Chapter 6: The Mentor’s Eye

Chapter 6: The Mentor's Eye

The mist hung heavy over the Mistveil Sect as morning broke, its gray veil softening the edges of the stone buildings and muffling the sounds of waking disciples. Ming You stood in the courtyard, his gray robe damp from the dew, the burlap sack at his side lighter now that he had turned over most of the herbs from the previous day's haul. At twenty-one years of age, he carried the 2nd stage of Qi Condensation within him, its dual strands a quiet strength he nurtured in secret. The encounter with the Mistfang Wolf had sharpened his resolve, and the praise from Elder Liu lingered in his mind—a small victory, but one he intended to build upon.

The outer disciples gathered in the courtyard, their breaths visible in the cool air as they awaited their tasks. Chen Hao stood beside Ming You, his usual chatter subdued by the fatigue of their ordeal. His eyes, though, still sparkled with admiration, fixed on Ming You as if he were a figure from the tales his aunt had told him. "They are talking about you," he whispered, nodding toward a cluster of disciples nearby. "The one who faced the wolf. You are famous already!"

Ming You's lips twitched faintly, though he suppressed any outward sign of pride. "Fame is fleeting," he said, his voice low. "Results endure." He scanned the courtyard, noting the hierarchy among the disciples—the outer ones in gray, the inner ones in darker robes trimmed with silver, their movements more assured. Power lay in advancement, not gossip, and he would not be distracted by fleeting attention.

A figure approached through the mist, his steps deliberate, his presence silencing the murmurs. He was an older man, his hair streaked with white, his face lined with the weight of years and unfulfilled ambition. His robe bore the silver trim of an inner elder, though it hung loosely on his frame, as if he had once been broader. Elder Liu followed behind him, his scarred face impassive, gesturing toward Ming You.

"This is Elder Zhang," Liu announced, his voice cutting through the stillness. "He oversees formations and training. He has taken an interest in the one who drove off the wolf." His eye fixed on Ming You, and the group parted, leaving him exposed under the elder's gaze.

Elder Zhang studied him, his dark eyes piercing beneath bushy brows. "You are Ming You," he said, his tone gruff but measured. "A scholar, they say, yet you faced a beast with no hesitation. Why?"

Ming You met his stare, his mind weighing his response. "Knowledge is useless without action," he replied. "I saw a threat and acted. The sect benefits from my survival—and the herbs." His words were calculated, blending humility with utility, appealing to the elder's practical nature.

Zhang grunted, a sound that might have been approval or skepticism. "Bold words. Let us see if your talent matches them. Come with me." He turned, striding toward a smaller building at the courtyard's edge, its roof sloped and tiled with cracked stone. Ming You followed, Chen Hao casting him an encouraging nod as he departed.

The building's interior was dim, lit by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with scrolls and jade slips, their surfaces worn but meticulously organized. A wooden table sat at the center, its surface scarred from years of use. Elder Zhang gestured for Ming You to sit, taking a seat opposite him with a creak of aging joints.

"You have begun Qi Condensation," Zhang said, his voice low, almost a growl. "The 2nd stage, if Liu's report is true. Rare for an outer disciple so soon. But cultivation alone does not make you valuable here. The Mistveil Sect thrives on formations—arrays that shield us, confuse our enemies, preserve our strength. Do you know of them?"

Ming You nodded, his scholarly training surfacing. "I have read of formations," he said. "Patterns of energy, inscribed or woven, that channel Qi for specific purposes. The sect's barrier hums with one, does it not?" He had sensed it upon arrival, a faint vibration in the air, and now saw an opportunity to learn its secrets.

Zhang's eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise breaking his stern facade. "Perceptive," he muttered. "Yes, our core array protects us. But you will start smaller. I will teach you the Ninefold Mist Barrier—a defensive formation, simple yet versatile. Master it, and you may rise beyond fetching herbs."

He produced a scroll from his sleeve, unrolling it across the table. The parchment was yellowed, its edges frayed, but the ink was sharp, detailing a series of symbols and instructions. "The Ninefold Mist Barrier conjures mist from your Qi," Zhang explained, tracing a finger along the lines. "It obscures sight, muffles sound, and can disorient a foe. It requires focus and control—qualities a scholar might possess, if he is not all talk."

Ming You leaned forward, his eyes tracing the symbols with a hunger he masked behind a calm exterior. The formation was elegant in its simplicity, a lattice of Qi woven into the air itself. He recognized its potential—not just for defense, but for deception, a tool aligned with his growing instincts. "I will learn it," he said, his voice steady.

Zhang rose, gesturing to an open space at the room's far end. "Show me, then," he said. "Channel your Qi as the scroll describes. Form the barrier. Fail, and you return to the gardens."

Ming You stood, the challenge igniting a quiet thrill within him. He closed his eyes, drawing the dual strands of Qi from his core, their warmth spreading through his meridians. The scroll's instructions replayed in his mind—precise movements of energy, a rhythm like the brushstrokes of calligraphy. He extended his hands, guiding the Qi outward, envisioning the mist that defined the valley.

A faint haze formed before him, thin and wavering, its edges dissipating as quickly as they appeared. Sweat beaded on his brow, his focus straining against the Qi's resistance. Zhang watched, his arms crossed, his silence a heavier judgment than words. Ming You adjusted his approach, tightening his control, weaving the strands into a denser pattern. The haze thickened, curling into a shimmering veil, faint but stable.

He opened his eyes, the Ninefold Mist Barrier hovering before him, its surface rippling like water disturbed by a pebble. It was crude, far from the nine layers the name implied, but it held—a testament to his nascent skill. Zhang stepped closer, passing a hand through the mist, his expression softening slightly.

"Adequate," he said, his voice gruff. "For a beginner. You have potential, boy, but potential means nothing without discipline. Practice this daily. I will test you again in a week." He rolled the scroll and handed it to Ming You. "Keep it. Fail me, and it returns to the shelf."

Ming You took the scroll, bowing slightly. "I will not fail," he said, his tone firm. He felt the weight of Zhang's expectations, but more than that, the weight of his own ambition. The Ninefold Mist Barrier was a key, one he would sharpen into a weapon.

Elder Zhang dismissed him with a wave, turning to his shelves. Ming You stepped outside, the mist greeting him like an old friend. The courtyard buzzed with disciples, Chen Hao among them, hauling water from the spring. Ming You clutched the scroll, his mind already dissecting its patterns. Zhang saw him as a student, a tool for the sect. Ming You saw him as a stepping stone, a source of knowledge to exploit.

The Qi within him pulsed, stronger now, its dual strands a foundation he would build upon. He would master this formation, and more, until the sect bent to his will. The mist swirled around him, a mirror to his thoughts—elusive, deceptive, and his to command.