"You expect a warm greeting?" Hua Rushi's grin sharpened as Shen Yu stepped into the training yard. "Not from you," Shen Yu said, blade sheathed at her hip, voice flat. "Good," Hua snapped her fan open with a casual flick. "Save the drama for later. I prefer my rivals polite and useless." A ripple of laughter. Someone tossed a comment about the white omen that clung to Shen Yu's name like a stain. "White omen," a girl called. "Sounds mystical. What does it actually do?" Shen Yu didn't answer. She moved toward a line of wooden dummies with the same calm she used to clean a bowl—efficient, sure. She set her feet, inhaled, and let her breath settle. Hua stepped closer, fan tapping rhythm against her palm. "You were left at the north gate, weren't you? No master. No hopeful story. Just a nameless blade. How poetic." "You forget one thing," Shen Yu said. She lifted her sword without looking at Hua. "I learned to use a blade on my own." "Teach us, then," Hua mocked. "Show us the miracle of the abandoned child." "Do you want a lesson," Shen Yu asked, "or an excuse?" "Both," Hua said. "Entertain me." The first strike came as movement, not noise. Shen Yu's sword hand drew a thin arc through the air; a whisper of cold brushed the nearest dummy's shoulder. Splinters flew like confetti. "What's that?" someone shouted. "Control," Shao Jie, a junior, answered