If you stood at just the right angle, the airship was now visible in the distance, nestled between the surrounding mountain peaks. Once spotted, the viewing point gained traffic. The villagers of FuJia strained to get a peek at the approaching legends. The students of JaLong were not among them.

As the day of their arrival loomed closer, the tension in the school grew. The students were all vying for a chance to become a disciple. It was a chance that none of their ancestors had. This event could change the trajectory of their lives, and the lives of their families for generations to come. According to legends from Master Elder Zuang, the sect had power and resources that they couldn’t dream of. Divine fruits that can open meridians in seconds. Weapons imbued with spirits and capable of thought. Pacts with sacred beasts of antiquity.

Sounds of training and combat from JaLong could be heard at all hours of the night. But none of the students worked harder than YiHua and Xin. Shang insisted they stop visiting his home as his wounds fully healed. Instead, he would make his way to the temple, usually around dusk after he finished his own practice.

He would bring a batch of his mother’s handmade buns and sit with them outside the school gates and watch the setting sun disappear below the horizon. The pressure was showing visibly on Xin. He rarely smiled and often complained about something feeling wrong with his techniques. YiHua insisted that he was performing better than anyone expected and that he, of all people, had nothing to worry about.

“I know it’s hard with your father right now. He must be driving you crazy,” YiHua sympathized. “I know mine is.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s in my head. I feel like there’s…something…in my channels. My cycling just doesn’t feel right,” Xin said.

“But there’s no change in your qi output. If anything, your expulsions are stronger than ever,” YiHua said. Xin grumbled in agreement, but his look of unease remained. Shang and YiHua chalked up his worry to nerves. Xin was the type to worry himself sick over everything.

On his way back from one trip into town, a flurry of pine needles rained down on Shang from above. “Look who it is,” Shang exclaimed. He felt a weight lift from his chest. He didn't realize how much he'd been worrying about the creature until a white head beset with bright blue eyes greeted him. The sable scurried to the ground and climbed Shang’s body to nestle on his shoulder. When he reached his perch, he rested his paws on Shang’s cheek expectantly.

“Sorry Rue, no food on me today. You don’t know how glad I am to see you. You haven’t come visit. I looked for you by your favorite tree. I thought they'd caught you.” Rue patted his cheek again and nuzzled his head against Shang’s nose. Shang gave an involuntary sneeze and Rue turned around rapidly on his shoulder, seemingly amused. Shang felt no lingering resentment to the creature. Though, it was undeniable that he was the cause of his untimely beating.

He walked with Rue on his shoulder, taking a long way home to avoid being seen by the other villagers. The path was treacherous in the dark, especially because Rue was intent on distracting him at every turn. When his home came into view, Rue suddenly loosened his painful grip on Shang’s hair and jumped to the ground.

“Come on, I’ll get you a snack from home,” Shang said, coaxing the animal towards the inviting light. Shang was no longer perturbed by having a full-on conversation with a rodent. Rue stood his ground, his forelegs raised, and his ears perked in alertness. He made no move towards the gardens. “Suit yourself.” Shang began walking away but turned back at a chirp from Rue. “What is it?” When he looked back, Rue was holding out his paws. Moonlight glinted off the orb of metal. Shang hurried back, his heart suddenly beating in his throat. He carefully plucked the orb from Rue and marveled again at the fine etchings on its surface.

“I don’t even want to think about where you pulled this from.”

Rue chirruped and chased its tail in glee.

Shang hid the orb in his room, unsure if he should return it to Xiao. It would earn him some favor with him, though Shang doubted they could ever be friends. The sphere was most likely a spiritual artifact used by cultivators. It was useless to Shang, but he also felt uneasy letting Xiao have it. Xin and YiHua would know how to use it but giving it to them would probably get them in trouble with Xiao’s family. Shang resolved to deal with it later when things finally calmed down. Out of curiosity, he sketched down some of the etchings from the orb to study later.

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In the following days, the village thrummed with anticipation. The airship was close enough now that Shang could appreciate its sheer size and speed. Every hour, its shape bloated on the horizon. He saw less of YiHua and Xiao as they focused on their training. Surprisingly, Fang became a regular weiqi partner. She even made trips to the salon on occasion, which surprised Shang given the circumstances. When he inquired about her training, her answers were curt and noncommittal. Shang took the hint and stop asking. To distract himself from his sense of impending doom, Shang threw himself into his normal routine. Training in the morning, then lessons with his mother on weiqi and discussions with his father on philosophy.

On occasion, he would sneaked into JaLong temple school to drop off small trinkets and treats for his friends, but he rarely saw them. For once, he was glad for the distance. He wasn't sure he could match their optimism and hopeful smiles. The more he saw them train, the more he felt apart from them. They were preparing for a world apart from him. A Path of cultivation. A path destined for the heavens. And worse yet, he saw how right it was for them. They were both born for this. Their passion and love for cultivation was palpable even from a distance.

No matter how hard he tried, Shang couldn't keep from feeling a twinge of jealousy as he watched them train. He was happy as he was. The sword, like nothing else, felt right in his hand, like a part of himself. Even so, the pang of loss was there. Xin and YiHua were leaving him behind. Where they were going, he could not follow, and it became clearer by the day that they would go far. He hated himself for his selfishness. He would never let his friends catch even a wisp of his envy. He would not make them feel bad for being brilliant. He would not.

The fated day was fast approaching, in the silence of the early morning, Shang imagined he could catch the whirl of the airship on the wind. The tension in his damaged arm was fully resolved. After finishing daily katas, he started his breathing exercises. After his accident in the forest as a child, his mother insisted that these techniques would help with his lungs and Shang trusted her. Actually performing them, however, felt like torture. It had taken almost a year to even perform them correctly and only because he was under ChuHua’s stern tutelage.

Shang settled down in the lotus position. He cleared his mind, entering the meditative state required to even start the exercise. Sweat ran down his neck in anticipation of pain. The technique was meant to push air quickly through part of his body, clearing it of impurities. To get enough force, Shang had to tense his stomach and loosen his diaphragm at the exact moment of each breath. Each breath scorched his airways, but he continued. The breathing had to be done in a cycle. Each breath built up to the next and stopping in the middle would cause intense stabbing pains all over his body. It was a mistake he only had to make once. Once he was finished, his light robes were drenched with sweat. Compared to his forms, acclimating to this breathing technique after his break had been much more difficult.

With a sigh of relief, Shang stood from the lotus position and stretched out his legs. No matter how painful the technique was, he had to admit, his body felt lighter afterward. With practice sword in hand, Shang began to run through his performance. The performance had three acts, starting with a solo demonstration from Shang and LingDan and ending with a fight between the two. In it he was the victor, the mighty legendary warrior he'd spent his childhood emulating.

Shang closed his eyes as the flow of the dance consumed him. The wooden sword in his hand was heavier than his actual sword, but it didn’t matter at that moment. Shang had never practiced a dance so thoroughly. For most performances, he only loosely choreographed the dance, opting instead to let the feeling of the moment carry the swings. He would not leave this performance to chance. While he was rather pragmatic about his chances of success, he would still give it his all. He owed his friends and family that, at the very least.

For this performance, the steps were ingrained in his body, and the sword was an extension of his arm. The wind caressed his face as he danced. As he leaped and twisted in the air, he knew for certain this was the feeling of flight. Each swing led to the next until the music of the steps made one move indiscernible from the next. The sword moved without pause seemingly with a life of its own. Shang’s body only followed suit. As his act came to an end, Shang opened his eyes.

His father stood watching him. Shang hadn’t heard him enter the courtyard. The early light cast strange shadows on his father’s face and he couldn’t make out his expression.

“Tomorrow’s the day,” LingDan said. He held a bundle wrapped in blue silk. Shang could tell from its shape that it was a sword.

“Yes, father.” Shang’s head felt light with exertion. The wind buffeted his skin, ripping loose strands from his bun. LingDan stopped directly in front of Shang, a sword proffered in both hands like it was an offering to the heavens. The silk slid off the pommel revealing the deep green of inset jade. Shang felt his breath catch.

“I danced with this sword on my wedding day.” LingDan drew the sword in a smooth motion, the blade was single-edged and curved up towards the tip. “I never felt ready for this blade.” The metal of the blade had a bluish tint. At the hilt, one character was etched with expert precision--Fu, the character for luck. “When you leave this place, take this with you.”

“I can’t Da, you should have it,” Shang stammered. His father shook his head.

“Like I said, I have never deserved this blade. I am not half the swordsman my father was. I imagine his biggest regret is not living to see you.” LingDan dropped the sword, Shang reacted without thinking, snatching it from mid-air. “Take this and never forget. This is your home.”