Standing in the third row of outer disciples, wooden practice sword in hand, he watched Elder Mei Hua demonstrate the First Foundation Stance with fluid precision. Her movements were economical, perfect—each shift of weight and angle of blade calculated for maximum efficiency with minimal energy expenditure.
Jin could see seventeen ways to improve her technique.
Which, he reminded himself frantically, is exactly the kind of thinking that's going to get me exposed as a fraud.
"The First Foundation Stance," Elder Mei Hua explained, her voice carrying easily across the training ground, "establishes your root connection to the earth while maintaining readiness for both offensive and defensive maneuvers. Your feet should be—"
Shoulder-width apart, weight distributed sixty-forty favoring the back foot, sword angled fifteen degrees from vertical to create optimal qi circulation patterns, Jin's mind supplied automatically. He'd spent decades perfecting these fundamentals before transcending them entirely.
"—positioned naturally," Elder Mei Hua continued, "with your dominant foot slightly back. The sword should be held—"
Like you're cradling a baby bird that might explode, Jin thought, remembering his first instructor's colorful metaphor. Firm enough to control, gentle enough not to disrupt the weapon's spiritual resonance.
"—with confidence but not tension. Remember, the sword is an extension of your will, not a tool to be forced into submission."
Around him, his fellow outer disciples began mimicking the stance with varying degrees of success. Jin watched Dae-sung nearly trip himself trying to achieve the proper foot positioning, while the girl to his left—what was her name? Li Something?—held her practice sword like she was trying to choke it to death.
Meanwhile, Jin stood there with muscle memory from two lifetimes screaming at him to adopt a perfect stance, and had to consciously make himself worse.
He shifted his weight forward too much, making his base unstable. Angled his sword a few degrees off optimal. Allowed slight tension in his shoulders that would throw off his qi circulation.
It felt like deliberately walking with a limp.
"Jin Kaze," Elder Mei Hua's voice cut through his internal struggle like a blade. "Step forward and demonstrate the stance."
Of course she'd pick me, Jin thought, panic fluttering in his chest. Of all the mediocre disciples she could have chosen...
He stepped forward, acutely aware of nearly a hundred pairs of eyes watching him. In the crowd, he spotted So-young with the other inner disciples, observing the outer sect training with polite interest. Her gaze lingered on him with that same puzzled expression from earlier.
Just be bad, he told himself. Not laughably terrible—that would draw attention too. Just... appropriately mediocre for someone your apparent age and experience.
Jin assumed the First Foundation Stance, deliberately incorporating all the flaws he'd observed in his younger self twenty years ago. Weight too far forward. Elbow position slightly wrong. Grip a little too tight.
Elder Mei Hua walked around him in a slow circle, her expression unreadable. Jin forced himself to breathe normally, to project the nervous energy of a student hoping for approval.
"Better," she said finally. "Your base has improved since yesterday. However—"
She reached out and adjusted his grip, her fingers briefly touching his on the sword's handle. The moment of contact sent a jolt through Jin's spiritual senses, and he had to fight to keep his expression neutral.
Her qi signature was exactly as he remembered—cool and precise, like moonlight on still water. Unmarred by the chaotic fluctuations that spiritual torture would eventually create. It was the qi of someone whole, someone who had never been broken and pieced back together through sheer will.
"—you're still holding too tightly," she continued, apparently oblivious to his internal turmoil. "The sword should rest in your palm like a trusted companion, not be gripped like a lifeline."
I know, Jin thought desperately. I taught this same lesson to my own disciples. I could recite the entire theoretical foundation of sword cultivation in my sleep. I once killed a Nascent Soul cultivator using nothing but refined First Foundation principles.
"Yes, Elder Mei Hua," he said aloud, loosening his grip appropriately. "Thank you for the guidance."
She nodded and stepped back. "Much better. You may return to your position."
As Jin retreated to his spot in the formation, he caught Dae-sung grinning at him with obvious pride. "Nice job, Little Kaze!" his friend whispered. "You've been practicing, haven't you?"
You could say that, Jin thought wryly. Only for about forty years across two lifetimes.
"A little," he said instead.
The lesson continued with Elder Mei Hua moving through the Seven Foundation Stances. Jin found himself in the surreal position of having to pretend to learn techniques he could perform in his sleep while simultaneously trying to identify which of his fellow disciples might have the potential to survive the coming chaos.
There was Liu Wei, a stocky boy from a merchant family who compensated for his lack of natural talent with relentless determination. Jin remembered him lasting until the fourth year of the sect wars before falling to a poisoned blade. Survivable, if Jin could get him better training in detection techniques.
Chen Ling, the girl who'd been strangling her practice sword earlier, actually had decent instincts once she relaxed. In the original timeline, she'd joined the medical corps and saved hundreds of lives before being killed in a demonic beast stampede that Jin's actions had triggered. Definitely worth saving.
And then there was Park Min-jun, a thin boy in the front row who moved with suspicious grace for someone supposedly at the early Qi Gathering stage. His stance was too good, his transitions too smooth. Either he was hiding his true cultivation level, or...
Or he's a spy, Jin realized. Probably from one of the demonic sects, sent to gather intelligence on the Celestial Sword Sect's training methods.
In his previous life, Jin had used similar tactics—planting agents in enemy sects to steal techniques and identify potential defectors. It was a common strategy among the darker factions.
The question was: spy for whom? And more importantly, would his presence interfere with Jin's plans?
I'll have to keep an eye on him, Jin decided. Can't have some unknown variable messing up my carefully planned redemption arc.
"Now," Elder Mei Hua announced, "we'll practice the transitions between stances. Partner up with someone of similar cultivation level."
The training ground erupted into controlled chaos as disciples scrambled to find partners. Jin found himself approached by several candidates—his apparent improvement in the First Foundation Stance had apparently raised his stock among his peers.
Before he could choose, however, a shadow fell across him.
"Jin Kaze," said a voice that made Jin's blood run cold.
He turned to find himself face-to-face with a young man who looked nothing like the betrayer who would eventually slide a sword between Jin's ribs. Baek Mu-jin at sixteen was handsome in an almost ethereal way—sharp features, intelligent eyes, and an aura of quiet confidence that drew people to him like moths to flame. His inner disciple robes were immaculate, his posture perfect.
He looked like the protagonist of a righteous cultivation story.
Which, Jin reflected bitterly, he probably thought he was.
"Senior Brother Baek," Jin managed, hoping his voice sounded appropriately respectful rather than murderous. "What can I do for you?"
Baek smiled—the same warm, genuine expression that had once convinced Jin to trust him with his life. "Elder Mei Hua asked me to observe the outer disciples' training and provide guidance where needed. I noticed your stance work and thought I might offer some pointers."
Of course she did, Jin thought. Because apparently the universe has decided that subtle irony is insufficient. Now it's going for full theatrical melodrama.
"That's very kind of you, Senior Brother," Jin said, while internally cataloging seventeen different ways to kill Baek without anyone noticing. "I would be honored to receive instruction from someone of your caliber."
Baek's smile widened. "Excellent attitude. I can tell you're dedicated to improvement."
If you only knew how dedicated I am to improvement, Jin thought darkly. Starting with improvements to your funeral arrangements.
"Now then," Baek continued, drawing his own practice sword, "let's see your Second Foundation Stance. Elder Mei Hua mentioned you've been showing recent progress."
Jin assumed the stance, once again forcing himself to include subtle flaws. Around them, other disciples had found partners and were beginning their own practice sessions, but he was acutely aware that several people were watching his interaction with the famous inner disciple.
Including So-young, whose attention felt like a physical weight.
"Hmm," Baek mused, circling him with the same analytical gaze Elder Mei Hua had used. "Your foundation is solid, but there's something... interesting about your form."
Jin's heart skipped. "Interesting how, Senior Brother?"
"It's hard to explain," Baek said, frowning slightly. "Your technique is textbook correct, but there's an efficiency to your movements that suggests deeper understanding. Almost as if..."
He trailed off, his eyes sharpening with sudden focus.
"Almost as if what?" Jin asked, fighting to keep his voice level.
"Almost as if you've seen these forms performed at a much higher level," Baek finished quietly. "Tell me, Junior Brother—have you had instruction outside the sect?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. Around them, the sounds of training continued, but Jin felt as though he and Baek were isolated in a bubble of dangerous tension.
He's fishing, Jin realized. He suspects something, but he's not sure what.
"No, Senior Brother," Jin said, injecting just the right amount of confusion into his voice. "I've only ever trained here at the Celestial Sword Sect. Though I do spend a lot of time in the archives, reading about cultivation theory."
It was a plausible explanation—many disciples tried to compensate for lack of natural talent through excessive study.
Baek studied him for another long moment, then nodded slowly. "Ah, that would explain it. Book learning can sometimes give students theoretical knowledge beyond their practical experience. It's commendable that you're so studious."
You have no idea, Jin thought. I've studied under masters you couldn't imagine in your worst nightmares.
"Now then," Baek continued, raising his practice sword, "let's work on your transitions. I'll attack slowly, and you respond with the appropriate defensive stances. Ready?"
Jin nodded, settling into a ready position.
Baek's first attack was a simple overhead strike, telegraphed so clearly that even a novice could see it coming. Jin shifted into Third Foundation Stance, deflecting the blow with textbook precision while adding just enough clumsiness to make it look like he was working at his limits.
"Good!" Baek praised. "But try to flow more naturally into the stance. You're thinking too much about the individual movements instead of letting them connect."
I'm thinking about not accidentally demonstrating techniques that won't be invented for another fifteen years, Jin thought grimly.
They continued the drill, with Baek gradually increasing the speed and complexity of his attacks. Jin found himself walking an increasingly narrow tightrope—he needed to show improvement to avoid suspicion, but not so much improvement that it raised questions about his background.
It was like trying to paint a masterpiece while wearing boxing gloves.
"Excellent progress," Baek said finally, lowering his sword. "You have good instincts, Jin Kaze. With proper guidance, you could advance to inner disciple status within a few years."
Inner disciple status, Jin mused. If only you knew I used to make inner disciples wet themselves just by looking at them.
"Thank you for the encouragement, Senior Brother," he said aloud. "Your instruction has been invaluable."
Baek nodded graciously. "Think nothing of it. We're all part of the same sect, after all. We succeed together or not at all."
The words were delivered with perfect sincerity, but they made Jin's skin crawl. In his previous life, Baek had used that exact philosophy to justify his betrayal—claiming that Jin's path would have destroyed the sect, so removing him was actually an act of loyalty.
You hypocritical snake, Jin thought, but kept his expression appropriately grateful.
As Baek moved on to observe other disciples, Jin caught sight of So-young approaching. She moved with the fluid grace of water flowing downhill, her inner disciple robes rustling softly with each step.
"That was impressive," she said, stopping just outside his personal space. Up close, her eyes were the deep green of jade, and her spiritual aura carried hints of fire and lightning—hallmarks of her Phoenix Constitution.
"Senior Sister So-young," Jin said, bowing respectfully. "I'm honored by your attention."
She tilted her head, studying him with the same puzzled expression he'd noticed earlier. "Have we met before? There's something familiar about you, but I can't place it."
Jin's mouth went dry. Of all the people who might recognize him, So-young was perhaps the most dangerous. Her spiritual intuition was legendary, even at sixteen.
"I don't believe so, Senior Sister," he said carefully. "I would certainly remember meeting someone of your reputation."
"Hmm." She continued to study him, and Jin had to fight the urge to fidget under that penetrating gaze. "Your sword work just now... it was good. Very good for an outer disciple. Almost like you were holding back."
Because I was, Jin thought desperately. I was holding back about forty years of combat experience and enough killing techniques to end a small war.
"I've been studying hard," he said instead. "Elder Mei Hua has been very helpful in correcting my form."
So-young nodded absently, but her eyes never left his face. "What's your cultivation base?"
"Mid Qi Gathering," Jin replied, which was technically true—his current body was indeed at that level, even if his spiritual understanding far exceeded it.
"Show me your qi," she said suddenly.
Jin blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Your qi signature," So-young clarified. "I want to see it."
It was an unusual request, but not unreasonable between sect members. Jin carefully gathered a small amount of spiritual energy and let it flow around his meridians, making sure to keep the circulation patterns appropriately simple for his supposed cultivation level.
What he couldn't hide, however, was the fundamental nature of his qi itself.
So-young's eyes widened as she sensed his spiritual energy. Her hand moved unconsciously toward the sword at her side, and Jin saw her Phoenix Constitution beginning to react—a faint golden glow appearing beneath her skin.
"Your qi..." she whispered, her voice tight with sudden tension. "It's wrong."
"Wrong how?" Jin asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer.
"It's too pure," she said, her gaze sharpening to laser focus. "Too refined. Qi at your cultivation level shouldn't have that kind of clarity. It should be rough, unrefined, full of impurities from incomplete circulation techniques."
Jin felt sweat beading on his forehead. "Maybe I just have good meridians?"
"No," So-young said firmly. "Good meridians don't explain this. Your qi has been purified through high-level circulation techniques. Techniques that outer disciples aren't taught." Her voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than a shout. "Who are you really?"
Before Jin could answer, the training session bell rang, signaling the end of morning practice. Around them, disciples began putting away their practice weapons and forming up for the march to breakfast.
So-young stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the light floral scent of her hair oil. "This conversation isn't over," she said quietly. "I'll be watching you, Jin Kaze. And if you're some kind of threat to this sect..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
As she walked away, Jin stood frozen in place, watching her retreating figure and trying to process what had just happened.
Day one, he thought grimly. I've been back for less than twenty-four hours, and I'm already under suspicion from the most perceptive person in the sect.
"Little Kaze!" Dae-sung appeared at his elbow, grinning broadly. "How cool was that? You got personal instruction from Senior Brother Baek AND Senior Sister So-young talked to you! You're like, famous now!"
Jin looked at his friend's beaming face and felt something inside his chest crack a little more.
Famous, he thought. Right. That's exactly what I was trying to avoid.
As they joined the stream of disciples heading toward the dining hall, Jin caught one last glimpse of So-young in the crowd ahead. She turned back to look at him, her expression unreadable, before disappearing around a corner.
This, Jin realized with growing dread, is going to be much harder than I thought.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a traitorous voice whispered: Maybe that's exactly what you deserve.