The founding master of the Taixu Sword Sect left behind a rule, carved into the Cliff of Self-Reflection. The wind had worn at it for three hundred years, but the words remained sharp:
"Those who cultivate the Heartless Path must not fall in love. If they do, their sword will break and they will die."
In the twenty-third year of her cultivation, Shen Yanqing took on a disciple.
On the day she accepted her, she stood atop Frostsky Peak and looked down at the little girl who had crawled out of the mud. She was covered in blood, but her eyes shone like tempered steel.
She told herself: Just a pebble.
Toss it into the lake of her heart, let the ripples spread, then smooth them away with her own hands.
Three years later, heavy snow fell on Frostsky Peak.
Xie Zhenyue knelt in the snow and looked up at her, her eyes still shining just as brightly.
Shen Yanqing bent down and lifted her chin with a fingertip, her touch icy cold.
"Xie Zhenyue," she said, "your Daoist heart is in turmoil."
Her disciple smiled, her warm breath brushing Shen Yanqing's fingertips.
"Master," Xie Zhenyue said, "you're the one who's in turmoil."
Theme: Those who cultivate the Heartless Path must not fall in love. If they do, their sword will break and they will die.
