It had been a month since Li Yuan arrived at Qinglong Academy. Time passed quickly, but each day was filled with intense training and profound lessons.
The academy did not teach martial arts as mere graceful movements. They taught how to fight in real combat—how to read an opponent's movements, control one's breath while attacking and defending, and use the body like a sharpened tool, sculpted through discipline.
Li Yuan followed everything without complaint. He approached each training session calmly and attentively. He didn't speak as much as the others, but every movement he made carried meaning.
In every sparring match, Li Yuan always won.
Not because he relied on brute strength, but because he understood rhythm—the rhythm of the body, the rhythm of breath, and the rhythm of combat. When an opponent swung a punch, Li Yuan had already read the direction and intent. And a single strike from him, though seemingly light, was enough to bring them down.
He never used weapons.
"My fists are enough," he said to himself, "because I do not yet understand weapons. I will not touch what I do not understand."
One afternoon, after training ended and the other students relaxed, Li Yuan stood before a large tree behind the dormitory.
He stared at its trunk—strong, tall, and firm.
"A peak martial artist... could destroy this tree with a single strike. But me...?" Li Yuan wondered.
He clenched his fist. His breathing became slow, deep, and steady. He recalled all his training. All the understanding of breath, movement, and power.
He threw a punch at the tree. Not hastily. Not with emotion.
Boom!
The trunk shook violently. Leaves rained down, and where the punch had landed, a rough crack formed the length of his arm.
"I can cause serious damage," he muttered quietly.
He looked at his hand. There was no pride, no arrogance—only awareness.
"I never used to test my strength. I only trained... like water that keeps flowing."
He paused for a moment.
"Now I know. In this one month, I've grown. But I'm still only 14. I'm not ready to kill..."
In his heart, Li Yuan realized that strength is something to be carried with awareness, not pride. Because with every strength that grows, comes a heavier consequence.
Night fell, and the wind blew gently. In his room, Li Yuan sat cross-legged. His breathing was steady, and his thoughts returned to contemplation.
"I don't want to be strong to kill. I want to understand... until my strength becomes a path to protect, not to destroy."