The Moon-Crossing Canon grew smoother with each day.
At first, Tian Lei's curved arrows wobbled and missed, sometimes flying too far, sometimes falling short. But as his breathing and qi control steadied, the arcs sharpened. Soon, the arrows bent neatly through obstacles, landing on target no matter how he arranged them.
The Primordial Void Scripture took the most effort. Every time he drew the bow, it felt like he was pulling against the weight of the world. His qi drained fast, his arms grew heavy, but he kept at it. Slowly, the arrows of silence turned stable—no longer wild blasts, but clean strikes that erased their marks without a trace.
The courtyard became his record of progress: stone targets cracked open, shattered pieces lying in piles, and faint scars where Void arrows had left their mark.
By the tenth day, his movements were sharper, steadier. The Celestial Fate Bow felt natural in his hands now, as though it belonged there.
