**Title: **Soul Land Movie: Sword Master**
The fires of the Seven Treasures Glazed Sect lit up the night sky like a dying sun. Ash fell like black snow as Bone Douluo staggered through the wreckage, his robes scorched, his arms wrapped tight around the last treasure of his sect—a trembling child with too-bright eyes.
“Take her,” he rasped, thrusting six-year-old Ning Rongrong into Sword Douluo Chenxin’s arms. Her small fists clutched a shattered spirit tool, its fractured edges biting into her palm. Blood dripped between her fingers, but she didn’t make a sound.
Chenxin had never been good with children. He was a blade given human form—all sharp edges and colder silences. But when the first Spirit Hall assassin’s arrow whistled past his ear, he found himself tucking the girl against his chest and running.
The road west was a gauntlet. They moved like ghosts through abandoned villages, Rongrong’s breath hot and quick against his neck. She learned fast: how to step without sound, how to read the warning in Chenxin’s stiffening shoulders before danger struck. At night, she’d trace the characters of their sect’s name in the dirt, over and over, as if to remind herself who she was.
“They’re herding us,” Chenxin realized too late, when the ambushes came just frequent enough to keep them moving but never enough to kill them. The message was clear: *Let the world watch the mighty Seven Treasures Glazed Sect heir flee like a hunted animal.*
On the seventh night, as Chenxin cleaned a cut across her cheek, Rongrong finally spoke: “They want me to be scared.” Her voice was small but steady. “I won’t let them.”
Somewhere in the dark, a wolf howled. Chenxin adjusted his grip on his sword. The child beside him had the eyes of a survivor now.
The real war was just beginning.
