Wudang Mountain, a bastion of Murim orthodoxy, stands weary beneath the weight of its past.

Its pagodas stretched toward the heavens, home to swordsmen whose grace defied steel itself. Within its halls, the clash of blades once wove a harmony of wisdom and discipline. But now, the echoes have dimmed, and the wind carries only ghosts. The war against Cheonma left scars not only on the land but on Wudang's spirit. Disciples train, but fewer arrive each year. Doubt seeps into the foundation, cracking what was once unshakable.

And among those who remain, one name barely holds weight at all.

_________________________________________

"Get up, you idiot! Before Elder Jung-hi punishes us again!"

Yujin's voice cuts through the pre-dawn silence like a blade through silk. A moment later, rough hands seize my blanket and yank me onto the cold, unyielding wooden floor. The impact sends a sharp jolt of pain through my spine, yanking me from the haze of sleep.

"Are you insane?!" I groan, rubbing my forehead as I glare up at him.

"Not as insane as you. You'll regret it more if you skip training." His smirk is sharp, confident—annoyingly effortless.

Yujin has always been like that. Effortless. A natural prodigy, his every move exudes the grace and control of a true Wudang disciple. Even now, standing in the dim light of the barracks, his crisp robes settle neatly over his lean, well-trained frame.

His long, dark hair, tied in the traditional Wudang topknot, is undisturbed, as if gravity itself respects his talent. Compared to him, I must look like a beggar who wandered in by mistake—my robes wrinkled, my hair an unruly mess.

I sigh. Why can't he just let me be? It's not like I have talent. Compared to even a third-rate martial artist, I'm nothing.

Still, there's no avoiding it. Grumbling under my breath, I pull myself up and follow.

Outside, Wudang Sect stands as it always has—an ancient monolith of tradition and discipline. Despite the scars left by the failed war against Cheonma, Wudang remains a pillar of Murim. The grand dojo looms over the landscape, its towering pagodas standing resolute against the morning mist.

Age-old calligraphy is etched into the wooden beams, the strokes bold yet fluid, whispering of a time when Wudang's strength was unquestioned. Statues of past grandmasters line the stone pathways, their watchful gazes a silent judgment upon the present generation.

The air is thick with the scent of pine and aged parchment, mingling with the crisp morning wind. Incense smoke curls lazily from the temple hall, its silver tendrils rising like the prayers of the hopeful. But there is a stillness here, a quiet sorrow lingering beneath the surface.

Though the buildings stand tall, the life within them is fading. Where once a hundred disciples would train in harmony, now only a few dozen remain. The echoes of their movements fill the training yard, but they lack the thunderous spirit of the past.

The deeper I walk, the more I see. What was once a thriving sanctuary of students and masters, alive with the clash of blades and the murmur of wisdom, now stands quiet. Many have turned away, unwilling to learn from a sect that lost to the Heavenly Demon. Wudang is no longer untouchable—and we, its disciples, can feel it.

But no matter. The past is the past. It's time to focus on the present.

The training grounds buzzed with energy, full of disciples whose movements were sharp, disciplined, strong. Even the weakest among them could probably knock me flat. And they had. Many times.

"Took you long enough," a voice growls.

Elder Jung-hi stands before us, his presence alone enough to make the bravest disciples shrink. His graying beard is neatly combed, his robes pristine despite the dust of the training yard. Deep lines mark his face, not from age but from years of discipline, years of upholding Wudang's teachings through victories and failures alike. His sharp, hawk-like eyes scan the gathered disciples, their scrutiny more punishing than any strike.

"Grab a wooden sword and get ready. The practical exam begins now."

Even if I wanted to resist, I had no choice. Angering Elder Jung-hi would only make things worse.

With a sigh, I grab a wooden sword, its weight familiar yet uninspiring. Around me, the duels are already underway. Yujin, ever the prodigy, dispatches his opponent in less than a minute.

"Showoff." The thought creeps in before I can stop it. It's not that I hate him—how could I? But standing next to his talent, it's hard not to feel the sting of envy.

One by one, matches end, and then—inevitably—it's my turn.

Stepping into the center of the training yard, I feel dozens of eyes settle on me. They already know how this will play out.

A snicker cuts through the murmurs.

"Hey, Third-Rate Chen."

Haoyu.

f there was ever a disciple more insufferable than him, I have yet to meet them. He strides forward with the air of someone who already considers the fight over, his wooden sword resting lazily on his shoulder. His expression is full of amusement, his lips curled into a smirk that makes my stomach turn.

I've never understood how someone with his personality lasted this long here.

But right now, that doesn't matter. Right now, I have to fight.

"It's Jiang Chen to you," I mutter without thinking.

Crap.

"Eh? So little Chen finally grew some balls?" Haoyu sneers, his stance shifting.

This isn't just another sparring match. He's planning to make me remember this one.

I glance at Elder Jung-hi. A master like him should be able to sense Haoyu's intent. But he's not stopping it.

Why?

Am I really that worthless?

The thought claws at me, but I force it down. No use dwelling on it. I just need to endure—let Haoyu have his fun and make sure he doesn't leave too many lasting injuries.

But then—

"You know, Jiang Chen, I think I finally understand why your master left. Watching you struggle is just... sad."

What?

Did he really just say that?

My grip tightens. My stance shifts.

Elder Jung-hi notices. His expression darkens—not with anger, but with something worse. Disappointment.

That only fuels the fire inside me.

"You fucker!"

I lunge, rage clouding my thoughts. Haoyu just laughs.

"Is that really what you call swordsmanship?"

He barely even tries. A lazy sidestep. My wooden sword cuts through nothing but air. He could end this now, but that's not what he wants.

I see it too late.

His blade swings in a wide arc—aimed directly at my chest.

"Agh—!" air coming out of my lungs from the sheer impact of the blow.

"I don't even need to use Wudang's techniques to beat you." Haoyu declares proudly.

A dull crack. Fire blooms in my ribs. My breath dies before it can even leave my lungs, and my body folds against the force. My vision flickers. For a second, I forget how to breathe as I'm sent flying a few meters back.

"Let me teach you how to really lunge, while actually using Wudang's techniques."

Smug. Condescending.

I see the next attack coming—straight for my head. I raise my sword, desperate to block. But the moment I react—

Haoyu sighed—actually sighed—before twisting his wrist.

"Returning Wind Thrust!" he shouts a mocking declaration of technique.

His blade curved like a shifting breeze, my defenses a step too slow. A sharp impact tore through my ribs. Then, I was airborne.

"Shit—!"

I crash hard against the ground, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. My arms shake as I try to push myself up.

"Next match."

Elder Jung-hi's voice cuts through the ringing in my ears.

"What?" Haoyu snaps his head toward him, clearly unsatisfied. "I wasn't even done yet! Please reconsider, I'm sure little Chen here can fight some more, isn't that right?"

He turns to me, smirking.

I can't even answer.

"Do not disobey me, Haoyu. Next match."

Haoyu clicks his tongue but steps back. I stay where I am, the weight of my own failure pinning me to the dirt.

Yujin runs toward me as I clutch my liver in pain.

"Jiang Chen! Are you okay?" concern etched in his voice

"Bring him to the infirmary." Elder Jung-hi declares.

Pain flares through my side as I struggle to breathe.

Yujin rushes to my side, his voice thick with concern. "Jiang Chen! Are you okay?"

I grit my teeth. The last thing I need right now is pity.

"Bring him to the infirmary," Elder Jung-hi orders.

No.

I shove Yujin aside, staggering to my feet. My vision wavers, my breath ragged, but I refuse to let anyone—especially him—see me like this.

Each step sends a dagger into my ribs. I keep walking anyway. I don't stop, don't look back. If I do, I'll see their faces. I'll hear their laughter. And that'll hurt more than anything Haoyu did to me.

"Third-rate trash."

"He can't even take one hit properly."

"No wonder his master abandoned him."

Their laughter is quiet, but it cuts deeper than Haoyu's sword ever could.

I keep walking—out of the training grounds, away from their stares—until my body gives in. The path beneath me is cracked stone, smoothed by centuries of footsteps, now littered with the golden remnants of autumn. A lone ginkgo tree stands at the edge of the sect, its branches splayed like an ancient guardian, leaves trembling in the wind.

My fingers press into the dirt. My body shakes, but I don't know if it's from exhaustion or something deeper.

Elder Zhang.

A master equal to Elder Jung-hi. My teacher. My guide.

And yet, he disappeared.

Wudang's official stance? He was sent to investigate demonic cult activity near Nanyang.

The rumors?

That he left because of me.

That I was a failure unworthy of his guidance.

That I was an impurity disrupting the flow of Wudang itself.

"Damn it! Why! … Why… WHY!"

The words tear from my throat as I hurl fistfuls of dirt, scattering them in a storm of frustration. My hands shake, nails digging into the earth. Years of anger, shame, and helplessness boil over, spilling into the quiet of the forest.

"He insulted you! And I—I couldn't do anything! I couldn't even defeat him for disrespecting you…" My voice cracks, rage faltering into something else—something raw and broken.

"I thought—if I just became stronger… if I proved myself… then maybe you'd come back. Maybe you'd see your disciple had become a worthy martial artist..."

The fire in my voice dims, smothered by regret. By loss. By the weight of mistakes I can never take back.

"Why… why… why…"

My body crumbles beneath the ginkgo tree, head bowed as the wind whispers through golden leaves. The scent of damp earth and fallen foliage fills my senses. Hours slip by, lost in the tangle of my thoughts, until the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the mountain.

Then—

A gust of wind stirs the leaves above, carrying with it a faint rustling. But it is not the rustling of nature—it is something else.

Paper.

I lift my head.

A letter, wedged into the bark of the tree, qi pulsing faintly around it, as if shielding it from time. My breath hitches. A message left behind? A whisper from the past?

Ignoring the pain in my ribs, I force my body up, using a crude Cloud Step to reach the branch. My vision swims, but I push through it, fingers closing around the letter's fragile edges. The moment I pull it free, the protective qi dissipates, its duty fulfilled.

The parchment drifts down, landing in my shaking hands.

The handwriting—familiar. Unmistakable.

I swallow hard and begin to read.

"If you are reading this, then I was right—you finally hit the bottom. Good. You needed to."

A chill runs through me.

"Do you think I abandoned you? That I saw you as worthless? That's the same lie I told myself when my own master left me behind. But I see now… he never abandoned me. I abandoned him."

My grip on the letter tightens. The words blur as my vision trembles.

No… no, this can't be—

"You still have a choice, Jiang Chen. Take the broken sword. If you leave it behind, then you were never meant to walk this path. If you pick it up, then prove to me, to him, and to yourself… that you can succeed where we failed."

The first tear falls before I even realize it.

I clutch the letter tighter. My breath shudders.

"This…" My voice cracks. "This is from—"

Another tear, then another. They slip past my control, falling freely.

I shake my head, choking back a sob. "No… this can't be real. He wouldn't… He—"

But the ink does not waver. The handwriting is unmistakable. Every word, every stroke—his.

My master.

"To fall is to follow the flow. To resist the current is to drown. If you are reading this, you have already chosen—so will you sink, or will you move with the river?"

Being the final line of the letter

Tears pour now, slow at first, then unstoppable, flowing like a river breaking through a crumbling dam.

Tears for my lost pride.

Tears for my bitterness, my doubt, my weakness.

Tears, flowing like water—uncontrolled, unrestrained, yet natural.

This is Wudang's way, isn't it? Water does not resist. It does not fight its path. It flows, shaping even the hardest stone over time.

And at this moment, I understand.

I let the tears fall. I let them shape me.

For the first time in years, I am not fighting the flow.

And for the first time, I finally believe—

He never abandoned me.

As my breathing steadies, a shift in the air sends a shiver down my spine. Something stirs—an unseen presence, no longer concealed. It was always here, waiting, but only now does it reveal itself. As if answering my resolve, the qi that once hid it dissipates like mist in the wind.

A sword.

Half-buried beneath the ginkgo tree, its blade is fractured, its once-pristine edge dulled by time. Yet despite its ruined state, there is no mistaking it. The hilt, wrapped in worn blue silk, bears the mark of Wudang—a master's blade, left behind for a disciple yet to rise.

My breath catches.

A part of me hesitates—what use is a broken sword? But another part, something deeper, refuses to turn away.

Compelled by something beyond reason, I reach out.

The moment my fingers wrap around the hilt, a surge of qi erupts from the blade, flooding into my body like a roaring tide. My vision blurs, my chest tightens, and an ancient power thrums through my very core.

Then—

A voice.

It does not speak. It resonates—a soundless tremor that shakes the heavens, echoing across all of Mt. Wudang.

"So the time has finally come."

A few seconds of silence passed after the voice echoed through Mt. Wudang. The mountain stood still. The air was crisp, carrying the distant scent of incense from the prayer halls above. Then, realization hit me—what the hell just happened?

"I can read your thoughts, you know. And no, this isn't just a dream," a voice spoke in my head. But it wasn't mine.

Panic gripped me. My breath hitched. My hands trembled as I stumbled back, heart pounding against my ribs. "What the hell are you? Get out of my head!"

I clutched my skull as if trying to squeeze the intruder out, channeling what little qi I had in a desperate attempt to exorcise whatever had invaded my mind.

"Relax. You're a Wudang disciple, aren't you? Ah, I almost forgot—allow me to introduce myself. You may call me Juan Lei."

Suddenly my qi drained from my body, swirling into the space before me. The air crackled. A gust of wind howled, sending loose leaves spiraling in all directions. Then, like mist solidifying, a figure took shape.

A man stood there.

His robes billowed as if caught in an unseen current, layers of silk dyed deep blue with golden embroidery tracing the sacred Wudang insignia along his sleeves. His long, silver-streaked hair flowed like a river, cascading past his shoulders, yet his face was youthful, untouched by time.

His sharp, fox-like eyes gleamed with an ethereal glow, and his expression held a calm that came only from years—no, decades—of mastery. He stood tall, yet light, as if his very presence was weightless, an extension of the air itself.

"Pleased to meet you, my new disciple."

Before I could react, he stepped forward and pressed a single finger to my forehead.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through my skull. Then—memories. A flood of them, not my own.

I saw Wudang, grander and more bustling than the one I knew. The temple halls shone under the midday sun, and disciples in pristine robes moved like flowing water, their synchronized movements forming an endless dance of blades and palms.

A lone swordsman stood atop a moss-covered training platform, his every strike carving the air itself. His form was so perfect it made even Elder Jung-hi seem crude by comparison. Then, a shadowed figure appeared—a young disciple, his form dissolving into darkness. His robes were familiar. A fellow student of Wudang?

And then—was that the Heavenly Demon?

Another surge of pain struck, more intense than before. More memories poured in. The same swordsman, standing before the Heavenly Demon, their gazes locked in battle. The sky churned with storm clouds, and the wind howled with unearthly force. But before I could absorb more, the vision shattered. I stumbled backward, gasping as reality reasserted itself.

I clutched my head, still reeling. "What… what are you? No—who are you?"

Juan Lei's eyes gleamed with wisdom, but his grin carried a hint of smugness, as if he took pride in the memories he had just shown me.

"That doesn't matter right now. What matters is what I'm about to show you."

Channeling his qi, Juan Lei materialized a glowing blue panel in front of me. The light from it reflected in his sharp eyes, making them shimmer like moonlit pools.

"I don't really know how this works," he admitted, eyes narrowing at the screen. "I just had a feeling it would—probably the same reason my will was bound to my sword. It's a mystery even to me."

As the swirling qi settled, text appeared on the panel, reading like something straight out of a mission board:

"You have taken the first step. Prove yourself worthy."

[Mission Unlocked: Surpass Your Limits]

"Your sword is dull. Sharpen it with battle."

Objective: Pass your next sparring match in the practical exam.

Reward: The first stance of 'Flowing River Sword Art.'

"How interesting." Juan Lei waved his hand through the panel as if testing its solidity. "So, all you need to do is win a simple sparring match, and you'll earn knowledge of one of Wudang's foundational techniques? If that's the case, you're quite lucky. It took me months to master this one." His voice carried both curiosity and amusement.

None of that mattered to me right now. I clenched my fists and took a step forward.

"Wait—before anything else, are you affiliated with Elder Zhang in any way?"

The panel, the mission, the promise of power—none of it meant a thing if this spirit had ties to Elder Zhang. If he did, then maybe, just maybe, I could finally get some answers. Why Elder Zhang left. Why this was happening to me. And what purpose this spirit truly served.

With the mention of the name Zhang his eyes lit up as if hearing the name of a long lost family member. "Zhang!? Do yo-" before he could finish his sentence Juan Lei falls to his knees grasping his head as if in terrible pain, just like how I was when those vague memories flood into my mind.

Juan Lei's body jerked violently, his hands clawing at his head. His face contorted in agony, veins bulging at his temples. "Aghhh! What's… what's happening!?"

The air crackled with energy. Loose pebbles levitated as qi swirled wildly, thrashing like a storm. His cries echoed through the mountain, filled with something more than pain—fear.

"What's going on, are you okay?" I tried to rush forward, but the moment my fingers brushed the swirling qi—boom!

A force slammed into my chest, hurling me through the air. My back collided with a tree, pain lancing through my ribs. My vision blurred. Darkness crept in.

Seconds? Minutes? I don't know how long I was out. When I came to, the storm of qi had settled.

Juan Lei exhaled sharply, still clutching his head. "I… I don't know anyone named Zhang." His voice was hoarse, like he himself didn't believe the words.

His gaze flickered with doubt—was he lying? Or had something erased his memories?

I look at him, hesitant if I should continue asking questions relating to his purpose, but I decided to play it safe just in case anything happens again.

"The memories you showed me… are you…?" I hesitated, then decided to pry into his past instead, hoping to gather some information.

Seemingly recovered from what had just happened, he straightened his stance, once again exuding the confidence of a master. "Yes, I was once an elder of Wudang—before I was killed by Cheonma." His voice was calm, devoid of anger, which only deepened my confusion.

"Doesn't that anger you at all? The thought that the same demon who destroyed the Murim Alliance is still alive, still ruling the Demonic Cult?" It was a genuine question—perhaps the first time in a while that my curiosity wasn't focused on Zhang or why I was falling behind my fellow disciples.

He met my gaze with warmth, the playfulness from before fading into something more solemn. "The day I died, I had already accepted my fate. What happened in the past, the mistakes we made—none of it matters anymore. What matters is today, your generation." He paused, his expression unwavering. "I am, first and foremost, a disciple of Wudang, just like you. Never forget that. Hatred has no place in our philosophy."

His chuckle was warm, reminiscent of the sun's fading light. He felt different from the Wudang masters I had known. This man… no, this master, embodied Wudang itself.

Then, a sudden realization struck me—the sword. The reason for all of this. I had completely forgotten about its presence.

"Right, the sword!" I turned toward the spot where I had first found it, only to see nothing but tall grass swaying in the wind. The sun had fully set now, and night had finally arrived.

"What? Where did it go?"

Before I could even begin to consider how it could have vanished, Juan Lei spoke.

"It now resides within you. Did you really think a sword like that could withstand all that wear and tear?" He chuckled, his playful demeanor returning. "The only reason it lasted so long was because of my will. The faint traces of my qi kept it from breaking apart. When you discovered it, the sword transferred that qi to you—so in a way, it became a part of you." Despite his playful attitude returning he still kept his warm demeanor, unlike from when he was first introduced to me.

Suddenly, the blue panel flickered back into existence before me, displaying the same message as before—only now, with new additions.

"Will you accept this first step to worthiness?"

[Mission Unlocked: Surpass Your Limits]

"Your sword is dull. Sharpen it with battle."

Objective: Pass your next sparring match in the practical exam.

Reward: The first stance of 'Flowing River Sword Art'.

I couldn't believe I was thinking this about a glowing mission board, but it was right. I couldn't keep asking questions—I had to seek the answers myself. And that started with getting stronger.

"I accept."

The mission board vanished, but not before leaving a final message: it would return once the task was complete.

As night fully settled over Mt. Wudang, I turned to Juan Lei. He met my gaze with a nod of approval before dissolving into a mist of qi.

"I will return to your mind," he said. "If you ever need guidance, you will find me there. Or if I get bored, I'll reach out instead." His chuckle echoed through the cold wind.

The qi swirled around me before flowing back into my body, filling me with newfound strength.

This was only the beginning.

And now, it seemed, I had a new companion by my side.

Heading back to the living quarters, I leave the magnificent ginkgo tree behind once again, its golden leaves shimmering beneath the silver glow of the full moon. The crisp mountain air carries the faint scent of pine and incense, a fragrance woven deep into the heart of Wudang.

Temple lanterns flicker in the distance, their soft light casting long, wavering shadows against the stone pathways. The towering peaks surrounding the monastery seem like silent sentinels, watching over the disciples below.

Even as I take in the breathtaking serenity of Wudang at night, the weight of the day's events lingers. The humiliation, the sword, the shifting course of my fate—all pressing down on me. My legs feel heavier with every step, not from exhaustion, but from the burden of failure.

The shame awaiting me upon my return is something I cannot ignore. The other disciples saw everything—how I was no match for Haoyu, how my strikes had been wild, desperate, unlike the disciplined grace Wudang demands.

"Yeah... that was quite embarrassing," Juan Lei interjects with a chuckle, his voice rippling through my mind like a quiet breeze. "You let rage cloud your swordplay. That is not the way of Wudang. No wonder that Elder looked so disappointed."

I scowl, my grip tightening on the worn fabric of my sleeve. "Do you have anything more encouraging to say? Or better yet, something useful? You're supposed to be my new master, aren't you?"

I still can't believe he can speak directly into my thoughts—without a body, without a form. Yet, here he is, a lingering spirit, peering into my memories as if they were an open scroll. After everything I've seen today, I shouldn't be surprised.

"Be patient, young Jiang. I'll teach you in time—well, by that, I mean tomorrow. I'm still curious about that mission, and I'll make sure you succeed in it."

His calm, sage-like wisdom from earlier seems to have vanished, replaced by an eager energy that reminds me of an overly enthusiastic younger disciple.

"Fine," I sigh, "but I'm not calling you 'master' until you actually teach me something."

Before he can retort, movement catches my eye. Yujin emerges from the darkness, his figure illuminated by the moonlight. His loose training robes are slightly disheveled, his dark hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. He spots me and his expression shifts to one of relief.

"Chen!" He rushes toward me, slightly out of breath. "So this is where you went… ha… haa… I've been looking for you all day! Instructor Yuan sent me after you when you never showed up at the dining hall." He straightens, wiping sweat from his forehead, then flashes a bright smile—though the worry still lingers in his eyes. I wish I could be as cheerful as him all the time.

Instructor Yuan... Among the many instructors, he has always been the most patient with me, offering guidance when I struggled with forms or philosophy. But I haven't seen him at all today—instead, Elder Jung-hi had taken over our instruction. An unusual occurrence. Why today of all days?

Before I can answer, Juan Lei's voice chimes in my head. "Come on, young Jiang, introduce your great master to your friend here."

This old man… For all his talk about Wudang's humility, he sure enjoys boasting.

"I-It's nothing! Just talking to myself."

If I told Yujin the truth—that I've been conversing with a spirit ever since I picked up that sword—he'd think I've gone mad from today's events.

"We should head back first."

Yujin gives me a suspicious look but doesn't press further. Together, we walk toward the living quarters, the rhythmic sound of our footsteps blending with the distant hum of cicadas.

Inside, the air is heavy with the mingling scents of burning candle wax and faint sandalwood. The other disciples are still awake, some whispering among themselves, casting glances in my direction. For a moment, I want to shrink away, to keep my head down as I always have. But I can't. Not anymore.

I straighten my back, square my shoulders, and walk past them as if their stares do not weigh on me. It is a small act of defiance, but a step forward nonetheless.

Tomorrow will be a new day—a chance to prove that I am not just another failing disciple. A chance to rise.

The moment I lay down, a comforting warmth of qi spreads through my body, like a silent acknowledgment from Juan Lei. As sleep takes hold, I let it carry me.

But it doesn't last long.

"Wake up, young Jiang."

A sharp voice rings in my head, dragging me out of my sleep. I groan, barely cracking my eyes open, only to find the room still shrouded in darkness. The usual morning sounds—the distant chatter of disciples, the rhythmic clash of training swords—are nowhere to be heard.

"The others won't be up for hours," Juan Lei says, his tone far too eager for this time of night. "But you? You have training to do."

I blink the sleep from my eyes. "It's still dark out…"

"Perfect time to start. Get up."

"I sigh, rubbing my face before forcing myself upright. Outside, the first traces of dawn barely touch the horizon. It seems my training will begin earlier than expected. Stepping onto the training grounds, I find the moonlight still lingering, casting a serene and ethereal glow over the scene."

"Can I at least change first?"

Before I can move, qi drains from my body, and in an instant, Juan Lei materializes before me. His form is clearer than before, as though his connection to me is strengthening. He appears youthful, robes flowing like the evening mist clinging to the Wudang peaks. His eyes gleam with childlike excitement, as if reveling in a long-awaited moment.

"Time is of the essence, young Jiang!" He laughs proudly, hands on his waist like some triumphant hero.

Before I can protest, he raises his sword—the very one that vanished near the ginkgo tree. Though still fractured and dulled, its edge gleams under the moonlight. His movements are mesmerizing—fluid, like a river carving its path through the earth, his blade an extension of nature itself.

"Come," he says, his voice like a whisper carried by the wind.

I hesitate. The form is familiar—I've studied the Taiji Sword before. But something about the way he moves feels different, beyond mere technique. It isn't a rigid set of motions but a conversation with the world itself.

Under the pale moonlight, Juan Lei stands with an effortless grace, his ethereal robes flowing as if caught in an unseen current. His presence is not imposing, yet it commands attention, like a mountain shrouded in mist—serene, yet unfathomably vast. His long, silver-streaked hair sways with each whisper of the wind, and his half-lidded eyes carry an endless depth, reflecting the world yet belonging to none.

"You are thinking too much, young Jiang." His tone is light, almost teasing, as if amused by my hesitation.

I lift a sword from the rack, the cold steel whispering against the air. My fingers tighten around the hilt as I step forward. The moment I move, something is off. My steps feel heavy, my arms stiff, the sword unyielding in my grasp. It does not flow—it stumbles.

Juan Lei chuckles softly. "Like a stone rolling uphill... you resist the path instead of following it."

Frustration flickers in my chest. I know this technique—I have practiced it! But here, under his gaze, it feels foreign, clumsy. The courtyard is vast yet silent, save for the rustling of the ancient trees that guard Wudang's sacred grounds. Their leaves glisten with morning dew, and the faint mist clings to the stones, swirling like ghostly wisps around my feet.

With a serene smile, Juan Lei steps beside me. His fingers barely brush my wrist, and at that moment, a ripple of qi flows into me—not a surge, not a command, but a whisper upon still waters.

It spreads gently, winding through my meridians like a stream meandering through the earth, seeking its natural course. My muscles loosen, not because they are forced to, but because they remember how they are meant to move.

The weight in my arms lightens, not because the sword is any less real, but because the flow now carries it. My stance shifts ever so slightly—not by conscious effort, but as a leaf surrendering to the wind, finding its rightful path through the air.

"You resist the river," Juan Lei murmurs, his voice distant, yet all-encompassing. "Let it carry you instead."

I exhale, and the world exhales with me. My grip softens. My steps adjust. The blade moves—not as an extension of my will, but as something attuned to the rhythm of all things.

For the first time, I do not struggle against the movement. I become part of it.

"Let go. Listen to the breath of the night… the rhythm of the world around you."

I inhale. Slowly. The night air is cool, carrying the distant rustling of leaves, the faint murmur of a hidden stream. My grip softens. My stance loosens.

This time, when I move, the blade flows just a little smoother. Not perfect—not yet—but different. A step forward.

Juan Lei smiles, his form growing fainter the more qi that enters me. He does not vanish with finality, only melts into the moonlight, as if stepping into another part of the world.

Yet he remains. Not as a voice, but as a presence, as a rhythm beneath my feet.

For the first time, I am not just practicing a technique. I am listening.

After what feels like an eternity, the first light of dawn breaks across the horizon, illuminating my dance once more.

With it come Elder Jung-hi and Instructor Yuan, their robes flowing in rhythm with their practiced steps. Instructor Yuan, a man of lean build with silver-streaked hair tied neatly behind him, notices me first. His ever-warm smile appears, the faint wrinkles around his eyes deepening—a testament to years spent guiding disciples. Elder Jung-hi, however, pauses. Just for a moment, I catch something unexpected in his gaze—approval. A fleeting look, as if this was something he had long been waiting for.

Then, without a word, they continue on their path, leaving me with the rising sun and the quiet hum of my own steady breath.

Suddenly a sharp ache pulses through my arms, the weight of the sword suddenly unbearable. My legs tremble, muscles screaming from the hours of silent toil. I hadn't even noticed—too caught up in the rhythm, too guided by the qi reinforcing my body. But now, with nothing left to sustain me, the pain floods in, raw and undeniable.

I drop to my knees—not in defeat, but in satisfaction. The embers within my eyes burn once more, reignited.

"How's that for a lesson, young Jiang?" Juan Lei chuckles, his voice brimming with amusement. "Before you can even dream of mastering the Flowing River Sword Art, you need to grasp the basics. Otherwise, you'll just be flailing that sword around, wasting its full potential!"

As the words faded, the blue panel reappeared—but this time, it flowed in like elegant calligraphy, as if now in slight harmony with the world around it.

"The first step toward change has been achieved."

[Hidden Mission Completed: Be One with the River]

"The embers of your will ignite anew, tempered by understanding."

Objective: Learn your first lesson from your new master.

Reward: Epiphany of the Taiji Sword.With that, the panel vanished once more—but not before washing away some of the strain in my muscles, as if I had just woken from deep rest. A newfound clarity settled within me, an instinctive understanding of the technique now embedded in my mind.

"Incredible… even from within your mind, I can already sense it." Juan Lei's voice brimmed with excitement and awe. "To grasp such understanding from just this alone… This cannot be Dao… and yet, it guides you like one. Truly remarkable."

Around us, disciples stir, waking one by one as they make their way to the training grounds. Their robes rustle in the breeze, their voices a low murmur beneath the vast sky.

I took a deep breath, standing tall as the first light of morning bathed Wudang in gold.

"A single step marks the beginning of a thousand. Today, I take mine." I declared to myself, the first step of change achieved.