The sun had barely risen when the old master dragged Jin out of bed for the third time that week. The young man groaned, face still pressed into his thin futon mat, limbs limp as cloth. He had been avoiding morning training again, muttering excuses about stiff joints, weird dreams, and once—laughably—an injured aura.
The old master wasn't buying any of it.
"Get. Up," he said, voice like stone grinding on stone.
Jin finally rolled to his feet, hair messy, face scrunched, grumbling like a spoiled noble. "Can't I just... not do this?" he said, scratching his head and glancing toward the open door that led out to the training yard.
The old man ignored him and threw a staff into his hands. "Today's lesson isn't optional. You've become abnormally strong, Jin—and you can't even control it. That's dangerous, not only to others but to yourself. So today, we start with strength regulation."
Jin frowned and lazily followed the old master to the open courtyard. Morning mist still hugged the ground like ghostly fingers, and dew clung to the bamboo fencing like tiny beads of glass. Birds chirped overhead, but they were quickly silenced by the heavy thud of Jin accidentally smashing a stone step with his heel.
"Ugh—again?" he muttered.
The old master sighed. "That's exactly why we're doing this."
Strength Regulation Training
The first phase of training involved simple strikes—punching air and pulling back just before impact. It sounded easy in theory, but for Jin, it was like threading a needle with rope.
"Punch the wooden dummy, lightly," the old master instructed.
Jin nodded and struck. The dummy exploded in a spray of splinters.
The old man stared blankly. "That was a love tap?"
"I barely even touched it!" Jin exclaimed.
The next round involved balancing eggs on stones while performing form repetitions. If he exerted too much force, the eggs would roll off. If he moved too soft, his form became sluggish and collapsed.
He failed. Repeatedly.
Eventually, they moved on to reflex training. The old man tossed pebbles at Jin's face without warning, aiming for his forehead, chest, and knees. Surprisingly, Jin's reflexes kicked in perfectly—dodging or deflecting each strike with minimal effort. He didn't even realize how good he was until the old master arched a brow.
"Your reflexes are... natural. More than natural. That's not something you learn in a few days."
Jin shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. "Maybe I was a genius before I lost my memories."
The old master gave him a sideways glance. "Or something else entirely."
The Second Form of Tides Root Style
After lunch—more accurately, after Jin begged for lunch and threatened to starve to death—the old master brought out the second scroll of the Tides Root Style.
This one was thicker. The drawings more complex. The stances required both grace and power in a way that felt like trying to tame a wave with a blade.
Jin sighed just looking at it. "This looks impossible."
"Try," the old master ordered.
And so Jin did. His first few attempts were off—the foot placement was wrong, the palm too stiff, the timing between steps disjointed.
But gradually, his body began to shift. Without realizing it, he corrected his stances mid-flow. His hands moved fluidly through the arcs, the posture of his spine adjusted naturally, and his breathing found rhythm. It was almost as if his muscles remembered something his mind didn't.
By the sixth attempt, he flowed through the entire form with such accuracy that even the bamboo trees seemed to hush around him.
The old master was stunned. He masked it well, but his eyes betrayed him.
Who are you truly, Jin? he wondered.
Jin collapsed afterward, drenched in sweat. "Is it over now? Am I a master yet?"
"No," the old master replied flatly. "But… I've never seen anyone pick that up so fast. You didn't just imitate the form—you embodied it. That's a mark of someone either born into martial arts… or made for it."
Jin didn't care. He waved the compliment off. "If it helps me find who I am, great. If not, I'm done."
The Map of the Continent
That evening, with the sun casting orange light through the paper walls, Jin unrolled the map the messenger that he helped gave him. He couldn't really understand it because it looked strange to him names he didn't know and landmarks that seemed different .
He placed it before the old master.
"I need you to read this."
The old man bent over it, adjusting his robes, and carefully examined the markings. His fingers traced the edges, following rivers and trails.
"It's a map," he finally said. "A very detailed one… of the entire continent."
Jin blinked. "Wait. The entire continent?"
"Yes. Look here."
The old master pointed to various sections. Each part showed distinct regions, each bearing symbols of clans, towns, villages, or dynasties. Great rivers curved like dragons through territories, while forested zones blocked entry to isolated realms. Mountain passes stretched like claws into distant corners of the parchment.
But at the very center of the map, surrounded by dense lines and imperial markings, sat a circle. It glowed faintly with golden ink that made that location seem important.
"That's the Central Empire," the old master said with reverence. "Ruled by the strongest dynasty. Home to the mightiest clan. They say if you want to find anything—knowledge, history, forbidden martial styles, or lost truths—it'll be within the Imperial Library."
Jin was silent for a moment.
Then he said softly, "Then that's where I'll go."
The old man looked at him. "It's a dangerous path."
"I don't care," Jin replied. "If this world is really mine… I want to understand it. If I'm going to figure out who I am… it has to start there."
The old master exhaled, then nodded. "Then train. Master your strength. Refine your forms. And when you're ready… I'll help you get there."
Jin didn't reply, but for the first time, his eyes were focused—burning not with annoyance or laziness, but with something deeper.
Purpose.