"Can I think about it?" asked Daniel, pausing at her question. "Before I ask you something?"

  "Of course."

  Daniel sat on the courtyard stones, legs still trembling from the horse stance. The cool brick seeped through his jeans. His thighs ached. His calves ached. Everything below his waist had opinions about what he'd just put it through.

  He shifted his weight. Found a slightly less uncomfortable position. The stones were old and uneven, worn smooth in places by decades of feet. A crack ran through one of them, filled with dirt and something green.

  But his mind was somewhere else.

  Li Qinghua had asked if he had questions. He had plenty. The problem was figuring out which one mattered most. Where to even start.

  First, oddly enough: how do I not get my ass kicked by a girl a third time?

  How do I not lose again?

  What was the difference between them?

  Li Mei was skilled, yes. Fast. Experienced. She moved like fighting was breathing. Like every strike was something she'd done ten thousand times before. But he had qi too. He could use techniques. They were probably roughly the same age unless she was like some vampire that looked way younger than she really was. In theory, they should at least be roughly matched.

  So why was she so much better? Longer training? More knowledge? Some secret technique he didn't know about?

  Daniel rubbed his shoulder.

  There had to be a reason. Something he was missing.

  He thought back to his notebook, flipping through weeks of scattered observations in his mind. Forum posts and library books and late nights trying to make sense of all the things he didn't understand.

  Then it clicked.

  She knows what she's doing.

  Not just the techniques. A complete system of understanding. Or at least a better one. Why techniques worked. Probably, which meridians to train because she knows pressure points. What to practice when. How to combine different skills into something greater than the sum of its parts. She most likely had her life planned out for her. A path. A true blown martial heritage passed down from teacher to student, generation after generation.

  Lineage.

  That's what people called it in the old stories. Lineage meant a teacher, yes. But more than that. It meant knowledge. The accumulated understanding passed down through generations. Secrets that took lifetimes to discover, handed down in a single conversation. An arrow on a map that showed you where to go.

  Daniel picked up a pebble from between the stones. Turned it over in his fingers. Smooth on one side. Rough on the other. Probably been sitting in that same spot for years.

  A bird landed on the courtyard wall. Small. Brown. Nothing special. It cocked its head at him like he was the weird one. Flew away.

  Daniel watched it go.

  There were always those stories with established martial sects being way better than those native martial artists who came out of the wilds. The lone genius who figured everything out on his own, only to get destroyed by some kid from a proper school. This was probably it. The sects knew what worked and didn't work. They didn't have to waste time trying to figure out what was real or have no direction in where they were going. They didn't waste time trying random things, hoping something would stick.

  They had centuries of trial and error already done for them. Techniques that had been tested in actual fights, against actual opponents, with actual consequences. Training methods that had been refined over generations. Everything documented. Every mistake already made so you didn't have to make it yourself.

  He had some direction. Six techniques he was trying to train so that he'd be a complete fighter, but he didn't know anything else. What to train next or even how to figure out those techniques, unless he got lucky and it fell out of the sky. He'd been trying to build the same thing from scratch. Reinventing the wheel. Stumbling around in the dark.

  But lineage was just knowledge, right? And knowledge could come from anywhere.

  There is a saying the dao is in everything. That life gives you tools to deal with things but it's up to you to figure out how to make them all work together.

  He had tools. He just needed to recognize them for what they were.

  Henry was leaning against the wall nearby, eyes half-closed, still recovering. His shirt dark with sweat. A thin line of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. Li Qinghua sat on her wooden stool, patient. Waiting. Her hands folded over her walking stick. The courtyard had gone golden with late afternoon light, shadows stretching long across the worn stones.

  Daniel pulled out his notebook. The cover was getting worn now. Edges soft from handling. He flipped to a blank page.

  He had three things that revolved around his entire knowledge of how qi worked. The forums, Li Qinghua, and himself.

  If he thought about it like tools in a shed.

  He could use the forums for ideas and suggestions just like how they recommended circulation and other techniques to stabilize qi. A thousand voices arguing about what was real. Most of them probably wrong. But somewhere in the noise, fragments of truth.

  He had Li Qinghua with traditional stories and teachings to bridge the gap between fantasy and reality. Someone who'd actually grown up with this stuff, even if she said she'd never trained herself.

  He had himself. Who could perform qi and find out what worked and what didn't. The test subject. The lab rat.

  Everything he had was here. He just had to make it into one complete system.

  Lineage becomes Knowledge.

  But couldn't it also go in the reverse?

  Knowledge becomes Lineage.

  If he didn't have a lineage. He could make one himself. Piece it together from every source he could find until it became a system of understanding. His own path. His own map. Built from scratch, yes, but built deliberately. Not stumbling around in the dark.

  The idea felt right. Like another piece falling into place.

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  So, let's start from the top. What did he have to know to become an expert martial artist? Step one. He needed to figure out everything there was about how qi worked. The fundamentals. The basics that everything else was built on.

  The basics first. Build from there.

  Daniel looked up from his notebook. "Can I ask you something?"

  Li Qinghua nodded. Her walking stick rested against her knee. She looked comfortable on that stool, like she could sit there for hours. Probably had, over the years.

  "How does jing become qi? Like, what's the actual mechanism?"

  "Stories mention it's like burning incense," she said. Simple. Matter-of-fact. "Jing is the fuel. Qi is what comes out."

  Daniel wrote that down. Simple, but it made sense. Strong body meant more fuel. More fuel meant more qi to work with. That's why the horse stance mattered. That's why the physical training came first. You couldn't burn what you didn't have.

  "And meridians?" he asked. "According to old stories?"

  "They are just paths qi flows through in the body. When they're fully blocked, qi can't flow. If it's half-blocked qi gets trapped. Stagnant. When they're open, it flows freely."

  Like plumbing, Daniel thought. Pipes. Clogs. Water pressure. The metaphor wasn't perfect, but it was close enough. At least his earlier framework was working as intended.

  He stared at his notes. Something was clicking together.

  "Hand meridians for hand techniques," he said slowly. "Leg meridians for leg techniques?"

  Li Qinghua tilted her head. A small motion. Considering. "That's the basic idea, yes."

  Daniel thought deeper.

  If that's true, then my Tiger Claw could only work if I had unblocked my hand meridians. But when did that happen? I must have unlocked it without knowing. Without even realizing what I was doing.

  And the wall. When I used qi for the first time and broke the wall. I must have already unlocked whatever meridian that was as well. Otherwise, the qi would've gotten stuck, done nothing. Just pressure with nowhere to go.

  It made sense.

  Was there anything I was missing? Any odd sensations that accompanied it? Any pattern I hadn't noticed?

  Daniel started reorganizing his notebook and his thoughts clearly. Writing it out like evidence at a crime scene. Facts first. Then connections. Then conclusions.

  First meridian was probably released when I broke the wall. That was most likely my chest area, maybe lower body. The punch came from the whole body. Hip rotation, shoulder extension, everything. A full-body movement that happened to break through something.

  I felt something a few times after that. A strange feeling. During Standing Meditation, then boxing, and when I did Tiger Claw. I felt more solid with each iteration. Like a brick being laid on top of a house. More stable.

  The courtyard was quiet. Henry had dozed off against the wall, mouth slightly open. Snoring faintly. A fly buzzed past his face and he didn't even twitch. Li Qinghua watched Daniel write, saying nothing. Patient as stone.

  Then it hit him.

  Emotion. I felt a specific emotion each time I felt something shift in my body and it was only then I was able to perform a technique.

  Daniel stared at the page. Started writing faster.

  I was frustrated, then I calmed down.

  I was angry, then I was peaceful.

  I was confused, then I was thoughtful.

  Not just any emotions. Transitions. Going from one state to another. The shift itself was the key. Not the starting point. Not the ending point. The change from one state to another. Not too stiff or soft. The middle way.

  "Wait," Daniel said, a new connection forming. His pen tapped against the notebook. "In all the old stories, the heroes always travel. They leave the mountain, go to cities, get into trouble. Why?"

  Li Qinghua looked at him. Her expression neutral. Giving nothing away.

  "If you could train everything on a mountain, why leave? The monks at Shaolin, the priests at Wudang. They train for decades in isolation. They have everything they need right there. Teachers, training grounds, other students to practice with. But the greatest heroes in the stories always leave. They always go out into the world. Why would they give up all those advantages?"

  He started writing faster. The pen scratching against paper:

  Mountains: Isolation, meditation, discipline.

  Cities: Chaos, danger, connections.

  Travel: New experiences, different challenges.

  "Different environments create different emotions," Daniel said. The words coming faster now, tumbling out before he could second-guess them. "A monk on a mountain can train patience, discipline, focus. He can sit in meditation for hours. But courage from real danger? Fear of death? The chaos of a crowd where anything could happen? You can't get that in isolation. You can't fake it. The mountain is safe. The world isn't."

  He looked up at her.

  "The dao is everywhere. That's what the stories say. But it's not that everything can teach you the same things. It's that different experiences teach different things. Mountains train some things. Cities train others. Danger trains some. Peace trains others. You need all of it."

  Li Qinghua's expression shifted. Interest, maybe. Or concern. "That's..."

  "They're seeking experiences," Daniel finished. He was on a roll now. Everything clicking together. "That's why regular training is slower. Why wandering heroes in the stories catch up to established masters. Why heroes arise in chaotic times. During peace things are practiced in controlled environments. Safe. Structured. But some meridians need chaos to open. Some need real fear. Some need..."

  He looked at his notes again. The pattern clear now. Or at least he thought it was clear.

  "It's not about the technique," Daniel said quietly. "It's about what you feel when you do it."

  Li Qinghua was quiet for a long moment.

  "You may be right," she said finally. "But you're also making it sound simpler than it is."

  Daniel looked up.

  "Yes, heroes travel in the stories. But do you know why Shaolin monks leave the temple? It's not to experience emotions through chaos. It's alms rounds. They go into the world to beg for food, to practice humility, to remember they're part of society. Some never leave at all and still become masters."

  She tapped her walking stick on the ground. The sound echoed off the brick walls.

  "And the wandering heroes? Look closer at those stories. Who were really the strongest of the ancient era? Zhang Sanfeng meditated in the mountains for years before he founded Wudang. Bodhidharma sat facing a wall for nine years. If varied emotions were everything, then how did these eminent masters achieve greatness through years of isolation doing the same thing?"

  She hesitated. Something flickered across her face. Gone before Daniel could read it.

  "In traditional stories, the ones who travel and get stronger already had something to build on. Yue Fei learned archery from Zhou Tong, spear from Chen Guang before he became a famous general. Yang Luchan studied for years under Chen Changxing before he ever left Chen Village to become Yang the Invincible. They already had great martial skill before they ever left, before they became famous. They weren't starting from nothing and hoping random experiences would unlock their potential."

  Daniel opened his mouth, but she continued. Her voice patient but firm. The voice of someone who'd heard eager young people get ahead of themselves before.

  "The ones who truly started from nothing? The so called 'wild martial artists'?" She shook her head slowly. "Most of them are villains in the stories. Or they're dead. Or they're the fool who thinks he's a master but gets beaten by anyone with real training. Not true experts. Not real masters. Just people who convinced themselves they knew more than they did."

  She paused. Let that sink in.

  "The wilderness produces predators, yes. But it also produces corpses. For every wild genius who figures out the secrets on their own, there are a hundred who die trying. The stories only remember the successes. They don't tell you about all the failures."

  Daniel looked down at his notebook. The connections that had seemed so clear a moment ago suddenly felt less certain. The pattern was still there. He could see it. But maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see.

  Li Mei had teachers. Structure. Years of training, probably. A whole organization behind her. Resources. Knowledge passed down through generations. People who'd already made the mistakes so she didn't have to.

  The math wasn't good. Possibly, hundreds of years of experience vs his eighteen years of living.

  Maybe he was just a kid with a notebook trying to convince himself he wasn't completely outmatched. Trying to find patterns where there weren't any. Seeing what he wanted to see because the alternative was too depressing to think about.

  Li Qinghua watched him. Her gaze steady despite her age. Missing nothing. Reading the doubt on his face like words on a page.

  "You're not wrong to look for patterns," she said quietly. "That instinct is good. Most people never think to ask why things are the way they are. They just accept what they're told and never question it. But don't mistake a single pattern for the whole picture. Just because we describe it doesn't mean words can fully encompass all of it. Once you define it, you limit what it could be."

  She let that hang in the air for a moment.

  "The dao that can be spoken is not the eternal dao. You've heard that, yes?"

  Daniel nodded.

  "There's a reason for that saying. The moment you put something into words, you've already lost part of it."

  She stood, leaning on her walking stick. Her joints creaked faintly.

  "Come. We'll continue."

  Daniel closed his notebook. The questions weren't answered. But they weren't going anywhere either. They'd still be there tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

  He got to his feet. His legs protested. Loudly.

  Time to train.