Three hours later, news spread through whispers.
The boy had died.
Li Ren learned this not from an announcement, but from the evening rations. Each grain ball was noticeably smaller. The reduction was precise. Immediate.
No one said anything.
What was there to say?
Around him, disciples ate in silence. Some with trembling hands. Others with eyes fixed straight ahead, as if not seeing would make it matter less.
Li Ren stared at the diminished portion in his palm.
A life reduced to ratios.
His stomach was already empty from the morning's training. This smaller portion would not be enough. Tomorrow would be harder. The day after, worse still.
The efficiency was almost beautiful in its cruelty.
One disciple failed.
Everyone else suffered.
The lesson was clear without needing to be spoken.
He lifted the grain ball to his mouth.
Then it happened.
At first it felt like a faint breeze moving across his skin, even though the hall was closed.
His breathing slowed on its own.
The sound of chewing around him dulled, as if the room had been pushed further away.
For a single instant, he became aware of the entire hall at once.
Breaths.
Heartbeats.
Small, uneven rhythms moving in different directions.
People did not feel like individuals.
They felt like disturbances in a larger flow.
The sensation vanished as quickly as it came.
Sound returned all at once. Bowls scraped against wood. Someone coughed.
Li Ren blinked.
His heart was beating too fast.
He looked down at his hands, half expecting something to have changed.
Nothing had.
The grain ball still rested in his palm, smaller than it should have been, a reminder of failure that had nothing to do with him.
But the thought that surfaced was not about the food.
If this was what even a small step forward felt like, what would someone like Elder Kade see when he looked at the world?
Li Ren forced himself to finish eating.
Around him, the eatery slowly emptied. Disciples returned bowls and left without lingering. Staying longer than necessary only meant standing around on tired legs.
He followed the others out into the cold evening air.
The sky had darkened to a deep gray. Wind cut through the pathways between buildings, carrying the smell of stone and distant cooking fires from the inner sect.
Li Ren walked slowly back to his quarters, careful not to draw attention.
Inside his small stone room, he sat on the cold floor and closed his eyes.
He tried to recreate the sensation from the eatery.
Nothing happened.
He adjusted his breathing. Slowed it. Deepened it. Held it at different intervals.
Still nothing.
The awareness had come unbidden, triggered by exhaustion or hunger or something he could not name. Chasing it deliberately felt like trying to catch smoke.
Hours passed.
The cold seeped deeper into the room. His breath formed small clouds in the darkness.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Li Ren lay down on the stone floor and let sleep take him.