The dojo was silent.
The scroll lay open, lines of ink flowing like living veins. It was no ancient relic, no banned heresy—it was something far rarer.
A technique crafted by Han Li himself.
Unorthodox. Brutal. Pure.
"Those who seek easy power, leave," Han Li said, standing by the door with his broom. "This method will tear apart who you pretend to be, and rebuild what you truly are."
Ling Yue, the fox-eyed girl, stepped forward.
"I wasn't pretending to be anything," she muttered, sitting cross-legged.
With a cut to her palm, she activated the first seal. The air warped.
Black threads rose around her, not demonic, but raw—threads of self-awareness, regret, and potential. Her qi flow stuttered, then twisted violently.
She gasped—but did not scream.
Her spirit root trembled. Her bones creaked. But she endured.
Moments later, she opened her eyes. They shimmered with faint light.
"I… I see beyond my meridians," she whispered. "This method reshapes the path of flow."
Han Li nodded once. "You're the first."
The noble boy, Xun Fei, stepped forward, arrogance flaring.
"If she can, I—"
"Stop." Han Li's voice cut him off. "If you charge in with pride, it will break you."
Xun Fei hesitated… then sat down quietly.
The others watched, unsure.
"You're not using someone else's legacy," Han Li said. "This isn't a forbidden art. It's mine. My truth. Made for those who've been discarded."
Outside, the winds shifted.
Far above, in the veiled sky, the Sky-Eater stirred again.
But now… something blocked its gaze.
A ripple of power. Faint, new, and growing—from this broken dojo.