"Whoosh, whoosh..."
The surface of the Spiritual Spring shimmered with flecks of white light in the early morning. Now and then, a faint breeze drifted past, as soothing as a spring wind brushing his face.
Lin Shisan sat cross-legged beside the spring, two fingers pressed together and held three inches above his knees.
A wisp of blue-white Sword Aura was slowly gathering at his fingertips, a fraction thicker than it had been seven days earlier, its watery edges denser than before. Counting from the day he had perfected the first stage, he had sat motionless in this posture for ten full days.
The threshold of the Lingxi Sword Art's second stage lay right before him, yet he could never step across it.
It was like being separated by an exceedingly thin film of water. He could see the other side, close enough to touch, yet he could never pass through. Every time the Sword Aura gathered at his fingertips and was about to emerge, it collapsed on its own, like a freshly honed blade shrinking back into its sheath before it could be drawn.
"Senior Brother Tian, you're using too much force. Push too far, and you become rigid."
Zhantai Xian's voice came from across the Spiritual Spring.
She crouched on the opposite bank, holding a silvery-white spirit herb leaf and idly twirling it in circles.
"You don't push the Lingxi Sword Art with strength. You guide it with your breath. You're gripping the Sword Aura too tightly, so it can't emerge. It's like holding a handful of sand. The tighter you squeeze, the faster it slips away. Loosen your hand, and less slips out instead."
Lin Shisan opened his eyes, glanced at his whitened knuckles, and slowly relaxed his hand.
For some reason, he now had an indescribable trust