The art was elegant. The Wind Spiral Technique flowed like a falling petal caught in an updraft—yet learning it felt like trying to balance rain on a blade's edge.
Lan Wu gripped his wooden training sword with both hands, arms shaking slightly as the translucent blue wind Qi danced wildly around him, unformed, like an untamed spirit.
"Spiral. Let it spiral. Not rush. Not clash."
He repeated Mei Lian's words in his head again and again, eyes focused, breath steady. Every pulse of Qi he fed into the technique either dispersed or flared too strong. He failed over and over.
But never stopped.
"It's not the wind's fault," he whispered one night after another fruitless practice. "It's mine for not listening hard enough."
Mei Lian, as promised, was unrelenting.
Group sessions with the outer disciples were held thrice weekly. Mei Lian led sword drills, teaching precise strikes, cloud-flow footwork, and the elegant cuts of the Sky Veil Form, a basic style of the sect's swordplay.
Lan Wu was always early, robes neat, bowing low to greet everyone. In sparring matches, he held his stance tight but never struck to wound. And when he lost—and he often did—he bowed again, smiling with genuine warmth.
"Thank you. You were amazing."
"Senior Brother, your footwork—I want to learn from you."
"Your strike was brilliant, I didn't even see it coming!"
More than once, his opponent would be stunned by such praise. Some began giving him advice willingly, some offered to spar again the next day.
> "That boy... he actually wants to learn."
"He's strange. Soft. But he listens."
Even Zhang Feiyu, once a sharp-tongued cynic, now nodded to Lan Wu with approval after each match—even if he still scolded him between strikes.
"You hesitate when you should cut. Don't waste the blade's time."
Each night, Lan Wu sat cross-legged beneath the moonlit arbor behind the dorms. The wind kissed the garden leaves as his Qi pool, though still shallow, began to deepen like a quiet spring.
He practiced:
Qi channeling through the meridians
Breathing synchronized with blade forms
Inner rhythm, tuning into the pulse of spiritual energy
Though others had more Qi, more strength—none could move it as smoothly as Lan Wu. His body responded like it had done this for lifetimes, though his heart and soul were that of a beginner.
From the highest tier of the Azure Sky Cloud Sect, in the Jade Flow Pavilion, the Grand Elder stood before her reflecting pool—a circular basin filled with rippling skywater, a spiritual mirror used to gaze upon the disciples' training grounds.
She watched Lan Wu in silence.
Every movement. Every breath. Every bow.
He was too perfect, she mused—not in skill, but in demeanor. Kindness without pride. Humility without shame. Resolve without ego. Such virtue was not common. It was... unnerving.
"He's growing," she murmured aloud. "And not just his cultivation."
But she didn't smile.
Her jade-colored sleeve drifted as she passed a hand over the pool.
And for a flicker of a second, in the reflection behind Lan Wu's meditating form—there it was.
A shadow. A chained figure. Gold eyes. Claws. A quiet scream muffled by heavenly seals.
Gone just as quick.
The Grand Elder's expression shifted—not fear. Not surprise.
But understanding.
"I see you," she said softly, to no one. "You're not just a scar on his soul. You are still alive within him… watching. Waiting."
" What are you? "
She stepped away from the pool and looked out into the wide open clouds beyond the pavilion.
"Then the question is not whether you'll rise again… but whether this boy's heart will choose you… or not."
Back in the courtyard, Lan Wu helped one of the injured juniors—Xu Cheng, who twisted his ankle during a misstep in Wind Spiral footwork.
Lan Wu supported him quietly, offering him a seat under a tree, bandaging the foot as he'd seen Mei Lian do before.
>"You could've left me. I said I was fine," Xu Cheng grumbled.
"I didn't want to," Lan Wu replied simply, brushing his fingers clean. "Helping others… makes my heart feel calm."
Xu Cheng scoffed—but said nothing more.
Inside Lan Wu's soulscape, Wuxie sat in the darkness, arms chained, breathing heavily in frustration. His gaze didn't leave the visions of Lan Wu's day. The bows. The smiles. The sparring.
"They like him," he growled. "They think he's a little flower blooming in spring."
"They don't know what's buried in the roots."
The Devouring Moon Beast rustled in its chains.
"He grows because he does not yet remember the weight of your sins. But the wind is blowing ever so slightly … it is sharp. And winds change."
"When the wind shifts… we shall see which face he keeps."
" A time will come when his kindness isn't enough to hold his heart "
" And when that happens, I'll be the one who climbs out of his despair and claim what's mine"
The Bud of Power, the Bloom of Tension
That night, Lan Wu stood atop one of the lesser spires, arms out, wooden sword pointed downward.
The wind spun lightly around him—not in chaos, not in control, but in harmony.
A gentle spiral, loose and imperfect… but alive.
He smiled.
"Maybe tomorrow… I'll make it tighter."
And above, unseen by him, the Grand Elder watched again from afar.
Her gaze narrowed.
"The winds will test you soon, Lan Wu. And I wonder… when they do… will you still smile when you fall?"
The winds blow more, the bindings between Ying and Yang thin, one mistake, one little push can break the barrier of what control is.
The soul is a fragile thin, but the spirit is more fragile, when it's either life or death, what will the spirit choose? When an opportunity for it to survive comes, what choice will it take?.
As Lan Wu trains, wanting to be one of virtue, climbing the heavens.... Wuixe will dig deeper into the depths of the Underworld for the power he wants, to become nothing but the force for his own destiny.
Not all barriers are strong, not all wills hold on. But where there is intent, there is purpose and purpose is just enough to break through any barriers.