I woke up to dull, deliberate knocks on the door. They sounded less like a person knocking and more like a sentence being passed. Dense, heavy, unhurried raps that made my skin crawl before my mind had even fully awakened. I sat up sharply, nearly flicking a bead of sweat from my brow — too sharply, as if I already knew something important was waiting beyond the threshold.
"Open up," came a commanding voice.
I didn't hurry. I stood, straightened my robe, inhaled deeply — only then did I open the door.
Standing in the doorway was a man in his thirties — tall, stern, with a face where Yang Gi's features were mirrored as clearly as in a glass. My father. The very man whose name was often heard in the elders' conversations, yet whose presence was rare. Senior Martial Master of the Eastern Sector. One of those who valued honor above life, but anger above justice.
"You Je Hwan?" he asked, as if he didn't already know. It was rhetorical. His eyes were already full of blame.
"I am," I answered calmly.
"You beat up my son. And not just him."
He wasn't asking. He was stating.
"I defended myself," I replied, just as calmly, without raising my voice.
"He's an heir. A disciple of the Inner Hall's chief instructor. And you — a bastard. Dust. Do you think anyone will believe you?" His voice grew louder, but there was no rage in it. Only certainty.
"He struck first. Five against one. Without cause. There are witnesses."
He paused. I could feel his qi pressing down, but it didn't break me. My body trembled from within — not from fear, but from tension. Like a wire pulled taut to its limit.
"Son," he said with a bitter smirk, "you play your words well. But this isn't a court. This is a clan. Here, strength makes the decisions."
"Then isn't it only fair that I was stronger?" I met his gaze directly.
He was silent for a few seconds. And then... he smirked. Briefly, like a predator.
"Smart little pup. Not as empty-headed as I thought. Fine. Today, you've won. But don't think there'll be a second time."
He turned and walked away, not even giving me a parting glance. The door slammed shut behind him, like a period. Or maybe a comma.
That day, no one touched me during training. Not Yang Gi, nor his friends. Even the senior disciples — usually arrogant and spiteful — now looked at me with a hint of caution. Not fear — not yet. But restraint.
I performed every movement precisely, without rushing. Each motion — like a stream. Each breath — like intention. My body was weak, but I knew how to breathe so that qi flowed through the skin, how to step so that my weight was properly distributed. I wasn't fighting. I was relearning how to breathe in this world.
After class, I left without waiting for talk or gossip. I passed the training grounds, walked along the side path behind the dorms, and soon arrived at the old cherry tree. It stood alone, surrounded by soft moss, its branches swaying gently in the wind.
I sat at its base, crossed my legs into the lotus position. The qi of nature was especially vibrant here. This was my refuge, my temple.
I slowly closed my eyes and began to meditate. The flow of qi — barely perceptible, like a silk thread — began to gather in my chest. First, I filled the Sea of Qi — the center of the chest, the reservoir of inner energy. Thanks to my A-rank talent, I could retain 80% of external qi, and my recovery was faster than most. The next step — guiding it through the meridians to the lower dantian. And finally, the formation of a qi branch. I gathered it slowly, deliberately, and soon I felt a pulsing structure in my abdomen's core — the second branch, not yet complete, but nearly alive.
"Tomorrow," I whispered, "it will bloom."
I rose slowly. My body felt light, but my insides were heavy. The branch was forming at the cost of all reserves. Inside, there was emptiness. But harmonious.
I walked back. The sun was drifting toward the horizon. The day's ship was sailing into the sunset, and I felt like a part of that motion. Everything was in its place.
Until I approached the house.
Something was wrong. The air felt thicker. My instincts flared. I stepped aside sharply — and a wooden sword whistled past my ear the next moment. It sliced the air where I had stood just a heartbeat before.
I rolled, got into a stance, heart pounding faster. A man in black stood before me.
Tall, face wrapped, no insignia. But his aura... it was powerful. Heavy. Deep.
"You dodged," he muttered. "Interesting."
He moved forward. Instantly. I barely kept up. His strikes were precise, fast, but not fatal. I dodged, rolled, felt my entire body surrender to instinct.
Only one question echoed in my head: What does a master want with me?
A master's level — that was the Golden Branch. The peak of the province. Only my father… and the head of the Saisarin Clan had reached it. The enemy of the clan. The enemy of my family. My former family.
I couldn't win. But luckily, he didn't seem intent on killing. He carried a wooden sword. He was toying with me.
"Listen," he said suddenly, halting. "Here's the deal. If you manage to land a hit on me within five minutes, or if I'm forced to use anything but my left hand — I'll let you go. Moreover, I'll tell you who asked me to teach you a lesson."
He drew a circle at his feet. No more than twenty centimeters wide.
"I won't step out of it. Go ahead, boy."
I swallowed. My chances were slim. But I had none other. I clenched my fists.
"Agreed."
He nodded. And the fight began.