Growth, part two

They finished their third lap.

By then, the sun had risen fully above the horizon. Brilliant golden sunlight poured down unobstructed, gilding the entire mountain road and the woods on either side with a warm golden glow. The two ran one behind the other, their shadows stretching far behind them.

Loa felt as though his legs had been filled with heavy molten lead. Every lift took all the strength he had. His lungs burned as though they were about to burst, and the rusty taste of blood in his throat grew stronger. His vision blurred a little. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging.

But he did not stop, because Linley ahead of him had not stopped either. Linley was frighteningly pale, and he had bitten a row of deep tooth marks into his lower lip, drawing traces of blood. Yet his eyes were astonishingly bright, as though two flames blazed within them, their light even more searing and unyielding than the sun overhead.

For the last hundred steps, they were barely running anymore, just dragging their legs forward. One step landed heavily, the body swayed, and then the other leg lifted with difficulty. One step, then another... at last, they shuffled through the familiar courtyard entrance of the smithy.

The doorframe seemed to mark the boundary of deliverance. Almost simultaneously, they collapsed to the ground with a thud like two heaps of mud, lying faceup with their arms and legs sprawled crookedly.

The sky overhead was a clear, luminous blue, without a single cloud. Sunlight fell freely upon them, its warmth seeping into the spaces between their aching bones.

Loa gulped down great breaths. It seemed a long time before his wildly pounding heart settled a little. He turned his head toward Linley beside him. Linley's eyes were closed, his chest still heaving violently, and his sweat had soaked a small patch of ground beneath him.

"Tomorrow..." Loa's voice was terribly hoarse. "Are we training like this again?"

"Yes." Linley answered without hesitation, not even opening his eyes.

"...Then I'll join you."

Only then did Linley open his eyes and turn his head to glance at him. He gave a very slight nod, then closed his eyes again.

They lay there resting for nearly a quarter of an hour before struggling to their feet and unfastening the weights on their legs. The rough cloth strips and the edges of the iron ingots had rubbed deep red rings around Loa's calves. In places, the skin had broken, burning painfully. Linley was worse off. Where the sandbags had rubbed for so long, his skin was red and swollen, and some spots had even broken open, traces of blood seeping out and mingling with sweat.

But Linley did not so much as frown, as though the injuries were not on his own body. He deftly took a small cloth packet from inside his clothes. It contained brownish-green herbal powder that looked as though he had gathered and crushed it himself. He shook some onto his wounds, then tore off a length of clean cloth he had prepared beforehand and briskly bandaged them in a few quick motions, tying it tight.

"You carry medicine with you?" Loa asked, a little surprised.

"Mm." Linley's tone was as casual as if he were saying the weather was nice. "You get hurt easily when you train hard. I'm used to it."

They tidied up and each went home. The sun was already high. Old Jack came out of the house and saw Loa slumped in the courtyard, drenched in sweat, with cloth strips still tied around his legs. His brows immediately drew together, deepening the wrinkles on his face. "Have you got a death wish? Training like this-do you want to ruin your body?"

"I'm fine, Grandpa Jack." Loa braced himself against the wall and stood. He stretched his mouth, trying to smile, but exhaustion had left his facial muscles stiff. "Just... getting some practice. I know my limits."

The old man stared at them for a few seconds, snorted, and said nothing more before turning back into the kitchen. Before long, the rich aroma of rice porridge drifted out, mingled with the smell of firewood, making stomachs growl.

At breakfast, the two sat around the small wooden table and began eating. There was an extra egg in Loa's bowl.

"If you train hard, you have to make up for it. Eat more." Although the old man sounded a little angry, he could not hide the concern in his words.

Loa did not stand on ceremony. He lifted his bowl and began slurping down the porridge. It was scalding hot, but he ate so quickly that he seemed unable to feel the heat at all. He was simply too hungry.

After breakfast, Old Jack asked, "Are you training again this afternoon?"

"Mm, weapons practice this afternoon," Loa asked.

With that, Loa went to lie down and rest for a while. As he lay down, an indescribable feeling stirred inside him. Even knowing how powerful and incredible Linley would become, right now he felt that Linley was only a boy like himself-one who wanted to hold his fate in his own hands.

That afternoon, when the sun tilted westward, Linley arrived as promised.

This time, they were not training their stamina. They were practicing swordsmanship.

The two stood facing each other in the training ground, each holding a sturdy wooden sword-real swords were too sharp, and sparring with them could easily lead to an accident.

The afternoon sun was fierce, and even the cicadas sounded listless. Beneath the meager shade of a tree in the smithy's back courtyard, the two boys stood facing each other, wooden swords in hand.

"Again." Linley spat out the grass stem he had been chewing, his gaze stubborn. Loa had just struck his wrist with his sword again, nearly knocking the wooden sword from his hand.

Loa nodded and took his stance again. His opening stance was ordinary: his feet stood at an angle, neither perpendicular nor splayed, his wooden sword pointed diagonally toward the ground, and his whole body looked loose and slack, without the slightest hint of force. But Linley knew that Loa was hardest to deal with in this state.

Linley drew a deep breath, gave a low shout, and abruptly stepped forward. His wooden sword whistled through the air as he brought it straight down toward Loa's head without any flourishes! The strike was powerful and fast, his most familiar approach-overcoming skill with strength, letting sheer force defeat every trick.

Loa did not meet it head-on. Just as the wooden sword was about to reach his head, his feet seemed merely to slide lightly, carrying his body half a step aside. Linley's heavy, powerful strike brushed past his chest and missed. At the same time, Loa's wooden sword darted out silently like a snake's flicking tongue, its tip striking precisely at Linley's shoulder as he leaned slightly forward from putting too much force into his swing.

"Too direct." Loa withdrew his sword, his voice steady. "You've got plenty of strength, but your intentions are too obvious. Before you swing down, your shoulder moves first, and your eyes stay fixed on my head. You're practically telling your opponent where you're going to strike."

Linley rubbed his shoulder, numb from the blow, his brow furrowed tightly. He was not convinced, but he also knew Loa was right. He had vaguely sensed this fault himself, yet he could never correct it.

"Then how do I fix it?" he asked sullenly.

"Don't think only about putting strength into it." Loa walked to the center of the courtyard and casually swung his wooden sword a few times, his movements smooth and natural. "Watch my shoulders, my feet, my eyes. But am I really going to attack from those places?"

He suddenly thrust toward an empty spot on his left. Just before the thrust reached its limit, his wrist gave an almost imperceptible twitch. The sword tip traced a tiny, nearly invisible arc and struck a small dot marked beforehand on a nearby wooden post with a sharp tap. Throughout the movement, his shoulders, footwork, and gaze showed no obvious change.

Linley watched without blinking.

"Feints and real attacks." Loa walked back. "Your strength is an advantage. But an advantage can't become your only reliance. You have to learn to conceal and adapt. It's like forging iron. If you just hammer away with brute force, the iron blank you produce is dead. You have to understand when to strike hard or softly, quickly or slowly, and how to temper and quench it. Only then will you get good steel."

The comparison gave Linley something to think about. He remembered how, whenever he practiced swordsmanship, he could not help using all his strength, as though only that could make him feel "strong." Yet Loa's sword was nimble and precise. Often, a light touch at the moment when Linley's old force was spent and fresh force had yet to build left his entire body feeling awkward, unable to use the strength he had.

"Again!" Linley's gaze focused once more. This time, he did not rush to attack. Instead, he copied Loa and adopted a relatively relaxed opening stance, his gaze moving over Loa as he tried to find those so-called "feints and real attacks."

Inwardly, Loa gave a slight nod. Linley was actually very perceptive, understanding things with just a hint. All he lacked was a method and someone to guide him.

This time, Loa moved first. His movement was still slow, his wooden sword extending level in a thrust toward Linley's centerline. Linley focused and brought his sword across to block. The two swords met with little force.

But at the instant of the block, Loa lowered and drew back his wrist. Linley felt a clinging resistance pass through his sword, and his block was actually pulled slightly off course. Using that pull, Loa's wooden sword had already slipped aside like a swimming fish. Its tip flickered, striking at Linley's left and right shoulders in turn.

Linley hastily retreated, looking rather flustered.

"Did you feel that?" Loa did not pursue him. "Attacks aren't limited to chops, slashes, and thrusts. The instant you block, the force when the swords meet-you can work with all of it. You're strong. If you can use that strength to guide your opponent and disrupt his balance, it'll be more effective than simply clashing head-on."

Sweat ran down Linley's cheeks, and he took several heavy breaths. It was not exhaustion, but the swollen, strained feeling of having too many new things packed into his head. His past sword practice had mostly consisted of imitating the basic moves his father, Hogg, had taught him and figuring out for himself how to bring his strength to its fullest. This was the first time anyone had broken down such subtle principles of applying force, grasping timing, and varying feints and real attacks for him so systematically.

"I... think I'm starting to understand," Linley murmured, looking at the wooden sword in his hand as though seeing it for the first time. "A sword isn't just an extension of your arm. It's also... part of your body and your thoughts. You have to think about the most efficient, effective way to reach your goal, instead of just thinking about throwing all your strength into it."

"Right. That's exactly it." A rare trace of a smile appeared on Loa's face. Teaching Linley was also a process of organizing and reinforcing his own understanding. Some things he understood only vaguely in his own mind, but putting them into words so someone else could understand required him to think them through more thoroughly.

"How did you apply force in that pulling move just now?" Linley pressed, his eyes burning.

Loa simply set down his wooden sword and demonstrated empty-handed. "Watch my waist and feet. You don't just turn your wrist. Plant your feet firmly, twist your waist and hips slightly to move your shoulders, and let your shoulders drive your arms. The force passes through each section in turn, only reaching your wrist at the end. That's how you get force that's unified and fluid, rather than rigid."

He had Linley touch his waist, back, and arms as he exerted force, letting him feel the changes in his muscles' movement. Linley learned with utmost concentration, pressing with his hands and committing it to memory.

One taught and the other learned, moving from the most basic ways of applying force to coordinating footwork with sword moves, then to using the surroundings and light to create illusions. Loa held nothing back. He broke down and explained every bit of experience he had gained fighting for his life in the mountain forests, along with the finer control of his body he had grasped through "stillness." Linley was like a dried-out sponge, greedily absorbing everything.

In their next bouts, Linley's performance visibly changed. He no longer simply charged and struck with all his might. He began trying to control the rhythm, to conceal his true intentions within his attacks, and to seek chances to deflect and redirect force when defending instead of merely taking it head-on. Although his movements were still awkward and full of openings, that brute force had already begun shifting toward finesse.

By the end of a round of sparring, both were drenched in sweat, but Linley's eyes were brighter than ever.

"So... this is another way to use a sword." He wiped away his sweat and looked at Loa, admiration and gratitude in his voice. He knew no one in town would teach him these things in such detail. His father, Hogg, mostly pushed him to temper his body and build a foundation. As for these clever variations in actual combat, perhaps he thought the time had not yet come, or perhaps he was not particularly skilled at them himself. He had never taught Linley in such depth.

"You're willing to learn, and you're perceptive." Loa shook his head, picked up the waterskin, and drank a few mouthfuls before passing it to Linley. "The little I know came from fumbling around on my own and... risking my life. Understanding it so quickly is no easy thing."

He was telling the truth. Linley's physical talent and fierce determination were the best he had ever seen. All he lacked was someone to lead him through the door and show him which path to take. Once pointed in the right direction, he would progress at a frightening pace.

The sunset cast their long shadows across the ground. After drinking, Linley fell silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Loa, have you... thought about the future? Are you going to stay in Wushan Town forever?"

Loa paused in wiping his sword. He lifted his head and looked toward the western mountains beneath a sky filled with sunset clouds.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "Grandpa Jack is getting old. Someone has to keep the smithy going. But..." He remembered those crimson eyes in the mountain forest, the cold touch on the edge of death, and the longing in his heart for greater power. "But this world is huge. I've got to go out and see it. Only then will this life have been worth living."

Linley nodded firmly, his gaze resolute. "I'm going out too. I have to." He tightened his grip on the wooden sword. I'm going to become strong. Strong enough... strong enough to control my own fate. Wushan Town is too small.

The two boys stood in the summer evening breeze, gazing into the distance, each with a fire burning in his heart. It was a vague vision of the future, and a genuine longing for strength.

"Together?" Loa turned to look at Linley.

Linley met his gaze and nodded firmly. "Together!"

From the distance came Old Jack's call to dinner, drawn out in the distinctive cadence of an old man. The two exchanged a smile, put away their wooden swords, brushed the dust off their clothes, and went home.

The setting sun blended their retreating silhouettes together, as though foreshadowing that perhaps, on the road ahead, they really would walk side by side for a while.