Chapter 7: The First Lesson
Dawn found Li Wei in the bamboo grove, the air crisp and filled with the gentle clacking of stalks. The old man was already there, his broom resting against a tree as he performed a series of slow, deliberate stretches that seemed to make the very air around him ripple.
"You came," the old man said without opening his eyes. "Good. The first lesson is the most important. Unlearn everything."
Li Wei stood awkwardly. "Unlearn what? My cultivation is gone."
"Not your cultivation. Your *thinking*." The old man finally looked at him, his gaze sharp. "You spent your life learning to meet force with force. To channel Qi and overpower your opponent. That path is closed to you. Your new path requires a different mind."
He gestured for Li Wei to stand in the center of the clearing. "The Flowing Cloud Sword Art, which Zhang Feng favors, is like water. It flows around defenses. To fight it, you cannot be a rock. You must be the riverbed that guides it. Or the wind that stirs its surface."
The old man, whom Li Wei had started to think of as "Old Sweeper," picked up his broom. "I will demonstrate the basic entangling stance. Do not try to absorb the blow. Try to redirect it."
Old Sweeper moved. The broom handle, a simple piece of bamboo, seemed to become a serpent, weaving through the air not in a straight line, but in a coiling, unpredictable pattern. It didn't strike at Li Wei, but *wrapped* around his blocking arm, applying pressure to lock his joint.
Li Wei grunted, his instinct screaming to shove back, to release the kinetic energy stored inside him in a burst. But he remembered the words. *Be water.* He stopped fighting the pressure directly. Instead, he let his arm be guided, turning his body and stepping *into* the motion. The lock broke, and he stumbled forward, free.
Old Sweeper nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Better. You used my force against me. Clumsy, but the idea is there. Now, feel this."
The next attack was a flurry of light, rapid taps—not to hurt, but to disorient. The broom handle struck his shoulder, his hip, the back of his knee. Each impact was a tiny burst of energy.
Kinetic Energy Harvested: 0.1 Joules.
Kinetic Energy Harvested: 0.1 Joules.
Kinetic Energy Harvested: 0.2 Joules.
The interface reported the harvest, but Li Wei was being overwhelmed. He was collecting energy, but he was off-balance, reactive.
"Stop collecting and start *using*!" Old Sweeper barked, tapping him sharply on the forehead. "You are a reservoir, not a stagnant pond! Let it flow!"
On the next tap to his shoulder, Li Wei didn't just absorb it. He focused, and as the energy entered him, he pushed it downward, through his legs and into the ground. The earth beneath his feet didn't crack, but a small circle of dust and leaves pulsed outward from his soles.
He was steady. Rooted.
Old Sweeper paused. "Ah. Now you see. You are not just a shield. You are a conduit to the earth itself. The ultimate ground." A slow smile spread across his wrinkled face. "Let us try something more interesting."
For the next hour, they drilled. Old Sweeper would launch into a fluid, complex sequence, calling out the names of the stances—"Cloud's Embrace," "Weeping Willow," "Mountain's Mist." Li Wei's task was not to block, but to survive. To redirect. To ground the energy.
He failed more than he succeeded. He was thrown to the dirt, his joints tweaked, his pride bruised. But with each failure, he learned. He learned to feel the *intent* of a strike before the force arrived. He learned that a small, precise release of kinetic energy at his fingertips could deflect a heavier blow. He was learning to fight not like a cultivator, but like a physicist.
Exhausted, covered in sweat and dirt, Li Wei finally held up a hand. "Enough."
Old Sweeper lowered his broom, not even winded. "The tournament will not be 'enough,'" he said quietly. "Zhang Feng will not show you mercy. The Elders will not stop the fight. You must be ready to do more than redirect. You must be ready to break the current entirely."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "You have a power they cannot sense and do not understand. That is your greatest weapon. Do not reveal its full strength until you must. Let them think you are lucky. Let them think you are a stubborn weed. Then, when the time is right," he said, his eyes glinting, "show them you are the storm that rips the weed from the earth."
Li Wei looked down at his hands. They were no longer the soft hands of a scholar or the calloused hands of a herb-gatherer. They were the tools of a new kind of warrior.
"I understand," he said.
Old Sweeper shook his head. "No, you don't. Not yet. But you will." He picked up his broom and shouldered it. "Dawn tomorrow. Do not be late."
As the old man shuffled away, Li Wei stood in the grove, the morning sun now filtering through the bamboo. The humming energy inside him felt different. No longer just a stored force, but a living, responsive part of him. A river waiting for its banks to be tested.
The first lesson was over. The path to the tournament had truly begun.