The moment they stepped back into the tent, the space felt wrong.
Empty.
Hannah's eyes darted from the low pallet to the stool to the cold ashes of last night's fire. "Where could she have gone this time?"
Jason was already turning. "Come on. We'll find her."
He pushed the flap aside and nearly collided with the figure struggling along the path. Clara moved slowly, both hands gripping a rough walking stick, each step measured and careful. The morning light made the pallor of her face stand out more sharply.
Jason reached her in three strides and slipped an arm under her elbow, taking most of her weight without comment. Hannah hovered on the other side, silent and tight-lipped. Together they guided her back inside and settled her onto the stool.
"Mother," Jason asked once she was steady, "where did you go?"
"To see Elder Drake." Clara exhaled slowly, the stick resting across her knees. "He had something he promised me."
Her gaze lifted then, studying her son with sudden sharpness. The tired lines around her eyes softened. A small, genuine smile pulled at the corners of her mouth despite the pain that never fully left her face.
"Not bad," she said. "You've broken through to the second layer of the tempered body."
Jason's own smile answered hers. "It was the ginseng. Without it I'd still be stuck at the first."
Clara shook her head. "That isn't true. Most would need a month or two to cross that threshold. You did it in a single night of hard work. The breakthrough was already close—the ginseng only helped it arrive faster. Keep training. There's still residual medicinal strength in your body. Don't waste it."
"Yes, Mother."
She reached into her sleeve and drew out a thin, worn manual bound in dark cloth. "And speaking of training… now that you've reached the second layer, you're qualified to begin real martial arts. Elder Drake let me have this. It's only a low-grade leg technique, but it should be enough to keep you from being helpless the next time trouble finds you."
Jason took the manual with both hands. The weight of it felt far heavier than the thin pages warranted. His mother had gone to Elder Drake—had asked, perhaps even begged—for something that would let him stand on more equal ground with the Fox disciples. The realization hit him hard enough that his vision blurred.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, careful of her frailty, and held on.
"I won't let you down," he said against her shoulder, voice rough.
Clara's hand came up and rested lightly on the back of his head. "I'm the one who has let you down," she murmured. "I can't give you the resources a proper home would provide. This is the best I can do."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. After a moment she gently pushed him back, wiped her face with the edge of her sleeve, and managed a soft chuckle.
"You're not a child anymore, Jason. What would your peers say if they saw you crying?"
Jason scrubbed at his own eyes with the heel of his hand. "If they've never cried since the day they were born, then let them laugh."
"They will laugh," Clara said, still smiling. "Now—aren't you going to look at the technique?"
He opened the manual. The first characters stared up at him in clear, bold strokes.
"Phantom Kick," he read aloud.
"Elder Drake said that when mastered to its peak, even a cultivator at the sixth layer of the tempered body would find it difficult to walk away from a clean strike," Clara explained. "But the requirement is simple and absolute: strong legs."
Jason frowned. "If it needs strong legs to begin with, how am I supposed to learn it?"
"By making them strong enough—or stronger." Clara's smile returned, edged with something almost mischievous. "You can start by kicking that tree."
She pointed to the same sturdy branch Jason had used for pull-ups all morning.
He stared at her. "You're not serious."
"I am entirely serious. If you want the Phantom Kick, that is how you begin."
Jason's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "Kicking that tree will cripple me. Isn't there another way?"
Clara's expression turned grave. "The cultivation world is cruel, son. If you cannot even kick that tree, then you are not yet qualified to walk this path."
He clenched his jaw, walked to the tree, and hesitated only a second before driving his right leg forward with everything he had.
Pain exploded through his shin and foot the instant it connected. The impact rang up the bone like a hammer strike. Jason crumpled, clutching his leg, teeth locked against a cry, tears already springing to his eyes.
"Don't forget the other leg," Clara called calmly. "Mastering the technique with both will make it far harder for an opponent to predict which one is coming."
"It already feels like I'm dying with one!" Jason gasped. "How am I supposed to walk if I break both?"
"You endure," she answered. "Pain is also a teacher. It trains the mind as much as the body. Keep going."
Jason forced himself upright, waited until the worst of the throbbing eased, then kicked with his left leg.
The second impact was every bit as vicious. A raw shout tore from his throat as he dropped again, both legs burning, tears streaking the dirt on his face.
"Keep your voice down," Clara said, a note of mild exasperation in her tone. "Must you make so much noise?"
Jason looked up at her, incredulous. "Your son is in agony and that's all you have to say?"
"It's your own fault for putting your full strength into the first kick. Why should I pity you for that?"
"You told me to kick the tree!"
"I told you to kick it. I did not tell you to try and fell it in a single blow. Use your head. Start at half strength. When you can bear that, increase to sixty percent. Then seventy. Build gradually." She turned toward the tent. "Come inside. Tomorrow you continue."
Jason stayed on the ground a moment longer, breathing hard, both legs throbbing in time with his heartbeat. The manual lay in the dirt beside him, its cover still faintly warm from his mother's hands.
Phantom Kick.
He wiped his face with the back of his wrist, gathered the thin book, and limped after her into the tent.
Tomorrow, the tree would still be waiting.