Chapter 8: Ember and Ambition
Morning glittered across the Iron Banner Sect, the sun transforming puddles in the courtyards into scattered jewels. Yesterday's ordeal in the ravine had changed everything for Jiang Wei and his companions. A silent understanding now bonded them—a mingling of gratitude and pride. Even the air felt different as Jiang Wei stepped out from the chill of the dormitory, pebble warm against his skin, the echoes of mist and wolf-shadows fading with sleep.
A bell summoned all outer disciples to the main yard, where Elder Hui greeted them with a rare, approving smile. "You have crossed your first threshold," he said, surveying fresh bruises and torn clothes. "But the path ahead is long and hard. Today, you begin the cultivation of spirit as well as body. Today, you will meet the heart of our Sect."
He led them across the sunlit compound to a secluded garden, where a circle of ancient stones ringed a shallow pond. At the center stood a modest stone altar, upon which rested a pile of gleaming, thumb-sized spirit stones—quartz-like gems throbbing faintly with inner light. The sight drew murmurs from the crowd.
"These are the Iron Banner Spirit Stones," said Hui. "They contain natural energy, the food of every cultivator. For your next trial, you will sit and guide a thread of that energy into your meridians. Let haste or greed cloud your mind, and the energy will rebel—perhaps even harm you. Focus and patience are your only guides."
Jiang Wei knelt beside Han Zhi, Ming Xue, and Yao Ping, each with a single stone cupped in his or her palms. As he closed his eyes, the world constricted to breath and heartbeat—the swirl of qi just beyond his senses. For a time, nothing happened but the slow rhythm of inhaling and exhaling: the heart of a mountain, the hush of water.
Then, a subtle pulse emerged from the spirit stone. It felt nothing like the warm comfort of his mother's pebble, but stung, sharp and alive, eager to flee or fight. Remembering Elder Hui's words, Jiang Wei let go of desire and simply observed. Gradually, a faint shimmer of energy unraveled from the stone, crawling along his arm—unsteady, prickling. With each breath, Jiang Wei guided it, patient, cautious, not pushing but coaxing.
Beside him, Han Zhi shuddered. His stone spat out a spark and went dark, leaving him gasping in pain. Yao Ping cursed softly, his attempt interrupted by cramping fingers. Only Ming Xue managed to keep her stone's glow steady, her face set in tranquil focus.
Minutes stretched to the sound of breeze through bamboo. Sweat prickled on Jiang Wei's brow, but at last, the wisp of spirit energy seeped fully into his meridians, settling in his dantian—a flicker of power, almost invisible, but unmistakable. He opened his eyes to see Elder Hui standing nearby, expression unreadable.
"Not bad," the elder murmured, just loud enough for Jiang Wei to hear. "You have begun your climb."
As the lesson ended, the disciples rose slowly, some victorious, others massaging sore hands or nursing pride. Friends and rivals alike compared results in hushed voices. Jiang Wei caught Ming Xue's eye—a nod of mutual respect passing between them. Yao Ping groaned about his aching arms; Han Zhi offered a wan smile, quietly relieved to have survived at all.
Back at the dormitory, laughter and complaints mingled. Victory was measured not in brilliance, but in unlikely persistence. "We're still standing," Yao Ping joked, stuffing a pillow beneath his bruised shoulder. "That's worth something, right?"
Jiang Wei looked at the pebble tied to his wrist, recalling the cold patience of the spirit stone, and how it had reluctantly surrendered its power. Each trial—whether a wolf in mist or a stubborn stone—was shaping him, carving out something deeper than strength: discipline and ambition, slow as dawn climbing a mountain.
As dusk fell and another bell called the sect to evening tasks, Jiang Wei stepped outside, the sky flushed with the promise of tomorrow. Alone, he watched fireflies circle the garden, his thoughts a whorl of anticipation and hope.
There were countless tests yet to come, but now, more than ever, he believed in the possibility of his own ascent.