The first thing Jin Mu noticed upon waking was the stench. The thick, acrid smell of the black filth he had expelled clung to the air in his shack, a foul testament to the night's ordeal. The second thing he noticed was the complete and utter absence of pain.
For as long as he could remember, he had woken up to a dull symphony of aches—his back from the hard floor, his muscles from overwork, his stomach from hunger. Today, there was nothing. Only a profound, humming stillness in his limbs and a clarity in his mind that was as sharp as frosted glass.
He rose from the floor, not with the usual groan of a weary servant, but with a single, fluid motion. He felt impossibly light. Looking down, he saw the hardened, tar-like puddle on the floorboards. The physical proof. With a grimace, he spent the next hour meticulously scrubbing the floor and airing out the shack, removing every trace of his transformation. He was a ghost, and ghosts left no evidence.
His daily chores began. The first task was always the worst: hauling two large wooden buckets of water from the main well back to the kitchens, a trip he had to make a dozen times. Usually, by the third trip, his shoulders screamed and his arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets.
Today, he lifted the full buckets. They were still heavy, a dead weight that strained his frame. But the strain was different. It was a clean burn in his muscles, not the familiar grinding in his joints. He set his feet, and for the first time, he felt the ground as a solid foundation, not an uneven enemy. He walked, his pace steady, his breathing even. He completed the first trip. Then the second. By the fifth, a bead of sweat ran down his temple, but the screaming agony he expected never came. He felt tired, but not broken.
He could feel the subtle shift in the gazes of the other servants. They didn't know what had changed, but they saw it. The boy who was always on the verge of collapsing now moved with a quiet, unnerving efficiency. His presence was still small, but it was no longer fragile.
Later, while tending to the small, neglected herb garden behind the infirmary, he allowed himself a moment of rest. He closed his eyes and reached for the stillness within. The connection was instant, clearer than ever before. His cleansed body was a better conduit, a more finely tuned instrument. He could now sense the individual life forces of the herbs around him—the robust, vibrant energy of the ginseng root, the cool, gentle aura of the feverfew.
…The vessel is clean, but it is still just a vessel,… Heaven's Lament's voice manifested in his mind. …An empty cup cannot quench thirst. A sharpened sword is useless without a hand to guide it. You have strength, but no control.…
"What must I do?" Jin Mu asked internally, his focus absolute.
…Cultivators of Qi learn to channel energy through their meridians, erupting with power. Your path is the opposite. You must learn to channel your entire body through the stillness. To move is to disturb the world. You will learn to move without disturbance. This is the first technique of the body: the Flowing Shadow Step.…
"A movement technique?"
…It is a principle before it is a technique. The world is a still pond. A normal man's step is a stone, sending ripples in every direction—sound, vibration, presence. A master of the Silent Shadow steps like a falling leaf. He joins the pond without a ripple. He is there one moment and gone the next, not through speed, but through harmony with the silence.…
That night, long after the moon had risen, Jin Mu slipped out of the compound. He went to a place no one ever visited: the clan's old, overgrown cemetery on the back of the hill. Weeds grew thick and the air was heavy with neglect. It was the perfect place to practice.
He stood before a patch of soft, damp earth, where any footstep would leave a clear impression.
…Do not think about being quiet,… the sword soul instructed. …That is the mistake of a common assassin. Thinking creates intent, and intent has a weight of its own. Empty your mind. Become the stillness you felt in the kiln. Now… let that stillness take a step.…
Jin Mu took a breath and tried. He focused on placing his foot down gently. The result was a clear, deep footprint in the soil. He tried again, focusing on his balance, on shifting his weight. Another footprint. He tried a dozen more times, his frustration mounting. He was just a boy trying to walk quietly, and failing.
…You are still you,… Heaven's Lament chided gently. …You are not an empty vessel right now. You are a boy full of frustration. Let it go. Return to the abyss. Remember the lesson of the rain. You are not the cloud. You are the sky.…
Jin Mu closed his eyes. He stopped trying. He let go of the desire to succeed, of the fear of failure. He sank back into that core of perfect, tranquil nothingness inside him. His body felt less like flesh and bone and more like a column of cool, quiet air.
He did not decide to move. The movement simply happened. A shift. A single step forward.
He opened his eyes and looked down.
His heart stopped.
He was standing one step forward from where he had begun. But the soft earth between his starting point and his current position was utterly pristine. There was no mark. No crushed blade of grass. No indentation.
It was as if he had simply teleported one step forward. He hadn't disturbed a single grain of dirt. He had moved without weight, without presence. He had moved like a ghost.
A profound, chilling thrill ran through him. This was the Art of Silent Shadow. This was the path that had been opened to him. A path of impossible, terrifying potential.
He looked back toward the distant, sleeping Jin Clan compound, a collection of dark roofs under the moonlight. They had sealed his Gate and called him Nothingness. They had no idea how right they were.
He was becoming Nothingness. And Nothingness was coming for its reckoning.