A hundred years later, the Nine Provinces blazed like flame.
The former wastelands had become fertile soil, their broken walls reshaped by starfire. The towering walls of old had collapsed, replaced by an unbroken sweep of Fire Villages. Mortal fire was no longer a taboo hidden in secret scriptures, no longer the private property of aristocratic houses, no longer a lofty privilege wielded by cultivators. Like rain and dew, like the morning breeze, like the breathing of the earth, it flowed naturally among all people. Every village had a fire stele; every household kindled a flame of the heart. Children beginning their education no longer bowed to idols of the Gu Clan, but sat quietly before the Mortal Flame Stele, closing their eyes to feel that thread of warmth in their palms. It was not the restless stirring of Dou Qi, but the resonance between fire and the human heart—fire had entered the heart, and the heart itself was its source.
Dou Qi was no longer the privilege of a select few, but a light in ordinary people's hands. The elderly used fire to warm their meridians, youths used it to temper their bodies, farmers used it to till their fields, and artisans used it to forge tools. Even children playing in the streets amused themselves by drawing symbols with flames on their fingertips. Across the Nine Provinces, branches of the Fire Academy rose everywhere, with blue-tiled roofs and white walls. Their entrances had no lofty steps, no prohibitions, only a single plaque: "All who have a heart may enter." In their classrooms, teachers taught their pupils not to "command fire," but to practice "Protecting the Fire"—to guard that undying resolve, that unyielding soul, that inextinguishable hope. Legend held that in the stillness of night, anyone who listened closely could