The sun climbed steadily higher, bathing the training ground in light. Tang Wulin's figure darted across the open space, sweat long since soaking through his clothes, darkening his originally deep-blue school uniform and plastering it against his back.
His breathing grew labored. Every spear thrust whistled through the air, but his expression became increasingly grave, even tinged with agitation.
"Still wrong!"
Tang Wulin growled and abruptly stopped. Bracing both hands on the Golden Dragon Spear, he gulped down air. The spear stood heavily embedded in the ground, its golden dragon patterns shimmering in the sunlight as though silently mocking his ineptitude.
He had spent the entire morning repeating the same movements.
Thrust, flick, sweep, parry.
His muscles already protested with aching pain. The webbing between his thumbs and forefingers burned from the violent vibrations, even seeping blood. Yet what he had honed was still only "strength," not "spearmanship."
In the Soul Guidance Projection his older sister Tang Wutong had left behind, the essence of "A Thousand Pointing Fingers" lay in the concentration of intent, in the resolve to press forward without retreat. Yet the dozens upon hundreds of thrusts he had just made, though thunderous and scattering spear light in all directions, always felt disjointed.
They were like a heap of loose sand. However hard each grain might be, without coming together, they could never form a blade capable of storming cities and razing strongholds.
"Why..."
Tang Wulin raised his head and stared at the empty air before him. He tried to imitate his sister's movements, to find that feeling of "heart and spear becoming one." But no matter how hard he tried, the Golden Dragon Spear in his hands was like an untamed beast, willing to obey only his brute strength, unwilling to resonate with his mind.
"Intent follows