At five years old, Cai Feiyin stood at the threshold of something new.He was no lohe small, wide-eyed toddler who had struggled to form words and uand the vastness of the world. In the past three years, he had grown—not only in body, but in mind and spirit.His long obsidian bck hair cascaded down his back, occasionally tied in a loose ponytail by his mother to keep it from falling over his face. His gray eyes, speckled with amethyst, carried a quiet depth far beyond his age. And unlike most children, his height and physique were more developed, thanks to his father’s training. Though still a child, there was strength in his frame, a hint of the foundation being built.The m light filtered through the trees, casting long golden streaks across the dirt path leading toward the vilge training grounds. A familiar rhythm pulsed in the air—the sound of wood striking wood, of gruff voices barking orders, of footsteps shuffling against the ground in disciplined formations. His father’s voice, steady and firm, cut through the atmosphere, anding the vilge militia as they sparred in preparation for whatever dangers might one day e.Cai Feng was a man of few words, but when he spoke, people listened.And today, Feiyin would finally stand before him, ready for his own training to begin.The realizatio a shiver through him, but it was not fear—it was exhiration.Two and a half years had passed since he first began learning, training, growing. The world had revealed itself in ways he had never imagined. And now, he was finally strong enough to take the step.
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His first lesson in strength had not e from his father’s training, but from something far more humbliill remembered it clearly—the first time he had tried to hold a stance. His father had stood before him, arms crossed, watg silently as Feiyin pnted his feet into the dirt. His knees bent, his body tense, every muscle in his small frame trying desperately to hold still.At first, it seemed easy. But as the seds stretched into minutes, a dull ache began to creep up his legs, then fire, burning through his thighs.He gritted his teeth, his small fists g.His father remained uhe world had slowed to the sound of his own poundibeat, the rhythmic hum of tension radiating through his body. Every breath felt heavier. The osciltions around him shifted, mirr the way his muscles trembled, the way his mind screamed for release.Then, just whehought he might colpse, his father’s voice cut through the silence.“Hold.”A single word.A and, nothing more. But somehow, it carried more weight than the pain in his body.He refused to fall.When it was finally over, when Cai Feng had nodded in approval and told him to rest, Feiyin had colpsed onto the dirt, panting heavily. His father had crouched beside him, smirking ever so slightly.“You’ll remember this,” he had said.And he did.For every lesson after that, Feiyin had held himself longer, pushed himself further, endured a little more. The ache became familiar. The burn became a challenge instead of a burden.And now, as he stood outside the training grounds, feeling the pull of muscle and strength in his limbs, he uood—he had been preparing for this moment all along.
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Of course, strength alone was not enough to survive in this world.His mother had made sure he khat.From a young age, Mei Liao had taught him about more than just books and stories—she had taught him about people.She had done so in subtle ways, never f knowledge upon him, but guiding him to see, to listen, to uand.The first time he had watched her iate with a mert, he had barely uood what was happening. He had simply sat by her side, his small hands folded ly in his p, watg as she exged pleasantries with a traveling trader.The man had been loud and expressive, gesturing wildly as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of a well-rehearsed performance.“Ah, Lady Liao! For you, I have the fi silks, the rarest herbs! A special prily today!”Mei Liao had smiled, her delicate fingers running over a folded cloth, iing the weave.“Special, is it?” she had murmured, tilting her head slightly. “Strange. I heard the caravan that delivered this batch arrived two weeks ago. If it were special, it wouldn’t still be here.”The mert’s smile had faltered, just slightly.Feiyin had felt it—a shift in the osciltions around the man, a flicker of hesitation.“You must be mistaken,” the mert had said, his ugh forced, the rhythm of his speech slightly offbeat. “This is the st of my stock.”His mother had simply tinued iing the cloth, her expression serehen I suppose someone else will take it at a fair price,” she had said, beginning to turn away.The mert had stiffehen quickly forced a chuckle. “Ah—perhaps I lower it a little. A rare exception, just for you.”The deal was struck, and Feiyin had stared at his mother in silent awe.Later, as they walked home, he had tugged on her sleeve.“Mommy,” he had asked. “Did you know he was lying?”She had smiled knowingly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not at first,” she admitted. “But I knew what to look for.”That was the first day he truly uood what she was teag him—not just words, but the truth hiddeh them.In the years that followed, he had watched her again and again, abs the way she navigated versations, transas, and people. She had tested him, letting him read others, challenging him to predict their reas.It was not long before he could see it himself—the subtle pauses, the forced ughter, the hesitation that gave away hidden truths.It was like reading a song that had fallen out of tune.And just like with his father’s training, Feiyin had grown sharper, more precise.
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Music had beehread that tied everything together.It had started as curiosity, a fasation sparked by his mother’s zither. But as time passed, it had bee so much more.In the evenings, after lessons and training were done, Feiyin would sit by the zither, plug at the strings, feeling the way eaote rippled into the space around him.He had learhe weight of silehe power of a sie, the way sound carried i just as much as words did.For the past two and a half years, he had learo feel sound—not just to py, but to uand the way notes shaped emotions, how melodies could mirror the world around him.His mother had taught him how to let the music breathe, how to listen before creating, how to let souhe story instead of f it.And now, when he pyed, it was not simply a song.It was a nguage.One night, as he pyed a melody of his owion, his mother had watched him with quiet iy.“You’re starting to uand,” she had said.Feiyin had hough he hadn’t yet been able to put the feeling into words.Music, like everything else, had been a lesson in band trol.And he had embraced it all.
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Now, standing before his father once more, Feiyihe weight of all he had learhe past two and a half years had shaped him in ways he could never have imagined.He had grown.He had endured.And today, he would begin cultivation.His father’s gaze was steady as he studied him. Then, with a nod, he spoke.“You’re ready.”The words sent a thrill through Feiyin’s chest, but he held himself still, waiting.Cai Feng smirked. “Tomorrow m. We begin at dawn.”Feiyin grinned, his pulse thrumming with anticipation.The journey ahead would not be easy. He khat.But as the wind carried the rhythm of the world around him, as the osciltions in the air hummed in quiet harmony with his own, he uood—he had been preparing for this moment his whole life.And he would not stop now.
