Chương 48: Lìchūn: Connection 12

The following morning, Elder Huan looks at her once. His gaze moves from Liu Yinhua's stance, to the way she breathes, to the way her weight sits through both feet instead of favouring one side by habit. His expression does not change. Elder Huan's expression rarely changes in ways that seem designed for other people to enjoy. Then he gives her a single nod. Liu Yinhua bows with the rest of the class, keeps her face composed, and tries not to feel as if the nod has settled somewhere foolishly warm beneath her ribs.

Class begins. It is not suddenly easy. Elder Huan does not become kind because Liu Yinhua has reached Wood Middle. The yard does not soften beneath her feet. The other disciples do not slow for her. The drills still pull at muscle, breath, tendon, and pride in ways that make her suspect Elder Huan has personally cultivated hatred into an instructional art. When Elder Huan orders the run, Liu Yinhua does not fall back toward the rear as she has so often done.

She joins nearer the front instead, not with the fastest disciples, not with the ones who seem built from arrogance and spare breath, but close enough that the old Liu Yinhua would have considered it a public form of self-harm. The first lap burns. By the third, qi has begun to move with each step, not dragged through her limbs after the fact but carried by them. Feet strike earth. Calves gather. Knees flex. Hips turn. Breath drops low and returns.

The green strength threaded through her body holds, bends, returns, holds again. There is no sudden miracle. She still sweats. Her lungs still work hard. Her braid still comes loose, because hairpins have no respect for cultivation. But she does not feel as if every part of her is arguing separately. Her body has become a more obedient conspiracy. She keeps up. Not perfectly. Not gracefully by the end. But she keeps up. When the class shifts into falls and recovery drills, she hits the ground and rises faster.

When Elder Huan has them hold low stances until the yard begins to shimmer in the heat, her thighs ache, but the ache does not panic her. It is only work. When paired staff drills come, she still loses exchanges to disciples who have practised for years longer, but she can see more. Feel more. Her body gives her warnings before failure instead of only informing her afterward. She pushes harder because of it. By dismissal, sweat has run down her spine and dried again beneath her robe. Dust clings to her calves.

Her arms shake faintly from strain, but not the useless trembling of something emptied. The shaking feels closer to a bowstring after release. At the edge of the yard, she pauses before leaving and draws qi carefully through her body the way Tang Mingxia had taught her to settle after strain. Not a full circulation. Not cultivation. Only a controlled flush through muscle and tendon, letting the qi pass through the newly layered places and carry the worst of the exhaustion with it. The effect is not instant.

Then, suddenly, it is. The heaviness in her thighs loosens. The ache in her shoulders thins. Her breath steadies. Sweat cools against her skin, and the world seems to sharpen around her again, not with the unbearable brightness of breakthrough, but with something clean and practical. She had slept only a few hours, troubled by the after-echoes of Wood Middle and the strange awareness of her own body beneath the blankets. She had expected to crawl through the morning on discipline and rice.

Instead, after one careful flush of qi, she feels as rested as if she had slept the full night. There is still hunger beneath it. Still a soft warning from the deeper places that food and real sleep cannot be replaced forever. But the difference is startling enough that she almost laughs. Cultivators are unfair creatures. She is becoming one.

"Liu Yinhua!" She turns to where Shen Yuanzhou is crossing the yard toward her, spear resting over one shoulder, hair damp at his temples and face bright with the same open sincerity that continues to be more difficult to defend against than teasing.

"You were near the front today!" he says.

"I was near the middle of the front."

"That is still near the front!:"It is a very generous measurement."

"It is accurate enough for praise." His grin widens.

"You look stronger." Liu Yinhua folds her hands in her sleeves because she is suddenly aware of them.

"Wood Middle."

"I thought so." He looks genuinely pleased. Not surprised, not assessing what it means for the trial. Only pleased, as if Liu Yinhua has brought him good news about the weather.

"Congratulations, Miss Liu!"

"Thank you." He beams at her. It is too much. No one should make congratulations look that... bright.

"You should tell Xie Lianqiu before she hears from someone else," Shen Yuanzhou says.

"She will be annoyed if she does not get to be happy properly."

"She is often annoyed."

"Ah, but she prefers to choose why!" That is probably true. Shen Yuanzhou shifts the spear on his shoulder.

"We are training this afternoon. Same yard as yesterday. Chi Yanluo will want to adjust the formation now that you have broken through even a little, and Duan Xueheng has opinions about footwork."

"Duan Xueheng has opinions about everything."

"He does," Shen Yuanzhou says with great affection.

"Most of them are useful.." Liu Yinhua's mouth curves before she can stop it.

"I will be there," she says.

"Good." Shen Yuanzhou gives her another quick grin with the faintest red in his cheeks, then jogs backward two steps before turning away.

"Eat first!" He calls it as if he has been entrusted with the wisdom of elders. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Unfortunately, he is right. Liu Yinhua eats. Her hunger after Wood Middle has not vanished. It has become less... excessive, but it still sits in her body. She eats rice, greens, fish, buns, and a bowl of soup, then takes another bun because her hand is being ruled by her stomach, it seems.

Wu Cailan watches this happen and informs her that if she grows any taller, they will need to begin charging her rent by the extra inch. Liu Yinhua tells her that if cultivation makes her tall enough to reach the top shelves without assistance, she will consider the cost worthwhile. Wu Cailan says that is exactly the sort of arrogance that ruins promising youths, said in a lofty, teasing tone. Tang Mingxia says nothing, but she looks briefly satisfied.

By afternoon, Liu Yinhua has washed, changed, eaten again, and tried not to think too much about the spiritual threshold waiting under all of it. Tang Mingxia's advice sits where Liu Yinhua cannot quite ignore it, something to reach toward. So she goes to training. The Crimson Wastes disciples are already arranged around the markers when she arrives, and this time, when Xie Lianqiu sees her, the smile that breaks across her face is so immediate that Liu Yinhua nearly misses a step.

"You did it," Xie Lianqiu says.

"I did." Xie Lianqiu looks as if she might clap, restrains herself, and somehow makes the restraint more obvious than clapping would have been. Shen Yuanzhou does not restrain himself at all.

"I told her congratulations already."

"You did not have permission to go first," Xie Lianqiu says, all bluster in it as she whirls with her hands on her hips to her friend.

"I found her first!"

"That is not how that works!" Chi Yanluo smiles while Duan Xueheng studies Liu Yinhua's stance with the grave attention of someone looking at a bridge after floodwater. Liu Yinhua lets him, mostly because telling Duan Xueheng not to observe things seems like telling water not to be wet.

"You are moving more evenly," he says at last.

"Thank you." That, from Duan Xueheng, is probably excessive praise. Chi Yanluo steps closer. He is not severe today either, only thoughtful, the afternoon light catching warm along the side of his face.

"How does it feel?"

"Strange," Liu Yinhua says.

"But better." He nods as if that makes sense.

"We will not push too far today." Xie Lianqiu looks at him. He looks back. She narrows her eyes.

"You are being reasonable before I can threaten you."

"I do that sometimes."" Rarely when convenient." Shen Yuanzhou leans toward Liu Yinhua and says, very sincerely, "This means they are happy for you."

"I had gathered," she murmurs back.

"Good. Sometimes it can be difficult to tell with our lot." Our.

"I am standing here," Duan Xueheng says.

"Yes," Shen Yuanzhou says.

"That is why I whispered loudly." Duan Xueheng closes his eyes for one brief moment, then opens them and points at the markers.

"Formation." They begin. The physical portion is easier. Still dusty, and full of moments where Liu Yinhua discovers that Wood Middle does not prevent Shen Yuanzhou from being fast, Duan Xueheng from being difficult to read, Chi Yanluo from hitting like a falling roof beam even when he is being careful, or Xie Lianqiu from demanding she dodge. But easier. She recovers faster from falls, and her steps hold under sharper turns.

When Shen Yuanzhou tries to draw her left and cut behind her, her knee does not fold inward as it had the day before. When Duan Xueheng leaves space for her to step into, she feels the trap half a breath earlier, just early enough to know she is losing, which is its own improvement. Xie Lianqiu only corrects her less often and looks pleased each time Liu Yinhua makes a shot while moving. Shen Yuanzhou laughs when she nearly clips his sleeve with a blunt arrow and declares this a deeply personal betrayal.

Duan Xueheng adjusts the markers twice, then once more, accounting for the fact that she can now cross a shorter distance without needing as much cover. Chi Yanluo watches all of this with growing quiet behind his eyes. Perhaps satisfaction. At a pause for water, Chi Yanluo crouches beside the formation map and says, "I asked about Xu Qinghe." Liu Yinhua lowers the cup from her mouth. Xie Lianqiu sits up slightly.

"Not directly," Chi Yanluo adds, glancing at Liu Yinhua.

"What did you hear?" Liu Yinhua asks.

"Medical hall confirms they are careful. Slow under social pressure, but well acclimated to blood. Better at stabilising injuries than most first-years, but not much field experience. No clan backing. No disciplinary trouble, yet." Duan Xueheng adjusts one marker by half a finger-width.

"No one claimed them?"

"Several people have asked. They have not agreed."

"Good," Xie Lianqiu says. Shen Yuanzhou nods.

"That means Liu Yinhua still has a chance." Liu Yinhua looks at him. He looks back, bright and unbothered.

"You are more convincing than several people!"

"That is not necessarily a compliment."

"It is from me!"

"That does not reassure me." Chi Yanluo's mouth curves.

"I am content with the choice if Xu Qinghe agrees. We meet them first, we make the terms clear. If they do not suit us, or if we do not suit them, we do not force the issue." Liu Yinhua nods. That is the answer she wanted. They return to practice. This time, Chi Yanluo has her work less on avoiding the first strike and more on keeping the thread of the art while moving. Dance of Falling Blossoms wants lightness, timing, angles, the body slipping where attention does not expect it to go.

Burning Shadow wants stillness of a different kind, a narrow meeting between covered and uncovered, sun and shadow, heat and restraint. Using both together is unpleasant, and at first, it is impossible. When Liu Yinhua moves, the spark dies. When she holds the spark, her movement stiffens. When she tries to nock, step, draw, and gather at once, the arrow hisses and turns warm in her fingers without taking the technique properly. Xie Lianqiu makes her slow down. Duan Xueheng makes her mark each step.

Shen Yuanzhou stands in the field and waves a padded spear around as a target until Xie Lianqiu tells him that if he makes himself too distracting, she will shoot him on principle. Then Liu Yinhua gets it once. She moves left under Xie Lianqiu's call, lets her sleeve shadow the arrowhead as she draws, gathers the little bite of sun where her thumb covers the shaft, then releases before the spark can collapse. The arrow flies low and fast, gold-white only at the very last instant before it strikes the post.

A black mark blooms around the tip. Her breath catches.

"Again," Xie Lianqiu says immediately. Liu Yinhua laughs once, breathless and disbelieving, and nocks another arrow. Again. Again. Failure still comes. Many times. But her qi no longer flares uselessly through the whole shaft as often. It gathers where she asks it to gather, that little hidden bite of Burning Shadow settles into the arrowhead more readily, almost every third shot at first, then every second, then near enough to every cast that Liu Yinhua begins to trust her own hands. The arrowheads carry sun.

And when she adds more qi, carefully, no more than a breath, no more than a little extra pressure at the release, the effect changes. The first time it happens, the target flares. A small burst of searing golden radiance cracks outward from the point of impact, bright enough that Shen Yuanzhou flinches and Xie Lianqiu says something sharp under her breath. The mark left behind is wider than before, a scorched flower no larger than a medallion, edges pale and smoking. Liu Yinhua lowers the bow.

Her right wrist aches, but she is smiling anyway.

"That," Shen Yuanzhou says, sounding delighted, "was fantastic!" Xie Lianqiu looks at the target, then at Liu Yinhua.

"Can you do it again?"

"I do not know."

"Try." She does, and the next shot fails completely. The one after that carries the spark but not the flare. The fourth flares, smaller this time, but clean. By then Chi Yanluo has gone very still. Liu Yinhua notices because Chi Yanluo is not a person who wastes stillness. Duan Xueheng notices too. Xie Lianqiu sees it and looks from him to the target, then back again.

"What?" Shen Yuanzhou asks, because subtlety has apparently chosen not to cultivate in him today. Or any day, really. Chi Yanluo steps closer to the post and studies the scorched mark.

"It is not enough to stop someone strong."

"I know," Liu Yinhua says.

"It is not enough to break armour."

"I know."

"It is enough to blind someone for half a breath if it bursts near the face. Enough to make a beast flinch if placed at the eye or nostril." The words should sting. They do not, quite, because Chi Yanluo does not say them as dismissal. Liu Yinhua looks at the target, where the burn is still smoking faintly.

"I am still miles behind you," she says.

"Yes," Duan Xueheng says. Xie Lianqiu makes an offended sound, but Duan Xueheng just continues, unbothered.

"But you are still quite useful."

"That sounds terrible," Shen Yuanzhou says.

"It is accurate."

"I thought it sounded encouraging," Chi Yanluo says. Duan Xueheng considers this.

"It was intended to be." Liu Yinhua looks down before they can see too much of her face. Wood Middle hums beneath her skin. Her wrist aches, and her stomach has already begun making quiet threats about dinner. The target bears one small black puncture, one failed ordinary arrow, two coin-wide burns, and several marks from earlier practice. She is not close, not really. But she is closer than she was yesterday. Xie Lianqiu steps beside her and nudges her shoulder lightly with her own.

"Again?" Liu Yinhua lifts the bow.

"Again," she agrees, and fires.