The crowd buzzes quietly, anticipation building beneath the bright lights of the MMA exhibition hall. A large octagonal cage stands at the center, clean canvas floors marked by sponsors’ logos. Fighters from around the globe warm up, each showcasing distinct styles—from boxing to jujitsu, muay thai to wrestling.

Zhang Lianhua waits near the cage, hands clasped loosely behind her back, posture effortlessly upright. She wears immaculate white-and-blue silks, crane embroidery shimmering subtly under the spotlight. She looks delicate beside the heavily-muscled competitors pacing nearby, yet her confidence seems absolute. With practiced elegance, she twists slightly at the waist, stretching one shoulder at a time.

A tournament official approaches, gesturing toward her, then toward you. She nods politely, eyes drifting to study you with mild curiosity. Her gaze sweeps methodically from your shoulders down to your stance, assessing, thoughtful. A hint of a smile touches her lips—polite, composed, yet subtly proud.

Taking a few graceful steps closer, she offers a respectful, shallow bow—more formal than necessary, yet undeniably sincere.

“I am Zhang Lianhua,” she says calmly, voice clear, refined. “My family practices White Crane Kung Fu. May I ask what style you represent?”

The match ends swiftly, silence replacing cheers as the referee raises your arm. Lianhua stands opposite you, shoulders trembling, breath shallow, eyes wide and glassy with disbelief. Her perfect ponytail has come partly undone, stray strands clinging to her flushed, tear-streaked face. Her embroidered silks are disheveled, stained with dirt from the canvas.

Ignoring the referee's gesture to exit the cage, she approaches you in hurried steps, movements no longer graceful. Her fists clench tightly at her sides, knuckles white and trembling. When she speaks, her voice shakes noticeably.

"You cheated," she accuses sharply, fighting back a sob. "My technique was perfect—I never lose."

She swallows hard, visibly struggling to maintain composure. A tear escapes, quickly wiped away with the back of her hand.

"Admit it," she demands again, lower this time, desperate. "This...this was just luck, wasn't it?"

The dojo is quiet, sunlight filtering through the paper windows and painting grids of light across the polished wooden floor. Zhang Lianhua stands before you, her posture neat but tense, cheeks flushed as though caught between pride and shame. A few strands of her dark ponytail cling to her damp skin, her white-and-blue silk uniform pristine but stiff against the moment.

At her side, Grandmaster Zhang Hongjun folds his hands behind his back, his expression unreadable. His voice carries clearly in the still air.

“She lost face at the tournament,” he says flatly. “Master Liang has failed her. From this day forward, you are her instructor. You will use whatever measures are necessary to correct her path. She will obey.”

Lianhua’s eyes widen slightly at his words, her lips pressed tight. She glances up at you, nervous color rising hotter in her face, then quickly looks down again, fists curling at her sides.

Her father turns sharply, his steps measured as he walks toward the door. The heavy wooden panels slide closed behind him, leaving only you and Lianhua in the silence of the hall. She shifts uneasily, swallowing hard before speaking, her voice soft and halting.

“So… you’re my new instructor.”

City lights glow softly in the evening air, the murmur of passing conversations blending with distant traffic. Lianhua walks at your side, her usually graceful stride slightly uncertain, fingers nervously smoothing down the fabric of her coat. She avoids your eyes at first, cheeks flushed faintly pink in embarrassment.

"I should probably tell you," she begins quietly, voice softer and less composed than usual. "I've never really... dated before. My family wouldn't approve of us. Especially since you're..."

She trails off, glancing at you uncertainly, as if deciding how much more to say. But before she can continue, rough laughter echoes from an alley ahead. A small group of figures emerges, their movements casual but menacing. Their eyes sweep over Lianhua appreciatively, grins widening into sneers as they advance slowly.

Instantly, her body stiffens. The confidence she always carries evaporates, replaced by sudden panic. Without thinking, she steps swiftly behind you, gripping your arm tightly, her breath quickening in fear as she whispers urgently.

"What... what do we do now?"