“Third stance!” Ishin commanded.

  The formation of fifty junior disciples grunted in answer as they obeyed. As they moved, each shifted their staff from a forward-facing offensive to a raised defensive position. Ishin walked between their ranks, studying each disciple’s form. Occasionally, he would correct a grip or adjust a stance before continuing down the line.

  Now seventeen years old, he towered over the junior disciples. His once-shaggy hair was now cut short. His body had transformed from that of a fit youth into one covered with a hard layer of lean muscle, honed by years of relentless training. He still wore the green and silver cultivator robes of the Daihu Tribe, but now bore the yellow obi of an assistant instructor around his waist.

  “Fourth stance!”

  The disciples grunted and moved again. This continued until all eighteen basic staff stances had been executed. Afterward, Ishin dismissed the class. The students bowed in gratitude to their assistant instructor, returned their practice staffs to the room’s weapon rack, and quickly departed.

  Ishin moved to the wall of the training room and retrieved his waterskin. He had half an hour before the third-year junior disciples arrived. Taking a drink, he swished the water around in his mouth and swallowed.

  The third-years were always his least favorite class to teach. They could form their first chakra at any moment, beginning their journey down the Immortal Path. At that point, they would be promoted to the senior disciple classes—reminding Ishin of his own failure.

  Best not to waste time.

  He set the waterskin aside and sat cross-legged on the floor. With a deep breath, he cleared his mind. His mother had told him that once his first chakra formed—and with it his third eye—he would be able to feel his internal qi and sense the ambient qi of the world. But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t feel anything.

  For half an hour, he tried—but failed again. As time passed, Ishin’s bitterness grew. Every other person who had come through the Martial Hall had eventually formed their first chakra. It was a natural course of life. For this reason, Ishin hadn’t been discouraged when he turned thirteen and hadn’t formed his chakra yet. It’ll happen eventually, he had told himself.

  But another year passed. Still nothing.

  His mother and Elder Fa had assured him that it sometimes happened—that about one in a hundred took an extra year. Ishin had been irritated, but he trusted them and waited.

  It was when he turned fifteen, and all his former classmates had already advanced to senior disciples, that dread began to set in.

  Still, Ishin continued to train with the junior disciples, even though he was the oldest. When he turned sixteen, Elder Fa discussed options with his mother. Ishin was too old—and too talented—to fairly compete with the other juniors. None could match his physical abilities or experience. For a week, Elder Fa allowed him to train with the senior disciples, but without cultivation, he had been outclassed—even when his martial technique was superior.

  He’d even fought another cultivator, to prove that he was their equal. That had been a mistake, a solidified his removal from training with the senior disciples.

  At that point, Akira took matters into her own hands. She told Ishin she had taken longer than most to form her own first chakra. ‘Delays are normal in our family’, she’d told him.

  But even then, none of their relatives had taken this long.

  Akira brought him to Elder Lee, the tribe’s best spirit doctor. After a thorough examination, Elder Lee found nothing wrong or abnormal.

  Apparently, while extremely rare, being born spiritually crippled was not unheard of. Elder Lee shared that there were always one or two born every generation who never managed to form their first chakra. Each tribe handled the occurrence differently. In the Hongse Tribe, those born spiritually crippled were exiled to remove the weakness. Fortunately, the Daihu Tribe didn’t try to excise people like him, but they were often just ignored.

  Ishin didn’t know if it was pity or true faith in him, but Elder Fa had offered him a position within the Martial Hall as an assistant instructor. Since he couldn’t cultivate, he would never qualify as a full instructor—but he was skilled enough to teach the basics. And so, Ishin labored on, helping train those who would soon surpass him—just as surely as the sun rose each morning.

  All his martial skill meant nothing without cultivation. A true Heaven’s Curse if there ever was one.

  When the half hour passed, Ishin stood reluctantly and retrieved his personal practice staff from the wall. It was time for his own training.

  Unlike the training staffs used by the junior disciples, his staff was weighted—three times heavier than normal. He had designed it himself to increase strength and endurance. His dream of becoming the tribe’s next First Warrior might have been doomed, but he still aimed to be the most skilled martial warrior in raw ability.

  As he worked through the eighteen forms, the burn in his muscles brought a strange comfort. Each movement was deliberate. The goal was to build muscle memory, to forge instinct. Sweat clung to his body by the time he finished the final stance. A glance at the waterclock showed there was still time.

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  He repeated the circuit again.

  Though his preferred weapon remained the spear, he had grown highly proficient with the staff over the years. The two were similar in shape, but vastly different in style. The spear emphasized thrusts and slashes. The staff was built for sweeping strikes and blocks.

  His mother had encouraged him to learn both—and he had obeyed with determination.

  On the Immortal Path that all cultivators sought, there were said to be many daos one could follow. Each dao shaped the cultivator as much as their techniques or teachers. As Ishin transitioned from the ninth stance to the tenth, a question flickered in his mind.

  Is it even possible for me to follow the Dao of the Spear, the Dao of the Staff—or any dao at all—without being a cultivator?

  Perhaps it’s like wondering if someone deaf can follow the rhythm of a dance without hearing the music. Sure, they might copy the steps and tempo—but can they truly feel the rhythm?

  He shook his head as he finished the final form. His breathing was heavy with fatigue, but he felt alive. After returning the staff to its resting place, he took one final drink of water—just as the door opened.

  The third-year junior disciples had arrived.

  Three dozen students entered the room and retrieved their practice staffs, assembling into a square formation. Ishin moved to the front.

  “Good morning, disciples.”

  They bowed in unison. “Good morning, Assistant Instructor.”

  He scanned the group. Something was off. There was one less than yesterday.

  It only took him a moment to realize who was missing.

  “Where is Junior Disciple Chu?”

  A young girl stepped forward from the front row. She had high cheekbones, braided hair, and a soft voice. “Assistant Instructor, Disciple Han Chu formed his chakra last night. He was promoted to the senior disciple classes this morning.”

  Another twelve-year-old who has surpassed me.

  Ishin nodded. “Thank you, Junior Disciple Sun Lin. Everyone—begin working through the six foundation stretches.”

  As the students began stretching, Ishin turned his back to them. He should have been happy for Han Chu. He knew that. But pride couldn’t always yield to logic.

  Clenching a single fist, Ishin began breathing with focus, following the rhythm of the Silent Storm technique: one sharp breath, three shallow, two quick exhales—repeat. His mother had taught him this breathing method six years ago. He still found it calming.

  After the final exhale, Ishin turned back to the class.

  “Today, we will begin by discussing which scenarios call for the eighth stance, as opposed to the seventh.”

  The lesson went smoothly. When it ended, Ishin dismissed the class—but noticed someone leaning in the doorway.

  Guo Bin stood there, grinning.

  Ishin waited for the students to leave before heading over. That smirk on Bin’s face? It meant something good. He just didn’t want to boast too loudly about it.

  This should be good.

  Guo Bin was tall and lanky, with a square face and short-shaved hair. His ears were slightly small, but it suited him. Though Ishin was more muscular, Bin stood a few inches taller. Both wore green and silver robes, but Bin’s blue obi marked him as a senior disciple.

  “You look happy,” Ishin said jovially. “Did you finally confess to Zhao Na?”

  Guo Bin’s cheeks reddened. “Hilarious as always, Brother Ishin.” The embarrassed look quickly gave way to a wide grin. “No, but—I reached the third layer!”

  Ishin couldn’t hide his shock. He’d met Guo Bin shortly after joining the Martial Hall. They were the same age, and had been sparring partners from the start. They’d progressed together—until Bin formed his first chakra at twelve. Two years later, he reached his second layer.

  Now the third?

  “You formed the third layer around your chakra? That’s incredible, Brother Bin!” Ishin kept his voice full of enthusiasm. “Did it just happen?”

  “It happened during the evening cultivating session. I was working with metal qi and suddenly had a breakthrough.”

  “A breakthrough?”

  Bin shrugged. “I’m just as surprised as you. I was reflecting on the nature of metal—how its pliancy varies—when I felt a surge of qi. I cultivated it fast enough to form the third layer. I swear, it was Heaven’s favor.”

  “Heaven’s favor indeed,” Ishin laughed. He thought back to their old lessons. “Sounds like you stumbled across a spark of enlightenment.”

  “That’s what Instructor Ko said.” Bin nodded. “I tell you, Brother Ishin—it felt weird. But I swear I understand the nature of metal more than before.”

  “I suppose so. I must confess, I never gave much thought to pliancy in metals.”

  But now that I know there’s a difference… does that mean I should experience enlightenment too?

  Ishin pondered the question silently.

  I probably wouldn’t even know without being a cultivator.

  “I didn’t either,” Bin admitted. “But I’ve been helping my father make shields the past few nights. It hit me that you need harder metal for shields. Silver bends too easily. From there… it just clicked.” He snapped his fingers.

  Ishin laughed. “I suppose you should thank your father for making you work those late nights.”

  “Ha! You’re right—I should.” When the laughter faded, Bin added, “Anyway, I came to invite you out to celebrate. You’re done for the day, right?”

  “I am. Were you thinking the Sapphire Canopy?”

  “Where else? Get changed and meet me out front.”

  Ishin nodded. After Bin left, he changed into a clean robe—he kept one spare just in case—and made his way out.

  Sure enough, Bin wasn’t alone.

  Zhao Na stood beside him, a cute girl with prominent dimples and long twin braids draped over her shoulders. Her frame was slender, and she stood a few inches shorter than Ishin. Standing next to Bin, the height difference was even more obvious. Like Bin, her robe was belted with a blue obi.

  “Brother Ishin!” Na beamed. “So you heard the exciting news?”

  Ishin gave his friend a knowing look, causing Bin to glance away in embarrassment. “I did, Sister Na. I’m not surprised you know. Wait—” He crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me he told you first?”

  Na hid a smile behind her hand. “Don’t worry. He only told me a few minutes ago. I could tell he had a big secret—he made me promise to go out and celebrate—but he said he had to tell you first.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Bin cut in. “All that matters is I told both of you before anyone else. Now let’s get going! I heard they’ve got a new orange-colored wine I’m dying to try.”

  “Lead the way, third-layer cultivator,” Na teased.