The Sword Sect had a simple policy for new disciples:
You get one year. No chores, no beast-feeding, no latrine duty. Just you, your root, and your technique.
During this grace period, disciples were free to pick and drop internal cultivation techniques from the sect's lower library as many times as they wished. After all, the elders knew the truth—cultivation wasn't just about talent. It was about fit.
Some disciples had high-grade roots but couldn't advance because their technique didn't match their temperament. Others, with mediocre roots and ragged manuals, advanced quickly because their art fit them like a second skin.
So the rule was clear:
Reach Level 3 of the Qi Cultivation Realm within one year, or leave.
Reach Level 7, and you're promoted to inner disciple.
No exceptions. No excuses. No sympathy.
—
Aren learned this on the second day, during orientation, where fifty new outer disciples sat in the main training square while an elder with a voice like a thunderclap shouted expectations at them.
Aren, naturally, sat in the back, chewing on a roasted yam he'd smuggled in.
"Level 3, huh?" he muttered, licking his fingers. "Sounds doable."
Some disciples were already scrambling to swap techniques after just one night. They complained of weak qi flow, blocked meridians, or poor sleep.
Aren, meanwhile, was… quite comfortable.
---
Back in his quarters, Aren resumed the Lion Fish Art.
He liked the stillness of it. The breathing exercises calmed his mind, and the venom defense made him feel oddly secure—as if even if someone snuck up and kicked him mid-practice, they'd just fall over foaming at the mouth.
But after a week, something strange happened.
He began to feel the shape of the technique.
Not physically, of course. But… spiritually.
When he followed the Lion Fish breathing method precisely, it felt like wearing a stiff coat. It fit, sure—but it wasn't perfect.
So, out of boredom—or maybe instinct—Aren shifted a breath slightly. He let his exhale linger a moment longer than the scroll recommended.
The moment he did—
> Ding!
Affinity with Lion Fish Art: 90% → 91%
His eyebrows shot up.
"Wait. I can tweak it?"
He tried again. This time, he changed the angle at which his qi flowed through his stomach meridian. Not much—just a little to the left.
> Affinity: 91% → 93%
Aren sat up, wide-eyed. "Oh."
It was like breaking in new shoes. The more he flexed and bent the method—not wildly, just slightly—the better it fit.
For the next hour, Aren adjusted the breathing timing, shifted where his qi gathered, and relaxed the posture of his shoulders. Each minor shift added a sliver of comfort, and the affinity crept upward.
Eventually, he hit 95%.
> Match Rate Locked: 95%. Technique Fit Reached: High Stability.
"Nice," he grinned, stretching his arms. "Now this is my fish."
Feeling smug, he tried to push it further. He altered a breathing sequence to increase qi draw through his lung meridians. It was an experiment—maybe he could get 96%?
Immediately, his qi flow stuttered. A sharp pain sparked in his chest, like a cramp under his ribs.
> Affinity Decreased: 95% → 88%
Aren yelped.
"Nope, nope, nope—undo that!"
He frantically returned to the previous configuration—breathing like before, shoulder relaxed, qi flowing like a tide.
After a few minutes, the discomfort eased.
> Affinity Restored: 95%
He sighed in relief. "Lesson learned. Don't force the jeans."
---
Over the next few weeks, Aren followed a slow and steady routine.
He woke up after the first bell—never the earliest, but not the last. He ate breakfast at the communal kitchen, found a quiet patch of grass near the misty lake behind the outer disciples' quarters, and practiced Calm Current Breath until lunch.
Afternoons were for lounging, or experimenting with posture tweaks.
Evenings? Naps.
Most disciples trained like madmen—sweating, grunting, shoving raw herbs down their throats, competing to see who could burn a stone faster with their qi.
Aren simply breathed.
But slowly… subtly… his qi pool grew.
The first major milestone came two months in.
—
It was a foggy morning. Aren was half-asleep by the lake, wrapped in a blanket, cultivating in the Lion Fish pose—back straight, breath even, shoulders loose.
The water behind him rippled with rising mist. Spirit fish danced beneath the surface.
He had just finished an inhale when something shifted.
The qi in his dantian suddenly surged, like a tide hitting a dam. It swirled, spun, condensed—
> Ding!
Qi Cultivation Realm: Level 1 → Level 2
Internal Qi Capacity Increased.
Defense Layer Strengthened.
Poison Qi Quality: Mild → Stable
Aren opened his eyes.
"Level 2?"
He patted his chest, then checked his limbs. No pain. No side effects. No inner demons clawing at his soul.
"...That was almost too smooth."
He stood and stretched. His limbs felt a little heavier, but in a solid way. Like someone had replaced his bones with polished stone. When he breathed, the air felt colder—sharper.
More importantly, his qi now hummed faintly in his dantian even when he wasn't cultivating.
"Not bad. Not bad at all."
In the distance, two disciples were arguing about sword forms. One of them exploded a training dummy with a flaming strike.
Aren watched them for a second, then sat back down and pulled out a peach.
"Y'all have fun with that. I've got fish breathing to do."
---
Two months in, and Aren had no regrets.
He had no flashy sword arts. No combat techniques. No allies or enemies.
But he had a technique that fit, a system that helped him perfect it, and a quiet cultivation pace that didn't burn him out.
He spent that evening updating his notes.
He had developed a habit of keeping a small journal under his bed, labeled:
"Aren's Path to Moderate Success (Without Dying)"
Today's Entry:
Lion Fish Art at 95% Affinity feels like wearing good shoes after breaking them in.
Pushed too far once. Got qi cramp. Don't do that again.
Reached Level 2. No inner fire, no dragons, just quiet progress. Feels nice.
Need better snacks.
He closed the notebook and stared out the window.
The clouds were thick that night. But the stars poked through like pinpricks of light.
"I wonder if that's good enough," he murmured. "If I just slowly breathe like this, will I reach Level 3 by year's end?"
He shrugged to himself.
"If not, I'll breathe harder."