The morning mist hadn’t yet burned away, clinging to the ground in wisps that curled around Jiang’s boots as he walked. The others moved in quiet formation – Li Xuan at the front, Mistress Bai behind him, Zhang bringing up the rear.

  They had pressed on for a few hours last night before finding a place to make camp. Jiang wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it – he didn’t exactly mind sleeping in the woods, but that didn’t mean he would turn down the opportunity to sleep in an inn either. Was the couple of extra hours distance they made really that important?

  It was somewhat strange to find himself lamenting the lack of accommodations, really – it hadn’t been that long ago since sleeping outside in winter was downright dangerous. Now, it was just a little uncomfortable.

  At least the bickering between Li Xuan and Mistress Bai had mostly subsided, replaced by a tense, wary silence. They still exchanged sharp glances and the occasional barbed comment, but the immediate crisis seemed to have forced a grudging truce.

  It had left the days surprisingly quiet, but… Jiang didn’t mind the silence. He’d grown up in quieter places than this. His thoughts tended to wander when there wasn’t conversation to anchor them, and now they drifted toward the play of shadows beneath his feet.

  He wasn’t really paying attention to it at first. It had become something of a habit – watching the way the darkness shifted and stretched, the faint, slow pulse that seemed to echo his breathing. It wasn’t even deliberate. Just… comforting, in a strange way. A quiet reminder that there was still something inside him moving when everything else felt so still.

  “You’re doing it again,” Li Xuan said suddenly.

  Jiang blinked, glancing up. “Doing what?” he asked, before following the disciple’s gaze down to the shadows by his feet. He quickly stilled them. “Oh. That. Wasn’t thinking about it.”

  “That is precisely the problem. Your Qi is manifesting without conscious intent. It’s a leak. A sign of poor control.”

  Jiang frowned. “It’s not like it’s doing any harm.”

  “Not yet,” Li Xuan agreed. “But it’s not about harm – it’s about control. Qi should never move on its own. If it’s acting without conscious intent, it means it’s not obeying you. It means your Qi is leaking into the world around you, and that means two things; one, it’s draining you constantly – though, granted, it’s a negligible drain – and two, it’s learning habits that will be very difficult to undo later.”

  Jiang raised an eyebrow. “Learning habits? You’re acting like Qi is alive.”

  “Not alive, no, but Qi is a reflection of its cultivator,” Li Xuan said. “It follows patterns you set – your emotions, your instincts, even your stray thoughts. The more power you gain, the stronger those patterns become. If you do not learn discipline now, what happens when you reach the Core Formation realm? Will every shadow within a mile twist and writhe according to your subconscious whims? At that level, your ‘idle habit’ could kill mortals by the dozens without you even noticing.”

  Zhang, walking behind them, looked vaguely horrified. “Would that actually happen?”

  Li Xuan nodded. “I’ve seen something similar. An old sect brother with fire affinity – his Qi responded to anger. Lost his temper during a spar once and set the entire courtyard alight. Dozens were injured before he even realised what was happening.”

  Jiang grimaced. “Right. So that’s bad.”

  “To say the least,” Li Xuan responded dryly before turning his gaze to Zhang. “Junior Brother Zhang. What is the solution to uncontrolled Qi manifestation?”

  Zhang hesitated, clearly caught off guard. “Better… control, Senior Brother?” he ventured uncertainly.

  Li Xuan smiled faintly. “A truly gifted instructor would guide you to the answer through careful questioning. Unfortunately for both of you, I am not a gifted instructor, so I’m just going to tell you. Learn techniques. That’s the answer. A cultivator without techniques is a cultivator without structure. The reason free-form manipulation is generally reserved for higher stages is that, by then, a cultivator’s Qi has been properly conditioned – taught to act only when called upon. Before that point, it’s too wild, too reactive. Techniques channel it safely, shaping intent into form.”

  Jiang scowled. “I don’t know. Free-form seems more flexible. Why waste time memorising some set pattern when you can just make it do what you want? If you learn how to make a sword out of shadow, what happens when you need an axe?”

  It was the same argument he’d used when Zhang had recommended learning techniques instead of wasting time figuring out free-form manipulation. Granted, Zhang’s arguments had been more formed from the belief that it would take him too long to learn free-form manipulation – but Jiang had the advantage of the Pact.

  Not to mention it just felt more natural.

  Li Xuan raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “An interesting analogy. Let us test it.” He stopped, turning fully to face Jiang. “Attack me. Use your shadows however you wish.”

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  Mistress Bai arched a brow but said nothing.

  Jiang hesitated, then shrugged. “Alright.”

  He focused, drawing on his Qi, pushing his will into the shadows around Li Xuan’s feet. He shaped them, sharpened them, willed them to lash out, to bind, to strike. Tendrils of darkness rose from the ground, reaching for Li Xuan’s ankles—

  —and dissolved into nothingness inches from his boots. They simply fell apart, like smoke blown away by a gentle breeze. Li Xuan hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even flared his own Qi in defence.

  Jiang stared, confused. He tried again, forming a thicker, more solid spike of shadow and thrusting it forward. It disintegrated before it even got close.

  “As a cultivator advances,” Li Xuan explained calmly, “their own Qi naturally forms a passive ward against ambient, unstructured energies – and while your shadows are directed, that doesn’t make them structured. Against a mortal, or a cultivator in the first realm, they’ll work just fine – but as your foes advance, they will become progressively less useful. This is slightly mitigated by the fact that you will be able to imbue the shadows with more Qi and Intent, but that’s a race you will only ever lose.” He shrugged. “Essentially, it will let you beat easy opponents even easier than normal, but against any true opponent, they will be useless.”

  “Not entirely useless,” Mistress Bai interjected, stepping forward. She had been watching the exchange with a detached, analytical interest. “Your Pact likely grants you a far greater affinity for this kind of manipulation than most, Jiang Tian. With time and practice, your free-form techniques could become potent indeed. But,” she added, her gaze sharp, “Disciple Li is correct. Structure provides focus. Power. There is a reason every cultivator – even, I would wager, those with Pacts – relies upon established techniques.”

  Jiang looked back down at his feet, where his shadows were already beginning to stir again. He was getting the sinking feeling that his advantages wouldn’t let him avoid hard work nearly as much as he’d hoped. “So techniques for power, free-form for versatility,” he muttered.

  Truthfully, the idea of actually learning to control it properly was… tempting. He glanced at the faint ripple of shadow still lingering at his feet and wondered just how much of it was really his – and how much belonged to the thing that had given it to him.

  Li Xuan inclined his head slightly. “A fair summary. I can teach you some basic principles while we travel. Control exercises, Qi refinement methods. Though I warn you, my own focus has always been on techniques that bolster swordsmanship. And,” he added, with a faint, self-deprecating grimace, “I am not, by nature, a patient teacher.”

  Jiang gave him a sidelong look. “Yes,” he said dryly. “I remember your teaching style.”

  Li Xuan blinked. “You do?”

  Jiang stared. Was he that forgettable? “Back at the Sect? Elder Lu asked you to train me to fight? As far as I can recall, it consisted mostly of hitting me with a wooden sword whenever I held mine wrong, followed by the occasional cryptic remark about balance or intent.”

  Li Xuan coughed, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Ah. Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “I would like to apologise for that. I… many of the elders have instructed me to teach students over the years, and, well, to be entirely honest, my intention then was less ‘teaching’ and more… encouraging you to pursue other interests.”

  Zhang looked genuinely dismayed by the admission, though he wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Mistress Bai, however, did not. “How very… diligent of you, Disciple Li,” she said, her voice dripping with mock admiration. “To go to such lengths to discourage a junior. Truly, the Azure Sky Sect’s commitment to nurturing talent is inspiring.”

  Li Xuan’s flush deepened. “It was a misjudgment,” he said stiffly.

  “Was it?” she murmured, turning her attention to Jiang. “As it happens, I wouldn’t mind lending a hand. My focus has always been on technique refinement rather than martial application. And,” she said, giving Jiang a quick, assessing look, “I rather suspect the structured rigidity of sect-style training wouldn’t suit you anyway. You’re not the sort to learn well from recitation and repetition. Like you, I had no formal master to guide my early steps. I learned by doing, by trial and error. Perhaps that approach would suit you better. I could teach you some foundational techniques, if you are amenable. Basic energy manipulation, shielding, perhaps even a few simple offensive constructs. Nothing specific to your affinity, of course, but the principles are universal.”

  Jiang looked from her to Li Xuan, surprised by the offer. Li Xuan’s expression was carefully neutral, but Jiang could see a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. He clearly wondered why she was being so helpful. Jiang wondered the same thing, but he wasn’t stupid enough to turn down the offer. Learning from someone like her, even basic techniques, was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss.

  “I’d appreciate that, Mistress Bai,” he said.

  Zhang, seeing an opportunity, stepped forward hesitantly. “Mistress Bai, Senior Brother Li… if you are offering instruction… might I also impose? Any guidance you could offer would be invaluable.”

  Mistress Bai’s expression softened slightly. “You may. It won’t hurt to have more students.”

  Li Xuan, perhaps feeling a pang of guilt over his earlier treatment of Jiang, or perhaps just wanting to reassert his own authority, added, “In that case, it seems I should do something as well. It would be rather poor form to have you teaching while I sit idle. While Mistress Bai handles the theoretical aspects, I can offer some practical instruction in swordsmanship, Junior Brother Zhang. Your form is adequate, but lacks… intent.”

  Zhang looked genuinely delighted. “Thank you, Senior Brother! I would be honoured.”

  “Good,” Li Xuan said. “It is settled then. We will make camp early today and begin.”

  Jiang gave Zhang a sidelong glance. “Better you than me,” he said under his breath. “I think I can still feel the bruises from his last lot of ‘instruction’.”

  Li Xuan turned back, unamused. “You’ll be joining us,” he said.

  Jiang blinked. “What?”

  “It’ll be good practice,” Li Xuan said evenly. “You both need to spar with opponents of a similar level, and Zhang could use someone unpredictable to test himself against. Besides,” he added, “it’ll give you a chance to put your shadow manipulation to practical use under pressure.”

  Jiang just sighed. It seemed his hopes of avoiding more of Li Xuan’s ‘teaching’ had been overly optimistic. Still, sparring with Zhang might actually be useful. Maybe even fun, if their earlier brawl was anything to go by.

  Mistress Bai smirked. “Think of it as motivation. You’ll either improve quickly or get hit repeatedly. Both are valuable lessons.”

  Jiang gave a weary sigh. “Great,” he muttered. “Lessons and sparring. Exactly what I was missing.”

  But despite his tone, there was something faintly restless beneath the irritation – something that felt almost like anticipation.