The courtyard was ringed with old stones slick with moss.
Cold wind bit at exposed skin, making robes whip and snap.
Disciples spread out unevenly, squaring stances, cursing under their breath.
Mist clung to the ground, turning every breath into pale steam.
Wei Lian stood alone at the edge of the courtyard.
His scroll was tucked into his belt, half-frozen from last night's creek water.
He didn't need to read it again.
He had memorized every line.
Every smudged stroke.
He dropped into the stance slowly.
Bare feet dug into frozen dirt.
Legs bent, steady despite the wind.
He exhaled.
Qi crawled down his arm, resistant and stinging.
He forced it to obey.
He punched.
The motion was wrong.
Qi leaked at the wrist.
His shoulder tensed too late.
Pain flared in old bruises.
He didn't curse.
He didn't growl in frustration like the others.
He stopped.
Reset.
Breathed.
He replayed Elder Mu's demonstration in his mind with perfect clarity.
The stance.
The breath.
The moment Qi sank before the strike.
He tried again.
Slower.
More precise.
Qi shivered through his arm like something alive, trying to bite him.
He didn't flinch.
He directed it.
It squirmed, but it went.
He punched.
Better.
Not perfect.
But better.
Nearby, Jin Xiu cursed.
"Dammit! My Qi won't hold at all."
Another boy laughed nervously.
"My arm's numb. This is a joke."
Wei Lian didn't look at them.
He drew in a long, freezing breath.
Felt every cracked rib protest.
Ignored it.
He punched again.
And again.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He watched the Qi in his mind's eye.
The way it twisted.
The way it tried to scatter.
He tracked every leak.
He felt the ember in his dantian burn hot.
It pulsed in time with his strikes.
He adjusted his hips a fraction.
Corrected his shoulder roll.
Focused on sinking the Qi before the fist moved.
He punched.
This time, the air popped.
Not loud.
Not impressive.
But real.
He exhaled raggedly, steam pouring from his mouth.
He felt the crack inside him tremble once.
Not breaking.
Just watching.
He didn't smile.
Around him the courtyard dissolved into noise.
Disciples cursing, arguing, stomping feet to stay warm.
Scrolls flapped in the wind, pages tearing.
One boy tossed his onto the ground, shouting:
"This is impossible! I can't feel anything!"
Jin Xiu sneered at him:
"Weak. At least I can make my Qi move."
He tried a punch.
It was faster.
But his Qi sputtered and leaked at the elbow.
Wei Lian saw it all.
Memorized their mistakes.
Filed them away.
He turned back to his own stance.
He punched.
Slower.
More controlled.
Qi stayed with the movement longer before leaking.
He paused.
Breathed.
Imagined the movement in his head.
Again.
Punch.
Qi coiled tighter.
His wrist split open.
Blood ran down his fingers.
He wiped it on his robe.
Didn't stop.
By midday Elder Mu paced the edge of the courtyard, watching them with cold contempt.
"Pathetic."
"Half of you couldn't break an old woman's arm with that."
"You think the trial will be kind because you tried? You're wrong."
He paused near Wei Lian.
Eyes narrowed.
Wei Lian didn't stop punching.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
Mu watched in silence.
Longer than he did anyone else.
Then he snorted.
"Again."
Wei Lian obeyed.
Fist sank.
Qi sank with it.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was getting closer.
Other disciples collapsed onto the frozen ground, clutching sore arms and bruised ribs.
Some cried quietly, thinking no one would hear.
Wei Lian kept moving.
Kept breathing.
Kept bleeding.
By dusk the courtyard was nearly empty.
Elder Mu dismissed most of them early with a disgusted wave of his hand.
Wei Lian stayed.
His arms trembled.
Hands split and raw.
He punched one last time.
Qi followed.
It landed with a small, real crack of air.
He exhaled.
Chest heaving.
Blood drying on his knuckles.
The ember in his dantian burned hot.
The crack pulsed twice.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cold wind cut his face.
He didn't feel pride.
He didn't feel triumph.
He felt understanding.
This was the path.
Slow.
Ugly.
Real.
He bent down.
Picked up his battered scroll with shaking fingers.
He turned toward the black creek to wash.
Because tomorrow wasn't for rest.
It was for perfection.