The next dawn broke clear and bright. Thin rays of sunlight scattered across the ocean surface, shimmering like scattered silver. The sea breeze carried a sharp chill, rolling mist inland from the waves.
Lin Feng stood in the clearing once again, the earth still scarred from past training. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, letting the sound of the waves fade into silence.
Yesterday he had shaped water qi into a ripple. Today, his focus shifted.
If water is patient, then wind is fleeting. Elusive. Always moving.
He inhaled deeply. The air filled his chest, carrying with it faint threads of energy. Unlike water qi, which gathered steadily, wind qi danced and twisted, slipping through his grasp like strands of silk.
Lin Feng frowned slightly, his focus unbroken. He reached again. The qi drifted close, then scattered before he could draw it in. He guided his breathing lower, slower, as though exhaling into the current itself.
At last, a single wisp settled against his palm—thin, almost weightless. The moment he tightened his will, it tore apart and vanished.
Lin Feng exhaled softly. Not frustration—understanding.
"…Too forceful. Wind cannot be seized."
He sat cross-legged, letting the hours pass. Again and again, he reached for the elusive strands. Each time, they slipped free. Sometimes he felt only emptiness, sometimes a faint touch, never enough to hold.
By the time the sun reached its peak, sweat dampened his back. His body ached from stillness, but his heart was calm.
Finally, as he opened his hand once more, the wisp of wind qi settled in his palm. This time, he did not grasp. He only let it stay.
It trembled faintly, swirled like a tiny breeze, then scattered into nothing.
The moment lasted only seconds—but Lin Feng's lips curved faintly.
"A beginning."
The storm within his veins pulsed quietly, approving, as though recognizing his patience.
...
That evening, he returned to his hut, body weary but spirit steady. He sat beside the small oil lamp, watching its flame bend gently in the sea breeze. His hand hovered above it, fingers tingling faintly with the memory of the wisp.
Water flows. Wind drifts. Lightning waits…
A sharp cry of seabirds overhead startled him. Then, through the thin walls of his hut, faint voices drifted from the distant sect halls.
"…The elders convene tonight."
"They'll speak of the boy."
"Storm Veins… if true, he cannot remain hidden for long."
The voices faded into the sea wind, leaving behind only the quiet flicker of the lamp.
Lin Feng's gaze lingered on the flame. His heart beat calmly, yet a faint weight pressed in his chest. Something was coming.
For now, though, he returned to meditation, guiding the faint rhythms of wind and water through his veins. One wisp, one ripple—small beginnings, patient as the tide.