Chapter 6: The Little Spirit

**Dragon Tamer**
**Xiaosang Town**

The wind howled through the village, sharp and cold—autumn’s chill had settled in after a night of rain. Fallen mulberry leaves carpeted the courtyard, their brittle edges curling like tiny waves. A thick layer still clung to the roof, forming a mosaic of shimmering, damp green tiles that gave the humble little house an unexpected, melancholy elegance.

With the leaves gone, the silkworm merchants knew winter was already knocking at the door. And for Zhu Minglang, this meant one thing: time to go back to being a man without a purpose.

He stood in the yard, sweeping up the soggy wreckage with a broom, his head down. Then—suddenly—he saw them: two long, slender feet, pale as moonlight, stepping forward with quiet precision.

Zhu Minglang looked up.

She stood before him like a statue carved from ice—aloof, distant, her beauty sharp as amber glass, but beneath those golden eyes flickered something darker. A hint of bloodlust.

This wasn’t the fragile, gentle woman he’d known before. No more softness. No more peace. There was power in her stance now—raw, unyielding. The kind of presence only forged in war, in fire, in loss.

So she’d regained some strength. Not much—not nearly enough to match her former self. But even so, Zhu Minglang had heard the legends. Whispers of a warrior who once tore through armies like paper.

“You’re going to take revenge?” he asked, voice calm.

The moment the words left his mouth, silver threads shot from her sleeves—thin as spider silk, hard as steel. They twisted and fused midair, forming a blade of shimmering wire, hovering just beneath his jaw.

“Am I the first?” Zhu Minglang said, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

The blade slid—swift, silent—and she was already gone, a shadow leaping over him like a bird on wings. A thin red line appeared across his neck. Blood welled, just barely.

But no death.

Zhu Minglang didn’t move. He waited for his head to roll.

It never did.

Just a scratch. Skin broken, nothing more.

She hadn’t killed him.

He pressed a hand to his throat, turned slowly to watch her retreating figure—the tall, elegant silhouette fading into the misty morning.

He didn’t thank her. Not out loud. Because if she’d truly wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have reached out to pull him from the dungeon all those months ago.

“Do you really plan to haunt me forever?” he called after her. “A lifetime of shame?”

For days now, people had whispered about the two of them—a goddess in the sky palace, a beggar in the filth-stained gutter below. A love story written in impossible contrasts. It was scandalous. Delicious. Word would spread beyond Yongcheng soon enough.

She didn’t answer. Just walked on, this time not hiding her face. No disguise. No pretense. Her hair was messy, her clothes worn, her cheeks hollow—but still, she carried herself like a queen who’d forgotten her crown.

“Actually…” Zhu Minglang watched her disappear into the haze, the words caught in his throat.

He understood.

It wasn’t *him* she couldn’t forgive. It was his station. His worthlessness.

She was gone.

And Zhu Minglang felt something strange—half sorrow, half relief. Without thinking, he plucked a fat, perfect mulberry leaf and laid it in his palm. Instantly, the little ice worm sprang from his shoulder, landing with a joyful hop.

“Do we ever get back to the days when we ruled the skies?” Zhu Minglang murmured, cradling the tiny creature.

Years had passed. And still, he couldn’t make sense of it: why a proud white dragon had been wrapped in silken threads overnight… why its body had shrunk, collapsed, until it became nothing but this small, clumsy worm, content only with chewing mulberry leaves.

The ice worm ignored him. Its minuscule front legs lifted the leaf like a child holding a dinner bowl far too big. *Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.* It began eating, its round body wiggling with delight. When finished, it blinked its big black eyes, utterly satisfied.

Zhu Minglang laughed. He couldn’t help it. He reached out with his other hand and poked its soft belly.

The worm didn’t flinch. Instead, it flipped onto its back, letting him rub its underbelly. It let out a happy little *nnyeeep*, like a kitten purring.

“Simple life isn’t so bad,” he sighed. “No pressure. No worries. No one to answer to…”

He shook his head and went back to sweeping. Next year, he’d plant more mulberry trees on the hill behind the house. The little guy was getting bigger. If he didn’t keep up, he’d starve his only friend.

“Wait… it’s not even noon yet,” he muttered, pausing mid-sweep. “Why does it feel so warm?”

The cold air had vanished. Something was pushing it aside.

Then—through the clouds, streaks of crimson light burst forth, like flames breaking through the sky. The entire village glowed red. Even the nearby woods had turned fiery, as if autumn had set them ablaze.

Zhu Minglang looked up.

Morning had passed hours ago. How could there be such a blazing dawn?

The clouds burned like real fire—massive, drooping pillars of flame, transforming the endless blue sky into a masterpiece of color. It was breathtaking.

*Creak.*

Before Zhu Minglang could make sense of it, the wooden gate creaked open.

There she was—back again.

Her steps were hurried. Her expression tense.

Zhu Minglang’s eyes lit up.

*She’s back.*

Funny—he’d forgotten he still grew winter jasmine. Maybe this winter, he’d work harder. If she’d stay with him, eat plain rice and tea, tolerate the smell of silkworm droppings in the yard… well, he could take care of her. He could *protect* her.

“I don’t have to do this, right?” he smiled, already rehearsing the words in his mind.

But before he could speak, she stepped forward, voice sharp, urgent.

“You must pretend to be one of my kin.”

Zhu Minglang blinked.

Before he could process it, the gate slammed open again—this time with force.

A man strode in.

Tall. Imposing. Dressed in a deep blue robe etched with red patterns. His features were striking—handsome, yes—but his skin was deathly pale, as though drained of every drop of blood. He looked ill. Weak.

Yet there was no frailty in him. Only coldness. Isolation. A presence that made the air itself seem to freeze.

Zhu Minglang glanced at the sky—still aflame—and then back at the man’s eyes. Flecks of red flickered within them, like embers in a dying fire.

*Dragon Tamer.*

And strong. Very strong.

“Is this the one you spoke of?” Luo Xiao asked, his gaze locking onto Zhu Minglang like a blade.

“The one who came ahead of us,” the Valkyrie said. “He reported my condition to the clan. I sent him here to clean up my trail. He’ll return to the Ancestor Dragon City tomorrow.”

Luo Xiao approached, studying Zhu Minglang with narrowed eyes. Suspicion radiated from him. He didn’t believe a word.

“Lady,” Zhu Minglang bowed deeply, voice steady. “My clan ordered me to bring you home. But they never said anything about traveling with strangers. You’re noble. Beautiful. I’d advise caution—better not trust someone with unknown origins.”

“Unknown origins?” Luo Xiao hesitated. “I—I was once my father’s servant. Now I am a Dragon Tamer. Not some outsider.”

“Ah,” Zhu Minglang said, nodding slowly. “Then we’re kin. In that case… I suppose we can travel together. Keep each other safe.”

He said it with mock reluctance—just enough sarcasm to sting, just enough charm to disarm.

Zhu Minglang couldn’t help but grin.

*Still got it,* he thought. *Acting skills haven’t rusted after all.*