The training grounds buzzed with activity as outer disciples paired off for the day’s sparring session. The rhythmic thuds of fists meeting flesh echoed across the field, punctuated by sharp corrections from the overseeing senior disciples. Alex stood near the edge of the circle, shifting nervously as he adjusted his stance.
“Next pair!” the senior disciple barked.
Alex stepped forward, his opponent already waiting—a broad-shouldered boy whose muscles seemed carved from stone. The weight of the stares around him pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he forced himself to focus. Dropping into the stance he’d been practicing, he clenched his fists, ready to begin.
“Begin!”
His opponent wasted no time, closing the distance between them with a burst of speed. Alex raised his arms to block, but the impact of the first punch jarred him, nearly knocking him off balance. He stumbled, barely keeping his footing as his opponent followed up with a sweep to the leg.
“Hold your stance, Alex!” the senior disciple snapped. “You’re telegraphing every movement!”
Alex gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. This time, he threw a punch, more controlled than his last attempt, but his opponent sidestepped with ease and retaliated with a sharp strike to Alex’s ribs. Pain lanced through him, but he refused to fall. He managed to block the next strike—sloppily—but his opponent capitalized on the weakness with a quick jab to Alex’s shoulder, sending him sprawling.
“Match over,” the senior disciple said curtly, shaking his head. “Next pair!”
Alex pushed himself up, his breathing labored. His ribs ached, and the sting of failure was worse than the physical pain. As he walked to the sidelines, he kept his eyes down, avoiding the gazes of his peers.
“You’re getting better,” Arlyn said as she passed, her voice cutting through his haze of frustration. She gave him a thumbs-up, her expression bright. “That last block was solid.”
Alex managed a faint smile, though her words did little to ease the growing knot of doubt in his chest.
Later that afternoon, Alex found a quiet spot beneath one of the training grounds’ tall ash trees. He sat cross-legged, his hands resting on his knees, and focused on drawing in the energy around him. According to the seniors explained, the Spiritual Qi in the environment could be drawn in and transformed into Body Qi through deliberate physical practice. This Body Qi would then strengthen the physical body, beginning the process of the Body Tempering Realm, starting with the Skin Hardening sub-realm.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
In theory, it all sounded straightforward—sense the Spiritual Qi in the air, guide it into your body, and refine it into Body Qi through physical effort. But for Alex, it felt like trying to grasp mist with bare hands.
He closed his eyes, taking slow, measured breaths. Concentrating on the faint presence of Spiritual Qi, he imagined it as a cool breeze brushing against his skin. He tried to draw it inward, but it slipped away as soon as he made contact. Frustration mounted as he gritted his teeth and focused harder. For a brief moment, he felt a faint tingle—the first stirrings of Body Qi—but it faded almost instantly, leaving a dull ache in its wake.
Nearby, a group of disciples meditated in perfect harmony. They were also striving toward Skin Hardening, though none had fully entered the sub-realm yet. Still, their connection to Body Qi seemed more natural, their progress evident in their steady breathing and subtle vitality. Alex glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, trying to ignore the pang of inadequacy that crept into his chest.
Im still behind, he thought, clenching his fists. But that doesn’t matter. I’ll just have to work harder.
Determined, he forced himself to try again, this time focusing on steady, deliberate control. The results were still minimal, but he pushed through the discomfort, committed to making even the smallest progress.
A few days later, Alex, Arlyn, and Teresa sat together outside the barracks. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of ash trees that surrounded the sect. The three of them were sore and exhausted from another grueling day, but there was a comfort in their shared company.
“You’re improving,” Arlyn said, nudging Alex with her elbow. “I’ve been watching. Your form’s getting better—way better than it was on the first week.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Arlyn said confidently. “You’re sticking to your stance more, and your blocks are getting cleaner. It’s all about the little things.”
Teresa chuckled from her spot leaning against the wall. “She’s not wrong. You’re still bad, but at least you’re not hopeless.”
“Thanks for the encouragement,” Alex said dryly, though he couldn’t help but smile.
“Seriously, though,” Arlyn continued. “You’re putting in the work. That’s what counts.”
Teresa smirked. “Sure, effort counts—for a little while. But talent’s what decides where you'll be a year from now.”
Alex frowned, his gaze dropping to the ground. Arlyn nudged him gently. “Don’t listen to her. You’re putting in the work, and it’s already paying off.”
Teresa leaned back on her elbows, her smirk softening into something almost empathetic. “Look, I’m not saying effort doesn’t matter, but it can only get you so far. Look around—how many untalented disciples actually make it past the outer ranks? It’s just… don’t expect the sect to care about how hard you’re trying. They want results.”
Arlyn crossed her arms, her expression firm. “And he’ll get results. It just takes time.”
Teresa sighed, shaking her head. “You can’t change what you’re born with. Alex don’t kill yourself chasing something that’s out of reach.”
Alex stayed silent, lost in thought. He understood both their perspectives, and while he agreed with Arlyn, there was a part of him that didn’t want to admit how much Teresa’s words resonated with him.
Sensing the tension in the air, Arlyn leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Alright, enough of this. How about this: next sparring session, if you can land a single clean hit on me, I’ll treat you to something from the market.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you owe me,” Arlyn said, her grin widening. “Deal?”
Alex hesitated, then nodded. “Deal.”
Teresa snorted. “I’m putting my money on Arlyn.”
“You’re supposed to be encouraging me,” Alex shot back, earning a laugh from both girls.
The rest of the evening passed in lighthearted conversation, the weight of the day’s struggles momentarily forgotten. For Alex, it was a rare reprieve from his problems—a chance to feel like everything was okay, even if only for a little while.