Lingqi was jolted from his sleep by a relentless pounding on his door.

“Get up, kid. Move it!”

Lingqi dragged himself out of bed, his mind still foggy with the remnants of sleep. He rubbed his eyes, the room blurring into focus as he stumbled towards the door. He opened it to find Gao standing there, a grin on his face.

“Rise and shine, princess,” Gao teased, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Oh, okay,” Lingqi yawned, his mouth stretching wide.

“Come on, chop chop,” Gao clapped his hands, impatience seeping through every gesture.

“Can I have a minute to get ready?” Lingqi pleaded, hoping for a brief respite to gather himself.

“Fine, fine. I'll wait out here. But don't take too long,” Gao replied, leaning against the doorframe as Lingqi shut the door.

Lingqi dressed quickly, donning his modest brown robes that lay neatly atop his dresser. He splashed water on his face, the cold liquid shocking him into full wakefulness. He used his hand to tame his unruly dark hair, which now hung past his ears. In the water’s reflection, he saw his mother's features—gentle, kind eyes and dimples that softened his expression.

He opened the door, greeting Gao with a tentative smile.

“Ready.”

Gao's eyes swept over him, nodding in approval. “Very good. Let’s get going.”

“Okay,” Lingqi agreed, falling into step beside him.

As they walked towards the mess hall, Lingqi took a moment to appreciate the dawn’s beauty. The sun barely kissed the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and pink.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gao asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“It is,” Lingqi agreed, feeling a rare sense of peace.

“When I was younger, I’d often rise early to watch the sunrise. I’d sit on the hillside, just taking it all in,” Gao mused, his tone wistful.

“Really? I didn’t think you were the type,” Lingqi admitted, his surprise evident.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!” Gao chuckled, playfully ruffling Lingqi’s hair.

Lingqi giggled, shoving him off lightly.

“Alright,” Gao said, his tone shifting to business. “Let’s eat, then we train.”

They entered the spacious mess hall and approached the serving counter where Yuyan stood, rationing out the morning meals. The three remaining students—Li Bie, Yi Ming, and Chen Xiu—were already seated at a central table.

“Morning, boys,” Yuyan greeted, waving cheerfully.

“Morning, Yuyan,” the boys replied in concert.

“Sleep well?” Yuyan asked, handing them bowls of eggs and rice.

“Not bad,” Gao answered, taking his bowl.

“Lingqi? You?” she inquired, her eyes softening as she looked at him.

“Yeah,” he responded, his smile reaching his eyes.

“That’s good,” she said, her voice warm.

Gao noticed the lingering looks between Yuyan and Lingqi, feeling momentarily like an outsider.

“Anyway, we better get going. Big day ahead,” Gao said, dragging Lingqi by the scruff of his robe away from Yuyan.

“Hey!” Lingqi protested, but followed nonetheless.

“Oh, yeah, no problem...” Yuyan’s voice trailed off, her gaze falling as Gao pulled Lingqi away.

They found a table in the back, sitting across from each other. Lingqi picked at his food, savoring each measured bite.

“Why aren’t we sitting with the others?” Lingqi asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Because we’re not here to make friends,” Gao retorted, his expression stern.

“But I thought we were friends,” Lingqi protested, confusion lining his features.

“We are,” Gao conceded, his tone softening. “But just because we’re stuck here doesn’t mean we need to be buddy-buddy with everyone. My grandmother once told me about a time when people fought for scraps.”

“Fought for scraps?” Lingqi echoed, intrigued.

“Yes. There was a time before the Jade Sovereignty when warlords ruled and people had to fight to survive,” Gao explained, his voice heavy with the weight of history.

Lingqi thought of his parents and the stories they’d told of the time before the Sovereignty, of living in fear of the Khalkans and warlords.

“So, what changed?” Lingqi wondered aloud.

“The Jade Sovereignty united the people and brokered a peace with the Khalkans,” Gao replied.

“But... they’re still here...” Lingqi wanted to voice the doubts that gnawed at him. If the Sovereignty had truly brokered peace, why had the Khalkans raided his village?

“The Khalkans are still out there, yes,” Gao admitted, his tone somber. “But the Jade Sovereignty protects us from them.”

Lingqi’s brow furrowed in frustration. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Why doesn’t the Sovereignty do something about them?” Lingqi questioned, his voice edged with exasperation.

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“I don’t know, kid. I don’t know,” Gao sighed, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Between you and me, I don’t really believe in the tenets.”

Lingqi shot his mentor an incredulous look. “You don’t?”

“Not really, no. My grandmother often questions the Sovereignty and their tenets. I’m inclined to believe her,” Gao confided.

Lingqi’s curiosity was piqued. “What does she say?”

“She says the tenets of the Jade Sovereignty are a lie. That the Sovereignty doesn’t truly protect us from the Khalkans, and that they’re no better than the warlords of old,” Gao stated.

Lingqi pondered this revelation, his mind churning with conflicting thoughts. “How can that be?”

“I’m not sure, kid,” Gao admitted with a shrug. “I can’t tell you what’s true or not.”

“Then how do you know she’s not crazy?” Lingqi pressed, his voice a mix of skepticism and hope.

“I trust her. She raised me after my parents died, and I’ve never known her to lie,” Gao shared, his voice steady with conviction.

Lingqi felt a spark of validation. Maybe Gao’s grandmother was right. It was hard to reconcile with what Master Zhang had taught him.

“Why are you telling me this?” Lingqi asked, his brows furrowing in curiosity.

“I guess I just wanted you to know you’re not alone in your doubts,” Gao said, his smile reassuring.

“It feels wrong to say, but I have so many questions, and the answers only confuse me more,” Lingqi confessed, his gaze dropping.

“Look, kid, I can’t tell you what to think. But I was raised to keep an open mind,” Gao advised.

“An open mind...” Lingqi echoed, the words resonating deeply.

Doubt had gnawed at him for years, growing alongside his knowledge. Despite his efforts to cultivate his mind and abide by the tenets, dissatisfaction plagued him. Conflict was said to be the root of all desire, yet he desired conflict to protect others.

He was told that his parents were in the stars above, looking down at him.

But they should have been with him.

Why did they have to look down on him? He wanted them by his side.

Was that so wrong?

“Kid?” Gao’s voice brought him back to the present, a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, I was thinking about what you said,” Lingqi admitted, looking up at his mentor. “You’re right. I do have doubts. I don’t fully believe in the tenets, and sometimes I feel like I’m just... going through the motions. Does that make me a bad person?”

“Not to me,” Gao assured him.

Lingqi couldn’t help but smile, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders.

After they finished eating, Lingqi and Gao disposed of their bowls and washed their hands. Gao clapped his hands together, signaling it was time to move on.

They headed to the courtyard grounds where the other students were already deep in their morning meditations. Gao guided Lingqi to a secluded spot, away from prying eyes and ears.

“Come on, get on with it,” Gao urged.

Lingqi assumed his meditative pose, his body settling into the familiar routine. For the past two years, Gao had been his guide, helping him cultivate his Prana. Lingqi’s proficiency had grown immensely, yet one question still lingered.

“Why can’t I meditate alone like everyone else?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration.

Gao folded his arms, his expression thoughtful. “As you know, meditation rituals are best performed under the guidance of an instructor. It helps avoid the mistakes novices often make.”

“Like the one I made before?” Lingqi murmured.

Gao nodded. “Yes. Think of it like swimming. You start in shallow waters. Without a guide, you could end up drowning. That’s what happened to you before.”

“That was two years ago...” Lingqi muttered, biting back the annoyance in his tone.

“I know you’re eager to be independent, but you’re a special case. I don’t want you drowning on me, okay?” Gao said, smiling warmly.

Lingqi shuddered at the memory of losing control, the fear that had gripped him, the panic that had coiled around his chest.

“Got it,” he acknowledged.

“Good. Now, focus on your breathing. Inhale through your nose, feel your lungs expand. Remember, the oxygen we breathe nourishes our Prana. Practice your Ohm. Without proper breathing, the body cannot sustain itself,” Gao instructed, taking a seat in front of Lingqi.

“Ohm,” Lingqi repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you’ve come a long way in mastering the first step of cultivation. Don’t overlook its importance. Ohm is the essence of life,” Gao affirmed.

“The essence of life,” Lingqi echoed.

“Inhale,” Gao guided, and Lingqi felt his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

“Exhale,” Gao continued, and Lingqi felt his body relax, his shoulders slumping forward.

They sat in silence, their breathing synchronized, a steady hum of life.

“Now, visualize your body as a conduit for energy. Feel your Prana flowing through your veins, the power coursing through your being. With each breath, you nourish your body and fuel the fire of your Prana. It is the lifeblood that powers you,” Gao explained.

Lingqi felt warmth emanating from his core, spreading through his limbs.

“Don’t lose yourself in the sensation. Focus on your breathing. Control it. Feel it,” Gao coached.

Lingqi inhaled deeply, the cool morning air invigorating him. The familiar chill hastened his breath, the fire in his belly expanding, threatening to consume him.

“Don’t rush. Take your time. Feel your body. Don’t let it control you. Control it,” Gao’s voice was calm and steady.

Lingqi exhaled, his shoulders relaxing further.

“Whenever you feel lost, inhale, exhale, and focus,” Gao advised.

Lingqi’s thoughts began to settle, his mind sharpening.

“Good. Let’s focus on this for a while,” Gao suggested.

Time seemed to stand still as they meditated. Gao’s voice faded into the background, leaving Lingqi alone with his thoughts. He could hear his heartbeat, a soothing rhythm that calmed him. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves and grass, and the sun’s warmth blanketed him.

“How do you feel?” Gao’s voice broke the silence.

“I’m... fine. Better, actually,” Lingqi replied, his voice contemplative.

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Gao said, a note of pride in his voice.

Lingqi opened his eyes, blinking against the brightness.

“You did well. You’ve practically mastered Ohm,” Gao praised, standing up and offering Lingqi a hand.

Lingqi smiled gratefully, taking it and rising to his feet.

“I had a good mentor,” Lingqi said modestly.

“You have a natural aptitude for cultivation,” Gao pointed out.

“Really?” Lingqi’s eyes widened.

“Definitely. Master Zhang wanted me to mentor you to teach you the fundamentals. The academy’s curriculum is designed the way it is for a reason. Someone like you could come along and really hurt someone without proper guidance,” Gao explained.

“Someone like me?” Lingqi narrowed his eyes at his mentor, taking his statement as one of derision.

Gao raised a hand, calming him. “It just means you have a natural talent. You need to be careful. That’s why mastering Ohm is so important. Once you’re ready, we’ll move on to more advanced techniques.”

Lingqi remembered the Cuju game incident on his first day. He’d headbutted the ball with such force it cratered into a tree. Likewise, Gao's thunderous kick was imbued with uncanny strength.

“Like what you did during Cuju?” Lingqi wondered.

“I used my Prana to enhance my movements. It’s a technique called Shui. Master Zhang didn’t teach us Shui until three years into our training.”

“Three years?” Lingqi gasped.

“Yes. Learning takes time, patience, and practice,” Gao reminded him.

“So what does that mean for me? I did Shui on my first day,” Lingqi pointed out.

“You have a natural talent for it, that’s for sure,” Gao chuckled, recalling the moment. “The sooner you master Ohm, the quicker we can move to Shui. Maybe in a few months, you could even surpass me. I wouldn’t be surprised."

“I doubt that. You’re a senior student,” Lingqi reminded him.

“True, but you’re talented. You harnessed your Prana without training. I’m not sure that’s ever been done,” Gao praised.

Lingqi felt bashful. Perhaps he’d underestimated himself.

“Hey guys!” A familiar voice called out. Yuyan approached with Li Bie in tow.

“How’d it go?” Yuyan asked, her tone light and curious.

“He did well, better than you ever did,” Gao teased, wrapping an arm around Lingqi’s shoulder.

“Hey! I wasn’t that bad, was I?” Yuyan protested, her brows furrowing.

“Maybe not, but you weren’t a model student either,” Li Bie reminded her.

“Hey! Who asked you?!” Yuyan barked, jabbing a finger at Li Bie’s chest.

“It was just a joke,” Li Bie insisted, raising his arms in defense.

Lingqi chuckled, and Gao grinned.

Yuyan shot Lingqi a look. “Well, someone isn’t shy anymore. Aren’t you, Lingqi?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Uhh...” Lingqi sputtered. “It’s because of Gao. He’s a negative influence...” The boy twiddled his thumbs, playing up his innocence.

“Hey!” Gao protested, playfully ruffling his hair.

“In any event,” Li Bie cut in, “Master Zhang will begin his lecture shortly. He wants us in the library.”