He took the Iron Organ Pill on the last night of the first month.
It was worse than the Bone Descent Pill. Where that one had been heat and density, the Iron Organ Pill was pressure — deep, full-body pressure like being squeezed from the inside. His organs flexed and strained. His vision went dark twice.
He bit a leather strap and trained through it.
By the third hour, it passed. His body felt different in a fundamental way. Lighter despite being denser. Like his organs had reorganized themselves for maximum efficiency.
Body Tempering Level Five.
In the morning he moved differently. Not dramatically — it wasn't visible to casual eyes — but everything was sharper. His reaction time had dropped. His balance was better. His breathing was deeper without effort.
He fought three sparring partners that morning and won all three without using the Iron Question Fist. Just pure physical advantage.
It felt good. He noted that feeling. He did not let it become arrogance.
During the rest period, Li Meng sat beside him at the water barrel.
'You're Level Five,' Li Meng said quietly.
'Yes.'
'How? You were Level Three three weeks ago.'
'Focused training.'
Li Meng looked at him for a long time. Then looked away. 'I'm not going to ask more. But if someone comes at you because of it, I'm there.'
Wen Dao looked at him. The ink-stained boy from the trial. Calm. Sincere. No calculation in his eyes.
'I know,' Wen Dao said.
On the fourth day of the second month, Wen Dao made a decision about Fang Lie's offer.
He found the Grey Peak leader in the east training courtyard and accepted.
The match was private. No audience. A storage area behind the main training hall, cleared out.
Fang Lie came alone. Wen Dao came alone.
They bowed. Then began.
Fang Lie was Level Six. The difference was immediately apparent. Wen Dao could feel it in the first exchange — Fang Lie's body was simply more. More force in each hit. More speed in each movement. His physical form had a gravity to it.
Wen Dao used everything he had.
He read every signal Fang Lie gave. Shoulder. Feet. Weight shift. Eye direction. The Iron Question Fist was built for this — high-intensity reading against a superior opponent.
He lasted four minutes before the disparity became undeniable. He took a direct hit to the chest that sent him into the storage wall hard. He slid down it.
He got up.
Fang Lie had stopped. He stood in the center of the space, looking at Wen Dao.
'You landed nine strikes,' Fang Lie said.
'Seven clean. Two marginal,' Wen Dao said.
'Against Level Six.' Fang Lie's expression was unreadable. 'The technique is genuine.'
'I know.'
'Most opponents at Level Five land zero against me.' He paused. 'How?'
'I asked questions with each movement. Your answers — the way your body responded — told me where to be.' Wen Dao straightened against the wall. 'You're predictable in one area.'
'Which one?'
'Your left side. You've had an injury to your left hip. Old. Healed wrong. When you rotate left, you compensate.'
Fang Lie's eyes narrowed.
'You read that,' he said slowly.',
'Your body tells its history in how it moves. The hip. A wrist break, left hand, two years ago. Shoulder strain, right side, less than a year.' Wen Dao met his eyes. 'You've fought hard your whole life.'
Something moved in Fang Lie's expression. Not quite surprise. Something older than surprise.
'The protection agreement stands,' Fang Lie said after a silence.
He left.
Wen Dao sat against the wall for a while longer, ribs aching from the chest hit.
He had learned something useful: Fang Lie was dangerous, but he was not simple. He could be reasoned with. The flat eyes were not cold — they were careful.
That was more useful than a month's protection.