( training to survive)
Zhang Lie and Zhang Lin approached with the disciples trailing behind them, dust still clinging to their robes from the journey.
"You guys are back early," Fei Fei teased, her arms folded as she leaned lazily against a wooden post, eyes glinting with curiosity.
"Elder Mi had other plans for now," Zhang Lie explained calmly, though his gaze briefly swept across the group, measuring… observing.
"Good," Zhang Lin said, his voice firm, fingers tightening slightly around the hilt of his sword. His posture alone made the air feel heavier. "That means more time to train."
A faint smirk tugged at Fei Fei's lips as she pushed herself off the post.
"Then more practice is needed," she said, her tone turning sharp. "Fei Sang and I will attack at the same time. You avoid all our attacks."
"Huh?"
The reaction was immediate—shock rippled through the disciples. Some straightened, others exchanged uneasy glances.
The air shifted the moment the three stepped forward.
Zhang Lin adjusted his grip—his fingers firm around the hilt, veins faintly visible beneath his skin. His dim red robes, still slightly damp from earlier training, clung to his shoulders, the faint gold patterns catching light like embers beneath ash.
Zhang Lie stood to the side, silent but sharp. His black robes fell neatly along his frame, unmoving despite the breeze—as if even the wind avoided him. His gaze was steady, calculating.
Fei Fei rolled her wrist lightly, her blade humming with warmth.
Sang Sang stepped forward last.
Calm.
Quiet.
But her presence… was different now.
Her gray-blue robes moved softly, her eyes clear—watching, measuring, understanding.
Wei stood in the center.
Alone.
"…Three?" he asked weakly, his fingers tightening slightly around his sword.
Fei Fei grinned.
"Don't worry—we'll go easy."
Zhang Lin added flatly—
"they won't."
The disciples around them leaned forward slightly, interest sharp in their eyes.
"This is too much…"
"He can barely handle one…"
"But if he survives this—"
"He'll change."
Wei swallowed.
His heart began to pound again.
Not like before.
Faster.
Louder.
But steadier.
If you can't fight… then survive.
Zhang Lin moved first.
A single step—
And he was already in front of Wei.
The strike came down heavy, like before—but this time faster, sharper, cleaner.
Wei's eyes widened—
Too fast—
His body moved anyway.
Step—
Twist—
Clang—
The force still hit him, sending a jolt through his arms, but he didn't fall this time.
He shifted.
Barely.
But enough.
Then—
Fei Fei.
From the side.
Her blade curved in like a streak of sunlight—warm but deadly.
Wei leaned back, his robe brushing against the ground as her sword sliced through the space where his chest had been.
Too close.
Too close—
Behind—
Sang Sang.
No sound.
No warning.
Only instinct.
Wei turned—
Too slow—
Her blade tapped his shoulder.
Light.
Controlled.
A loss.
Wei froze for a second.
"…Again," Zhang Lin said.
No pause.
They moved together this time.
Three directions.
Three pressures.
Wei's world collapsed into motion.
Front—
Block—
Side—
Dodge—
Back—
Turn—
His feet stumbled, slid against the dirt, his robe catching slightly on uneven ground. His breathing broke again, chest rising sharply as panic tried to take over.
Too much—
I can't—
Another strike—
His sleeve tore.
Another—
A shallow cut across his arm.
He hissed softly, pain flaring—
But he didn't stop moving.
Because he couldn't.
Because if he did—
He knew—
He would fall.
"Focus!" Zhang Lin's voice cut through.
Wei clenched his teeth.
Focus…
The world slowed—
Not truly—
But enough.
The rhythm returned.
Step.
Turn.
Yield.
The sword in his hand felt lighter.
Not strong—
But guided.
Fei Fei's strike came—
He didn't panic this time.
He moved before it landed.
Her blade slid past him.
Zhang Lie entered—
Sharp.
Direct.
Wei lowered his stance, barely avoiding the horizontal cut that swept past his neck. He felt the wind of it—cold, precise.
Sang Sang—
Again.
He didn't turn fully.
He stepped.
And her blade missed.
A murmur spread through the watching disciples.
"…He's lasting longer."
"He's adjusting…"
"He's reading them…"
Wei didn't hear.
Sweat dripped down his chin.
His arms burned.
His legs felt heavy.
But something inside him—
Held.
"I… can't fall…" he whispered under his breath.
Zhang Lin's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Good."
The pace increased.
Faster.
Sharper.
Less room.
Wei stumbled—
Recovered—
Barely.
A strike from Zhang Lin grazed his side—
Another from Fei Fei clipped his shoulder—
Sang Sang's blade stopped just at his throat—
He froze.
Silence.
His chest heaved violently, breath uneven, eyes wide.
Dust settled slowly around them.
Zhang Lin lowered his sword first.
"…You're still alive."
Wei blinked.
"…That's the goal, right…?"
A few disciples chuckled softly.
Fei Fei exhaled, resting her sword against her shoulder.
"You're getting better."
Sang Sang smiled faintly.
"You didn't panic."
Zhang Lie glanced at the small cuts on Wei's body, then away.
"…Still slow."
But not dismissive.
Wei stood there, barely holding himself up, his sword trembling slightly in his grip.
His silver robe was no longer clean—small tears, faint blood stains, dust clinging to the fabric.
Yet—
He didn't fall.
Not this time.
Not immediately.
He looked at his hands.
Then at them.
"…I lasted longer."
Zhang Lin nodded once.
"That's enough for today."
Wei let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
And for the first time—
There was something new in his chest.
Not confidence.
Not strength.
But—
A small, quiet belief.
Maybe… I won't die so easily.