( Practice)
Morning light filtered softly into the training grounds, brushing against the open field like a quiet blessing. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of grass and distant wood, untouched by the noise of the main arena.
Zhang Wei stepped forward.
His silver robe shimmered faintly under the sun—not bright enough to draw attention, but just enough to give him a soft, almost unreal presence. The fabric was light, flowing gently with each step he took, as though the wind favored him.
And yet—
Nothing about him screamed enlightenment.
No surge of aura.
No overwhelming pressure.
Just… him.
"…There's no change," someone whispered from the side.
"Wasn't he gone for three days?"
"Maybe it was exaggerated…"
Wei ignored all of it.
As always.
—
"Zhang Wei!"
Sang Sang's voice reached him first.
He turned slightly, and there she was—standing with calm grace, her dim blue-gray robes moving gently as she lifted a hand toward him. Her eyes, now clear and alive, held a quiet warmth that hadn't been there before.
He walked over.
She had already pushed a plate toward him.
Simple.
Vegetables.
Boiled.
Clean.
"Thanks," he said, sitting down without hesitation.
And began eating.
—
"…Does he only eat vegetables?"
A nearby female disciple whispered, her expression caught between confusion and disbelief.
Her companion leaned closer.
"I've never seen him eat meat…"
Their eyes lingered.
Not mockery this time.
Just curiosity.
—
"After this, let's go practice more," Fei Fei said, her tone more serious than usual. "The tournament starts in two days."
Wei paused mid-bite.
"…Two days?"
He blinked.
"I thought it was two weeks… it's only been one and a day."
Sang Sang nodded slightly.
"It was pushed forward."
No explanation.
Just fact.
Wei stared at his plate for a second.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
No complaint.
No panic.
Just acceptance.
He finished the rest of his food quietly before standing.
"Let's go practice."
—
They walked out together.
Wei in the middle.
Fei Fei on one side, adjusting her sleeves as she moved.
Sang Sang on the other, her pace calm, steady.
From behind—
Ji Lin watched them leave, his brows knitting slightly.
"…Spoiled…"
He muttered, though there was no real bite to it.
His gaze dropped to the table.
To the empty plate.
To the herbs.
"…That boy really doesn't eat normal food."
Ji Yao, seated beside him, followed his line of sight.
"…Not normal," he agreed quietly.
Then added, almost to himself—
"…Not simple either."
Ji Lin clicked his tongue, grabbing a piece of meat.
"Let's go."
They stood and left.
—
The training ground felt… quieter today.
Not empty.
But missing something.
The usual pressure of Zhang Lin.
The sharp presence of Zhang Lie.
The disciplined rhythm of the twenty disciples.
Gone.
Only the sisters remained.
And Wei.
—
Fei Fei and Sang Sang stood facing each other again.
Their swords moved.
Clash—
Separate—
Clash—
Their movements were sharper now.
More refined.
Their auras brushed against each other—warmth and air intertwining, pushing, testing, growing.
Wei stood at the side.
Watching.
Not idly.
But carefully.
Absorbing.
—
"Zhang Wei, join us."
Sang Sang's voice broke his focus.
Wei blinked.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
He stepped forward.
Picked up a sword.
—
The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt—
Something shifted.
Not outside.
Inside.
His grip wasn't tight.
Not rigid.
It was… natural.
Like holding something familiar.
Even he didn't notice.
—
"Warm up first," Sang Sang suggested gently, stepping back.
Fei Fei crossed her arms, watching.
Wei nodded.
Then—
He moved.
—
The first step—
Light.
Barely touching the ground.
The second—
Flowing.
His body followed naturally, like water slipping around unseen stones.
The sword rose.
Not in attack.
Not in defense.
But in… motion.
—
"…A dance…"
Fei Fei whispered.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"I've never seen this swordplay before…"
There was no killing intent.
None.
Not even a trace.
And yet—
It wasn't weak.
It wasn't empty.
It was… complete.
—
Wei's steps shifted.
Turned.
Flowed.
His sleeves followed like drifting clouds, the silver fabric catching light with every movement. His hair moved with him, soft strands brushing across his face before settling again.
The blade traced arcs through the air—
Gentle.
Precise.
Beautiful.
—
To him—
He wasn't alone.
He could see it.
Clear.
Behind him.
Guiding.
Correcting.
A hand adjusting his stance.
A voice—
"Not force… feel it…"
Wei's breathing synced with the motion.
His thoughts quieted.
His body moved without resistance.
—
"…There's no blood in it…"
Fei Fei said softly.
"…Not even instinct for it."
Sang Sang's gaze deepened.
"…It rejects it."
—
Wei spun lightly—
A final step—
A final flow—
Then stopped.
—
His chest rose sharply.
Breathing heavy.
Sweat forming along his temples.
His grip loosened slightly as the sword lowered.
—
Silence.
—
Even the wind seemed to pause.
—
"…You learned that… in three days?"
Fei Fei asked slowly.
Wei blinked.
Still catching his breath.
"…I tried."
That was all he said.
—
Sang Sang stepped forward slightly.
Her eyes were thoughtful.
Careful.
"That sword…"
She paused.
"…isn't meant to fight, is it?"
Wei looked down at the blade.
Then shook his head softly.
"…No."
A small pause.
"…It's meant to understand."
—
Neither of them spoke after that.
But both understood one thing—
That swordplay…
Was dangerous.
Not because it killed.
But because—
In a world built on blood and power—
Something that refused both…
Was far more terrifying.
The wind returned slowly, brushing across the training ground as if it, too, had been holding its breath.
Zhang Wei lowered the sword completely.
His fingers relaxed around the hilt, but he didn't let go—not yet. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath deeper than the last. Sweat clung lightly to his temples, sliding down the curve of his jaw before disappearing into the collar of his silver robe.
The fabric, once neat, now clung faintly to his back.
He looked… tired.
But not strained.
Not broken.
Just… used.
—
Fei Fei stepped closer first.
Her brows were slightly furrowed, her usual warmth replaced by something more serious—more alert.
"That wasn't normal," she said.
Not accusing.
Just stating.
Wei blinked at her.
"…It's just steps."
"Steps don't feel like that," she replied immediately.
Sang Sang didn't speak.
She circled him slowly instead.
Not suspicious.
Observing.
Her eyes—new to sight, yet already sharp in their own way—followed the smallest details.
The looseness in his stance.
The absence of tension in his shoulders.
The way even now… he wasn't guarding himself.
"…Do it again," she said softly.
Wei tilted his head.
"…Again?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"…Slowly."
—
Wei hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
He adjusted his grip.
Not tighter.
Just… aware.
—
This time—
He moved slower.
More deliberately.
—
The first step landed.
Soft.
Barely making a sound against the ground.
The second followed—
A gentle turn.
His robe shifted like water, the silver fabric folding and unfolding with each movement. The blade rose again, but without weight—without intent to strike.
It didn't cut the air.
It traced it.
—
Sang Sang's eyes widened slightly.
"…He's not leading it…"
Fei Fei frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"…The sword," Sang Sang whispered. "…it's moving with him… not because of him."
—
Wei's wrist turned.
A small motion.
But precise.
Perfectly aligned.
As if corrected by something unseen.
—
Behind him—
For just a moment—
A faint outline flickered.
Not visible.
Not truly.
But felt.
Like a memory pressing against reality.
—
"You're forcing it."
The voice echoed faintly in his mind.
Wei adjusted.
Immediately.
His shoulders relaxed.
His steps softened further.
—
And then—
It changed.
—
The movement became smoother.
Cleaner.
Effortless.
Like watching a leaf drift across still water.
—
Fei Fei took a step back unconsciously.
"…Why does it feel like that…"
Her hand moved to her chest slightly.
"…Like it's calming everything…"
—
Even the air—
Seemed lighter.
—
Sang Sang didn't answer.
Because she felt it too.
Not pressure.
Not suppression.
But… release.
—
Wei completed the final step.
The sword lowered.
His body stilled.
—
And just like that—
It ended.
—
The feeling disappeared.
—
The world returned.
—
Wei blinked.
"…Was that okay?"
He looked between them, genuinely unsure.
—
Fei Fei opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then sighed.
"…You're strange."
Wei nodded.
"I know."
—
Sang Sang stepped closer this time.
Her hand reached out—
But instead of touching him—
She touched the sword.
Lightly.
Her fingers brushed the blade.
Then withdrew.
"…There's no hostility in it," she said.
"…Not even hidden."
She looked at him.
"…If someone fought you… seriously…"
Wei nodded.
"I would lose."
No hesitation.
No denial.
—
Fei Fei frowned.
"…You're not even trying to defend your pride?"
Wei tilted his head.
"…Why?"
She paused.
Then sighed again.
"…Forget it."
—
A soft chuckle escaped Sang Sang.
Quiet.
Warm.
"…He's right."
She turned slightly, looking toward the empty training grounds.
"…But that doesn't mean it's useless."
—
Wei looked at her.
"…It's not?"
She shook her head slowly.
"No."
A small pause.
"…It just means… it wasn't made for this world."
—
Silence followed.
—
From a distance—
Unseen by them—
Two figures stood at the edge of the trees.
Zhang Lin.
Zhang Lie.
They had returned earlier than expected.
And had seen everything.
—
Zhang Lie's arms were crossed, his expression unreadable.
"…That sword…"
Zhang Lin didn't respond immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on Wei.
Calm.
Deep.
Thinking.
"…It doesn't clash," he finally said.
"…It absorbs."
—
Zhang Lie's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…That's worse."
—
Back on the field—
Wei lowered the sword completely this time.
His grip loosened.
Then—
He let go.
The blade slipped slightly—
But he caught it again clumsily.
"…Ah."
Fei Fei stared.
Sang Sang blinked.
—
"…You can't even hold it properly after all that?" Fei Fei asked.
Wei looked embarrassed.
"…My hands are tired…"
—
A pause.
Then—
Fei Fei laughed.
Sang Sang smiled.
—
And just like that—
The tension broke.
—
But neither of them realized—
That what they had just witnessed…
Was not something that could remain hidden for long.
"But it suits you better than most."
Sang Sang's voice was light, but her eyes were sharp, studying him—measuring.
Wei paused for a second, fingers brushing against the fabric. It wasn't just the robe… it was the weight behind her words.
"Thanks," he replied simply.
A grin broke across Fei Fei's face.
"Then let's spar."
The challenge came fast—too fast. Wei hesitated. Just for a breath.
Then he nodded.
—
They stepped into the clearing, the air shifting as if the forest itself leaned in to watch.
Fei Fei moved first.
No warning. No restraint in intent—only in power.
Her strike cut through the air like a blade, fast and precise.
Wei reacted on instinct.
He didn't counter.
He slipped.
A tilt of his body, a step to the side—barely enough.
The attack missed him by a hair.
Fei Fei's eyes narrowed.
Again.
Faster this time.
A flurry of strikes followed—each one controlled, yet sharp enough to remind him that she was holding back, not weak.
And Wei…
Only defended.
He bent, shifted, turned—his movements fluid, almost unnatural. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he wove through her attacks. Like wind slipping through branches. Like a dancer moving to a rhythm only he could hear.
Close.
Too close.
Every dodge came at the last possible moment.
A sleeve grazed.
A strand of hair cut loose.
But nothing landed.
Sang Sang's smile slowly deepened.
"So it's a defense skill…"
She watched carefully, eyes tracing every motion, every breath.
"No… not just defense."
Wei wasn't just avoiding.
He was reading.
Each time Fei Fei moved, his body responded before the strike fully formed—as if the air itself whispered her intentions to him.
Fei Fei suddenly stepped back, her foot pressing hard against the ground.
Then—
She surged forward.
Faster than before.
This time, her palm aimed straight for his chest.
Wei's pupils shrank.
For the first time—
He didn't fully dodge.
He twisted, forcing his body aside, but her strike brushed against him.
The impact wasn't strong… but it was enough.
He staggered back two steps.
Silence fell.
Fei Fei lowered her hand, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"You can't just run forever."
Wei steadied himself, exhaling slowly. His heartbeat was loud—but his expression… calm.
"…I know."
For a moment, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves around them.
Fei Fei didn't hold back her intent—even if she restrained her strength.
The moment her foot pressed into the ground, dust lifted in a soft ring beneath her, her white robes flaring behind her like a sudden bloom. Her sword came forward—not wild, not reckless—but precise. Warm.
Alive.
Zhang Wei saw it.
Not with confidence.
Not with experience.
But with instinct.
His grip on the sword tightened slightly, the worn hilt pressing into his palm, grounding him. His silver robe brushed softly against his legs as he shifted, the fabric light—almost too light—fluttering with every movement he made.
Then—
She struck.
Fast.
Wei moved.
Not forward.
Not to clash.
But away.
A single step.
Light.
His body tilted just enough, the blade passing so close it stirred the loose strands of his white hair. The air carried the faint warmth of Fei Fei's aura, brushing against his skin like a warning.
He exhaled.
Soft.
Slow.
Another strike came—lower this time.
Wei's foot slid back, then to the side.
A turn.
Not trained.
Not calculated.
Natural.
His sword followed—not to meet hers, but to guide it away. The contact was brief, almost gentle.
Clink—
A soft sound.
Barely a clash.
More like a touch.
Fei Fei's brows furrowed.
"…He's not resisting," she murmured under her breath.
From the side, Sang Sang's lips curved slightly, her gray robes swaying gently as she folded her arms.
"He's listening," she corrected softly.
Back on the field—
Fei Fei increased her pace.
Her steps became sharper, her strikes more frequent. The ground beneath her feet showed the marks of pressure—small cracks forming with each push of her qi.
Yet—
Wei remained the same.
He moved like water slipping through fingers.
Each step light.
Each turn smooth.
His robe flowed with him, the silver fabric catching sunlight in soft glimmers, almost making him look… unreal.
Not a fighter.
A dancer.
But not a useless one.
Because every strike—
Missed.
Barely.
Dangerously.
His breathing grew uneven.
His chest rose faster now, sweat forming at his temples, sliding slowly down the curve of his jaw. His arms trembled slightly—not from impact, but from constant movement.
He wasn't winning.
He wasn't even fighting back.
He was surviving.
Again.
Fei Fei stepped back suddenly, her sword lowering slightly as she studied him.
"You're not attacking."
Wei blinked.
His grip loosened just a little.
"…I don't know how to," he admitted honestly.
No shame.
Just truth.
A few disciples nearby exchanged glances.
"That's… actually true."
"He hasn't landed a single strike…"
"But he hasn't been hit either…"
Sang Sang's gaze remained steady.
"That's harder than attacking," she said quietly.
Fei Fei exhaled, then smiled faintly.
"Then let's see how long you can keep it up."
This time—
She vanished forward.
Faster than before.
Wei's eyes widened—
Too fast—
His body reacted before his thoughts could catch up.
Step—
Turn—
Slip—
Her blade grazed his sleeve, tearing a small piece of fabric that fluttered down to the ground.
Too close.
His heart slammed against his chest.
I can't keep up…
Another strike—
This time from behind.
Wei twisted awkwardly, barely managing to avoid it. His footing slipped slightly on the dirt, his balance breaking—
But instead of falling—
He flowed.
His body tilted forward, turning the stumble into motion. His sword lifted—not to strike—but to redirect.
Clink—
Again.
Soft.
Controlled.
Fei Fei paused mid-motion.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…This isn't just defense anymore."
Wei didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
But something—
Felt different.
The movements that once felt forced… now felt familiar.
Like echoes.
Like guidance.
Step softer…
A voice.
Faint.
In his mind.
Do not resist the force… let it pass…
Pi Lang.
Wei's breathing slowed.
Not fully calm—
But steadier.
Fei Fei attacked again.
This time—
Wei moved before she completed the motion.
A step to the side.
A turn of the wrist.
Her blade slid past him as if guided away by an invisible current.
The air between them shifted.
For a brief moment—
Silence.
Even the disciples stopped whispering.
Sang Sang's eyes widened slightly.
"…He's adapting."
Wei didn't notice.
He only felt it.
The rhythm.
The flow.
The stillness beneath movement.
His sword lowered slightly.
Not in surrender.
But in… peace.
Fei Fei stared at him for a second longer before finally stepping back fully, lowering her blade.
"…Alright."
She exhaled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"That's enough."
Wei blinked, as if waking up.
"…It is?"
His voice was soft.
Almost disappointed.
Fei Fei laughed lightly.
"If we keep going, I might be the one getting frustrated."
She turned, walking back toward Sang Sang, her robes settling around her as the tension faded from her shoulders.
Sang Sang smiled faintly.
"I told you."
Fei Fei glanced back once more at Wei.
"…Yeah."
Then quieter—
"But he's still not ready."
Wei stood alone for a moment, his sword still in his hand.
His chest rose and fell slowly.
His silver robe fluttered gently in the breeze.
Around him—
The forest returned to life.
Leaves rustled.
Birds called faintly from a distance.
The sunlight filtered through the trees, warm and soft against his pale skin.
He looked down at his sword.
"…I didn't get hit…"
A small pause.
"…But I didn't do anything either."
His fingers tightened slightly around the hilt.
Not frustration.
Not anger.
Just… realization.
From afar—
Unseen—
A presence lingered.
Watching.
Waiting.
And somewhere deep within the quiet rhythm of the forest—
A faint, familiar whisper echoed again.
You are not meant to destroy…
You are meant to endure.
Wei's eyes lifted slowly.
For a brief moment—
They didn't look lost.
Just… searching.