Cool qi flowed from his fingertips, soothing the sting.

“You shouldn’t touch an unstable furnace bare-handed,” Shen Xun said, eyes downcast.

He Yan couldn’t stop himself: “I wasn’t bare-handed. I was brave-handed.”

A snort escaped before Shen Xun could stop it. “You’re impossible.”

“Admit it, you’d miss me if I were sensible.”

“I’d have less paperwork.”

“That’s not a no.”

For one suspended breath, their eyes met — silver catching light, dark brown steady as storm-soaked earth — and the world narrowed to the faint hum of spiritual energy between them.

Then someone outside shouted, “He Yan! The pill fire hall is sparkling again!”

He Yan groaned. “Snowball!”

The ferret, suddenly wide-awake, dove into the window sill with the air of one caught committing treason.

Shen Xun released his wrist, all business again. “Go. I’ll handle the briefing.”

He Yan blinked. “You’ll… cover for me?”

Shen Xun’s shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. “If they ask, I’ll say you’re refining stability formulas. Try not to make me a liar.”

He Yan’s smile was helplessly bright. “You’re… surprisingly kind today.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Shen Xun said, and vanished like smoke down the corridor.

The Pill fire Hall did, indeed, sparkle. Not violently this time — thank the ancestors — but in a delicate way, as if the walls had decided to participate in an art contest. The furnace hummed smugly, silver lines running across its surface in neat formation. It had apparently learned self-control overnight.

He Yan studied it warily. “You’re behaving. Suspicious.”

The furnace emitted a polite ping.

Snowball squeaked, unimpressed. “Chk.”

“Exactly,” He Yan agreed. “Something’s brewing.”

It wasn’t until he leaned closer that he saw it — a small, silver rune etched just above the furnace base. Not his work. Not sect standard. The pattern was foreign, its lines curved like wind over sand. When he brushed his fingers across it, warmth pulsed beneath the metal, followed by a whisper — faint, like memory.

“—chosen vessel…”

He Yan jerked back. “What in — ?”

The rune dimmed, fading into the metal.

A shiver ran through him. He’d read of such things: ancient furnaces developing semi-sentience, bound by forgotten contracts. Some chose their masters. Others devoured them.

“Well,” he said aloud, “that’s certainly ominous.”

Snowball tilted its head. “Chk?”

“Don’t tell Shen Xun,” He Yan muttered. “He’ll want to exorcise it.”

Still, as he watched the soft pulse of light along the furnace rim, he couldn’t shake the feeling that yesterday’s chaos had awakened something — not just in the metal, but in the path his own destiny was veering toward. The furnace’s spirit had stirred; so had his own.

And somewhere on the western training grounds, Shen Xun raised his sword beneath the rising sun, unaware that the bond fate had knotted between them now shimmered in the air like an invisible thread — one that neither skill nor logic would easily sever.

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