Chapter 18: FIRE AND FROST

The first thing Zixuan noticed when she woke wasn’t the light—it was the air.

It wasn’t biting, sharp, or dry against her skin. It didn’t creep into her bones like usual, making her curl tighter into the furs just to keep herself alive. No, this was different. The air was… soft. It carried warmth that touched her cheeks and the tip of her nose, and she jolted awake as if she had slept into a dream.

Her hands brushed over the blankets, and even the fabric felt different—loosened of that stiff chill that always clung to them in the Northern Heavens. Slowly, cautiously, she sat up.

The fire in the hearth was still there, crackling gently. But it wasn’t the fire warming the room. This warmth—it was too vast, too steady, reaching even the corners untouched by flame.

Her brows furrowed, her breath quickening, but this time it wasn’t mist that spilled from her lips. No ghostly fog of cold air—just breath, plain and warm.

Her heart skipped. She turned toward the window.

Pulling the heavy drapes aside, her breath caught entirely.

Outside, the North had transformed. Where there should’ve been icicles like daggers hanging from the eaves, there were rivulets of water dripping like tears. The trees that always stood imprisoned under frost now swayed with pale green leaves, as if spring had been summoned overnight. Flowers—actual flowers—pushed their heads out of soil that should have been frozen past death. The whole palace courtyard shimmered under the light, not with ice but with color, life she had thought impossible here.

It was too much to take in.

Her hands pressed against the cold window frame as she leaned closer, eyes wide. She hadn’t realized how suffocating the cold had been until now, when it was gone. The heaviness that always weighed on her chest, the instinct to shiver and curl in on herself—it had vanished. The North, for once, breathed.

She whispered, almost to herself, “This… isn’t real.”

But it was.

Her heart thumped hard against her ribs, not from the warmth, but because she knew—there was only one being in the Northern Heavens who could do this.

And he never did.

The realization made her throat tight.

As she stared, still half-convinced the warmth would vanish like a mirage, a faint creak behind her made her whirl around.

He was standing in the doorway.

Aoshen.

The source.

He leaned against the frame as if he hadn’t just shifted the climate of an entire realm, as if this wasn’t an impossible act of divine power. His long hair caught the softer light, no frost clinging to it now, and his eyes—those cold, unyielding eyes—watched her reaction like he was dissecting it.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, voice flat, almost bored.

But she noticed. She noticed the faintest curve of his mouth, not quite a smile but not quite scorn either. Something unreadable lingered there.

She blinked, breath uneven. “You… did this?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He walked into the room, his steps soundless, his presence heavy. She backed slightly against the window, the warmth behind her contrasting with the ice he carried in his aura. He stopped a few paces away, tilting his head.

“You complain too much in the cold,” he murmured, almost lazily. “I thought I’d silence it for once.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She didn’t believe that was the reason—not truly. Aoshen never wasted his power for trivialities, never moved for anyone unless he saw advantage. And yet, the palace was thawed. Her room was warm.

Her throat tightened. “Why… why now?”

His gaze sharpened, and for a moment she thought he would dismiss her question entirely, turn his back like he always did. But instead, his eyes swept over her face—lingering just long enough for her to feel her skin heat in ways that had nothing to do with the new climate.

“Don’t think too much of it.” His voice was sharper this time, layered with ice. “The North will freeze again. This is… temporary.”

Yet he didn’t deny it was for her.

And the strange thing was—he didn’t leave.

He could have. He could have said his cold words and vanished. Instead, he stood there, hands clasped loosely behind his back, gaze locked on her as if her shock was what he had been waiting for all along.

The silence stretched. She wanted to speak, to ask him again why, to tell him what this meant to her—but the words wouldn’t form. She simply turned back to the window, unable to stop staring at the flowers swaying in the breeze.

Her reflection overlapped with his in the glass, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered—was this his way of… caring?

If it was, it was the most terrifyingly beautiful gesture she had ever seen.

Her reflection overlapped with his in the glass, his towering figure shadowing her smaller frame. The flowers outside danced in the sunlight, mocking the bleak world she had grown used to.

Her voice came soft, barely more than a whisper, but in the stillness of the room, it cut through clear:

“I didn’t realize… how much the cold hurt until it was gone.”

She turned her head slightly, her gaze catching his in the glass. “You—Aoshen—you don’t understand. Up here, every breath feels like drowning. Every step feels like you’re carrying chains. I thought… I thought that was just how it was meant to be.” Her voice wavered, not weak, but raw. “And now I see this, and I wonder—why would you let me suffer if you could have stopped it all along?”

Silence.

Aoshen’s eyes darkened, his breath shallow as if her words had landed somewhere he didn’t want touched. His usual sharp retort didn’t come. Instead, his jaw clenched, and for one fragile moment, the mask slipped.

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He looked away. Just slightly.

When he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher at the edges. “Because you would never learn to endure if the world was kind to you.”

But it wasn’t conviction—it was defense. And she knew it.

For the first time, Aoshen’s posture wasn’t unshakable. His shoulders shifted, his hands tightening behind his back, as if restraining something—an answer, or maybe the truth.

The silence stretched again, heavier now.

And in that small falter, Zixuan realized—her words had reached him.

◇◇◇

The silence was suffocating. Aoshen’s gaze had slipped from hers, fixed instead on some corner of the room as though the walls could shield him from what she had just said. His stance was stiff, controlled—too controlled.

Zixuan swallowed hard. She shouldn’t push. She knew that. Aoshen wasn’t someone who yielded to pleading or vulnerability. And yet… she couldn’t stop herself.

Her voice was quiet, fragile but steady enough to carry. “Endure, endure, endure… That’s all anyone has ever told me. But did it ever occur to you…” she hesitated, then forced it out, “that I’m tired of enduring?”

His head jerked slightly, as though the words had cut sharper than she intended.

Zixuan’s throat burned. She turned her back to him, pressing her palm flat against the glass. The flowers outside swayed gently in the breeze—warm, alive, impossible.

“I just wanted to breathe without it hurting,” she whispered. “Even once.”

That was it. That was the breaking point—her walls, not his.

The air behind her shifted. Aoshen didn’t move closer, didn’t touch her, but his silence deepened, heavy as thunderclouds before the rain. He didn’t have an answer. Or maybe he did and refused to give it voice.

And suddenly, she couldn’t bear it anymore.

Zixuan turned, her heart hammering, and crossed the small distance between them before she lost her nerve. He stiffened instantly as her arms slid around him, her cheek pressing against the hard planes of his chest.

The warmth she had been drowning in outside—this was different. This was terrifying. This was safe.

For a long heartbeat, Aoshen didn’t move. His body was rigid, frozen like the ice he commanded. She thought he might push her away, sneer, or scold.

But he didn’t.

His arms remained locked at his sides, but his head tilted ever so slightly down, eyes fixed on her as though she were some puzzle he couldn’t solve. His heartbeat thundered against her ear, steady, unyielding, but faster than it should’ve been.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered finally, his voice low and strained. “Clinging to me like this.”

Her lips curved faintly against his robes. “Then let me be ridiculous.”

Aoshen inhaled sharply—too sharply for someone unaffected. For once, he had no cruel retort, no icy dismissal. Just silence.

And then, almost imperceptibly, one hand lifted. Hovered. Hesitated. And rested, stiffly, on her back.

Not a full embrace. Not softness. But it was enough. Enough to make her chest ache with something she couldn’t name. Enough to make him falter in the fortress of himself.

The warmth outside wasn’t just in the air anymore. It was here, between them.

♧♧♧

Aoshen let out a long sigh, his cold, silky voice cutting through the silence. “Zixuan…” he muttered, giving her back a single pat before attempting to shake her off. When she refused to budge, clinging even tighter, his lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smirk.

“You’re like a cockroach,” he said flatly, tone playful but edged with chill, “clingy and impossible to get rid of.”

Zixuan tilted her head against his chest, her voice muffled with mischief. “Then step on me, Aoshen. I’ll still crawl back.”

♤♤♤

He finally pried her off, her hands slipping from his arm as she pouted in mock defeat. “Fine, fine, I’ll let you be grumpy alone,” she huffed before spinning around dramatically and bolting toward the bathroom.

The “dramatic bolt” lasted all of two steps before she nearly tripped on the edge of the rug. She flailed, caught her balance, then smacked her shoulder into the doorframe because she’d misjudged the turn. “Ow—! I meant to do that!” she announced, disappearing inside with as much dignity as a clumsy penguin could muster.

He stared at the now-shut door for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. It wasn’t often someone looked that ridiculous right in front of him. A low chuckle slipped past his lips before he could stop it, and he shook his head.

“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, but his eyes lingered on the door longer than they should have, amusement still simmering quietly in his chest.

☆☆☆☆

The air was still, except for the faint crunch of his boots on the hardened earth. He hadn’t spoken since he called her out here. He didn’t need to. His silence was sharper than any blade.

She stood, arms crossed, glaring at him like he’d just committed the greatest crime in the heavens. “So this is your big apology? Dragging me out here like I signed up for boot camp?”

He tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Apology? Don’t flatter yourself. I said I’d train you. You don’t deserve words—you need strength.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Start moving,” he cut her off, cold as steel. “If you’re going to sulk, you can go back to being useless. Your choice.”

Her nose flared. Useless? That one word burned hotter than a flame in her chest.

Still, she stomped into the center of the field, muttering, “You’re lucky I didn’t murder you last night.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he replied smoothly, hands tucked behind his back.

Training began, and it was hell.

Every time she threw a strike, he dodged effortlessly—quick, sharp, like wind slicing through clouds. She felt like a child swinging clumsily at shadows. Her breathing turned ragged, sweat sticking her hair to her temples, while he remained maddeningly calm, not a strand of his hair out of place.

She stumbled, hands on her knees. “I can’t—ugh—I’m not built for this!”

He circled her, voice dripping with mockery. “You fight like a ninety-year-old mortal with arthritis.”

Her head shot up. “WHAT did you just say?”

“I was being generous,” he added with a small shrug, eyes glinting. “At least the mortal would have an excuse. What’s yours?”

She let out a sharp gasp of outrage. “I hate you!”

“Good. Use that hate. Push past your weakness.”

But instead, she collapsed dramatically on the ground, sprawling out like she’d been slain. “Nope. I’m done. This is abuse.”

He crouched down beside her, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “If you quit this easily, then you’re exactly as pathetic as I thought.”

Her eyes widened. “You—”

Before she could curse him out, the ground beneath them trembled. He snapped his fingers, and a gust of icy wind spiraled out, coating the field in frost. The grass crystallized, their breath clouded, and within seconds the entire practice ground was frozen solid.

Her teeth chattered. “You’re insane!”

He stood tall, his expression unreadable. “Unfreeze it.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“You heard me. Melt it. Prove you have even a flicker of fire in you.”

“You think I can thaw an entire field? What do I look like to you—?”

“Competent.”

She gawked. “I can’t do that!”

“Then stay weak.” He turned his back on her, dismissive.

That was it. She snapped. She got up, stomped toward the exit, and shouted, “You’re impossible! I’m leaving—”

Something hard smacked into her hair. She froze. Slowly, she reached up and touched the icy clump sliding down her head.

“…Did you just hit me with a snowball?”

He was standing a few feet away, smirking openly now, another ball of snow forming in his palm. “You’re moving again, aren’t you? Looks like I found your motivation.”

“You are SO dead—”

She lunged at him, summoning heat with sheer rage. Her palms trembled as she pressed one above the other, sparks sputtering and flickering like a candle in the wind. Slowly—painfully slowly—flame began to take shape, wobbling like a soap bubble.

He raised a brow. “Are you hatching a fireball, or knitting a scarf?”

“SHUT UP!” she screamed, finally shoving the glowing orb forward.

It was pitiful, really. A slow-moving ball of fire that crawled through the air like a turtle. He stood there casually, arms folded, waiting. Then, with a flick of his wrist, frost shot out and swallowed the flame whole. It froze midair and shattered into harmless sparks before touching him.

She let out a growl of pure frustration, fists shaking. “You—You’re the WORST teacher I’ve ever had!”

“And yet,” he said calmly, “you still produced fire.”

Her breath hitched. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it until he pointed it out.

Before she could reply, a familiar voice cut in.

“What in the nine realms…”

Both of them whipped their heads toward the entrance. Ziyu stood leaning lazily against a pillar, one brow raised, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Is this supposed to be training, or did I just walk in on the weirdest foreplay of the century?”

Her face went crimson. “ZIYU!”

The cold one didn’t even flinch. “Training.”

“Mm-hm.” Ziyu smirked. “Sure. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your… ‘practice.’ Don’t burn down the palace, alright?”

She sputtered, her whole body trembling with outrage. “It’s not—that’s not what this is!”

But Ziyu was already walking away, laughing under his breath.

Meanwhile, her so-called teacher just smirked, utterly unfazed. “Good. You’re angry again. Let’s try another round.”

She glared at him with fire in her eyes—literal fire this time—and muttered, “One day I’m actually going to kill you.”

He gave the faintest smile. “Then you’ll finally be strong enough.”

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

Her fists clenched, still tingling from the pathetic excuse of a fireball. Her chest heaved as she glared at him, eyes burning hotter than her palms.

“Again,” he said coolly, as if she hadn’t just embarrassed herself.

“I said I’m done!” she snapped, whirling on him. “Do you think I enjoy looking like an idiot while you—”

He flicked another snowball at her forehead mid-sentence.

The smack echoed louder than it should have. Echoed louder than the first one.

Her whole body went stiff. Slowly—very slowly—she touched the spot on her head where melting snow trickled down her temple.

“…Did you seriously just—”

“You talk too much,” Aoshen interrupted, his tone mercilessly calm. “Show me fire, or shut up.”

Something inside her snapped.

Her breath hitched as the heat in her chest flared violently outward. Flames surged across her skin like armor, whipping into the air around her. The ground trembled beneath her feet, cracks racing across the frost-covered training ground as if the earth itself recoiled from her.

Her hair lifted unnaturally, strands flickering like they’d caught flame, and when she opened her eyes—they glowed.

This wasn’t the weak sputter of sparks she’d produced before. This was raw, untamed power.

“You want fire?” Her voice rang out, distorted and trembling with fury. “Fine. Burn with me!”

A vortex of flame erupted around her, swirling so high it licked the frozen roof beams of the practice courtyard. The ice Aoshen had spread earlier shattered with a hiss, steam exploding upward.

For the first time, Aoshen’s smirk faltered.

He actually braced himself. His coat whipped in the sudden heatstorm, and the air around him shimmered as the temperature spiked. He narrowed his eyes, his hands twitching at his sides—not to counter her, but to measure her.

The fire burst out again, wild and uncontrolled, surging toward him like a beast breaking chains. He flicked his wrist and a wall of ice shot up instinctively, but the flames crashed into it and cracked the barrier down the middle.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. She broke it?

The fire kept pouring from her, her voice breaking through the roar of flames:

“I’m not weak! I won’t be weak ever again! Not for you, not for anyone!”

And then—her knees buckled.

The flames wavered, sputtered, then collapsed inward like a dying star. The ground smoked and hissed where she’d been standing, leaving blackened scorch marks. She fell forward, gasping, barely able to keep herself upright.

The training yard was a wreck—charred earth, shattered ice, steam rising in violent curls.

Aoshen stepped forward slowly, his boots crunching on the broken frost. His eyes were unreadable, but the corner of his mouth curved upward—not in mockery this time, but in something darker. Something almost like satisfaction.

He crouched beside her, his voice low.

“Finally… you stop whining and show me what you really are.”

Her trembling hand pressed into the scorched ground as she forced herself to glare up at him, sweat streaking her face. “I… hate you.”

“Good.” His eyes glinted like shards of ice catching firelight. “Hate me more. And next time… don’t collapse before you finish the fight.”