Testing Nen Within the Tower

The Martial Arts Hall on the twenty-sixth floor was not listed in Heaven's Arena's standard directory. Without special backend authorization, even the elevator button for that floor could not be lit. Ryan stood before the cold metal doors and handed the management terminal the temporary access slip he had received the day before—there was no signature, no official seal, only two handwritten lines: "West side of the twenty-sixth floor, Martial Arts Hall," and, "Please arrive on time."

The doors opened in response, quiet as though they were waiting for some ceremony that should not be disturbed.

The moment he entered the Martial Arts Hall, the temperature was slightly lower than in the rest of the tower. The walls were made entirely of composite silicon, coated for sound reduction, leaving no sound when footsteps fell. Far-infrared trajectory trackers and recording spheres were installed at all four corners, while the center held an extremely simple gray combat mat, with no boundary markings and no railings—this was not a competition venue, but a place for training.

Wing was already there.

He stood ramrod straight, wearing an immaculately washed light-gray shirt and dark-blue trousers. His shoulders did not move, his breathing was steady, and his gaze was not directed at the door, but Ryan knew he had noticed his arrival long ago.

"You arrived three minutes earlier than I expected," Wing said in his usual tone, as though commenting on the weather.

Ryan did not answer. He calmly walked to a spot three meters away, removed his hat, and folded his coat over the back of a chair in the corner. Every movement was meticulous, yet none of it was affected.

"Can you tell me why you accepted the invitation?" Wing asked.

Ryan paused slightly before answering. "I need to verify my understanding and confirm whether I am qualified to keep moving forward."

Wing nodded. "Not to become stronger?"

"Becoming stronger is only the result, not the purpose."

That statement made Wing give him his first serious look. It was not praise, but the rational assessment of a mentor deciding whether someone was worth spending more time on.

"I do not take disciples," Wing said blandly.

"I am not asking to become one."

Wing said nothing more. He merely tilted his head slightly and waved toward the edge of the room.

Zushi stepped out.

The boy was around ten years old. His face was still childish and his frame still small, but his shoulders and back already maintained good posture. He wore a clean training uniform, his belt tightly fastened, and his footsteps made no sound. There was wariness in his eyes, along with a faint unwillingness to accept the situation.

"This is my student, Zushi," Wing introduced briefly. "He has not yet learned Nen and only possesses some basic martial arts training. You will undergo an evaluation with him."

Ryan said nothing, only nodded.

Zushi, however, hesitated slightly, as if instinctively dissatisfied with the arrangement.

"Master, why me?" he asked softly.

Wing looked at him, his voice steady. "You want to know the gap between yourself and someone with genuine potential for Nen. Then you need someone to show you where that boundary lies."

Zushi gritted his teeth, nodded, and walked into the center of the room.

The two stood in place, one to the left and one to the right, three meters apart.

Wing did not announce the start or signal for a referee. He simply stepped back to the edge of the room—this had never been a formal match, but an observational exercise designed to expose motivation.

Zushi moved first.

His footwork was standard, his offense clear. After cutting in with a diagonal step, his upper-body striking sequence was highly fluid, clearly the product of long training and careful instruction. But he was too impatient.

Ryan caught that immediately.

He did not attack. Instead, he took one step back, lowered his left shoulder slightly, and lured Zushi into throwing a punch with his center of gravity leaning too far forward.

Sure enough, Zushi's feet moved slightly faster than his fist. His right shoulder exerted force too early, and Ryan saw through it. He quickly lowered his body and slipped back diagonally, circling with his feet before instantly closing in beneath Zushi's ribs.

He did not use much force. With only a light palm strike against Zushi's waist, the boy's entire center of gravity tipped forward, sending him stumbling half a step.

Ryan seized his shoulder in passing, lightly pressed his back with his right hand, and smoothly guided him into a kneeling position.

The entire exchange took no more than seven seconds.

Zushi's eyes widened, clearly shocked by how he had lost control in an instant.

Wing's expression did not change. He merely said, "Failed judgment of center of gravity. Pulled back force through the soles too early. Elbow joint left unsealed. Remember it."

Zushi nodded, silently rose, and retreated to one side.

Wing looked at Ryan. "How would you evaluate his movements just now?"

Ryan answered evenly, "His training is solid, but he has not yet learned to use his brain to protect himself."

The corner of Wing's mouth lifted slightly, as if satisfied, yet also faintly expectant.

"Then... next is your turn."

He slowly took a rounded glass cup from his waist. It was filled with clear water, and a clean leaf floated upon the surface.

Ryan understood.

Water Divination—the Nen Ability affinity test—was about to begin.

Wing steadily placed the glass in Ryan's palm, his movements meticulous, as though he were not facing an ordinary trainee but an unpolished ore deposit that required cautious handling and careful exploration.

"Stand steadily. Spread your fingertips naturally. Bring your breathing into unity." Wing's voice was low, but brooked no argument.

Ryan did as instructed. He held the cup in his upturned palm, his fingers slightly spread, adjusting his breathing into its most natural abdominal rhythm. His heartbeat gradually slowed with it. His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the small cup of water in his hand.

The water's surface was still, the leaf resting quietly atop it. Even the air seemed to freeze.

"Imagine a current of energy flowing within your body." Wing stood not far in front of him, his voice seeming to enter Ryan's mind directly. "It is not the air in your lungs, nor is it blood. It is... the kind of warmth and momentum you can sense when you focus your attention."

"Do not force it. If it exists, it will flow out naturally."

Ryan did not rush to exert himself. He knew this was not an explosive exercise, but a process of coordinating focus and the body with internal energy. He began sketching a map of pathways in his mind: from all over his body to every pore, then down his arms and into his palms. It was not linear, but like underground water veins, naturally unfolding according to the body's subtle circulation and muscular tension.

Gradually, he felt a faint tingling fullness moving slowly along his arm, like winter sunlight falling across stone slabs—not hot, but distinct.

Zushi stood to one side and watched in astonishment. He had trained diligently for half a year and still had not sensed the existence of "energy," yet this person had begun entering the state on his first attempt.

Wing's expression remained unchanged, but his gaze behind his glasses tightened slightly.

One minute.

The water's surface suddenly trembled faintly.

It was not wind, nor was it Ryan's hand shaking. The leaf did not move, but the waterline was around one millimeter lower than before.

Wing bent down for a closer look, then slowly nodded. "A small amount of impurities has appeared in the water. The leaf has not spun, and the color has not changed."

"Conjuration."

Ryan opened his eyes. He felt neither joy nor disappointment. He merely engraved the information into the logic of his next stage of thought.

Wing put away the cup and wiped it clean. "It is rare for someone without formal guidance to possess such a clear sense of energy and such methodical pathway planning. Most are either Manipulators or Conjurers."

"Do you know that the key for a Conjurer lies not in Emission, but in construction?"

Ryan nodded. "It requires modeling. The target structure must exist in one's understanding; it cannot be produced at will based on feeling alone."

Wing's gaze shifted slightly. "You are clearer-headed than most adult students I have met."

Zushi listened from the side, his brow furrowing before he lowered his head again.

Wing did not teach any Nen Ability techniques on the spot. Instead, he took a sheet of white paper from his pocket and spread it before Ryan.

It contained three sections:

The first described the duration of Ren and how to coordinate it with breathing techniques;

The second covered preliminary attempts at Ten—using consciousness to cover the aura field and maintain its flow rate;

The third offered beginner advice on "Nen structural perception"—only three lines: "Do not attempt to conjure an object before achieving internal stability. Nen tools formed before attack cannot take shape."

"I will not teach you Hatsu, nor will I teach you creation. You are a Conjurer. Your ability itself can only be conceived by you."

Wing folded the paper back up. "That does not mean you are suited to this path. Conjurers are the type most likely to lose themselves—they are skilled at constructing things, and just as skilled at deceiving themselves."

"Remember this: your Nen is your projection of the world."

Ryan solemnly accepted the sheet, folded it, and placed it in the innermost layer of his notebook folder. It fit perfectly against the page bearing his handwritten words: "Final verification before entering the system."

"You may leave now," Wing said. "If you stay any longer, you will only start believing you have already entered the gate."

"And you are still far from it."

Ryan did not say another word. He bowed deeply, then turned and left.

Zushi watched his departing back, and for the first time, a complicated expression surfaced in his eyes—the look of someone surprised and faintly unconvinced, yet forced to acknowledge the truth.

Wing had already turned away and did not look at him again. He walked to the wall on the other side and pinned a blank notebook page to the whiteboard.

Several words were written on it:

"Conjurer. Active modeling before Ten. No teaching responsibility."

It was a note, and also a boundary.