Chapter 38
Wuming, behind them, ran like a blade—precise, controlled, silent. His exhaustion was not absent; it was contained. There was a certain cruelty in that restraint, the kind that turns inward rather than outward. He did not waste energy on frustration, nor on defiance. He simply continued. And perhaps that was more dangerous than either.
Above them, untouched by all of this, Lin Yi turned another page.
The contrast was almost offensive.
There they were—breathless, trembling, collapsing inch by inch under the philosophy of effort—while he sat upon a moving serpent as though seated in a quiet study, reading a text whose thickness alone suggested patience beyond ordinary measure. If there was irony, it was deliberate.
"Faster," he said again, without looking up.
It was not an instruction.
It was a conclusion.
The snake obeyed its own nature, as all things do when unburdened by doubt. It struck again—its tongue snapping outward with careless precision, marking them with its presence. And thus, the lesson continued: that the world does not strike with fairness, nor does it wait for readiness; it simply acts, and expects one to keep pace.
Weiyang ducked this time—barely, clumsily, but enough.
A small victory.
Insignificant in scale, yet immense in implication.
He laughed—short, breathless. "It missed."
Wuming glanced at him briefly. "It adapted," he replied. "So should you."
Weiyang grimaced. "You sound like him now."
"Unfortunate," Wuming said flatly, and kept running.
Ahead, Yinghua stumbled again, her foot catching against a root—but Wei Zhi's arm shifted just slightly, enough to steady her without breaking stride. No words were exchanged. None were needed. Some forms of understanding are too efficient for language.
And so they continued, bound not by comfort, nor by agreement, but by a shared resistance to stopping.
For what is discipline, if not the quiet agreement to endure what one does not yet understand?
Above them, Lin Yi finally paused—not in motion, but in reading. His eyes lifted, silver catching the fractured light of the forest, and for the briefest moment, he looked at them not as students… but as something in progress.
"Remember," he said, voice calm yet carrying effortlessly through the air, "strength is not in lifting the weight."
A pause.
"It is in continuing… after you have realized how heavy it truly is."
Then his gaze returned to the book.
Another page turned.
The snake moved.
And below—
They ran.
They kept running.
Not for minutes—but for an hour that stretched like punishment carved into time itself, each second dragging against their bodies like an unseen weight heavier than the logs they carried. The forest had long lost its beauty; the trees were no longer shelter, the sunlight no longer warmth—it all blurred into something relentless, something that watched without mercy as they struggled beneath it.
Their breaths were no longer steady. They tore through their lungs, ragged, uneven, burning.
Sweat soaked them completely.
Arms trembled violently, fingers stiffening, shoulders screaming beneath the ten kilograms raised above their heads.
And still—
They ran.
Above them, untouched, unmoved, Lin Yi finally spoke, his voice calm, almost curious as if observing an experiment rather than enduring one. "How long are you all planning to keep this up… hmm?" A pause, his silver eyes flickering faintly across the page before him. "Yinghua? Wuming? You both are falling behind."
And they were.
Far ahead, Wei Zhi and Weiyang had taken the lead. The distance between them was not accidental—it was carved by difference.
Weiyang ran like someone who had known hardship not as training, but as survival. His body was used to labor, to hunger, to exhaustion that did not negotiate. He did not question effort—he lived inside it.
And Wei Zhi—controlled, sharp, efficient—ran with precision, her movements disciplined, her breathing measured even under strain.
Behind them—
Wuming and Yinghua.
Wuming, whose strength was sharp but not yet enduring, whose stamina still needed forging, felt the weight in a way that was new—not unbearable, but unfamiliar in its persistence.
And Yinghua—
She had nothing.
No clan foundation.
No Zhen.
No Fa.
No Quan.
No Qinggong.
No Jue.
No Zhang.
No inheritance of strength to lean on.
Only her own will.
And that—
Was being crushed.
Her face had lost all color, her features melting under exhaustion, her lips parted as she struggled to breathe, her arms shaking so violently it seemed they would collapse any second.
Wuming was no better—his steps heavier now, his breathing tighter, his control beginning to fracture.
Lin Yi turned a page.
"At this rate," he said casually, "you'll all be stuck doing this for a month."
A second passed.
Then—
"NO WAYYYY!"
Weiyang exploded forward, his voice breaking through the forest as he sprinted even faster, forcing his already exhausted body beyond its limits.
Wei Zhi glanced at him, disbelief flashing briefly across her otherwise composed expression. What a monster… how is he even running like that?
Behind, Wuming's eyes narrowed slightly as something like urgency—or perhaps fear—touched him. "Man… I never thought I'd do this…" he muttered, and then he pushed forward too.
Yinghua gasped, her voice trembling. "Oh no… I can't keep up with any of them—"
The snake struck.
Its long, wet tongue lashed across her back.
Warm.
Sticky.
Heavy.
The impact jolted through her body as she stumbled forward, nearly losing her balance entirely.
Above, Lin Yi's voice came again, unchanged. "Yinghua. What happened?"
Her legs felt like they would give out. "I… I can't run anymore, Shifu…"
"Oh?" he replied lightly. "Is that so?"
A pause.
"How will you carry on a mission if you give up so easily?"
His words did not shout.
They pressed.
"Don't you want to go on a mission?"
Her breath hitched.
"The other teams must already be preparing. They've completed their tasks."
Yinghua's eyes widened slightly despite her exhaustion. "…There are tasks for you to give us?"
"Yup."
Another page turned.
"That's true, Yinghua. Don't give up. It won't happen overnight. But if you give up… it won't happen at all."
A moment passed.
"So move forward."
His voice softened slightly, but only slightly.
"Just like you did when I summoned the snake for your practice… and you ran in the front."
Another pause.
"Be in the front, Yinghua."
Something changed.
Not outside—
Inside.
His words did not comfort.
They ignited.
Her trembling did not stop—but it transformed.
Her grip tightened, her gaze lifting slowly, something fierce and burning taking shape within her.
She inhaled sharply.
Ignite me.
Her lips curved.
And then—
She screamed.
Not weakly.
Not fearfully.
But like something breaking free.
Wuming turned, startled, as she surged forward.
Fast.
Too fast.
She overtook him—
Second place now.
Wei Zhi remained first.
Weiyang, burning through his earlier burst, had begun to fall behind.
"I am NOT getting hit by that slimy tongue again!" Yinghua shouted, her voice alive, fierce. "Take my place if you want—any of youuuu!!!"
She came beside Wuming, running with him.
Behind them—
Weiyang screamed as the snake's tongue struck him this time.
Yinghua glanced at Wuming.
His hair had fallen loose, damp, sticking to his face—but still aligned, still controlled in its own way. His movements were sharp, but strained, the weight dragging at him more than he showed.
But it wasn't that—
It was his eyes.
Golden.
Bright.
But empty.
Dead tired.
Her own eyes—warm, alive—could not even reflect in that brightness.
"Wuming—"
He didn't look at her at first, pushing forward again before groaning under the strain of the log. Then he turned slightly. "What?"
"You… you are hurt."
"I'm not."
She frowned slightly. "I thought you were the smartest."
A small pause.
"I guess not."
And then she moved ahead.
Second place.
Leaving him behind.
Wuming blinked, watching her back.
What did she mean…?
His steps slowed for a moment.
Am I hurt?
He hadn't noticed.
He didn't feel anything.
Not pain.
Not strain.
Nothing.
Have I become so… empty… that I can't even feel pain anymore?
He tried to move forward again—
But couldn't keep up.
"Run faster," Lin Yi's voice cut through again.
Then—
"The winner gets to eat."
A pause.
"The loser… will be hanged upside down from a tree."
Another page turned.
"Without food."
Wei Zhi ran faster.
Yinghua did too.
Wuming groaned—
And suddenly—
Pain struck.
Not in his limbs.
But in his chest.
Sharp.
Deep.
He stopped for a second, breath catching, unable to move.
He couldn't use any Zhang.
No Zhen.
Rules.
This was a stripped test.
Nothing but body.
Nothing but will.
He looked ahead—
At them.
Getting farther.
"No…" he muttered.
"No—"
He shook his head violently, as if rejecting the thought itself.
And then—
He moved.
Forward.
Faster.
Pushing past the resistance.
He reached Yinghua—
Barely.
"…Yinghua," he muttered.
She glanced back. "What?"
"Come beside me."
She snorted, breathless. "There's no way I'm going behind for anyone—not even you, Wuming."
A breath.
"But—"
Her teeth clenched.
"I'll pull you beside me instead."
Her grip tightened.
And suddenly—
She threw the log.
Up.
Into the air.
It spun above them, cutting through the sunlight.
Wei Zhi saw it.
Weiyang gasped behind them.
Above—
Lin Yi's lips curved slightly.
"What a crazy girl…"
Yinghua turned back, her eyes burning with determination.
Wuming was watching her.
She reached out—Grabbed his collar—And pulled.
Hard.
His body lurched forward—Beside her.
No—In front.
She shoved him ahead.
Above them—The log spun. Suspended for a fleeting moment.
Between falling—And control.
And below—They ran.
And in that fleeting moment—when the log spun above them, suspended between gravity and will—Yinghua lifted both her hands into the air, fingers spread, arms trembling yet unwavering, her entire body aligned with a single purpose. Her eyes shone—not with ease, not with comfort—but with something fiercer, something born in the space where exhaustion should have ended her. Determination. Raw, burning, unrefined. Lin Yi's words had not soothed her—they had ignited her. And now she reached upward as if she could grasp not just the falling weight, but the very idea of rising beyond herself.
The log descended.
Fast.
Unforgiving.
And she caught it.
The impact traveled through her arms, into her shoulders, down her spine—but she did not falter. A sharp voice escaped her lips, almost a hiss, as if pain itself had been forced into sound and expelled. Still, she held it. Still, she ran.
Above, Lin Yi finally looked.
Not fully.
But enough.
His silver eyes rested on her for a fraction longer than before, the page in his hand momentarily forgotten. The snake beneath him struck again, its tongue lashing across Weiyang's back with a wet snap, but Lin Yi's attention lingered. The log… Honey Locust, he thought faintly, observing without emotion. Gleditsia triacanthos. Trees with thorns sharp enough to pierce through boots, through tires, through anything careless enough to touch them. And yet—she held it without hesitation. Not because it did not hurt. But because she refused to acknowledge that it could stop her.
Wuming watched her.
For a moment longer than necessary.
Bewildered.
Not by the act itself—but by the absence of hesitation within it.
"You…" he began, but the word fell incomplete. His lips pressed together, brows drawing inward as if rejecting the confusion forming within him. He looked away, as though distancing himself from something he did not yet understand.
She noticed.
Of course she did.
"Yes?" she said lightly, almost teasing despite the strain in her breath, a small smile forming as she ran beside him. "Now tell me… what is it? Or should I say—what do you want to know?"
Then softer—
"Wuming."
His name left her lips differently.
Warmer.
Gentler.
He hesitated.
Then asked, quieter than before, "Where… am I hurt?"
She opened her eyes fully then, her gaze steady, observing him not as someone running beside her—but as something to be read, to be understood.
"Your whole chest," she said simply. "It's bleeding internally. Look."
He frowned slightly and glanced down.
His robes—loosened from constant motion, from strain, from breath—had shifted enough to reveal what he had not noticed. Bruises had begun to form, dark and spreading across his chest, layered like silent marks of impact that his body had endured without complaint.
She said nothing more.
Just watched.
End of 38