The first months of training nearly broke Kangwei's spirit completely.

  It turned out that Master Jian’s concept of “beginning today” had been literal.

  Since their first day together, every day they would rise before dawn to practice the basic stances needed to prepare a person for the rigors of swordsmanship in any courtyard or field they could find.

  “Your footwork is sloppy,” Master Jian commented after their third morning together, observing his student struggle for the twentieth time to achieve the horse stance position. “A swordsman who cannot control his own balance will never control his blade.”

  Kangwei’s legs quivered from exhaustion, sweat falling onto the packed earth below him even though it was cool outside. “Master, I…I can’t go any further.”

  “I am not your master,” Jian corrected calmly. “And yes, you can go farther. The question is whether you will.”

  His words hurt more than the physical strain.

  Kangwei had assumed that their relationship would follow the traditional forms of a teacher-student relationship as described in Li Nai’s hidden manuals, however, Master Jian was intent on keeping their relationship at arm’s length.

  “Then what should I call you?” Kangwei asked as he finally collapsed from exhaustion.

  “Master Jian will do fine,” the swordsman responded, his tone wasn’t unkind, it was just factual. “You are my traveling companion and student. No more than that. If you want to become a disciple then you need to earn it through dedicating years of service, right now, you can barely survive basic conditioning.”

  The harshness of Master Jian’s comment ignited a flame in Kangwei’s stomach that had nothing to do with pride, but everything to do with determination.

  “I’ll show you!” he said, forcing himself back to his feet.

  “We’ll see.”

  ***

  After three weeks of grueling conditioning, Master Jian finally allowed Kangwei to touch a practice sword and by winter’s end, they’d developed a consistent routine.

  Master Jian would take odd jobs in whichever town they happened to visit. He worked as a caravan guard from time to time, or helped local officials deal with bandits or spirit animals that preyed upon merchant traffic. Kangwei did the cooking and cleaning, and eventually more complex tasks related to their work.

  The boy’s development was incredible, although Master Jian was cautious not to acknowledge it publicly. Most students took months to develop the muscle memory to execute simple cuts and thrusts. However, Kangwei appeared to absorb new techniques like a sponge. His movements became smooth and flowing with a pace that was almost astonishing.

  “There is something unique about the way you approach swordsmanship,” Master Jian noted one evening as they set up camp near a small farm village. Kangwei had grown several inches and filled out from eating regularly and exercising daily for nearly a year.

  “How is it unique?” Kangwei asked, carefully oiling the practice blade that Master Jian had finally deemed him worthy of owning.

  “Most students attempt to force techniques to function through repetition and brute strength. You appear to grasp the underlying principles of swordsmanship instinctively and allow the technique to emerge from that understanding.”

  Kangwei paused in his maintenance routine, thinking about what his teacher had said. “It feels familiar,” he admitted. “As if I’ve done all this before in dreams perhaps. Sometimes I know what you’re going to teach me before you explain it.”

  Master Jian studied Kangwei intently. “Dreams can impart knowledge, particularly for people with unusual backgrounds. Have you ever considered that your inability to develop dream qi might be linked to these experiences somehow?”

  “I don’t know,” Kangwei replied. “Grandmother always said dreams were simply echoes of the day’s events, nothing more profound than that and not to worry about them.”

  “Your grandmother certainly seems like a practical woman.”

  “She was,” he whispered with a sense of loss that still lingered to this day. “Master Jian, can I ask you something?”

  “Ask.”

  “When we reach the next large city, I’d like to use a different name. Not Kangwei.”

  Master Jian raised an eyebrow but did not seem surprised by the request.

  “Are you trying to run from something, boy?”

  “No,” Kangwei responded quickly. “More like trying to run toward something. The name holds…complications I’m not ready to confront yet.”

  “What would you like to be called?”

  “Hou Hongyun.”

  The name felt natural on his tongue and honored Li Nai’s memory while connecting him to his true identity.

  “Hou Hongyun it is,” Master Jian nodded once. “I won’t ask about the complications unless they directly affect our journey.”

  This was indicative of their relationship. Master Jian never asked questions about Hongyun’s background and Hongyun never asked why a master swordsman had chosen to travel as a wandering instructor rather than establishing a school or joining an established sect.

  ***

  The second year they spent together brought Hongyun's first real combat experience.

  It was a simple job they had been hired to complete – clear bandits from a mountain pass that connected two trading cities.

  From the information they had been given, they expected three or four desperate men with basic cultivation preying on merchant caravans, but when they reached the bandits' camp, they discovered one of them was a former sect disciple with cultivation equivalent to a Dream Disciple.

  “Stay back and watch,” Master Jian instructed as they approached the camp in pre-dawn darkness. “This will be a great learning experience.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  In his teacher’s eyes, everything was a learning experience.

  Unfortunately, whatever it was the swordsman had planned was ruined as a sentry spotted them almost immediately. A part of Hongyun believed that maybe that was actually part of the old man’s plan because what followed was a running battle through dense forest that he would never forget. It consisted of him struggling to keep up while avoiding crossbow bolts and crude spiritual attacks.

  Things only got worse from there, the former sect disciple separated from his companions and chose to chase after Hongyun with a sword that gleamed with dream qi enhancement.

  “Little mouse, you can't run forever!”

  As much as Hongyun hated to admit, the bandit was right.

  He quickly found himself trapped against a cliff face, his practice sword feeling pathetically inadequate against a spiritually enhanced weapon.

  The bandit's first strike came in fast, aimed at his neck.

  It was clear this wasn’t sparring; this was a killing blow.

  Just before the strike could land and end his life prematurely, something shifted in Hongyun's mind at that moment.

  The world seemed to slow slightly, and he could see the optimal path for his defense as clearly as if it had been drawn in the air. His practice sword came up in a perfect parry, deflecting the enhanced blade just enough to save his life while positioning him for an immediate counterattack.

  Hongyun's return strike sliced through his sleeve and left a shallow cut on his arm.

  “Impossible,” the bandit's eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t have any spiritual enhancement, but you were able to cut me.”

  “I don't need it,” Hongyun replied, surprising himself with the confidence in his voice.

  Those were the only words he spoke before he continued with the battle.

  A part of him knew that wasting words during a fight to the death would only get him killed.

  What followed was a masterclass in technique overcoming raw power.

  Sure, spiritual enhancement made the bandit faster and stronger, but it also made him predictable. Each attack came with telltale qi fluctuations that Hongyun's trained eyes could read like a map.

  Hongyun did what felt right to him.

  He flowed around the enhanced strikes, never meeting force with force but redirecting and countering with precise timing. When the bandit overextended himself trying to land a killing blow, Hongyun stepped inside his guard and delivered a pommel strike to his temple that dropped him unconscious.

  Had he wanted, he could have easily taken a life right there and then, but something inside him stopped him.

  Master Jian arrived to find Hongyun standing over the defeated cultivator, breathing hard but essentially unharmed.

  “Interesting technique,” was all he said, but Hongyun caught the pleased note in his voice.

  This experience only seemed to encourage Master Jian because during their third year together, he began challenging Hongyun with increasingly difficult opponents based on their level of cultivation.

  At the age of fourteen, the teen could consistently defeat cultivators equal to a Lucid Novice using better technique and tactical awareness.

  Hongyun’s first encounter with a Thoughtshaper occurred during a festival in Riverside City, which featured various cultivators demonstrating their abilities in competitive exhibitions. Both Master Jian and Hongyun participated in the exhibition in the sword category, though Master Jian warned his student to avoid drawing too much attention.

  “Keep in mind,” Master Jian advised, as they prepared for their individual matches, “flashy moves impress the audience but do not necessarily lead to winning battles. Stick to the basics and you will win.”

  The first few matches went well enough.

  Hongyun’s opponents were capable but while they performed elaborate demonstrations of spiritual power, they neglected to fill in the fundamental gaps in their defenses that he would exploit mercilessly.

  The Thoughtshaper appeared in the semifinals, a young woman named Chen Meiling representing one of the local cultivation families. Her spiritual pressure was the strongest Hongyun had ever experienced. As she withdrew her sword, dream qi swirled around the blade creating chaotic distortions in the air.

  “You are quite good for someone so young,” she acknowledged as they stood facing each other in the tournament arena. “But this is where greater cultivation will make the difference.”

  The initial exchange of blows nearly ended the match before it really began.

  Chen Meiling's enhanced blade moved faster than anything Hongyun had encountered, forcing him to give ground as he struggled to keep up with her spiritual-boosted speed.

  Her first serious assault was a diagonal slash intended to take off his head.

  Hongyun barely managed to duck beneath the strike, but she immediately launched another thrust directed at his chest, the tip of her spiritually enhanced sword pierced his guard and scored a shallow cut along his ribcage, drawing first blood.

  “First point to Chen Meiling!” the referee declared.

  Hongyun examined the wound and noted it was relatively minor but potentially problematic. If he had been a fraction slower, the strike would have impaled his lung. Chen Meiling’s technique was solid, and her dream qi-enhanced sword provided her with substantial advantages in both speed and power.

  However, as the match progressed, Hongyun began to see patterns in her actions.

  Chen Meiling’s dream qi enhancement produced a great deal of power, but it also made her predictable just like the others before her. But more importantly, maintaining this level of enhancement required her to focus her thoughts continuously which resulted in a minute degree of influence over her decision-making process.

  Hongyun began to fight defensively and extended her opponent’s time in the arena while forcing her to maintain the high-energy enhancing effect of her dream qi for an extended period. After two minutes of intense exchanges, he could detect the effects of fatigue on her accuracy.

  Chen Meiling seemed to realize what he was doing. “Smart, but ultimately pointless,” she said, accumulating dream qi to initiate what appeared to be a finisher technique. “Dreaming Crane Descent!”

  The Dreaming Crane Descent appeared as three separate sword strikes that seemed to originate from multiple locations at the same instant. Each strike trailed behind it ethereal feathers of condensed dream qi. This was the type of technique that looked impossible to defend against and was designed to overwhelm an opponent through sheer complexity.

  Hongyun observed the developing attack with complete clarity and calculated the vectors and timing of the three strikes. The three strikes were not actually simultaneous; they were designed to create the illusion of simultaneity while providing escape routes. However, the sequential nature of the attack created a very short window of opportunity where all three phantom swords would be committed to their respective paths.

  He moved into the attack at the exact moment that any of the three phantom swords would have been unable to change direction. His practice sword found the space between the first and second phantom swords and slid through to stop just shy of Chen Meiling’s throat.

  “Match to Hou Hongyun!” the referee shouted, and the crowd erupted in shock.

  Chen Meiling stared at the mortal in front of her with awe.

  “How? That technique has never been countered before.”

  “Every technique has a counter,” Hongyun replied softly, bowed respectfully to her. “You just have to be willing to look for it.”

  Master Jian’s appreciation was subtle but unmistakable. “Good job. You are starting to understand the difference between sword work and sword fighting.”

  However, as Hongyun’s fifteenth birthday approached, things began to change.

  Techniques that had previously flowed as effortlessly as breathing began to feel stiff and mechanical. New instruction that should have taken weeks to learn now took months. Perhaps most disturbing was that the intuitive understanding that had guided his accelerated development was disappearing.

  "I don’t know what’s happening," Hongyun admitted after a particularly grueling training session.

  They had spent the entire session working on a sophisticated technique used to counterattack against multiple opponents. This was an area where Hongyun should have been far ahead of the curve, but he was struggling with simple timing and positioning.

  “Not all growth follows a straight-line progression,” Master Jian put away his practice sword. "We will sometimes reach plateaus that will take time and patience to traverse."

  “This is different," Hongyun argued. "Before everything made sense to me. It felt like I was remembering skills that I already had, but right now, it feels like I’m learning a completely new language."

  "Maybe that is exactly what is happening."

  "What do you mean?"

  For a moment, Master Jian didn’t speak, he just stared at the sky as the sun painted it in the same colors of gold and crimson that Hongyun was accustomed to seeing.

  “I've noticed that your most instinctive techniques matched the basics of every sword school I'm familiar with, and while the principles are sound, the applications are... unique. As if they were developed for fighting opponents and situations that don't exist in the current cultivation world.”

  "That doesn’t make sense.”

  "Doesn’t it?" Master Jian asked. "You have always said that the techniques seem to be familiar, as though they were based on memories from dreams. What if the memories are from somewhere else entirely?"

  Hongyun couldn’t explain why, but that conversation left him unsettled.

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