First Lessons

Heading back to the living quarters, I leave the magnificent ginkgo tree behind once again, its golden leaves shimmering beneath the silver glow of the full moon. The crisp mountain air carries the faint scent of pine and incense, a fragrance woven deep into the heart of Wudang.

Temple lanterns flicker in the distance, their soft light casting long, wavering shadows against the stone pathways. The towering peaks surrounding the monastery seem like silent sentinels, watching over the disciples below.

Even as I take in the breathtaking serenity of Wudang at night, the weight of the day's events lingers. The humiliation, the sword, the shifting course of my fate—all pressing down on me. My legs feel heavier with every step, not from exhaustion, but from the burden of failure.

The shame awaiting me upon my return is something I cannot ignore. The other disciples saw everything—how I was no match for Haoyu, how my strikes had been wild, desperate, unlike the disciplined grace Wudang demands.

"Yeah... that was quite embarrassing," Juan Lei interjects with a chuckle, his voice rippling through my mind like a quiet breeze. "You let rage cloud your swordplay. That is not the way of Wudang. No wonder that Elder looked so disappointed."

I scowl, my grip tightening on the worn fabric of my sleeve. "Do you have anything more encouraging to say? Or better yet, something useful? You're supposed to be my new master, aren't you?"

I still can't believe he can speak directly into my thoughts—without a body, without a form. Yet, here he is, a lingering spirit, peering into my memories as if they were an open scroll. After everything I've seen today, I shouldn't be surprised.

"Be patient, young Jiang. I'll teach you in time—well, by that, I mean tomorrow. I'm still curious about that mission, and I'll make sure you succeed in it."

His calm, sage-like wisdom from earlier seems to have vanished, replaced by an eager energy that reminds me of an overly enthusiastic younger disciple.

"Fine," I sigh, "but I'm not calling you 'master' until you actually teach me something."

Before he can retort, movement catches my eye. Yujin emerges from the darkness, his figure illuminated by the moonlight. His loose training robes are slightly disheveled, his dark hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. He spots me and his expression shifts to one of relief.

"Chen!" He rushes toward me, slightly out of breath. "So this is where you went… ha… haa… I've been looking for you all day! Instructor Yuan sent me after you when you never showed up at the dining hall." He straightens, wiping sweat from his forehead, then flashes a bright smile—though the worry still lingers in his eyes. I wish I could be as cheerful as him all the time.

Instructor Yuan... Among the many instructors, he has always been the most patient with me, offering guidance when I struggled with forms or philosophy. But I haven't seen him at all today—instead, Elder Jung-hi had taken over our instruction. An unusual occurrence. Why today of all days?

Before I can answer, Juan Lei's voice chimes in my head. "Come on, young Jiang, introduce your great master to your friend here."

This old man… For all his talk about Wudang's humility, he sure enjoys boasting.

"I-It's nothing! Just talking to myself."

If I told Yujin the truth—that I've been conversing with a spirit ever since I picked up that sword—he'd think I've gone mad from today's events.

"We should head back first."

Yujin gives me a suspicious look but doesn't press further. Together, we walk toward the living quarters, the rhythmic sound of our footsteps blending with the distant hum of cicadas.

Inside, the air is heavy with the mingling scents of burning candle wax and faint sandalwood. The other disciples are still awake, some whispering among themselves, casting glances in my direction. For a moment, I want to shrink away, to keep my head down as I always have. But I can't. Not anymore.

I straighten my back, square my shoulders, and walk past them as if their stares do not weigh on me. It is a small act of defiance, but a step forward nonetheless.

Tomorrow will be a new day—a chance to prove that I am not just another failing disciple. A chance to rise.

The moment I lay down, a comforting warmth of qi spreads through my body, like a silent acknowledgment from Juan Lei. As sleep takes hold, I let it carry me.

But it doesn't last long.

"Wake up, young Jiang."

A sharp voice rings in my head, dragging me out of my sleep. I groan, barely cracking my eyes open, only to find the room still shrouded in darkness. The usual morning sounds—the distant chatter of disciples, the rhythmic clash of training swords—are nowhere to be heard.

"The others won't be up for hours," Juan Lei says, his tone far too eager for this time of night. "But you? You have training to do."

I blink the sleep from my eyes. "It's still dark out…"

"Perfect time to start. Get up."

"I sigh, rubbing my face before forcing myself upright. Outside, the first traces of dawn barely touch the horizon. It seems my training will begin earlier than expected. Stepping onto the training grounds, I find the moonlight still lingering, casting a serene and ethereal glow over the scene."

"Can I at least change first?"

Before I can move, qi drains from my body, and in an instant, Juan Lei materializes before me. His form is clearer than before, as though his connection to me is strengthening. He appears youthful, robes flowing like the evening mist clinging to the Wudang peaks. His eyes gleam with childlike excitement, as if reveling in a long-awaited moment.

"Time is of the essence, young Jiang!" He laughs proudly, hands on his waist like some triumphant hero.

Before I can protest, he raises his sword—the very one that vanished near the ginkgo tree. Though still fractured and dulled, its edge gleams under the moonlight. His movements are mesmerizing—fluid, like a river carving its path through the earth, his blade an extension of nature itself.

"Come," he says, his voice like a whisper carried by the wind.

I hesitate. The form is familiar—I've studied the Taiji Sword before. But something about the way he moves feels different, beyond mere technique. It isn't a rigid set of motions but a conversation with the world itself.

Under the pale moonlight, Juan Lei stands with an effortless grace, his ethereal robes flowing as if caught in an unseen current. His presence is not imposing, yet it commands attention, like a mountain shrouded in mist—serene, yet unfathomably vast. His long, silver-streaked hair sways with each whisper of the wind, and his half-lidded eyes carry an endless depth, reflecting the world yet belonging to none.

"You are thinking too much, young Jiang." His tone is light, almost teasing, as if amused by my hesitation.

I lift a sword from the rack, the cold steel whispering against the air. My fingers tighten around the hilt as I step forward. The moment I move, something is off. My steps feel heavy, my arms stiff, the sword unyielding in my grasp. It does not flow—it stumbles.

Juan Lei chuckles softly. "Like a stone rolling uphill... you resist the path instead of following it."

Frustration flickers in my chest. I know this technique—I have practiced it! But here, under his gaze, it feels foreign, clumsy. The courtyard is vast yet silent, save for the rustling of the ancient trees that guard Wudang's sacred grounds. Their leaves glisten with morning dew, and the faint mist clings to the stones, swirling like ghostly wisps around my feet.

With a serene smile, Juan Lei steps beside me. His fingers barely brush my wrist, and at that moment, a ripple of qi flows into me—not a surge, not a command, but a whisper upon still waters.

It spreads gently, winding through my meridians like a stream meandering through the earth, seeking its natural course. My muscles loosen, not because they are forced to, but because they remember how they are meant to move.

The weight in my arms lightens, not because the sword is any less real, but because the flow now carries it. My stance shifts ever so slightly—not by conscious effort, but as a leaf surrendering to the wind, finding its rightful path through the air.

"You resist the river," Juan Lei murmurs, his voice distant, yet all-encompassing. "Let it carry you instead."

I exhale, and the world exhales with me. My grip softens. My steps adjust. The blade moves—not as an extension of my will, but as something attuned to the rhythm of all things.

For the first time, I do not struggle against the movement. I become part of it.

"Let go. Listen to the breath of the night… the rhythm of the world around you."

I inhale. Slowly. The night air is cool, carrying the distant rustling of leaves, the faint murmur of a hidden stream. My grip softens. My stance loosens.

This time, when I move, the blade flows just a little smoother. Not perfect—not yet—but different. A step forward.

Juan Lei smiles, his form growing fainter the more qi that enters me. He does not vanish with finality, only melts into the moonlight, as if stepping into another part of the world.

Yet he remains. Not as a voice, but as a presence, as a rhythm beneath my feet.

For the first time, I am not just practicing a technique. I am listening.

After what feels like an eternity, the first light of dawn breaks across the horizon, illuminating my dance once more.

With it come Elder Jung-hi and Instructor Yuan, their robes flowing in rhythm with their practiced steps. Instructor Yuan, a man of lean build with silver-streaked hair tied neatly behind him, notices me first. His ever-warm smile appears, the faint wrinkles around his eyes deepening—a testament to years spent guiding disciples. Elder Jung-hi, however, pauses. Just for a moment, I catch something unexpected in his gaze—approval. A fleeting look, as if this was something he had long been waiting for.

Then, without a word, they continue on their path, leaving me with the rising sun and the quiet hum of my own steady breath.

Suddenly a sharp ache pulses through my arms, the weight of the sword suddenly unbearable. My legs tremble, muscles screaming from the hours of silent toil. I hadn't even noticed—too caught up in the rhythm, too guided by the qi reinforcing my body. But now, with nothing left to sustain me, the pain floods in, raw and undeniable.

I drop to my knees—not in defeat, but in satisfaction. The embers within my eyes burn once more, reignited.

"How's that for a lesson, young Jiang?" Juan Lei chuckles, his voice brimming with amusement. "Before you can even dream of mastering the Flowing River Sword Art, you need to grasp the basics. Otherwise, you'll just be flailing that sword around, wasting its full potential!"

As the words faded, the blue panel reappeared—but this time, it flowed in like elegant calligraphy, as if now in slight harmony with the world around it.

"The first step toward change has been achieved."

[Hidden Mission Completed: Be One with the River]

"The embers of your will ignite anew, tempered by understanding."

Objective: Learn your first lesson from your new master.

Reward: Epiphany of the Taiji Sword.

With that, the panel vanished once more—but not before washing away some of the strain in my muscles, as if I had just woken from deep rest. A newfound clarity settled within me, an instinctive understanding of the technique now embedded in my mind.

"Incredible… even from within your mind, I can already sense it." Juan Lei's voice brimmed with excitement and awe. "To grasp such understanding from just this alone… This cannot be Dao… and yet, it guides you like one. Truly remarkable."

Around us, disciples stir, waking one by one as they make their way to the training grounds. Their robes rustle in the breeze, their voices a low murmur beneath the vast sky.

I took a deep breath, standing tall as the first light of morning bathed Wudang in gold.

"A single step marks the beginning of a thousand. Today, I take mine." I declared to myself, the first step of change achieved.