[Two Years Later]
The mountain no longer felt new.
It felt claimed.
A foot came down—
Soft.
Jade did not resist.
It received.
Faint marks traced across the courtyard—thin, overlapping impressions layered over time. Not damage. Not decay.
Use.
Repetition.
Discipline pressed into stone.
Morning mist lingered low along the terraces, drifting between pillars and curling across the edges of the training grounds. It no longer hid the sect.
It moved around it.
As if it had learned the paths already carved by footsteps.
Through the pale haze—
Steel moved.
Yan Chen stepped forward.
His foot settled cleanly.
Weight dropped.
Spine aligned.
His breath flowed—not forced, not measured aloud—just… steady.
The blade rose.
Then cut.
A sharp arc tore through the air.
Clean.
Controlled.
Complete.
CLANG.
The strike met resistance.
Held.
Lu Fang blade pressed against his.
Not breaking.
Not redirecting.
Testing.
For a brief moment—
They stood connected.
