Ishin stared back at his mother, unsure if he had heard correctly. When she said nothing more, he asked, “Become a cultivator?”

  Akira nodded. “You heard me.”

  Become a cultivator. Ishin’s mind spun. She had said, without a doubt, that he could become a cultivator. A rush of emotions flooded him—confusion, hope, and unmistakable rage.

  Keeping his voice composed, Ishin asked, “There’s a way for me to become a cultivator? All this time?”

  “A possibility,” Akira replied. “Not a guarantee.”

  That meant nothing to him. “And you didn’t tell me this?” Now anger was beginning to creep into his tone. “You knew of a way and let me suffer these past three years? Why?”

  “Control yourself, Ishin,” Akira chided.

  Ishin clamped his teeth shut, struggling to refrain from shouting at her. He’d already learned his lesson about unleashing his anger on the strong and would not repeat that mistake again.

  Akira studied him, watching for any sign of an outburst. “I’m glad to see that you have some control over your emotions. Now, like I said, I know of a possible method for you to become a cultivator. I didn’t tell you about this because I was still hoping your first chakra would naturally form—and second, because there is a significant risk with the method.”

  Ishin was curious about the risk his mother referred to, but he needed to address the first part of her statement. “But it won’t form on its own! You knew that. If it would, then it would have happened three years ago. You even said that no one’s chakra took this long to form. Elder Lee said the same thing!”

  “And that is normally true,” Akira responded.

  Ishin stared at her. “Normally?”

  Akira moved to a nearby chair and took a seat. She gestured for Ishin to do the same, so he returned to his spot on the couch.

  “Son, our clan… our bloodline is different from most. There are sometimes complications with the lineage. While rare, these complications can result in the first chakra not forming as early as others. Mine only formed when I was fifteen. I thought that perhaps yours would still form, eventually.”

  This was the first time Ishin had ever heard his mother speak about their family. He knew that she had traveled to the Nine Striped Hills, and ultimately to the Daihu Tribe, from somewhere to the west. It had always been especially clear that they were outsiders—from their dark brown hair, compared to the rest of the tribe’s black hair. Growing up, he had even pressed her for details about where she had come from, and about his father.

  She had always stated those details weren’t relevant and that the tribe was the only family he should worry about. Clearly, that wasn’t true.

  Learning that his mother had kept such important information about his family was more painful than when Elder Fa suspended him from the Martial Hall. He forced out, “Why… why does our clan—Heavens, I have a clan—have a unique bloodline? What do you even mean by bloodline?”

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  Akira gave him a look of sympathy. “Our bloodline is our ancestry. I won’t pretend to understand it perfectly, but one of our clan’s distant ancestors was said to have unique traits that sometimes manifest in their descendants. It doesn’t always happen, but when those traits surface, they always occur in those with delayed initial cultivation.” She paused. “Though I’ve never heard of it taking as long as it has for you. Perhaps I shouldn’t have waited so long.”

  “Then why are you—”

  Akira held up a finger. A moment later, Deng Xian entered the room.

  “Lady Akira, the bath is ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Deng Xian. Please retire to your room for the rest of the night.”

  Deng Xian seemed to want to ask something, but bowed instead. “Understood. Have a good night.”

  She left the room promptly. Akira peered toward the far wall, and Ishin didn’t doubt that she was tracking Deng Xian’s movements. Several seconds later, Akira said, “Continue.”

  Sighing, Ishin resumed his question. “Mother, why are you just now sharing this information with me? I could have tried to become a cultivator so much sooner instead of wasting years.”

  Akira lifted an eyebrow. “Wasted years? You think all that time improving your martial skills was a waste?”

  “Yes! If I was a cultivator, I might have reached the third layer by now. Instead—”

  “Instead, you’ve become more skilled with the spear than any of your peers,” Akira interrupted.

  Ishin remained silent, but he was unconvinced.

  “But yes, you have lost some years due to my reluctance, and that may have been a mistake,” Akira admitted. It was the first time Ishin had ever heard his mother admit fault.

  “In all honesty, Ishin, I am only sharing this with you now because I understand that your recent duel has left you without a purpose. Had you continued teaching at the Martial Hall, I might never have shared this with you.”

  “That’s…” Ishin wasn’t sure how to feel. Hearing that his mother would have allowed him to spend his whole life spiritually crippled when there was a solution was too hard to process. I guess I should be grateful that Jun Wu tricked me out of the Martial Hall. After further consideration, he decided that he would still get revenge. One day.

  At last, Ishin asked, “Did my father also take a while to form his first chakra?”

  “Your father is not part of our clan, and I can’t speak about his experience,” Akira snapped. “Don’t ask about him again.”

  Ishin blinked in astonishment. His mother had never snapped at him like this before. “My apologies, Mother.”

  Akira’s expression softened. “It’s alright. Just don’t ask about your father anymore. All you need to know is that he abandoned us, and you shouldn’t expect to ever meet him.”

  Ishin couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

  “Now then, if you still wish, I can show you how to possibly form your chakra and begin walking the Immortal Path. But I warn you—there is a significant chance you could be crippled or killed. In fact, most who have attempted my proposed method have died. It’s why I never mentioned this to you before. Even if you can’t cultivate, at least you’re alive. Do you want to take the risk still?”

  Ishin had grown up hearing tales of the great cultivators of the Daihu Tribe and his mother’s own legendary feats. He knew that every cultivator who had ever achieved greatness had done so by embracing risk—none had walked the Immortal Path without daring the impossible. Even the Eternal Emperor, the founder of the Immortal Path itself, was said to have risked his life countless times in pursuit of immortality. That left only one answer to give.

  “Yes.”

  “Spoken like a true cultivator.”

  Ishin wasn’t sure, but he felt like his mother was looking at him differently than before.

  “Alright. Pack whatever you need for a three-week trip. Tomorrow morning, we are going to travel to Tyrant’s Rest.”