Yan Zhen did not begin with fire.
That surprised Tai Lung.
They stood in a training hall carved directly into the mountain's spine, its walls smooth and pale, etched with faint patterns that pulsed like a slow heart beat. The air was warm but there were no furnaces, no chains, no weapons.
Only empty space.
"Sit," Yan Zhen said.
Tai Lung obeyed, settling cross-legged on the stone floor. At four years old, his body was small and flexible. Yan Zhen watched him with an expression that suggested he was already imagining how that body would look after being broken apart and rebuilt.
Tan Na Yu stood to the side, arms folded within her sleeves, eyes calm.
"This is the first step," Yan Zhen said. "Flesh Softening."
He crouched, bringing his massive frame down until his eyes were only the child's height away from Tai Lung's.
"You will not grow stronger this year," he said bluntly. "You will not hit harder. You will not move faster. If you think cultivation is about gaining more and more power on every stage, you will fail here."
Tai Lung blinked. "Then what is it about?"
Yan Zhen's mouth twitched. "Learning to be one with nature. And today, we start with being like clay."
He extended two fingers and pressed them lightly against Tai Lung's shoulder.
The touch was gentle.
The sensation was not.
A wave of heat spread from the point of contact, sinking deep – past skin, past muscle – into places Tai Lung had never been aware of. His shoulder joint loosened abruptly, as if the bones had decided to forget how they fit together.
He gasped.
"Do not resist," Yan Zhen said immediately. "Resistance hardens. Hardening on this stage is a death sentence."
Tai Lung forced himself to relax.
The heat deepened and intensified. His arm went slack, then strangely light, as if it no longer belonged to him.
"This stage," Yan Zhen continued, "exists to undo the body you were born with. Bones must learn to shift. Tendons must learn to stretch without snapping. Growth plates must remain open longer than nature intended."
He released Tai Lung's shoulder.
"Stand."
Tai Lung stood. His arm tingled and itched.
Yan Zhen gestured toward the center of the hall.
"Position One."
The posture looked simple.
Too simple.
Feet flat. Knees bent slightly inward. Hips low. Spine straight. Arms raised at awkward angles, elbows flared, wrists twisted just enough to feel completely out of place.
Tai Lung assumed the stance even if he felt like a clown.
At once, his muscles began to tremble.
"Hold," Yan Zhen said.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Sweat beaded on Tai Lung's forehead. His legs burned. His shoulders screamed. The posture attacked joints he had never used before, forcing them to remain unstable.
"Breathe," Yan Zhen said sharply. "Not evenly. Irregular. Break your rhythm."
Tai Lung obeyed, drawing breath in short, uneven bursts, then exhaling slowly, then holding it too long. His body protested. Balance wavered.
"That discomfort," Yan Zhen said, circling him, "is your brain realizing it is not in control."
An hour passed.
Then two.
By the third, Tai Lung's vision blurred.
"Enough," Tan Na Yu said softly.
Yan Zhen nodded. He stepped forward and placed his palm against Tai Lung's back.
Qi flowed. It seeped in, warm this time, pressing gently against joints, coaxing them to relax past their natural limits. Tai Lung cried out once – more in surprise than pain – as his spine lengthened a fraction, vertebrae subtly repositioning.
"This is why a master must be present," Yan Zhen said. "Without guidance, you would tear yourself apart."
When Yan Zhen withdrew his hand, Tai Lung collapsed to his knees, breathing hard.
But something had changed.
He could feel it.
His body felt… looser.
Yan Zhen squatted beside him.
"This year," he said, "you will stretch, hang, twist, and hold until your body forgets what 'normal' feels like. You will fall asleep feeling like a sloth. You will wake up feeling like a cat. Every day."
He placed a massive hand on Tai Lung's head.
"If you endure this, the next stages will not kill you."
Tai Lung looked up at him, eyes bright despite the exhaustion.
"And if I don't?"
Yan Zhen smiled, all teeth and heat.
"Then you will never reach the furnace."
Tan Na Yu approached, kneeling beside her son. She wiped sweat from his brow with her sleeve in gentle touch.
"This is only the beginning," she said.
Tai Lung just nodded.
Thus, a full month had passed since Tai Lung first learned what it meant for flesh to yield. By then, pain had stopped surprising him.
Not because it hurt less, but because it had become predictable – an expected and known companion that arrived each morning and lingered through the night. His joints no longer protested when stretched beyond what felt safe. His body had begun to listen. That, Yan Zhen said, was the only sign that mattered.
It was on the thirty-first day that his master finally decided the boy was ready to understand the whole.
Yan Zhen brought him to a smaller hall adjoining the furnace chambers, a place warm with stored heat rather than open flame. A single block of dark stone sat at its center, etched faintly with time-mark formations meant to stabilize long explanations rather than qi.
"Sit," Yan Zhen said.
Tai Lung obeyed.
Yan Zhen did not rush. He studied the boy for a moment, as if measuring the kid's patience.
"Twelve years," he said at last.
Tai Lung looked up.
"That is how long the Dragon Warrior Codex will take to complete your Tempered Flesh," Yan Zhen continued. "Not less. Not more. This is not a technique that advances when you feel ready. It advances when your body is old enough to survive the next change."
He struck the stone once with his knuckles. The sound rang solid and final.
"Why can't it be shortened?" Tai Lung asked.
Yan Zhen answered immediately. "Because bones grow when time allows them to. And refuse when it does not. Many tried to shorten the time necessary, but they all failed. Learn from their mistakes."
Tai Lung considered that, then nodded slowly. "Employ your time in improving yourself by other men's writings," he said quietly, more to himself than aloud, "so that you shall come easily by what others have labored hard for."
Yan Zhen paused.
He looked at the child again, this time not as a disciple, but as something unexpected.
"That is not something a four-year-old usually understands," he said.
Tai Lung did not respond. He was listening.
Yan Zhen exhaled once and continued.
"The first year – what you are doing now – is all about Flesh Softening and only about it."
"What happens if someone skips it?" Tai Lung asked.
"They survive," Yan Zhen replied. "And later their bones refuse to grow, their tendons tear under strain, and their body locks itself into mediocrity. I had seen a dragon-blood guy like that once, a truly sad spectacle. He thought himself smarter than countless generations that came before and paid the price. This is the year that destroys arrogance."
Tai Lung absorbed that without comment.
"The second year is Skeletal Alignment," Yan Zhen went on. "Your bones are taught where they should be before they are reinforced. The spine straightens and lengthens. The shoulders slightly rotate forward and grow wide. The pelvis widens slightly too, to support force transfer. Your feet remain human – this is a warrior's path, not a beast's – but stronger, denser, rooted."
He watched Tai Lung closely as he spoke.
"Why before muscle?" Tai Lung asked.
"Because muscle follows bone," Yan Zhen said. "Always."
He did not need to explain further.
"The third year is Tendon Braiding. Tendons are layered, reinforced, woven with qi, both my own and residual of your special physique. You will hold postures until shaking becomes just a background noise. You will learn to stay relaxed under tension. Speed is born here – not later."
Tai Lung frowned slightly. "So strength comes after control."
Yan Zhen's mouth twitched.
The fourth and fifth years, Yan Zhen explained, were devoted to Muscle Layering. Not growth for its own sake, like bodybuilders of his old world, but structure like pro fighters – fast fibers layered over slow, explosive strength resting on endurance. Tai Lung would grow taller, leaner, denser. Yet, he would look unfinished to those who judged by mass alone.
"People will underestimate you," Yan Zhen said. "That is acceptable."
"If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid," Tai Lung said softly.
Yan Zhen's gaze sharpened. He did not interrupt.
The sixth year focused inward. Organ Fortification. Heart, lungs, liver, kidneys – strengthened through breath discipline, controlled impact, and guided qi infusion. There was no glory in it, Yan Zhen said. Only the prevention of dumb deaths later.
The seventh and eighth years were Bone Densification.
"This is when the furnace starts at full force," Yan Zhen said. "Heat. Weight. Micro-fractures repaired under supervision. Your bones become like the strongest steel rather than brittle limestone. This is also when your height changes the most."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And this," he added, "is where careless masters kill disciples."
Tai Lung met his gaze steadily.
The ninth year refined the blood. Endurance, temperature extremes, bloodline resonance. The dragon constitution would no longer be dormant by then. Blood would carry qi naturally, regeneration accelerating to something unnatural.
The tenth and eleventh years tempered the nerves.
"Two years," Yan Zhen said firmly. "Always two. Reaction, precision, control under pain. You will move before you think."
"And the last?" Tai Lung asked.
Yan Zhen straightened.
"The twelfth year seals everything. Unified Flesh. No more growth. No more separation. When you decide to move, everything moves."
He let silence follow.
Tai Lung sat very still, hands resting on his knees, small body framed by heat-warmed stone.
"Twelve years," he said at last. "And after that?"
Yan Zhen looked toward the furnace chambers, where heat shimmered faintly in the air.
"After that," he said, "your body will no longer be the reason you lose."
Tai Lung nodded slowly. "Day by day, what you choose, what you think and what you do is who you become."
Yan Zhen laughed then – not loudly, but with genuine interest.
"For a child," he said, "you understand commitment better than most adults I've met. And in six hundred years I have seen many."
Tai Lung did not reply.
He did not need to.
Yan Zhen watched him for a long moment, something new settling behind his crimson eyes.
This was no ordinary disciple.