John leaned back against the wooden pillar, his gaze wandering past the lanterns into the dark canopy of stars above. Feng and Wen sat cross-legged before him, their bodies weary from training, their eyes burning with the hunger to know more.
"You want to know how I became strong," John said at last. His voice was quiet, almost casual. "The truth is simple: I only became strong when I became free."
"Free?" Wen tilted his head. "Brother John, what do you mean by that?"
John didn't answer right away. Instead, he lifted the jug beside him and poured water into his cup. Slowly, deliberately, he tipped it over, letting the liquid spill onto the stones. The boys watched as it streamed across the cracks, curving, twisting, finding paths without effort.
"Cultivators think strength is in control," John said. "They grip their qi until their bodies ache. They bind themselves with fear, duty, even pride. But what they don't see…" He pointed at the flowing water. "…is that qi doesn't obey chains. Like this water, it only reveals its true nature when allowed to move freely."
Feng frowned slightly. "But if qi flows where it wants, won't it be wild? How do we fight, if we don't command it?"
John chuckled. "A river looks wild, doesn't it? It crashes, it floods, it carves valleys. But in truth, it's only following the shape of the world. Freedom doesn't mean chaos, Feng. It means harmony. The river is not weaker because it refuses to be bound—it's stronger because nothing can truly stop it. Even stone yields in time."
The words struck deep. Wen leaned forward unconsciously, listening. John's voice had grown quieter, steadier.
"You both dream of becoming strong. But until you stop treating your qi as an enemy you must chain, you'll never touch its real power. Freedom isn't an excuse to be careless. It's the moment when your will and your qi stop fighting, and start flowing as one."
Silence fell. The water on the stones glimmered faintly in the moonlight, like a silver thread winding toward some hidden destination.
Feng closed his eyes, breathing slowly. He loosened the grip he didn't realize he'd been holding inside himself. For a heartbeat, his qi stirred differently—slipping past his control, yet not escaping him. It moved lightly, fluidly, weaving through his body as if it had always known the path. His chest felt unburdened, his spirit brightened.
His eyes snapped open, shining. "I… I think I felt it."
Beside him, Wen straightened his back, determination flashing in his eyes. He shut them and drew in a steady breath, letting the noise of his thoughts fade. For once, he didn't push, didn't force. Slowly, a warmth stirred within him—uneven at first, then flowing, threading through his body like a current slipping free of its dam. His lips parted in quiet awe.
"I… I feel it too," he whispered, eyes opening. "Not as clear as Feng, but… it's there. Like something that was waiting for me all along."
John's smile widened, rare but genuine. "Good. Both of you. Remember this feeling. Once you've touched it, you'll never mistake it again."
The quiet lingered, heavy with meaning. For the first time, Feng and Wen understood that cultivation was more than manuals and techniques—it was a path of the spirit, a path of choosing how to live.
Feng's hand tightened into a fist. He looked up at John, his voice firm though his chest trembled. "Since we were ten, Wen and I… we've dreamed of joining the Starveil Sword Sect. That's the path we've chosen. Our first step toward the peak of cultivation."
Wen glanced at him, eyes soft with shared memory, then nodded with unshakable resolve.
John studied them for a moment. Then, with the same casual shrug he might give when deciding whether to finish an apple, he said, "Sure."
It was such a simple word, yet it fell like a stone into still water, rippling outward in their hearts.
Above them, the night deepened, stars wheeling endlessly across the sky. The water on the courtyard stones shimmered faintly, following unseen cracks in its own direction.
Like the river, Feng and Wen knew their path could not be forced. It would flow where it must—toward trials, toward dreams, toward destiny.
And though the night was quiet, the fire within them burned brighter than ever before.