Morning mist still clung to the practice grounds when the children of the Lin Clan were summoned. The courtyard was broad, paved with gray stone worn smooth by countless feet, its center marked by a raised platform where a tall figure stood waiting. His back was straight, his robes simple, his presence calm yet unyielding.
This was Instructor Wei Shan, a veteran cultivator in the later stages of the Man Realm, known less for brilliance and more for the precision with which he forged disciples. His eyes swept the gathering, sharp as a drawn blade.
"Children," Wei Shan's voice rang out, steady and firm, "your roots have been revealed, your bloodlines measured. Yet remember this—talent is but a seed. Without soil, water, and unending toil, even the most radiant seed withers into dust."
His gaze lingered on Lin Xun for a breath, then moved on without pause.
"You stand now at the first threshold of cultivation. To cultivate is to draw the breath of heaven and earth into one's body, to guide it through the meridians, to temper flesh, blood, and spirit. Without a solid foundation, no art, no bloodline, no divine root will carry you far. Some of you may possess fire, others metal or wood, yet the path begins the same—stilling the heart, sensing qi, and enduring its flow."
The children listened, some with eyes shining, others shifting impatiently. Lin Ming smirked, his pride not entirely concealed, while Lin Xun stood silent, steady, absorbing every word.
Wei Shan's tone grew colder. "Do not let arrogance blind you. Remember, there are countless bones buried in forgotten fields—men and women who called themselves geniuses, yet failed to tame their own impatience. If you wish to rise, patience will be your first weapon."
He raised a hand, gesturing toward a rack at the edge of the courtyard where weapons rested in neat rows—spears, sabers, halberds, bows, and swords. Each was plain, forged of tempered steel without ornament, yet their edges gleamed faintly in the morning light.
"Choose," Wei Shan commanded. "The weapon you take is not only a tool of battle, but a mirror of your heart. Some of you will cast it aside later. Some will discover your bond only after years. But the choice you make today will shape the path you walk."
One by one, the children stepped forward. A boy chose the spear, grinning as he hefted its weight. A girl took a saber, eyes fierce. Lin Ming strode proudly to the rack and selected a halberd, its long shaft gleaming, and twirled it once with practiced ease.
At last it was Lin Xun's turn. He walked with measured steps, neither hurried nor hesitant. His hand reached for the sword. It was a simple blade, straight and narrow, its hilt wrapped in dark cloth. He lifted it, feeling the cool weight settle into his palm. The steel seemed silent, waiting.
Wei Shan's eyes narrowed slightly. "The sword," he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "A weapon of decisiveness, of clarity. It demands sharpness of will and swiftness of heart. It grants no forgiveness to hesitation. Many reach for it, few are accepted by it. Do you understand, Lin Xun?"
Lin Xun inclined his head. "I do, Instructor."
"Good," Wei Shan replied curtly. "Then prove it not in words, but in the years to come."
The other children murmured among themselves. Some scoffed, saying he only chose the sword to look grand. Others sneered quietly, doubting he would last even a season. Lin Ming's eyes glimmered with disdain, the faint curl of his lips like a blade hidden in shadow.
Wei Shan raised his hand again, and silence fell. "From today forward, your mornings will begin here. Meditation first, weapons second, body-forging last. Do not expect progress in days. Cultivation is built by drops that carve stone. Fail to endure, and you will be forgotten."
With that, the first session ended. The children were dismissed, their hearts burning with excitement or bitterness, each already dreaming of future glory.
---
By noon, word of the morning's training had already begun to spread beyond the Lin estate. Lutong Town, though small, thrived on rumor as much as trade. The awakening of a prodigy could not remain contained within clan walls.
At the teahouses, merchants spoke in low tones.
"They say the boy bears five roots," one whispered, leaning close. "Five! I thought such things useless. Mixed, unstable, doomed to mediocrity."
Another shook his head. "Not this one. They say his light shone brighter than any seen before. The Patriarch himself descended to bear witness."
Skepticism flickered. "Perhaps a trick. Perhaps the Lin seek to bluff, to raise their status with empty words. Five roots are known to be trash. What clan would not twist a tale to mask their weakness?"
Yet not all dismissed it.
At the gates of a rival clan, the Zhao family, elders gathered behind closed doors. "If it is true," one muttered, "the balance in Lutong Town will shift. A single prodigy can tilt generations of rivalry. Lin Huang yet lives, and now another rises beneath him. If both stand, who among us will dare contend?"
Another elder frowned deeply. "Or perhaps this is the very reason we must act before the boy matures."
Meanwhile, wandering cultivators passing through the town caught fragments of rumor and carried them further along the roads, each retelling growing sharper, heavier, more dangerous.
The Lin Clan's name, long steady but unremarkable, now moved upon the lips of strangers.
---
Within the Lin estate, Lin Xun returned to his small courtyard. He set the plain sword across his knees, the steel catching a faint glint of sunlight. He breathed slowly, recalling Wei Shan's words, the stillness of meditation, the flow of qi through the meridians, the heavy presence of the Patriarch pressing down upon him.
The path ahead was long, filled with shadows and whispers. Many doubted him, many envied him, and some already schemed in the dark.
But as he sat with the sword resting lightly in his hands, there was no hesitation in his gaze. The blade was plain, the training just begun, yet within his heart burned a flame steadier than fire, sharper than steel.
The courtyard was quiet, but beyond its walls the storm gathered, voices rising, enemies watching.
Lin Xun closed his eyes. For now, there was only the sword and the road ahead.
And the road would not forgive weakness.