The morning mist on White Lotus Peak was cool and damp, clinging to the tall stalks of emerald bamboo and condensing in tiny, clear droplets along the eaves of the main hall. In the center of the training courtyard, there was no turbulence of spiritual energy. No nether flames flickered, no crimson sword manifestations hovered, and no crackling thunder Qi vibrated through the stones. Instead, the only sounds were the clean, sharp clicks of wood striking wood, accompanied by the rhythmic breathing of three figures.
Su Ming stood with his knees bent, his wooden practice sword held loosely in his right hand. He was wearing his simple grey training robe, the wide sleeves tied back securely with thin black cotton strips. Across from him, Lin Yao and Wang Tian stood side by side, their wooden blades raised in defensive stances. Their foreheads were slick with sweat, their faces flushed from intense physical exertion.
Su Ming watched them with a critical, steady eye.
