Li Jin's father recovered slowly. Each day his breathing grew stronger, the color returning to his face. The simple, quiet joy that lit up his mother's eyes was the greatest reward. Li Jin spent his days chopping wood, mending the roof, and tending to the small farm chores. It was honest, physical work that grounded his spirit.
He didn't practice his martial arts. He didn't need to. Here, strength wasn't measured in punches, but in sacks of grain carried and straight furrows plowed. The Tiger within him was quiet, almost dormant, soothed by the peaceful rhythm of village life.
Yet, Li Jin could not forget the mountain. He would rise before dawn, not to train, but to sit facing the east and meditate. He felt the Breath of the World, different here. Less pure and concentrated than on Mount Jingwei, but gentler, imbued with the cycles of life, death, and the rebirth of the crops. He was a part of that cycle, and the thought brought him a deep peace.
One afternoon, as he returned from the fields, he saw a group of men gathered in the village square. They were not locals. They wore worn leather armor and carried well-maintained weapons. Mercenaries. Their leader, a man with a scarred face, was speaking with the village elder.
The tone was tense. Li Jin approached quietly.
"...a protection tax," the scarred mercenary was saying, his voice oozing false cordiality. "Bandits are thick in this region. For a modest share of your harvest, we will ensure your safety."
"We have barely enough for ourselves," the old elder protested. "The harvest was poor. We cannot pay you."
The mercenary's smile vanished. "That wasn't a request. It's a generous offer. The alternative is the bandits come and take everything. Or perhaps we'll take everything, to save you the trouble." The threat was clear.
Anger tightened in Li Jin's chest. These men weren't protectors. They were predators, come to feed on his village's weakness.
Wolves among sheep, the Tiger thought, its voice stirring from its torpor. They only understand strength. A quick demonstration. Break their leader. The rest will flee. It is the law of nature.
The suggestion was logical. Efficient. And terrifyingly tempting. One quick fight, and the problem would be solved.
But Li Jin remembered the Grand Master's lessons. He remembered Xiao Lie. Violence begets violence. He must not be the consuming fire, but the water that flows around.
He stepped forward. "Excuse me, gentlemen."
The scarred mercenary turned, looking him up and down with a contemptuous sneer. A skinny farm boy in simple clothes. No threat. "What do you want, boy?"
"I heard you offer your protection," Li Jin said calmly. "That is honorable. But our village is already under the protection of the School of the Jade Tiger."
At the mention of the school, a murmur went through the mercenaries' ranks. The name was legend in this region, associated with warriors of near-mystical power.
The leader's eyes narrowed. He looked Li Jin over again. He saw nothing to confirm the claim. "You're lying. A disciple of the Jade Tiger wouldn't look like a plowman."
"Appearances are often deceiving," Li Jin replied. He showed no aggression. He simply stood there, calm and centered.
The mercenary gave a harsh laugh. "Prove it. Do one of your magic tricks. Break that stone with your fist." He pointed to a large, discarded millstone by the well.
It was a direct challenge. A test of brute strength. Exactly the kind of confrontation the Tiger craved.
Li Jin shook his head. "The Way of the Jade Tiger is not a sideshow. It is not used for intimidation."
"Then it's useless," the mercenary snapped. "And so are you." He took a step toward Li Jin, his intent clear. He was going to teach him a lesson.
Li Jin didn't step back. He didn't raise his hands in a guard. He stood still, hands at his sides. He felt the man's energy flow, a wave of anger and arrogance directed at him.
Instead of blocking it, he welcomed it.
Just as the mercenary's fist was about to connect, Li Jin made a minuscule movement. He pivoted on the balls of his feet, a simple shift of his center of gravity. He placed an open hand on the attacking man's elbow.
He didn't push. He didn't strike. He redirected.
The full force of the mercenary's own attack, meeting no resistance, carried him forward. The light touch of Li Jin's hand on his elbow was just enough to alter his trajectory. The man, completely off-balance, stumbled past Li Jin and went sprawling in the dust, defeated by his own momentum.
Silence fell over the square. The other mercenaries stared from their fallen leader to Li Jin, who had barely moved. They didn't understand what had just happened. It looked like an accident. But it wasn't.
The leader scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with fury and humiliation. "Sorcery!" He drew his sword. "That won't work twice!"
He charged, blade ready to slash.
Li Jin sighed. He hadn't wanted this. He took a step back, then another, evading the wild swings. He was only retreating, using the space to let the man's fury exhaust itself.
The villagers watched, terrified. They saw one of their own, a simple farm boy, backing away from an armed warrior.
But Li Jin wasn't retreating out of fear. He was waiting. Studying the man's rhythm, his patterns, the flaws in his anger.
Finally, the mercenary made a mistake. In a particularly wide slash, he overextended, leaving himself open for a fraction of a second.
Li Jin stopped retreating. He darted forward, inside the man's guard. With the heel of his hand, he struck the pommel of the sword. The shock traveled up the mercenary's wrist, and he dropped his weapon. In the same motion, Li Jin used his other hand to tap three points on the man's chest.
They were not blows to injure, but to disrupt the flow of his Qi. The mercenary stopped dead, as if he'd run into an invisible wall. He gasped for air, unable to move, his muscles suddenly useless. He remained standing, but completely paralyzed.
Li Jin picked up the sword. He held it by the blade and offered the hilt back to the man.
"You dropped this," he said simply.
The mercenary stared down at his own hands, trying to will them to move, with no success. Panic began to dawn in his eyes. He finally understood. This boy was no peasant. He was something far more dangerous.
Li Jin waited a few seconds, then tapped the man's shoulder lightly. The energy flow was restored. The mercenary staggered, control returning to his limbs.
He looked at Li Jin. Fear had replaced anger. He looked at his men, who now dared not move. He looked at the offered sword. Slowly, he took it.
Without a word, he sheathed it, gave his men a curt nod, and they left the village, their brisk walk looking very much like a retreat.
The villagers cheered for Li Jin. They surrounded him, thanking him. The village elder placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. "You saved us, my boy. You have become a true protector."
Li Jin didn't feel like a hero. He felt relieved. He had protected his home without becoming a monster. He had used his strength with restraint.
That evening, as he sat with his parents, his father now able to sit up and eat a thin soup, his father looked at him. "I heard what you did. I am proud of you, my son. Not because you won, but because you chose not to harm."
Those words meant more to him than all the Grand Master's praise.
A few days later, after life had returned to its normal rhythm, a shadow appeared at the edge of the village. A lone figure, dressed in black, moving with an unnatural speed and silence.
It did not stop in the square. It moved directly toward Li Jin's home.
Li Jin was splitting firewood. He felt the presence before he saw it. This was not the clumsy aura of the mercenaries. This was something cold, precise. Deadly.
The shadow stopped a few paces from him. It was a woman. Her face was obscured by a veil, but her eyes were visible. They were as cold and empty as a snake's. She wore two short, curved blades at her belt.
"Li Jin?" Her voice was an emotionless whisper.
Li Jin set down his axe. He instinctively moved to place himself between the woman and the door to his home, where his parents were. "Who are you?"
"Who I am doesn't matter," she said. "I am here on the orders of Lord Xiao. He was not pleased by the humiliation of his men in Lin'an. Nor by your interference with his... local protectors. He has sent me to collect a debt. And to ensure there will be no further interference."
She wasn't talking about a fight. She was talking about an assassination.
She is different, the Tiger warned, its voice suddenly serious, all mockery gone. She hunts to kill. She has no anger. She has no ego. She is a weapon. Your games of redirection will not work here. You need my ferocity. You need my speed. Let me out. For real, this time.
The woman drew her blades. They seemed to drink the daylight.
Li Jin looked at the door of his home behind him. He could hear his mother's laughter. For the first time in months, the Tiger's offer didn't sound like a temptation. It sounded like a necessity. To protect his family, perhaps he did have to become a monster again.