The morning sun rose lazily over the small hills that surrounded the village, painting the training ground in shades of amber and gold. The air was cool, laced with the scent of damp soil and fresh herbs that grew along the slopes. The children arrived as they always did—eyes half-open, bodies aching, but spirits burning brighter each day. Their skin carried the marks of progress: small bruises, calloused palms, and the faint shimmer of sweat that never truly left them.
It had been fifteen days since their training began. Their bodies, once frail and uncertain, had grown stronger, leaner, more controlled. But now, the elders said, their next phase of training would begin—a month dedicated to knowledge and inner refinement.
Tong Chen stood before them, his massive frame glowing in the morning light. "You have trained your muscles and tested your endurance," he said, voice steady as a mountain wind. "But strength is nothing without understanding. A sword is useless without the hand that guides it, and the hand is lost without the mind that commands it. From today, you will learn the teachings that shape the warrior's path."
He gestured toward Xiao Ling, who stepped forward holding a wooden tray. Upon it rested four scrolls, each bound in different colored silk: crimson, blue, green, and gold. The sunlight glimmered off their surfaces, as if the knowledge within was alive.
"These are the first scrolls of our ancestors," Xiao Ling explained softly. "Each holds wisdom from the four aspects of cultivation—Body, Mind, Spirit, and Senses. For now, there are only four, and all of you must share their teachings. You will take turns learning from them, one month at a time, reading, meditating, and understanding not just the words, but their meaning."
A murmur spread among the youngsters. Luo Tang leaned toward Ye Chen, whispering, "Only four scrolls? How are we all supposed to learn?"
Before Ye Chen could answer, Yan Zhi Lan's serene voice drifted through the morning air. "By sharing," she said. "Knowledge grows when spoken aloud, when practiced together. Each day, one of you will study and teach the others what you have learned. In this way, you all become both students and teachers."
YunKai Tao's eyes glimmered with curiosity. "So… the scrolls are not just for reading?"
Liang Shan laughed, the sound deep and hearty. "If knowledge could be gained by staring at words, we would all be wise already. No, YunKai. You will read, yes—but more importantly, you will live the teachings. Apply them to your training, your breathing, your focus. That is how wisdom becomes strength."
Xiao Ling stepped closer, her robes whispering against the dirt. In her hand, she held small crystal bottles filled with shimmering golden liquid. "Before your studies begin," she said, "each of you will drink from this. It is a refined elixir made from Moonroot, Ironleaf, and Dew of the Dawn. It strengthens blood, eases pain, and clears the mind. As it flows through you, your thoughts will sharpen, and your body will recover faster."
She handed each child a bottle. The scent was strange—sweet yet earthy, like rain mixed with crushed petals. They drank it carefully, feeling warmth spread from their throats to their chests, then outward through their limbs.
"It's… strange," Chen Li murmured. "Like my veins are glowing inside."
Xiao Ling smiled. "That is the feeling of your spirit awakening. Now, sit and meditate. Let the elixir do its work."
The children obeyed, sitting cross-legged beneath the shade of the old trees near the training hill. A hush settled over the ground, broken only by the wind's quiet song. For thirty minutes, they meditated, breathing slowly, feeling the pulse of energy within. The elixir worked its way through their blood, relaxing tense muscles, soothing bruised tissue, and igniting a soft warmth in their cores.
When they opened their eyes, colors seemed sharper, sounds clearer—the chirping of birds, the rustle of leaves, even the distant trickle of water from the mountain stream.
As the day's first light touched the top of the Dorgon tanks, Tong Chen raised his arm. "Now," he said, "your training continues, but differently. Mornings will begin with meditation and scroll reading. Then, physical training. Afternoons for application, and evenings for reflection. And before nightfall—you will fill the tanks as before. That remains unchanged."
The youngsters exchanged eager glances. The rhythm of their lives was shifting again, but this time toward something deeper.
Ye Chen unrolled the first scroll, wrapped in deep blue silk. The parchment shimmered faintly in the sunlight. "The Scroll of the Mind," Yan Zhi Lan explained, standing behind him. "It teaches focus, inner balance, and the art of breathing. The first lesson—know your thoughts as you know your steps. If your mind wavers, your path will falter."
Ye Chen read aloud softly, the inked symbols seeming to dance as he spoke. "A calm mind is the mirror of truth. It reflects without distortion, it guides without judgment."
The others listened, some nodding in understanding, others closing their eyes to imagine the meaning.
After reading, they moved into their morning exercises—lifting, climbing, running. But this time, they incorporated what they had learned. Each breath was measured, each motion deliberate. They moved like flowing rivers, each step filled with awareness.
By midday, sweat poured down their faces, but their movements were sharper, more efficient. When they rested beneath the trees, the elders joined them again.
Yan Zhi Lan spoke softly, "Now share what you have learned. Each of you will explain one thing that your scroll taught you—or something you felt while practicing."
Luo Tang raised his hand eagerly. "When I focus on my breathing like the scroll says, I can carry the heavy bucket longer. It's like the air itself is helping me."
Liang Shan grinned. "Good! That is the essence of balance. Your breath is your greatest ally."
Chen Li added, "When I closed my eyes during the run, I felt the ground… almost before I stepped. Like I knew where to place my foot."
"That," Xiao Ling said, "is the awakening of your senses. Awareness without sight. You are beginning to touch the flow of energy around you."
YunKai Tao nodded slowly. "The scroll said, 'Move like water.' I didn't understand before. But when we were climbing the Dorgons… I stopped fighting the weight. I just moved with it. It became easier."
Tong Chen's deep laugh echoed. "Ah, finally! The water does not fight the mountain, yet it shapes it over time. Remember that, YunKai. You'll need it."
Over the following days, the scrolls began to pass from hand to hand. The crimson one—The Scroll of the Body—taught about physical control, posture, and the relationship between muscle and breath. The green scroll—The Scroll of Senses—spoke of awareness, balance, and the subtle flow of spirit through the body. The gold one—The Scroll of Spirit—was the most mysterious, filled with verses and parables about courage, unity, and purpose.
Each day, one of the youngsters would study a scroll in the morning, then gather the others during the afternoon break to explain what they had discovered.
Sometimes their interpretations clashed, and lively arguments followed.
"No, no," Luo Tang protested one day, waving his hands, "the scroll says that stillness creates power. That means we must hold still during battle!"
Chen Li snorted. "And get hit? That's nonsense. It means we must be calm while moving."
Ye Chen chuckled. "Maybe you're both right. Calm doesn't mean motionless—it means steady, no matter what happens."
Their laughter echoed across the grounds, and even the elders smiled, watching quietly from the hill.
At night, after their tank-filling tasks were done, the children would sit in a circle near the Dorgons, sharing reflections. The elixir still flowed through their systems, making recovery faster, but its effects were changing. After the fifteenth day, its strength began to fade slightly. Muscles ached more, and the pain returned. Yet, the elders did not interfere. They wanted the children to feel the struggle again—to learn resilience.
It was after the twenty-second day when Xiao Ling appeared again, carrying a new set of crystal bottles. This time, the liquid shimmered with a faint silver hue.
"This," she explained, "is a stronger mixture. It carries the properties of Ironroot and the sap of the Heaven's Tree. It will not only ease your pain but also strengthen your blood, sharpen your senses, and nourish your inner energy. But take care—its strength can overwhelm those who are careless. Drink it slowly, and meditate for half an hour before you train."
The children obeyed eagerly. The moment the new elixir touched their tongues, they felt a surge of warmth—stronger, deeper than before. Some gasped as the sensation spread through their limbs, awakening every nerve.
Luo Tang whispered, "It's like fire and ice at the same time."
Chen Li grinned, "That's how you know it's working."
Days passed, and with each sunrise, they grew stronger—both in body and in wisdom. They filled more tanks than ever before, their teamwork now effortless. What once took them hours now took only half the time. Buckets passed between hands in rhythm, steps aligned, movements balanced.
When they rested, the scrolls awaited them. They read by torchlight, taking turns, discussing quietly among themselves. Sometimes, they fell asleep mid-reading, parchment clutched in their hands, faces soft with dreams of endless hills and shining streams.
At the end of the first month, the elders gathered the group beneath the twilight sky. The air was cool and heavy with the scent of pine. Stars flickered above like distant lamps.
Tong Chen spoke first, his voice deep and resonant. "You have done well. In fifteen days, you strengthened your bodies. In thirty, you've begun to awaken your minds and spirits. This is only the beginning. The scrolls you studied are the first of many. As your paths unfold, more will come—about plants, beasts, the heavens, and the body's secret gates. But for now, learn to master what you hold."
Xiao Ling stepped forward, her eyes warm. "You have shared knowledge. You have learned together. That is what matters most. Strength alone is fragile—but wisdom shared becomes unbreakable."
She handed each child a small cup filled with the silver elixir. "Drink, and meditate once more before you sleep. Let the energy settle within you. It will carry you into the next phase of your journey."
They drank, feeling the warmth spread through them again. As they sat beneath the stars, Xiao Ling's gentle voice drifted through the night air.
"Like water," she said, "you must flow—strong enough to shape stone, gentle enough to mirror the sky. Remember this each day."
The children closed their eyes, the soft wind brushing their faces. Their bodies ached, but their spirits were light.
After a moment, Luo Tang whispered, "Do you think one day… we'll be as strong as them?"
Ye Chen chuckled softly. "Maybe. But I think it's not about being as strong—it's about being ready when the time comes."
YunKai Tao nodded, eyes half-closed. "And when that time comes, we'll face it together."
The fire they had lit near the training ground crackled quietly, sending tiny sparks into the night. Their faces were lit by its flickering glow—young, bruised, and determined. The gentle hum of the night surrounded them, wrapping the air in a still peace that only came after a long day of effort.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The sound of the wind brushing through the tall grass, the rhythmic chirping of insects, and the distant murmur of the river became their lullaby. The sky stretched endlessly above them, jeweled with stars that shimmered like silent witnesses to their promise.
Chen Li leaned back against the slope, gazing upward. "When I was little," he said quietly, "I used to think the stars were spirits of warriors watching over us. Now… I wonder if they're just waiting for us to join them."
Luo Tang gave a sleepy grin. "Then you better train harder, or you'll never reach that high."
The others laughed softly, the sound blending with the night breeze.
But YunKai Tao remained thoughtful. "Maybe they're not warriors," he said, his voice distant. "Maybe they're reminders—that no matter how far we go, there's always more to reach for."
Xiao Ling's earlier words echoed in his mind: Like water, you must flow. He could still feel the warmth of the elixir pulsing faintly in his veins, a steady rhythm that matched the beat of his heart. He didn't fully understand it yet—the path of energy, the harmony of body and spirit—but he could sense something changing inside him. Not just strength… but awareness.
Ye Chen broke the silence again, his tone half-serious, half-teasing. "If we keep training like this, maybe the Dorgons will start running away from us instead."
Luo Tang groaned. "I'd rather they start shrinking."
Chen Li grinned. "Don't worry. One day, we'll build bigger ones—so that the next group of kids has to suffer like us."
The group burst into laughter again, their tired voices echoing faintly across the hillside. Even the elders, who watched from a distance near the path's entrance, smiled quietly.
Tong Chen folded his arms, the firelight glinting against his stern features. "They're starting to understand," he murmured.
Yan Zhi Lan nodded beside him, her expression serene. "Pain has become their teacher, and effort their companion. This is the first step."
Xiao Ling's eyes softened as she watched the children lean against one another, drowsy but content. "Their spirits are synchronizing. They are learning to move as one, to think as one. Soon, their energy will follow."
Liang Shan chuckled. "They remind me of us when we first started—loud, stubborn, and full of questions."
"Indeed," Tong Chen replied with a faint smile. "But that stubbornness is what forges true strength."
They stood there for a moment longer, letting the stillness of the night wash over them. Then, silently, they turned back toward the village, leaving the fire to burn low beside the resting youths.
The flames dimmed, and the chill of night deepened. One by one, the youngsters drifted into sleep where they sat, their breaths slow and even. YunKai Tao remained awake the longest, staring at the dark outlines of the Dorgons towering against the horizon.
The structures looked different under the moonlight—not like obstacles, but like silent sentinels, waiting for the dawn. He could almost imagine them breathing with the rhythm of the earth itself.
A whisper stirred in his mind—something he couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the lingering echo of the elders' teachings, or perhaps something older, deeper, within him. The path you walk will test not your strength, but your resolve. The water flows forward, always forward.
He closed his eyes and smiled faintly. "Always forward," he whispered back.
The moon rose higher, washing the land in silver light. Somewhere far away, an owl called. The river whispered secrets to the stones. And beneath the hill, in the sleeping heart of the village, the Iron Path waited silently—unchanged, patient, eternal.