First Notes in the Morning Mist

Time quietly evaporated, dwindling with every passing day and night.

Loa was seven and a half.

In Wushan Town, this was the age when children were at their most mischievous. They climbed trees to raid birds' nests, caught fish in the river, and chased one another through the streets until dark, when their mothers dragged them home by the ears. But Loa's life still followed the same three-point route: the smithy, the training ground, and the old bookshelf in Baruch Mansion.

Changes accumulated in small ways.

The sack he carried on his morning runs had gone from half full of stones to completely full. When he pushed the cart to make deliveries, he no longer needed to brace himself and hold his breath to get it moving; he could steadily control its speed uphill and down. His hammering rhythm grew increasingly steady, and Old Jack rarely watched over him anymore, offering only a word or two of advice during crucial steps like quenching or sharpening.

The greatest change was inside his body.

The wisp of warmth condensed by the Weapon Combat Breathing Method could no longer be called a "wisp." It was like a tiny stream, gathering in his dantian and slowly circulating through his body with his breathing. It usually lay dormant, but whenever Loa exerted his full strength-swinging his heaviest hammer blow, for instance, or making over a hundred consecutive cuts-it awakened, flowing through the gaps between his muscles and bones, nourishing every weary fiber.

Loa did not know what this counted as. Battle-qi? It did not seem like it. He had quietly asked Old Jack, but after thinking for a long while, the old man only said, "Some warriors develop a 'sense of qi' once their training reaches a high level. But they have to be at least fourth rank, and they need a proper Battle-qi manual to guide them. Yours... maybe you've just trained your body well and have vigorous blood."

Vigorous blood?

Loa looked at his still-slender arms. There was some muscle definition, but he was far from strong-looking. His skin had darkened, though, marked by years of furnace heat and training in the sun.

But his strength was indeed growing.

During training a few days earlier, Hillman had let him try the guard unit's standard-issue one-handed sword-iron, sharpened, and more than twice as heavy as a wooden training sword. Loa held it in his hand and struggled a little with his first swing, but after three strokes, he found the rhythm. Rather than forcing it around with brute strength, he used his whole body to drive it, making the sword's weight part of the force behind his strikes.

Downward cuts, chopping cuts, rising cuts, thrusts.

After thirty strokes, his arms ached, but his grip on the sword remained steady.

Hillman watched from beside him without a word. Only after training ended that day did he give Loa a heavier wooden sword. "Use this from now on."

Loa took the sword and hefted it. It was roughly thirty percent heavier than his previous one.

"Yes, Captain."

He neither asked why nor complained. From that day onward, he simply used the heavier sword for his extra practice every evening.

The mist was particularly thick that morning.

White mist shrouded the training ground behind the hill. The distant trees were no more than blurred outlines, and even nearby figures looked as though they stood behind a veil. The children arrived one after another, their breaths condensing into white clouds in the cold air.

Loa arrived a little later than usual. The previous night, he had tried guiding that wisp of "qi" into his eyes to see whether it would improve his vision. It had done nothing, and concentrating too hard had instead left him sleeping poorly. His eyes felt a little dry now. He rubbed them and took his place at the back of the group.

Hillman had not arrived yet. The children stood in small clusters, stamping their feet for warmth or chatting quietly.

"Did you hear? The young master from the Baruch family is coming to train today."

"Which young master? Young Master Linley?"

"Who else? They say he's old enough to train now. Time to start laying his foundations properly."

"A noble's son, training with us?"

"What else would he do? This is the only training ground in Wushan Town."

Loa pricked up his ears, something stirring faintly inside him. Linley was coming?

He had seen Linley several times at Baruch Mansion over the past half year or so. Sometimes they met by chance in the corridor; sometimes Linley came looking for him. Ever since their conversation about the Four Ultimate Warriors, Linley seemed to regard him as a sort of "friend who knew lots of stories." He asked Loa what other interesting accounts were in the books and shared family anecdotes he had heard from his father.

But there was always some distance in their conversations. Loa kept his own position firmly in mind-the smith's adopted son, a commoner. Linley was the heir to the Baruch Clan, a noble. He could answer Linley's questions and chat with him, but he would not initiate conversations or act overly familiar.

Old Jack had taught him this: "We don't fawn over anyone, but we shouldn't cause people trouble either. Show the proper courtesy, and don't say what you shouldn't."

Now Linley was coming to the training ground.

What did that mean? Loa did not know. He only knew that today might be a little different.

As he thought about this, footsteps sounded in the mist.

Hillman's tall figure appeared. But today, a small figure accompanied him.

The mist thinned a little, and Loa saw clearly-it was Linley.

The boy wore a dark brown training outfit made from far better fabric than the children's linen clothes, but its design was simple, without unnecessary ornamentation. His brown hair had been carefully combed, though the morning mist had dampened it, leaving a few strands clinging to his forehead. He looked a little nervous, his hands clasped in front of him as he studied the children on the training ground, all several years older than him.

"Everyone, get into position." Hillman's voice broke the silence.

The children quickly formed two rows. Loa stood at the far right of the back row, while Linley was placed at the far left of the front row-Hillman had deliberately put him somewhere he could keep an eye on him.

"Starting today, Young Master Linley will train with everyone." Hillman surveyed the group. "Whatever you practice, he practices. When you rest, he rests. No special treatment. Understood?"

"Understood!" the children answered together. But Loa noticed several of them exchange glances. There was curiosity in those looks, appraisal, and a barely perceptible... distance.

Nobles and commoners were different, after all.

"As usual, we'll start with the Qi-Gathering Stance. You need solid foundations." Hillman walked to the center and assumed a stance-feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hands loosely cupped before his abdomen, and back straight as a pine. "This is the most basic standing exercise for warriors. It develops a stable lower body and unobstructed circulation of qi and blood. Watch carefully."

Holding the stance, he explained slowly, "Grip the ground with your feet. Imagine you're a tree, your roots sinking into the earth. Your knees mustn't extend past your toes. Don't let your lower back sag or your back bend. Breathe deeply and slowly. Draw your breath into your dantian, and breathe out down to the soles of your feet."

The children copied his stance.

Loa knew this stance well. The Qi-Gathering Stance was required training for every beginning warrior. He had practiced it for over two years, progressing from trembling legs before even fifteen minutes had passed to holding steady for a full hour. This seemingly simple stance placed considerable strain on the lower back, legs, back, and shoulders, but nothing could replace it for building solid foundations.

He settled into position and adjusted his breathing. That wisp of "qi" began flowing naturally, circulating through his legs, waist, and abdomen, easing the sustained tension in his muscles.

He glanced left out of the corner of his eye.

Linley was trying hard to assume the stance too. But he was clearly unaccustomed to it. His feet were too close together, leaving his balance unstable. His knees bent too far, nearly putting him in a half squat. His back was straight, but far too rigid, as though he was using every ounce of strength to hold it there.

He won't last long like that, Loa thought.

Sure enough, before even seven or eight minutes had passed, Linley began to sway slightly. Sweat seeped from his forehead, and his little face flushed bright red with strain. He gritted his teeth and held on, but his legs were already trembling uncontrollably.

Hillman walked among the rows, pausing when he reached Linley. He pressed a hand against Linley's lower back. "Too stiff. Relax a little."

Linley tried hard to adjust, but the more he tried, the more muddled his stance became. His breathing grew rapid, his chest heaving.

"Don't hold your breath," Hillman reminded him. "Breathe naturally."

But "naturally" was easy to say. For a five-year-old trying the Qi-Gathering Stance for the first time, it was far too difficult.

A little later, Linley finally could not hold on. His body swayed, and he had to move his left foot half a step back to steady himself. Frustration crossed his face. He stared at the ground, not daring to look at Hillman.

"Keep holding the stance." That was all Hillman said before walking away.

Linley assumed the stance again, but this time it was worse. His earlier failure had already made him fearful. His body tensed further, and his breathing fell completely out of rhythm.

Watching him, Loa suddenly had a thought.

He remembered when he had first practiced the Qi-Gathering Stance. He had been just as awkward, just as lost. Old Jack had stood nearby, telling him, "Don't fight it. Standing practice isn't about fighting yourself. It's about making peace with yourself."

He had not understood then. Now he seemed to understand a little.

Just then, Hillman called, "Loa."

"Here," Loa answered, maintaining his stance.

"Stand beside Young Master Linley."

Loa paused in surprise, but followed the instruction, stepping out of line and taking his place on Linley's left. He could feel every gaze on the training ground gathering on him and Linley.

"Show him how it's done," Hillman said.

Loa understood. He assumed the Qi-Gathering Stance again-but not with the almost instinctive movements he had grown used to over two years. Instead, he deliberately slowed down, clearly demonstrating every detail.

How to space his feet, and which way to point his toes. How far to bend his knees, and the angle between his thighs and calves. How to relax his lower back without letting it sag, and straighten his back without stiffening it. How to cup his hands loosely, and relax his fingers.

Then he began adjusting his breathing.

He did not use the Weapon Combat Breathing Method, just ordinary deep breathing. As he inhaled, his lower abdomen expanded slightly; as he exhaled, it slowly contracted. His rhythm was very slow, with a long interval between each inhalation and exhalation.

As he demonstrated, he watched Linley out of the corner of his eye. The boy watched intently, following every detail of Loa's movements before trying to imitate them.

Adjusting his foot spacing. Adjusting his knees. Relaxing his lower back.

Slowly, Linley's stance began to take shape. It was still unpracticed, but at least it no longer looked so awkward.

"Watch my breathing," Loa reminded him quietly.

Linley glanced at him, nodded, and began adjusting his breathing. At first, he still breathed too quickly, inhaling and exhaling in a rush. But as he followed Loa's rhythm, he gradually slowed down.

Seven or eight minutes passed. Linley began to sway again, but this time he did not panic. Instead, he gritted his teeth, readjusted his balance, and kept holding on.

Loa maintained his stance too. He could have made it easier for himself, but he chose to match Linley's rhythm, breathing, and endurance.

It was a kind of silent companionship.

Hillman watched from a distance, his face expressionless, but a faint trace of approval lay deep in his eyes.

At last, an hour had passed.

"Stop," Hillman said.

The children relaxed in relief, some rubbing their legs, others pounding their lower backs. Linley also let out a long breath. He nearly collapsed to the ground, but forced himself to remain standing.

"That's all for today," Hillman said. "We'll continue tomorrow. Loa-"

Loa looked over.

"From now on, guide Young Master Linley when he trains."

"...Yes."

Training ended, and the children drifted away in small groups. Linley stood where he was for a while, waiting until his legs were less sore and numb before approaching Loa.

"Thank you," the boy said softly, his face still flushed from exertion.

"No need," Loa said. "Captain Hillman told me to guide you."

"I know." Linley paused. "But I still want to thank you. Just now... I almost fell again."

Loa looked at him. Linley's eyes were clear, holding sincere gratitude and a hint of stubborn dissatisfaction. This young noble was not arrogant because of his birth; instead, he blamed himself for his poor performance.

"Everyone's like that the first time," Loa said. "When I started, I couldn't even last fifteen minutes."

"Really?"

"Really."

Linley seemed relieved. He hesitated, then asked, "Then... is there anything still wrong with my stance?"

Loa thought for a moment. "Your knees are still bent a little too far. You can straighten them some more, but don't lock them. Your lower back... relax it a little more. Don't think about holding it straight. Think about keeping it 'level.'"

Linley tried adjusting, but he could not see himself, and no matter how he shifted, he could not get it right.

Loa reached out and gently pressed the side of his waist. "Here. Sink down a little."

Then he tapped behind Linley's knee. "Relax here a little."

Linley adjusted as instructed, and it did feel much more comfortable.

"Thank you," he said again, a little louder this time.

"See you tomorrow." Loa waved and turned to leave.

By the time he left the training ground, the morning mist had completely dispersed. Sunlight streamed down, edging Wushan Town in gold.

Walking home, Loa replayed the scene in his mind. He had instructed Linley, the future Hongmeng Transcendent. It felt a little strange, as though he had accidentally touched the gears of history.

But he soon shook off the thought. History, the future-what of them? The real world was far more fascinating than books. Right now, he was only a seven-and-a-half-year-old child, with an Old Jack who needed his care and skills that needed honing.