The sky above the mountains was pale and clear, yet the air hung thick with invisible tension. The clouds moved slowly, as if hesitant to disturb what was unfolding below.
Within the deep confines of the Celestial Sanctuary, the stars trained.
Not against enemies.
Not against each other.
But against the shadows of themselves.
After their first battle, the Celestial Lord gave no praise, no reward. He only gave them a command:"You will learn to control your power."
And to do that, he summoned illusions—phantoms forged from starfire and thunder. Silent, lifelike echoes molded from each star's weaknesses and fears. They did not bleed. They did not die. But they fought like real foes.
Each Celestial Star was thrust into individual battles. No room for discussion, no moment to hesitate.
And for Miexing, the Third Star, this was where she began to change.
Her first opponent moved like wind—an image of a long-dead assassin, silent and precise. The blade it wielded curved like a crescent moon and shimmered with frost, not unlike her own.
Miexing dodged the first strike by instinct. Then parried the second. By the fifth, her mind had gone blank.
No thoughts.No doubts.Only motion.
Each time she summoned her starstone's power, a cold surge flooded her limbs. Her heartbeat dulled. Her thoughts quieted. Her body moved faster than her mind could follow, faster than any ordinary warrior could ever reach.
She struck down the phantom after a dozen exchanges—barely. Her breath was calm. Her hands, steady.
But something in her chest was… quieter than before.
"Again," she said.
The Celestial Lord raised a hand. Another illusion formed.
And so the cycle began.
Day after day, she fought. Again and again.
The phantom changed form each time. A traitor. A friend. A demon. Herself.
Every battle ended the same way: victory, just barely snatched from the jaws of defeat. Her speed and precision became terrifying. No longer did she react—she predicted. She flowed.
But with each win, her eyes grew colder.
She stopped responding to the greetings of the other stars. She did not look up when they passed by. Her meals went untouched. Her wounds, unnoticed.
The price of her power was simple: feeling nothing.
And she was paying it in full.
In the arena beside hers, the First Star, Cangyan, faced his own tests.
Unlike Miexing, his strength was overwhelming—but uncontrollable. He wielded flames that could incinerate dozens with a wave of his hand. His problem wasn't speed, but endurance.
Every time he released a blast of fire, his body paid the price. Blood vessels cracked under the pressure. Scars reopened. His starstone glowed hot, even when inactive.
"You burn too fast," the Celestial Lord once said. "Control your fuel, or burn out."
Cangyan barely heard it. After each match, he collapsed onto the ground, coughing up smoke and blood. He would lie there, eyes on the sky, wondering if next time would be the last.
But when he saw Miexing—fighting longer, colder, never pausing—he clenched his fists.
"She's going to surpass me," he muttered.
Then he rose again.
Elsewhere, Seventh Star Xuanhu fought with gritted teeth. Every blow he dealt came back to him as pain. His muscles ached from the simulated matches, but he roared through them.
Fifth Star Chiluan kept missing her targets, her vision clouded by illusions. Second Star Jinglan grew quieter, her voice almost gone. Ninth Star Lingyin wept without realizing it, her magic warping under her grief.
They were all breaking, piece by piece.
But Miexing?
She had stopped breaking.
She had become something else.
One evening, after her twenty-third consecutive match, she stood motionless in the training ground. The phantom had just dissolved into light, and the Celestial Lord turned to leave. But then he paused.
"You've improved."
She didn't respond.
"You no longer hesitate," he added, more softly. "You no longer feel fear. Or anything, I suppose."
She lifted her blade, inspecting it as if it belonged to someone else.
"Was that not the goal?" she asked.
He turned back to face her, golden eyes narrowing.
"Not entirely," he said. "There is a difference between suppressing emotion and becoming empty."
She met his gaze. Her expression remained blank.
"I don't have time to understand the difference."
He did not answer, but something in his silence felt heavier than any rebuke.
Later that night, Miexing sat on a ledge overlooking the sanctuary. The stars above were brilliant, but she did not look at them.
Cangyan approached quietly.
"You beat your shadow again?" he asked.
She nodded.
"You?"
"Lost. Again." He sat beside her, wincing. "Your expression hasn't changed in days."
"Does it need to?"
He glanced at her, then shook his head.
"No. I guess not. But it's just… strange. The others talk about you. They say you're becoming more like him."
She didn't ask who. She already knew.
The Celestial Lord.
She stood. Her starstone pulsed once against her chest—cold and distant.
"Let them talk," she said. "So long as I win."
Then she walked away, leaving behind only silence.
Training Record — Internal Simulated Matches:
Miexing (3rd Star): Fastest victory record. Emotional flatline. Zero recorded hesitation. Rapid reflexes exceeding human limits.
Cangyan (1st Star): High burst output. Crippling fatigue. Flame burnout rising.
Xuanhu (7th Star): Physical breakdown intensifying. Still insists on full-contact combat.
Chiluan (5th Star): Worsening misidentification syndrome. Requires oversight.
Jinglan (2nd Star): Mental fatigue. Vocal silence persists.
Lingyin (9th Star): Emotional instability. Spell control faltering.
They were not fighting to win wars now.
They were fighting to survive their own power.
And Miexing was becoming the coldest star of them all.
A blade without mercy.