Morning bells rang across Broken Soul Mountain, muffled by a thick blanket of snow. It was colder than usual. The kind of cold that bit bone, crept into robes, and made even the brave second-guess steel.
Fang Xi stepped through the fog like a shadow reborn.
The main training courtyard had filled early. Dozens of outer disciples stood in rows, warming limbs, testing stances. Today's lesson was martial form correction — one of the few times disciples could display their true movements under watchful eyes.
And one of the best times to study others.
"Today, I'll test Mirror Vein Insight."
"I'll see how the veins of this mountain truly flow."
Elder Gan paced in front of the lines, arms crossed behind his back. He barked names and corrections — most lazy, some sharp.
"Chen Zhi — stop dragging your stance!"
"Zhou Yiren — overreach again. You'll twist your hip like that."
Then, a pause.
"Fang Xi. Step forward."
The murmurs began immediately.
Fang Xi moved with purpose, calm as still water.
He stopped at the center.
"Demonstrate Second Form: Rising Spear."
He nodded, took a breath — and began.
His body moved with near-perfect alignment. Each motion exact. Each turn of the foot, each breath, paced like a measured tide.
But internally… his mind spun like a wheel of knives.
"Focus. Channel the Mirror Vein."
"Open perception. Breathe. Observe…"
Around him, something clicked.
Not physically. Spiritually.
Faint lines of Qi began to glow — thin threads pulsing along the arms and legs of nearby disciples. He could see them. Not in detail. Not yet. But they were there — a living map of flaws, flows, and weaknesses.
Zhou Yiren's left palm overcompensated her grip — too much Qi coiled there.
Chen Zhi's back meridian twitched slightly when he turned — a sign of poor root anchoring.
Then…
He saw him.
Wei Yulan.
A second-year disciple. Strong. Smiling. Dangerous.
The son of a minor elder. Unofficial enforcer of discipline. Known for being friendly — and for breaking people in private.
He stood across the yard, arms folded.
Watching Fang Xi.
Their eyes met.
Wei smiled.
"He's heard about me."
"He's wondering whether I'm a threat."
"Good."
Class ended without incident.
But Fang Xi knew better.
Sure enough, as he stepped around the side of the garden wall to return to his hut — Wei was waiting.
Leaning casually against a pillar, half-smile on his lips.
"You're the one who killed the mimic beast, right?"
Fang Xi didn't respond.
Wei pushed off the pillar and stepped closer, voice low.
"Careful. Killing too well draws eyes."
A beat.
"…Especially when you're not from any important bloodline. No family. No patron."
He smiled wider.
"And yet somehow, Elder Shen likes you."
Fang Xi's gaze remained cold.
Wei's eyes glittered. "I just wanted to meet the rising star. You know how it is… the sect eats the arrogant. And forgets the quiet."
He leaned in.
"I'd hate to forget you."
Then he turned and walked away — robes fluttering, footsteps silent on the snow.
That night, Fang Xi sat cross-legged in his hut.
Not cultivating.
Studying.
Visualizing the threads he saw. The way Zhou Yiren's Qi trembled. The flaw in Chen Zhi's stance. The subtle leak in Elder Gan's own breath while demonstrating the form.
And Wei Yulan?
"Qi too smooth. Too well trained. That means he hides techniques. Probably taught secretly."
"Fast movements. Low stance. Sword focus. Likely Wind Shear style."
"But his spiritual center pulses unevenly. He hides a flaw."
"He fears."
Fang Xi opened his eyes.
Dark. Calm. Calculated.
"Now I know."
"He threatened me in daylight. But he expects obedience."
"He thinks I'll bend."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Soon, Wei Yulan…"
"You'll realize too late — I don't bend."
"I break."