Three months passed as quietly as the turning of leaves. The announcement of the clan's martial gathering had rung like a bell across the square that day, but Lin Xun chose not to linger on it. His heart was not one that clung to shadows of worry. Pressure meant nothing if his steps faltered, and so he placed one foot after the other on the path that now lay before him.
Every dawn found him seated cross-legged, breath steady, qi flowing slowly into his meridians. He was still at the first steps of the Man Realm, where every strand of energy absorbed had to carve its place into his body like water hollowing stone. At times the process felt endless, at times unbearably dull, but Xun's patience held. He had tasted helplessness once, and he would not allow it to bind him again.
Between hours of cultivation, there was training. The sword, sharp and demanding, became his companion. His strikes were clumsy at first, his stances stiff, but repetition hardened them into smoother forms. Bruises mottled his arms, blisters dotted his palms, and sweat stained his clothes more often than not. Yet in those small pains lay a satisfaction far richer than the life he once lived.
Time slipped past like rain upon stone. A season turned, unnoticed until the day came when the air shifted. The three months promised by the instructor were gone. The gathering loomed.
---
The morning of the event broke bright, yet beneath its brightness lay a heavy undertone. The Lin estate stirred earlier than usual. Servants scurried across courtyards with rolls of silk and polished banners of crimson and gold, hoisting them along the outer walls. The training square, cleared and scrubbed till the stones gleamed, had been marked with a vast circle, its chalk lines sharp and fresh.
Children gathered in groups, their laughter subdued, replaced by the hushed muttering of those who knew the day carried weight. Elders in formal robes strode through the grounds, their sleeves trailing as they barked quiet orders. Even the air itself seemed taut, as though waiting for something to unfold.
Lin Xun walked among them, his steps steady. His parents had not spoken much that morning. Lin Zhentian, as usual, wore calm dignity, but Xun saw the pride in his eyes. Lin Xiuying's voice was brisk as she instructed servants, yet she had lingered longer than usual before letting him go, her hand resting on his shoulder with unspoken words.
At the center of the square rose the high platform where the elders would sit, stone benches arranged in tiers. At the very back, a raised seat stood draped with the clan's crest: a blazing flame against a field of black. It awaited the Clan Head's arrival.
The younger disciples whispered as they passed. "Did you hear? Even the Patriarch might be watching."
"Not him. But the Clan Head, certainly. This year's gathering will decide much."
Their words clung to the air, feeding the growing tension.
---
By the time the sun reached its height, the square thrummed with voices. Not only the Lin Clan had gathered. From Lutong Town, merchants, wandering cultivators, and representatives of smaller families had come, drawn by rumor. Such gatherings were clan matters, yet their results rippled outward, shaping balance in the town for years to come.
Whispers cut through the crowd.
"For the older youths, Lin Huoyan is already at the late stage of Body Tempering, is he not? He might break through before long."
"Indeed, and Lin Shen too, though his progress is slower. Still, both will surely dominate their section."
"And what of the new initiates?"
"Lin Ming, of course. His fire and metal roots shine brightly, and he's already shown sharp skill in the spear. Even Patriarch Lin Huang himself praised his future."
A scoff answered. "Lin Xun, you mean? They say his roots are of five elements, but such things are unstable, aren't they? Too scattered to be of use."
Another voice whispered lower, "Still, his awakening was too bright to ignore. The elders may say nothing, but if he cannot prove himself today, all that brilliance will turn into nothing but talk."
Such doubts swirled like smoke, and though Lin Xun heard them, his expression remained calm. He had no need to argue with words. A sword was not proven by boasting, but by its edge.
He made his way through the crowd, toward the group of youths where Lin Ming already stood. His cousin's back was straight, his chin lifted with pride, eyes glinting as he caught sight of Xun. There was no open taunt this time, only the silent challenge in his gaze, sharper than words.
At the front, the instructor called for order. His voice carried across the square, firm and commanding. "Disciples of the Lin Clan. Today is the annual martial gathering, the day where we measure our strength and declare the distribution of resources for the coming year. This is no mere contest of arms. It is the foundation of our clan's future."
The noise fell away into silence. Even the restless children stilled, their eyes wide.
The instructor's gaze swept over them. "There will be two divisions. The older year will clash first, followed by the new initiates. Each battle will be watched by the elders. Remember well—victory brings honor, but defeat is not shame. Cowardice alone is unforgivable."
Murmurs rippled, but quickly died under his stern glance.
"And so, let the gathering begin."
The crowd roared, the square alive with excitement.
Lin Xun took his place among the others, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his practice sword. His heartbeat was steady, yet within that calm beat the rhythm of something greater. He could feel it—the storm of eyes upon him, the weight of doubt, the heat of expectation.
It mattered not.
The road of cultivation was not one walked by words or by rumor. It was a path carved only by one's own hands.
And Lin Xun was ready to carve.