The mountains slept beneath a blanket of mist.
Dawn crept slowly over Azure Peak, painting the sky in strokes of pale orange and steel gray. The crisp mountain air carried the scent of pine and dew-wet stone. In the servant quarters, life stirred early. The clang of buckets, the distant murmur of sweeping brooms, the wheeze of an old man coughing—these were the sounds of nameless, unnoticed labor.
But one figure stood unmoving.
Jiang Chen.
He stood barefoot in the small courtyard behind the servant quarters, back straight, eyes closed, arms slightly raised. Not a muscle twitched. He had been standing like this since before the sun touched the peaks.
It was not a stance for offense or defense. It was a stance of stillness. Of awareness.
[Ironroot Stance – Proficiency: Entry]
Progress to Proficient: 72%
A simple, foundational technique of internal cultivation. It trained the practitioner to root their body like a tree, stabilize their breath, and guide qi gently through their meridians.
For Jiang Chen, who still possessed no spiritual root, it was his only means of sensing the flow of qi.
And slowly, day by day, he felt it.
A whisper. A thread. Barely enough to fill a teacup.
...
By midmorning, the sun had risen higher, and the clatter of outer disciples began echoing around the sect training grounds. Some laughed. Some sparred. Some practiced sword forms that glimmered in the morning light.
Jiang Chen did none of that. He practiced stillness.
His sweat soaked into the dirt, a testament to the strain of simply standing.
Then, his breath caught.
Ding!
[Ironroot Stance – Proficiency increased to: Proficient]
A ripple passed through his body. His balance shifted, and he felt... grounded. The stone beneath his feet no longer resisted him—it accepted him. His spine straightened without effort. His breath deepened.
He opened his eyes.
The world seemed clearer. The wind cooler. His thoughts calmer.
"So this is what Proficient feels like."
He did not smile. Not yet. There was still much to do.
...
Later that day, as he scrubbed dishes in the outer kitchens, a whisper reached him from the gossiping servants.
"Did you hear? Senior Brother Yao Lin was sent back down the mountain. Broken meridians."
"Who did it?"
"They say... it was the servant who beat Liu Yiren in the sparring grounds."
"A servant?"
"Impossible!"
Jiang Chen kept his head down and scrubbed.
But inside, he was paying attention. The name "Yao Lin" was familiar. Another bully among the outer disciples. Jiang Chen had memorized their names like debts to be repaid.
His secret was out, even if the truth was still distorted.
And that meant danger.
...
That night, Jiang Chen didn't train. He simply sat by the old maple tree behind the quarters, the one with the broken branch.
He stared up at the stars.
Each light above felt like a reminder of how small he still was. How far the path stretched.
He thought of his first martial arts teacher on Earth. A grizzled old fighter who used to say:
"Strength isn't just the fist. It's the will to keep standing, even when you can't."
Back then, Jiang Chen hadn't understood.
Now he did.
He rose and assumed the Ironroot Stance once more.
And he stood.
Until the moon was high and the stars turned overhead.