The doorframe caught Xiaolong's left horn for the third time that morning.

She stopped mid-stride, skull tilted at an angle that would have been dignified if she wasn't stuck in the entrance to her own chambers like a particularly ornamental coat hook. The curved protrusion had wedged itself between wood and stone with the tenacity of an unwanted houseguest.

"Ow," she said, more out of annoyance than pain.

A gentle tug accomplished nothing. A slightly less gentle tug produced a creaking sound from the doorframe that suggested structural complaints.

"This is absurd," she muttered, backing up carefully until the horn slid free. The morning sun caught the smooth surface, throwing prismatic light across the courtyard stones in patterns that looked deliberately mocking.

Three days since purifying Master Yuan. Three days since her body had decided horns were a permanent fashion statement regardless of her opinions on the matter. She'd spent the first two days in her chambers attempting to will them back into non-existence through sheer force of draconic displeasure, but her essence remained stubbornly convinced that partial manifestation was the new normal.

Dragons didn't compromise on form.

The Descending Dragon Path was the only means of voluntarily diminishing draconic aspects, and it was absolute—there was no halfway point, no balance between forms, only a steady progression from cosmic majesty to temporary mortality. That progression didn't allow for whims of inner natures deciding otherwise.

But here she was, horns on full display, unable to even make polite morning greetings without risk of property damage.

She tried the doorway again, this time ducking and angling her head to anticipate the clearance. Success, though the maneuver required contortions usually reserved for avoiding conversational topics she found tiresome.

The morning courtyard greeted her with the usual sounds of early cultivation practice—disciples moving through forms, water flowing in harmonious circuits, birdsong threading through it all like decorative stitching.

Everything normal. Everything familiar.

Except for the way every head turned when she emerged from her quarters.

Junior Disciple Chen dropped his practice sword. The clatter echoed across stone, followed by the particular silence that preceded either violence or social catastrophe.

"Honored—" Chen began, then seemed to lose track of which honorific applied to dragons with visible horns. His mouth worked soundlessly for several heartbeats before he gave up and performed a bow so deep his forehead nearly met his knees.

"Good morning, Chen." Xiaolong kept her voice deliberately casual. "You dropped your sword."

"Yes! I—of course, I—" He snatched up the weapon without straightening, creating an awkward half-bent scramble that would have been impressive if it wasn't so obviously panicked.

Two other junior disciples nearby had frozen in their morning forms like someone had transformed them into particularly anxious statues. A girl whose name Xiaolong couldn't recall stared with the sort of wide-eyed fascination usually reserved for natural disasters.

This would not do.

Xiaolong walked toward the Azure Pool, maintaining the same unhurried pace she'd cultivated over months of human observation. Not aggressive, not deferential, just a person moving through space without requiring commentary. The horns swept through her peripheral vision with every step—an unavoidable reminder that her body had its own opinions about presentation.

The pool's surface reflected morning light in the colors she'd grown to appreciate during her time at the sect. Clear, steady, balanced. She settled onto her usual meditation stone and began the circulation exercises Li Feng had taught her during those early days when she'd been pretending not to know how energy moved through meridians.

Someone cleared their throat behind her.

Xiaolong opened her eyes to find Meihua standing at a respectful three paces, clutching a leather-bound notebook against her chest like a shield. The girl's posture radiated the sort of determined nervousness that suggested she'd spent the last several minutes working up courage for this approach.

"Master." Meihua bowed, managing to keep the gesture formal without descending into Chen's earlier gymnastics. "I apologize for interrupting your morning practice, but I was wondering if I might ask some questions about your current manifestation?"

The phrasing struck Xiaolong as admirably direct. No euphemisms, no elaborate dancing around the obvious horns currently sprouting from her temples.

"What sort of questions?"

Meihua's fingers tightened on her notebook. "Technical ones. About draconic physiology and how partial transformation affects cultivation base integrity. Also—" she hesitated, then pushed forward with the stubborn momentum of someone who'd already committed to the cliff's edge "—I would like to measure their curvature and document the surface texture, if you would permit such examination."

A laugh bubbled up before Xiaolong could suppress it. Of all the possible reactions to her altered appearance, clinical documentation hadn't made the list.

"You want to measure my horns?"

"For research purposes." Meihua's face had gone slightly pink, but her gaze remained steady. "The sect library contains extensive documentation of spirit beast manifestations and immortal transformations, but actual draconic physiology remains theoretical. This represents an unprecedented opportunity for primary source observation."

The earnest enthusiasm in her tone reminded Xiaolong uncomfortably of Master Zhen's reaction to interesting plants. She touched one horn, feeling the smooth surface that refused to retract no matter how much spiritual pressure she applied.

"Very well. But after morning practice concludes."

Meihua's bow this time carried genuine gratitude rather than pure formality. She retreated to the far side of the pool, though Xiaolong noticed the girl spent more time sneaking glances at her horns than focusing on her own cultivation exercises.

The morning meditation session proceeded without further interruption, though Xiaolong remained aware of attention tracking her movements. Even Chen, who usually circled the Azure Pool like a hyperactive fish, contented himself with orbiting just outside her direct line of sight.

When the morning bell signaled the end of meditation practice, Xiaolong rose and stretched limbs gone slightly stiff from holding the sitting position too long. Another annoying physiological hiccup—her true form never experienced joint discomfort from simple immobility.

The movement brought both horns into contact with a low-hanging willow branch she'd successfully avoided on arrival. Leaves tangled around the curved protrusions with the enthusiastic commitment of plants that had found an excellent trellis.

She tried to pull free. The willow held firm, apparently under the impression this was a collaborative art project.

"Need some help?" Ming Lian's voice carried amusement barely restrained by politeness.

Xiaolong turned her head carefully—or tried to. The willow had other opinions about appropriate range of motion. "This tree has become unusually attached to me."

"Clearly overwhelmed by your natural majesty." Ming Lian circled around to examine the situation from a better angle. "Though I'm wondering if we should just leave you here as a decorative feature. The courtyard could use more statuary."

"Your concern is noted."

"I'm very concerned. Extremely concerned." He reached up and began untangling leaves with the careful movements of someone who'd spent time de-snarling fishing nets. "Also wondering if we should hang lanterns from these for the next festival. Very festive. Very dragon-appropriate."

The teasing carried none of the nervous deference that had characterized Chen's earlier reaction. Ming Lian treated her visible draconic features the same way he treated everything else about her—with friendly irreverence that assumed she could handle being teased.

"I will remember this suggestion when you require assistance with some future catastrophe."

"I'm counting on it. My catastrophes are legendary." The last leaf came free. "There. Try not to marry any more trees before lunch."

He walked away whistling, leaving Xiaolong with the odd sensation that having horns might be less socially catastrophic than she'd feared.

Meihua materialized the moment Ming Lian departed, notebook open and writing brush already inked.

"If you're still willing, I've prepared a comprehensive documentation methodology that should capture all relevant physical characteristics without causing discomfort." She held up a measuring cord. "This is calibrated for spiritual energy conductivity assessment, so it won't interfere with your essence flow."

Xiaolong gestured toward the meditation stone. "Proceed."

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What followed was the most thorough examination Xiaolong had experienced since her youth, when dragon elders had assessed her elemental affinities.

Meihua measured horn length, curvature radius, base circumference, and apex diameter, muttering calculations as she wrote down each figure. She documented the smooth texture, noted the faint iridescent quality of the surface, and sketched quick diagrams showing attachment points to the skull.

"You can feel through them?" she asked after tapping gently at one horn tip. "Not just tactile sense but also energy sensitivity?"

"More sensitive to vibrations and energy currents than to touch," Xiaolong explained. "My awareness of shifts in qi extends further with these manifested. Useful, if inconvenient when doorways and trees interfere."

"Like a dragon's whiskers, sensing ripples and fluctuations?" Meihua muttered more to herself than to her research subject. "That explains the elongated shape."

Her brush sketched rapidly, capturing both profile and direct views in quick strokes before flipping to a blank page for writing.

"Is this common among your kind? Emergent secondary traits remaining in a manifested form, I mean."

Xiaolong suppressed the urge to sigh. Humans and their curiosity about draconic nature. Even Li Feng had been prone to occasional bouts of inappropriate speculation.

"Generally not. Dragons do not assume other physical forms, nor do our manifestations fluctuate between degrees of resemblance. My situation is... unusual." She chose each word carefully, not wanting to expose the full truth of her path without need. "A side effect of recent cultivation efforts."

That seemed to satisfy Meihua. "Cultivation-related transformation anomalies make up an entire section of the library, though they're mostly focused on immortal beasts that manifest humanoid traits rather than vice versa."

The writing brush flipped a page. More notes followed, this time written in smaller characters squeezed together like excessively friendly ants. Xiaolong let her attention wander, the girl's questions fading to background noise while she considered how to approach her current situation.

After Meihua departed, Xiaolong remained at the pool. Her reflection gazed back, the horns curving from her temples in elegant sweeps that would have looked regal if she wasn't still annoyed by their presence.

She'd spent several millennia as a dragon. Months as a human attempting to pass for a mortal cultivator. And now existed in this middle space where her nature refused polite concealment but hadn't abandoned the connections that made limitation worthwhile.

"Admiring your new accessories?"

Xiaolong looked up to find Elder Liu approaching, the older woman's eyes bright with good humor. She carried a wrapped bundle, and wore a casual air that suggested her presence here wasn't merely a social call.

"Tolerating them with increasing resignation."

"They suit you." Elder Liu settled onto a nearby stone. "Though I imagine doorways have become more complicated."

"Doorways. Tree branches. Any enclosed space designed by people who assumed heads would remain a consistent size."

"The practical challenges of embodying mythological magnificence." Elder Liu's fan opened with a soft snap. "How are you managing otherwise? The other disciples have been... adjusting their behavior."

"Some more successfully than others."

"Ming Lian treating you normally is helping." The observation carried approval. "His irreverence gives others permission to relax."

Xiaolong hadn't considered it from that angle, but the logic made sense. Ming Lian's willingness to joke about her horns signaled that they didn't fundamentally change their relationship—that she remained the same person who'd traveled with them, fought beside them, occasionally exasperated them with draconic peculiarities.

"The sect has been remarkably accepting."

"You've already told us you're a dragon, and you've spent months cultivating in visible proximity," Elder Liu pointed out. "Manifested horns simply prove what everyone already knows. Most people will adjust faster than you're expecting if today's meditation session was any indication."

"I'm glad," Xiaolong said. "That this isn't more of a disturbance."

Elder Liu's laugh was a warm thing. "My dear. The last few months have seen corrupted qi, purifying floods, a sect leader lost to demonic technique, and a visiting immortal interfering with a faction's power-hungry scheme. Manifested draconic features barely merit a footnote at this point."

The words held truth. She'd been thinking in terms of her own adjustment to her partially inhuman state, forgetting that these people had already faced far greater strangeness and emerged relatively intact.

"Thank you." Xiaolong allowed her posture to ease slightly. "I needed the perspective."

Elder Liu stood, preparing to return to administrative duties. "Though if you're interested, Disciple Su Hu works in textile arts. She's been muttering about horn ornaments since yesterday. Might want to speak with her before she shows up with unsolicited accessories."

The afternoon training session brought its own complications.

Xiaolong had agreed to demonstrate defensive techniques for the intermediate disciples—a monthly rotation that gave students exposure to different fighting styles. Usually, she showed human cultivation methods, carefully calibrated to appear skilled without revealing the vast reserves of power she kept suppressed.

Today, walking onto the practice field with visible horns, that careful calibration felt impossible to maintain.

The disciples assembled in neat rows, their expressions ranging from eager curiosity to poorly concealed nervousness. She recognized most faces—students she'd observed during meals, passed in courtyards, and occasionally assisted with minor technique questions. Good people learning orthodox cultivation with dedication and sincerity.

People who were now staring at her horns with the attention of artists planning immortal portraits.

"Today we're covering counter-techniques for aggressive opponents who use intimidation alongside direct assault." Xiaolong kept her voice level. "The principle remains consistent regardless of opponent's apparent power: observe, exploit imbalance, redirect force to create space."

She walked to the center of the practice circle. "I need a volunteer."

The silence that followed spoke volumes about how the disciples were processing her new appearance. Usually, half the students eagerly offered to serve as demonstration subjects, especially since her sparring style tended to minimize bruising even in moments of impact.

Now, nobody moved.

"Elder Brother Wang," she said finally, selecting one of the more confident students. "Please demonstrate your best aggressive technique."

Wang stepped forward, his posture carrying the careful respect of someone approaching a situation they didn't fully understand. He moved into attack position, spiritual energy gathering around his hands in the orthodox formation for Palm of Breaking Waves.

The technique flowed toward her with respectable power for his level. Xiaolong redirected it with minimal effort, using the spiral deflection Li Feng had taught her months ago. Wang's energy slid past, dissipated harmlessly, and left him slightly off-balance.

"Good foundation," she said. "But notice how I knew your attack's nature before you completed the form? That's because your spiritual pressure telegraphed your intention. More advanced opponents will read you the same way."

She spent the next hour walking students through defensive principles, demonstrating counters, and correcting stances. The familiar rhythm of instruction settled her thoughts. Horns were less important than learning techniques that could save a student's life someday.

Then one of the junior disciples raised her hand.

"Senior Xiaolong, could you show us what happens if the opponent is actually trying to intimidate? Like using their cultivation pressure to make you scared before they even attack?" The girl fidgeted nervously. "Just so we can practice understanding when fear is justified versus when it's just someone being mean."

An excellent question. Exactly the sort of thinking she'd been hoping this lesson would foster.

Xiaolong considered how to demonstrate spiritual intimidation without overwhelming her audience.

A distant roar interrupted her contemplation.

The sound rolled across the practice field from the direction of the outer territories—deep, aggressive, carrying the particular resonance of a spirit beast defending territory it had decided to expand. The disciples' heads turned toward the noise, several hands moving toward weapon hilts.

"That's the gorge," Wang said. "There's supposed to be a barrier keeping the wildlife out."

Another roar, closer this time. Then crashing sounds that suggested something large pushing through forest undergrowth with more enthusiasm than caution.

The spirit beast that emerged from the tree line stood perhaps twice as tall as a human, its form somewhere between bear and boar with additional tusks that seemed architecturally excessive. Spiritual energy radiated from it in waves that marked territorial aggression—this creature had decided the sect grounds looked like an excellent addition to its domain and wasn't interested in negotiating.

The disciples began forming defensive positions, their training overriding nervousness. Wang started organizing people into proper barrier formation, his voice carrying the steady authority of someone who'd drilled for exactly this scenario.

Xiaolong watched the beast lumber closer, its small eyes scanning the assembled humans as though evaluating how much effort it would require to disperse them. The spiritual pressure around the creature grew denser, pressing down like an invisible hand seeking submission.

She could disable it with barely any effort—one pulse of spiritual pressure would send it fleeing back to whatever valley it called home.

But the students needed to see how to handle such encounters themselves.

She walked forward, positioning herself between the beast and the assembled disciples. The creature's attention locked on her, its aggressive posturing intensifying as it registered potential opposition.

Then its gaze found her horns.

The beast's forward momentum halted like it had hit an invisible wall. Its ears flattened against its skull. The aggressive spiritual pressure winked out, replaced by the particular energy signature of a creature that had just encountered someone far above its weight class.

Xiaolong hadn't done anything beyond stand there. But the horns announced dragon with a specificity that transcended language, and the beast possessed enough survival instinct to recognize the hierarchy of beings that shouldn't be challenged.

It backed up three steps, made a sound that fell somewhere between whimper and apologetic grunt, then turned and crashed back into the forest with significantly more haste than it had demonstrated on arrival.

Silence held the practice field for several heartbeats.

"So," Wang said finally, "that's what spiritual intimidation looks like."

"That's what happens when your opponent recognizes they've made a terrible mistake," Ming Lian called from where he'd been watching the session. "Also known as the 'I should not have done that' technique, very advanced, highly recommended."

Laughter rippled through the disciples—nervous at first, then genuine as the tension broke. Several students came forward with questions about how to read spiritual pressure, what signs indicated a beast might flee rather than fight, how to project confidence without actual intimidation.

The teaching session continued into early evening, the horns becoming just another aspect of the demonstration rather than the sole focus of attention.

When Xiaolong finally returned to her quarters, she found a small package waiting on her meditation cushion. Inside: a pair of delicately crafted silver cuffs, sized to fit around horn bases, engraved with wave patterns that matched the sect's traditional aesthetic.

The note read simply:

In case you decide to keep them. They should be adorned properly. —Su Hu

Xiaolong held one cuff up to the lamplight, watching patterns shift across the polished surface. She'd spent three days resenting these horns as unwanted evidence of compromised control. But perhaps they were something else—proof that transformation moved in multiple directions simultaneously, that becoming neither fully dragon nor fully human created something worth existing as itself.

She fitted the cuffs carefully, feeling cool silver settle against the base of each horn. The metal caught light when she moved, throwing subtle reflections across the chamber walls.

Maybe accessories weren't such an absurd idea after all.

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