The morning after her failure, Liu Lanzhi sat on the bench before dawn and waited.
Her chest still ached where the cold pressure had burned her the day before. The pain was dull now—a persistent, rhythmic throb that served as a reminder rather than a wound . The night had been spent sitting by her window, watching the moon's progress across the sky and dissecting the old woman's verdict: You rushed. You forced. And you fell .
The mentor emerged through the hedge as the sky lightened, the shadows receding to reveal her bent frame. Her steps were slow and her face was an unreadable mask of age as she took her place beside Liu Lanzhi.
A long silence held the garden, broken only by the distant sounds of the palace waking. The old woman spoke without looking up. "You are thinking".
"I am waiting".
