Year of the Sapphire Ox – Time to Shine
Three Hooves, Monday the 11th – Flying Sword Sect Main Residence Hall
The sun had barely crept over the glittering mist of Sword Mountain when the twins emerged from their chambers like tiny empresses in training.
Their black hanbok robes, embroidered with subtle flying swords and drifting petals, shimmered faintly with protective enchantments. The real crown, however, was their diànzi—those ornate sect headpieces, scaled to fit toddler skulls but crafted with the precision and reverence of imperial regalia.
They wore them every day.
With pride.
With purpose.
With the weight of destiny balanced comfortably on their four-year-old foreheads.
Mei'er and Hua'er, now seasoned ten-year-old attendants with more managerial experience than most outer sect elders, stood behind their respective mistresses with poised professionalism. They adjusted hems, flicked off lint with spiritual energy, and triple-checked the shadow placements of the diànzi.
"Lady Meilin, shall I braid your hair in the coiled jade pattern today?"
Meilin, regal as ever, nodded with practiced thoughtfulness. "Yes. It matches my tea pouring rhythm."
"Lady Lihua," Hua'er said, "would you prefer the twin phoenix knots or the falling sun twist?"
Lihua tilted her head, hair glinting like polished amber. "Falling sun. I intend to break through today. We must look presentable for progress."
Neither of them needed help, of course. They could dress themselves.
But this was ceremony.
And ceremony mattered.
As they entered the Grand Hall, all discussion at the enormous sect dining table ceased.
In perfect harmony, the twins glided across the threshold tiny boots clicking softly on jade-polished stone and performed a series of bowing greetings so flawless it could have been orchestrated by a divine puppet master.
"Greetings to the Ancestors."
"Greetings to Father and Mother."
"Greetings to the Siblings."
"Greetings to the Sect Elders."
"Greetings to Senior Disciples."
"Greetings to Junior Disciples."
Silence.
Complete, suffocating, deadly silence.
The kind only broken by the sound of one tea cup being set down ever-so-softly by Sect Mistress Xu Minzhi… before she slapped her hand across her mouth to suppress a laugh.
Sect Master Xu Zhongshan had already turned his head and was coughing violently into his sleeve. Elder Bai Hua had buried his face in his robes.
The older siblings?
Zhenyan looked like he was going to combust from stoic pride.
Liang just whispered, "Dead. I'm spiritually deceased."
Anyue wiped her eyes with a silk cloth and sobbed, "They're so serious. We've raised administrative nightmares."
The twins sat.
Like judges.
Like baby generals.
Like the threat of cultivation reform in small, adorable packaging.
Lihua, spreading spiritual jam on her bun, said plainly, "We must break through soon. It's shameful to have remained bottlenecked at Meridian Gathering for an entire year."
Meilin, sipping bitter tea like a 400-year-old elder, nodded gravely. "It reflects poorly on our work ethic. We must be diligent."
Everyone froze.
Sect Master Zhongshan blinked slowly. "You're… four."
"We are aware," Meilin replied.
Lihua tilted her head. "Which is why this delay is unacceptable."
A junior disciple whispered to another, "I just passed Qi Sensing at ten..."
"Burn your notes. They're the standard now."
"Ah yes," Meilin said, as if remembering a minor inconvenience. "I checked this morning. There's already a small puddle in my inner sea."
Lihua perked up. "Really? I have two."
Xu Minzhi dropped her chopsticks.
"Two puddles?" Zhenyan repeated, blinking like a broken artifact.
"Yes," Lihua said. "One for the flower Dao, and one for culinary intent."
"Also," Meilin added, "we will conduct a mini tea ceremony for the seventh courtyard after breakfast. Mei'er has confirmed the water temperatures are acceptable."
Mei'er bowed. "98.3 degrees, Lady Meilin. Just as requested."
They were four years old.
Four.
Other children their age were still chewing on robe strings and calling spiritual beasts "doggy."
These two were micro-managing tea leaves and drafting cultivation schedules.
The twins had even started copying their mother's hairstyles.reminiscent of Sect Mistress Minzhi's grace but adapted with childish bindings, beautiful silken cords, and complex braids. Too young for pins, but far too serious for ribbons, their hair shimmered with intent.
And they wore them to breakfast.
Every.
Single.
Day.
"They're terrifying," whispered a disciple.
"They're perfect," whispered another.
"They're plotting," said Liang, eyes shining. "They're always plotting."
Despite their gravity, the twins remained respectful. There was never cruelty in their words, nor arrogance in their poise.
They knew who they were.
They knew who others were.
And they respected that.
Meilin once told a junior servant, "If you're unhappy with your place, we'll help you move up. If you're content, we'll make sure no one pushes you down. But do not confuse contentment with complacency."
Lihua nodded. "And do not pretend you are giving your all when you are not. That offends our sensibilities."
Servants, in the Flying Sword Sect, cultivated.
They trained.
They studied.
They were family.
And the twins understood this hierarchy was not one of power, but precision—like cogs in a sacred machine. Everyone turning together.
The sect elders, watching their daughters critique spiritual pancake crispiness at the end of the breakfast table, were… unsure whether to laugh or prepare for a leadership transfer.
"Should we… assign them real work?" asked Elder Zhou.
"They're four," said Minzhi.
"They made me cry over my own spiritual formation essay yesterday," he whispered.
"They're qualified," Zhongshan agreed.
And as the twins marched off Lihua adjusting her sleeve length, Meilin correcting a junior disciple's bow posture every single elder at the table turned to look at each other.
"They're monsters," Anyue whispered fondly.
"Our monsters," Zhenyan added.