Dawn painted the training grounds in shades of gray and gold.
Wang Ben arrived early, but not early enough. A figure already moved through the center of the practice yard, sword tracing patterns in the half-light. Wang Ben recognized the Dao clan style from descriptions in the clan library, though he'd never seen them performed by someone who made them look this effortless. Each motion flowed into the next like water finding its way downhill.
The form ended. Dao Zhen held his final position for a breath, then lowered his blade and turned. His eyes found Wang Ben immediately, as if he'd known he was there the whole time.
He sheathed his sword, crossed the yard, and picked up a practice sword from the rack. Tossed a second one to Wang Ben.
"Let's spar, I'll suppress my cultivation down to your level." He looked Wang Ben over without hurrying. "I need to know what I'm working with."
Wang Ben caught the practice sword and settled into a ready stance.
Dao Zhen mirrored him.
Then he moved.
They sparred five rounds. Wang Ben lost every one.
Even with his cultivation suppressed, Dao Zhen had a decade of sword training behind every strike. Wang Ben couldn't match that. But he could read it, and each round he read it faster, lasted longer, forced Dao Zhen to adjust instead of simply overwhelming him.
The fifth round ended with Dao Zhen's blade at his throat. Wang Ben held still, breathing hard. Blood trickled from a split lip he didn't remember receiving. His arms burned. His ribs ached.
Dao Zhen lowered the blade. He wasn't winded, but he wasn't relaxed either.
"You lost," Dao Zhen said.
"But not quickly. Your technique is rough. Your footwork needs work. But you read attacks faster than anyone I've sparred with at this level."
Wang Ben didn't have an answer he could give.
Dao Zhen studied him for a long breath. Then he collected the practice swords and returned them to the rack.
"Tomorrow. Same time."
Then he was gone, disappearing without looking back.
Wang Ben touched his split lip and winced. His whole body felt like one massive bruise.
...
The Wang Clan hummed with activity throughout the day.
Cultivators who had been on extended assignments filtered in through the gates in small groups. Some came from patrol routes, others from trade missions to neighboring cities. All wore grim determination and quiet worry.
Wang Ben watched them from a bench near the training grounds, letting the Body Tempering Pill continue its work. Every bruise from the morning spar accelerated the absorption. Pain became fuel. The next breakthrough felt close now, pressing against the edge of his awareness.
Zhao Yu found him there an hour past noon.
"You look terrible." His friend dropped onto the bench beside him, eyeing the purple mark spreading across Wang Ben's cheek bone.
Wang Ben rotated his shoulder, feeling the joint protest. "Even suppressed, his technique is a decade ahead of mine."
"I was watching from the second-floor gallery." Zhao Yu's voice held a note of pride. "You actually made him think. You could see it in his face afterward."
"Most people would have focused on the part where I lost."
"Most people weren't watching his face." Zhao Yu leaned back. "He didn't expect you to last that long. That's worth a few bruises." He grinned. "And he already asked for tomorrow. That says something."
Around them, the clan grounds continued its transformation into a war camp. Cultivators ran through combat practice on every available patch of ground. The distant ring of hammers echoed from the forge, where Zhao Daniu and his apprentices worked to repair equipment and sharpen blades.
"My father's heard things," Zhao Yu said, his voice dropping. "Whispers from Ironforge. The Xue Clan is hiring people. Not local muscle. Experienced mercenaries."
"How many?"
"Three groups, maybe. All at least qi condensation."
It matched what the System had calculated about the outside money.
"Does the Patriarch know?"
"Grand Elder Wang Feng does. Father told him directly." Zhao Yu shifted his weight, restless. "It's really happening, isn't it? War."
"Yes."
"I always thought..." He trailed off, staring at the cultivators training across the yard. "When I was younger, I imagined what it would be like. Glorious battles. Heroic victories. It seemed exciting."
"And now?"
"Now I think about Wang Liang." Zhao Yu's voice was quiet. "About his empty eyes when they brought him back. About how he'll probably never cultivate again. About how that could be any of us."
"We'll get through it," he said. "Together."
Zhao Yu was quiet. Then he punched Wang Ben's uninjured shoulder, lighter than usual.
"Just try not to get too beaten up before the actual fighting starts."
A summons from the Grand Elder arrived an hour later. Wang Ben made his way across the clan grounds, ignoring the ache in every muscle.
...
Wang Feng's study smelled of old paper and weapon oil.
Wang Ben stood before the Grand Elder's desk, trying not to wince every time he shifted his weight. The soreness from the morning spar had stiffened considerably.
Wang Feng glanced at his bruises but didn't comment. "The people I put on Wang Rui have produced results."
Wang Ben straightened despite the pain.
"Wang Rui met with his contact again last night. Different location, same pattern. Our people got close enough to identify the contact." The Grand Elder's voice hardened. "Mid-stage qi condensation cultivator. Wears Xue Clan colors under a traveling cloak. One of their retainer family members, we think."
"Have they been apprehended?"
"Not yet. That's what I wanted to discuss with you." Wang Feng rose and moved to the window, looking out at the busy grounds. "If we grab Wang Rui now, whoever he's meeting escapes. The Xue Clan knows we've found their people. They disappear, and we lose our only window into their schemes."
"But if we leave Wang Rui in place..."
"He continues feeding them information. Real information. The risk increases every day." Wang Feng turned back to face him. "You identified the pattern. What would you do?"
Wang Ben weighed it before answering. "What if we let Wang Rui keep meeting them, but control what he knows? Feed him false patrol routes. Let him think we're weaker than we are. Give him positions that are wrong."
"Deception."
"If they're going to spy on us, we might as well decide what they learn."
The Grand Elder returned to his desk. "I'll act on your suggestion with modifications. Wang Rui will hear things we want him to hear, through people he thinks he can trust. When the Xue Clan acts on that information, we'll know exactly how they received it."
"And then?"
"Then we decide whether a captured spy is more valuable than a dead one." Wang Feng's voice held no particular emotion. "War is coming, Wang Ben. The grace period is just a formality now. Six days remain."
"I know."
"Make sure you're ready. That body of yours is close to a breakthrough. I can see it." He waved a hand in dismissal.
Wang Ben returned to his courtyard as the sun began its descent toward the western walls.
...
His body ached in places he hadn't known could ache. The Body Tempering Pill worked steadily, converting the stress and damage into cultivation fuel, but the process wasn't painless.
He turned the corner into his courtyard and stopped.
Shen Ruoxi was sitting on his bench, legs crossed, a tea cup balanced on one knee. Not arriving. Not materializing. Already there, as if she'd been waiting long enough to grow bored with waiting.
A folded slip of paper sat on the stone beside her, weighted down by a smooth river pebble.
She studied his battered face. "The Dao boy hit harder than you're letting on."
"It was a spar."
"The bruise on your cheek says otherwise." She sipped her tea, then tilted her head. "You're standing there like you won."
"I learned something."
"You learned what the ground tastes like. Several times, from the look of it." Her lips twitched. She set down the tea cup and rose in a single fluid motion, her gaze flicking to the folded paper on the stone beside her.
She walked past him toward the courtyard gate. Then she was gone, vanishing between one blink and the next.
Wang Ben crossed to the bench and unfolded the note. The handwriting was elegant, unhurried.
Three groups of mercenaries. Hired through a broker in Ironforge. All at least qi condensation. They'll arrive within two weeks.
It matched what Zhao Yu had shared, but with details his friend's contacts hadn't provided. Wang Ben folded the note and tucked it into his robe.
...
He found his father in the family courtyard, helping Li Mei settle Wang Chen for the night.
"Father," he said quietly. "There's something you need to see."
Wang Tian looked up, and the look on Wang Ben's face made the older man's eyes sharpen. He handed the baby to Li Mei and rose.
Wang Ben glanced at his mother, then back to his father.
"In private."
Wang Tian nodded once and followed his son into the evening courtyard.
Behind them, Li Mei watched with worried eyes, holding her youngest son close.