Chương 27: Another Year

Joe's second year in the Talent Hall passed faster than the first. Part of that came from familiarity. His first year had been full of new things. Blood Energy. Static Foundation. Medicine. Contracts. Martial stages. Theodere's demonstrations. Even the layout of the Hall had once required thought. Now Joe knew where to go before anyone told him. He knew which assistant arrived early and which one was always late after rain. He knew when Hall's mood meant questions were welcome and when it meant they should wait.

He knew which section of the covered walkway leaked during storms and which water jar acquired leaves whenever somebody forgot to replace the lid properly. Merek's shop had become equally familiar. So had the road between both places. That familiarity did not make the year empty. It simply meant Joe spent less time understanding where he was and more time learning what he could do there. Autumn faded into Deepwinter. The cut fields south of Green Hollow turned dark after the harvest.

Bare branches opened views toward distant hills that summer leaves normally hid, while the river became colder and quieter. Thin ice collected along shaded edges. The main current still moved too strongly to freeze. Fishing became unreliable. Simon checked the traps less often. He complained about that more than Joe expected.

"I finally learned where to put them."

"The fish did not agree to stay there through winter."

"That is not the point."

"It feels related." Simon stared at him. Then looked toward the river.

"I liked fish."

"You like food."

"That too." Their household had dried part of the autumn catch, so Simon survived the tragedy. Pam made certain everyone understood how brave he was being about it. Joe's ninth birthday came near the end of Deepwinter. Nothing appeared. No pale words. No new talent. Joe had expected that. The sequence now looked too deliberate to ignore. One. Two. Four. Eight. If the pattern continued, sixteen was the next age worth serious attention. Joe still refused to call it proven.

Four observations were not enough to establish every future birthday. The next talent could come at ten. Or twelve. Or never. But sixteen was the first age he intended to watch carefully. Nine could remain ordinary. Mary disagreed.

"There should be sweets." Joe looked at her.

"Why?"

"It is your birthday."

"That has never mattered before."

"It matters now."

"Why?" Mary thought.

"Because I want sweets." At least the reasoning was honest. Pam supported her immediately. Lily did not.

"Honey costs money." Mike somehow found enough for a small batch anyway. Lily complained while helping prepare them. Joe ate two. He decided supernatural events were not required for every birthday to be useful. The birthday also gave him another reason not to repeat the strange experiment he had tried before Starlight. He remembered the pale rectangle. One brief flicker. A sharp drain of Blood Energy. Nothing readable. Joe had learned something from it.

The birthday phenomenon might respond to intention, and whatever answered seemed to require Blood Energy. That was enough. Repeatedly draining himself to stare at an unreadable flash would have been curiosity without purpose. He could try again when his Blood Energy was stronger. Until then, cultivation gave him better uses for it. Static Foundation had already become expensive in a different way. Not in silver. In attention. At Minor Success, the main problem had been solved.

Joe could sense Blood Energy throughout his body. He no longer needed several minutes of perfect conditions to decide whether what he felt was real. The next stage demanded more. Alex had described Major Success as a point where stance, breathing and resonance came together quickly. Joe was beginning to understand what that meant. The sensation had to become immediate. Clear. Stable enough that small changes in the body became obvious without Joe searching for them. That sounded simple. It was not.

The broad mistakes had already disappeared. Joe rarely misplaced his feet badly anymore. His spine did not collapse because he forgot a correction. His breathing stayed controlled even after his legs grew tired. What remained was smaller. A little unnecessary tension through one shoulder. Weight settling a fraction too early into one foot. A breath becoming slightly too deep because Joe expected deeper breathing to help. Those changes did not destroy the stance. They made it less efficient.

That was harder to notice. Every Hard Work Pays Off continued rewarding proper practice. The reward itself seemed smaller. Joe found that more interesting than frustrating. The talent did not make difficulty disappear. It made valid effort produce something. If progress near a higher threshold naturally came in smaller pieces, multiplying the value of effort did not necessarily mean every day would feel dramatic. The gains still accumulated. No Regression made certain they stayed. Joe trusted accumulation.

He had seen what it could do in his previous life. Usually to debt. This was better. Merek's shop changed with the season. During winter, fresh ingredients became rare. The shelves filled with dried roots, sealed jars and preserved leaves gathered earlier in the year. The rooms smelled of bitter bark, smoke and concentrated extracts kept warm over low fires. Joe's work changed with them. Fresh plants were easier in some ways. Color, moisture and smell provided obvious information.

Dried medicine demanded different judgment. One afternoon, Merek handed him several bundles without explanation.

"Sort them." Joe looked down.

"By what?"

"If I wanted to tell you, I would sort them myself." Joe resisted the urge to point out that this was technically not true. He examined the first bundle. Same plant. Different quality. That narrowed the problem. He bent one piece. Snapped another. Smelled a third. One group had been dried properly. A second had remained exposed to too much heat and lost much of its original scent. The third looked fine until Joe broke the thicker roots open and found slight darkening near the center.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. He separated them. Merek returned later. He looked at the trays. Then moved three pieces from the good pile into the questionable one. Joe frowned.

"What did I miss?" Merek handed one back. Joe examined it. Nothing.

"Smell the cut." He did. Still little. Merek waited. Joe compared it with a properly dried piece. There. Faint. The difference was so small that Joe would never have noticed without knowing it existed.

"What happened?"

"Stored beside damp cloth for two days." Joe looked at the root again.

"It already changed?"

"Everything changes."

"That quickly?"

"Some things." Merek pushed the questionable tray toward him.

"You learn fast enough that I have to start showing you mistakes that don't announce themselves." Joe smiled slightly.

"That sounds like praise."

"It wasn't."

"It almost was." Merek walked away. Joe counted it. By spring, the shop changed again. Fresh plants arrived in baskets. The drying room became green. Leaves covered woven racks near the windows. Cleaned roots lay across trays while small flowers hung from the rafters where moving air could reach them. Joe had been working with Merek for more than a year by then. He still cleaned. Everyone cleaned. Merek seemed to believe a person who became too important to clean eventually became too important to notice mistakes.

Joe suspected there was a specific former apprentice behind that philosophy. He never asked. His responsibilities had expanded anyway. He performed most ordinary processing beside the older apprentices. He could slice common roots to the proper thickness without measuring each piece. He knew which leaves bruised easily, which stems retained too much moisture if bundled tightly, and which materials weakened under direct sunlight.

Merek also began teaching him details that were difficult to put into written instructions. The sound a properly dried stem made when bent. The way one reduced extract coated a wooden spoon when enough water had evaporated. How the smell of another preparation changed shortly before overheating ruined it. Those lessons suited Joe's talents exceptionally well. Every valid experience remained useful. No Regression preserved what he genuinely learned. Still, Joe discovered another limitation.

His talents could accelerate experience. They could not invent experience. One of Merek's older apprentices had seen a particular winter fever three times. Joe had seen it once. The apprentice recognized the pattern faster. That did not mean Joe learned slowly. It meant there had only been one case available for him to learn from. The difference mattered. One afternoon, Merek questioned him after treating a farmer with an unusual rash.

"What caused it?" Joe thought.

"Plant exposure?"

"Which plant?"

"I don't know."

"Good." Joe looked at him. Merek washed his hands.

"You were going to guess."

"Yes."

"Don't." Joe nodded. Merek continued.

"You can be clever after you know things."

"That seems restrictive."

"It keeps patients alive." Joe smiled. The lesson stayed. His talents made learning powerful. They did not make ignorance disappear. That distinction became one of the most useful things Merek taught him. The household changed gradually too. Joe was no longer small enough to be assigned only the easiest work. At nine, Perfect Body had made him healthy and well coordinated, but there was nothing visibly supernatural about his strength. He was simply a capable child who had spent years training.

That was enough to make him useful. In spring, Mike took him to clear irrigation channels. The work was muddy. Joe disliked that less than expected. They used simple tools to remove silt, weeds and collapsed earth from narrow channels feeding the family's strips. Mike worked ahead. Joe cleared the smaller sections behind him. After an hour, Mike looked back.

"You're faster this year."

"I'm bigger."

"That helps." Joe continued digging. Mike watched another few minutes.

"You don't waste as much movement either." That interested Joe more. Ordinary work counted as meaningful effort when he performed it properly. Every Hard Work Pays Off did not care whether the task looked impressive. Joe had cleared channels before. He was better now. Not because farming had become a formal skill he consciously trained every day. He simply wasted less force. He placed his feet better. Used the tool more efficiently.

Recognized when wet earth would collapse back into the cut if he attacked from the wrong direction. Small improvements. Permanent. Mike nodded toward the channel.

"Do that section next." Joe moved. No praise. No ceremony. That was how most competence entered village life. By summer, Joe also helped repair field boundaries, carried larger bundles and handled work Lily would once have refused to let him attempt. Mary complained.

"You get the better jobs." Joe looked at the weeds in her basket.

"You want to carry this?" He held up the bundle in his arms. Mary looked at it.

"No."

"Then what is better?"

"You get to go farther." That was the real complaint. Mary was nearly eight and had become old enough to understand that the boys were allowed to range farther from the house. Joe looked toward Lily. Their mother was working several strips away.

"Ask her." Mary immediately frowned.

"That means no."

"Probably."

"You ask."

"That would make it my problem."

"It is your problem."

"How?"

"You are my brother." Joe considered the logic.

"That seems broad." Mary kicked a clump of earth. Joe eventually carried her basket back with his own bundle. Mary claimed victory. Joe let her. The Hall's five-day schedule made all of this possible. Two recovery days did not mean two days without work. One usually included several hours with Merek. The other disappeared into farm work, fishing, reading, household errands or light Foundation review. Joe rarely had an empty day. He did not need one often. Perfect Health helped enormously. So did Perfect Body.

Neither meant fatigue was imaginary. When Joe was genuinely tired, he rested. Teren's swollen knee from the previous year remained an excellent reminder that having enough Blood Energy for another session did not mean the body needed another session. Simon became another useful comparison. He was now approaching thirteen. Dynamic Foundation had occupied him for almost two years. His progress was steady, though not fast enough for his liking. One summer evening, the brothers practiced separately behind the house.

Simon had permission to review certain ordinary parts of his Foundation privately as long as he did not teach restricted details. Joe sat several yards away, working through a Static stance. Simon finished first. He breathed out and wiped his forehead.

"I'm close." Joe kept his stance.

"To what?"

"Minor Dynamic."

"That sounds good."

"It is good."

"I said it was."

"You sounded like you were talking about weather." Joe smiled slightly. Simon sat.

"If I reach it before next spring, Hall might let me start Skin Tempering early."

"Early compared with what?" Simon frowned.

"Compared with later."

"That is technically correct." Simon picked up a small piece of dirt and threw it. Joe did not move. It missed anyway. Simon leaned back on his hands.

"I should have progressed faster." Joe looked toward him this time.

"Why?"

"Alex did." There it was. Alex had left months earlier and still occupied space inside Simon's calculations.

"Alex had more resources."

"I know."

"Different family support."

"I know."

"Different talent." Simon looked irritated.

"I know." Joe let the silence remain. Simon eventually said, "I still want to catch him."

"That makes more sense." Simon glanced over.

"You don't?"

"Catch Alex?"

"Yes." Joe considered the question. He was already progressing in ways Alex knew nothing about. But that was not the real answer.

"I want to see how far I can go."

"That means yes."

"No."

"It does." Joe returned to his stance. Simon shook his head.

"You always make simple things complicated." Joe thought the world usually did that on its own. Bran remained in the Hall. His behavior did not improve. It did not become dramatically worse either. He settled into the small authority created when several older trainees left. Younger children carried things for him. He occupied equipment longer than necessary. He spoke more sharply when Hall was elsewhere and became noticeably more polite when Theodere appeared. Joe found him irritating. Simon found him offensive.

That difference promised future trouble. Joe tried to prevent it where possible.

"Stop answering him."

"He talks to me."

"You can still stop."

"If he says something wrong?"

"Especially then." Simon looked horrified. Joe gave up. The year continued. Spring became summer. Summer thickened the fields. Wind moved across the grain in visible waves, and the hills around Green Hollow became deep green under long days. The river dropped enough that the quieter shallows warmed. Children returned to them. Fishing improved again. Merek's shop smelled different every week. Joe's Static Foundation changed more slowly. That contrast became almost funny. Medicine gave him obvious milestones.

He learned a new preparation. Identified a plant correctly. Processed a batch without correction. Static Foundation offered smaller rewards. The stance settled a little faster. Blood Energy became slightly easier to distinguish from heartbeat and muscle tension. A posture change that once took several breaths to affect the resonance became noticeable almost immediately. Those improvements were real. They were difficult to celebrate individually.

Joe began to understand why ordinary practitioners could believe they had stopped progressing. If No Regression did not preserve every legitimate gain, small improvements could be lost between sessions. If Every Hard Work Pays Off did not guarantee useful return from correct effort, weeks might pass with no obvious change. And without the ability to compare the present body perfectly against the past, a normal trainee could easily mistake slow movement for no movement. Joe had advantages. He still needed patience.

By late summer, he started wondering whether delaying Dynamic had finally become inefficient. That question mattered. He had never intended to remain in Static forever. Major Success was an experiment. If the experiment demanded so much time that it weakened the rest of his development, then continuing simply because he had already invested months would be another kind of mistake. His previous life had taught him that one well. People stayed in bad jobs because they had already spent years there.

Finished terrible projects because too much money had already been spent to admit the project was terrible. Continued plans long after the original reasons had disappeared. Past investment did not make future waste rational. Joe reviewed his situation carefully. Static Minor had taken eight months. Sixteen more months were approaching. Major remained just beyond reach. Was that too long? For an ordinary trainee, perhaps. For Joe, less clearly. He had not lost the sixteen months.

His Static Foundation had improved throughout them. No Regression preserved those gains. Medicine training continued in parallel. His body developed normally. The Hall still supported him. Most importantly, the threshold now felt close. Not because Joe wanted it to be. Because the resonance had changed. The first stance answered almost as soon as his posture settled. The second did the same. By the third, Joe no longer needed to search beneath ordinary bodily sensations. The fifth and sixth were catching up.

The remaining problem was not sensing Blood Energy. It was immediacy. The method still required a short period of settling before everything aligned. Alex's description returned to him. At Major, the stance, breathing and resonance came together quickly. Joe was approaching that. He gave himself until shortly after Starlight. If Major still remained distant, he would reconsider. That decision relieved him. A plan was easier to trust when it included a point where the plan could be abandoned.

Harvest came beneath dry skies. Joe worked more than he had the year before. Dust clung to his clothes. Cut stalks scratched his arms. The fields changed from gold to stubble over several exhausting weeks. From the rise behind the house, Green Hollow looked almost enclosed by cultivated land. Beyond it lay the river, brush and wooded hills. Smoke rose from household roofs in the evenings while the setting sun turned the remaining fields copper. Joe liked the view.

There was nothing impressive about Green Hollow from the perspective of the larger world. That had begun to matter less. Small did not mean worthless. One evening, Joe stood beside Mike after carrying the last bundle from one strip. His father stretched his back.

"You're getting useful." Joe looked at him.

"I was useful before." Mike laughed.

"Less useful."

"That is fair." Mike looked across the harvested field.

"Simon was about your age when I started thinking he could almost replace half a man's work."

"Almost?"

"Very almost." Joe smiled. Mike glanced toward him.

"You'll be stronger than him." The sentence came casually. Joe stopped smiling.

"At the same age?"

"Yes." Mike shrugged.

"You learn everything faster." Joe looked back toward the field. He disliked comparisons like that. Not because the observation was wrong. Because Mike did not know what he was comparing. Joe had advantages Simon never received. Decades of memory. Perfect Body. Perfect Health. No Regression. Every Hard Work Pays Off. Judging Simon against that was unfair. Joe said, "Simon started everything first." Mike looked confused.

"So?"

"He had to figure things out without having an older brother already doing them." Mike considered that. Then nodded.

"That helped you."

"A lot." The answer was true enough. Mike picked up his tool.

"Still think you'll be stronger." Joe did not argue. Some conversations did not improve through winning them. Starlight returned soon after harvest. Two years had passed since Joe entered the Talent Hall. The festival remained the largest celebration in Green Hollow. Lanterns appeared. Merchants arrived. The Seven First Fires burned after sunset. Joe enjoyed it. He did not spend the day studying the black stone. It had already given him everything it could.

New children waited outside the testing room with frightened parents. Some passed. Most did not. Joe watched for a little while. Then Mary dragged him toward a stall selling fried dough.

"You have money?"

"No." She stopped.

"Then why did you come?"

"To the festival?"

"To this stall." Joe looked at her.

"That is a reasonable question." Mary found Pam. The financial problem disappeared. Later, Joe examined medicinal goods with Merek's training behind his eyes. He recognized poor drying. Overpriced common herbs. One genuinely good bundle he could not afford and did not need. Simon spent even longer near the martial medicine. He was close to Dynamic Minor. That made every packet look like time. Joe understood. Neither bought anything. At sunset, the family stood together beneath the Starlight sky. Pam talked.

Lily corrected her. Mike drank. Joseph watched the fires. Mary ate something sticky. Simon explained part of the ceremony to a younger child who had attended it every year of his life. Joe listened. For a moment, he did not think about cultivation. That felt good. The next morning he returned to the Hall. Static Foundation was still waiting. Joe entered the first stance. The resonance appeared almost immediately. Second. Faster. Third. Clear. Fourth.

The slightest adjustment in his breathing changed the Blood Energy throughout his body strongly enough that he noticed it before the physical posture itself felt different. Joe became very still. Not a breakthrough. Close. Closer than before Starlight. He finished the sequence and began again. Progress remained slow. But slow was no longer the same as uncertain. Major Success was there. Joe could feel the shape of the threshold now. He simply had not crossed it yet. That was enough.

One more month would answer the question.