Cattaleya adjusted her strength carefully, enough to push him but not crush him outright. Her strikes were brutal, direct, forcing Meng Bai to react, adapt, and think under pressure.
Bruises were common.
Complaints were ignored.
And yet, Meng Bai improved visibly.
His spear grew steadier. His footwork more refined. His Water Dao manifestations more fluid, less forced.
Even Lin Mu could see the change.
"He's getting better," Cattaleya said one afternoon, wiping dust from her brow. "Still weak. But less embarrassing."
Meng Bai groaned from the ground. "I hate you."
She grinned. "Good."
Lin Mu himself spent much of his time cultivating.
But his cultivation was no longer the frantic, explosive progress of earlier periods. Now it was deliberate. Thoughtful.
The southern continent's humidity fascinated him.
The air was thick with moisture, clinging to skin, clothing, and breath. At first it had been mildly uncomfortable, but now Lin Mu found himself using it.
