Blossoming Path

The forge loomed ahead, a squat building exhaling thin plumes of smoke into the frigid air. Its doors were cracked open, spilling a warm orange glow that flickered against the snow-covered ground. The rhythmic clang of metal striking metal carried through the cold, mingling with the muted crunch of boots on snow as I led the second-class disciples toward it.

“Here we are.” I said, gesturing to the forge with a grin.

The forge's heat was a welcome reprieve from the biting cold outside. Inside, Master Qiang stood at his anvil, his powerful arms swinging a hammer with practiced precision. Sparks flew as he struck a glowing piece of metal, shaping it with a precision that belied his gruff demeanor. Wang Jun stood nearby, his hands stained with soot as he inspected a row of freshly forged blades laid out on a workbench.

“Master Qiang! Wang Jun!” I called out over the clamor, stepping into the forge. Both men looked up, their faces breaking into smiles at the sight of us.

“Kai,” Wang Jun said, wiping his hands on a cloth. His gaze flicked to the disciples behind me, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Brought company, I see.”

“Thought it was about time they saw what you’ve been working on,” I said, motioning for the disciples to follow. “Everyone, meet Master Qiang, our resident blacksmith, and Wang Jun, his apprentice and Gentle Wind’s soon-to-be best blacksmith.”

“Soon-to-be?” Wang Jun quipped, raising an eyebrow. “You mean I’m not already?”

"Not while I'm alive, you ain't!" His master barked out.

The disciples chuckled politely as they stepped further into the forge, their eyes scanning the weapons lined up on the workbench. Swords, spears, and daggers gleamed under the forge's light, their designs simple but sturdy. Some were smaller, clearly intended for younger hands, while others bore the heft and length of weapons meant for adults.

“This,” I began, gesturing to the array, “is part of our effort to prepare the village. We’re not expecting to turn them into warriors overnight, but having a weapon in hand can make a world of difference in an emergency.”

Jian Feng picked up a short blade, turning it over in his hands. “These are well-made,” he said, his tone betraying a hint of surprise. “And the variety… you’ve thought about this.”

“I try,” I said with a shrug. “Every villager, no matter their size or strength, should have something they can wield. That’s where Master Qiang and Wang Jun come in. They’ve been working tirelessly to produce weapons both for you and the village.”

Master Qiang grunted, setting down his hammer. “Kai here’s been pushing us hard,” he said, his voice gruff but good-natured. “Won’t stop talking about making sure everyone’s prepared. Can’t say I disagree, though.”

“And speaking of preparation,” Wang Jun cut in, his eyes gleaming with a familiar spark of determination, “how about a demonstration? A spar, maybe?”

The disciples perked up at that, their curiosity clearly piqued. Mei Rong, ever the cautious one, folded her arms. “A spar? Against who?”

“Me, of course.” Wang Jun said with a grin, already pulling off his heavy apron. "No one better to test the weapons against than the one who made it, I'd say."

I leaned against the workbench, watching Wang Jun with a mix of amusement and pride. Over the past month, he’d been a whirlwind of energy, throwing himself into training and forging with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Ever since Lan-Yin’s diagnosis, he’d been different. More focused, more driven. He’d pestered me endlessly for spars and advice on how to get stronger, even volunteering to test some of my experimental medicines.

I couldn’t help but think how fitting it was for him to be a father. The weight of responsibility had sharpened him, turning his usual bluster into something more resolute. The events after Narrow Stone Peak had left their mark on all of us, but Wang Jun… he’d risen to the challenge in a way that made me proud to call him a friend.

We walked into a clearing just behind the building, where Wang Jun and Master Qiang chopped and stored the wood to fuel their forge.

It had been hastily shoveled free of snow, the ground underneath packed hard from years of foot traffic and work. A faint haze of heat still clung to the air from the forge’s fires, keeping the chill at bay. Wang Jun rolled his shoulders, testing the grip of his hammer as he glanced at me with a lopsided grin.

“So,” I said, crossing my arms, “how’s it been, using that hammer in your fighting style?”

“Good,” Wang Jun replied, hefting the hammer and giving it a few experimental swings. The head cut through the air with a satisfying whoosh. “Almost too good, honestly. Feels natural like it’s been part of me all along. Guess that’s what happens when you spend years wielding one.”

I nodded, watching as he fell into a comfortable stance. “Makes sense. You’ve been swinging that thing since you were a kid, right? It’s just muscle memory now, honed into something lethal.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the disciples huddled together, murmuring among themselves. Their attention soon shifted to a small game of slug, snake, frog, deciding who would spar with Wang Jun.

The game was quick, with fingers snapping into shapes and groans or cheers accompanying each round. Jian Feng lost with a sigh, stepping forward to claim a weapon. His hand hovered over a short sword before settling on a staff. He gave it an experimental twirl, murmuring quietly to himself.

“Well-balanced.”

“You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” Wang Jun offered, spinning his hammer idly. His tone was casual, but there was an edge of anticipation in his voice.

Jian Feng shook his head, planting the staff in the ground with a solid thud. “It’s not my primary weapon, but every sparring match is a learning opportunity. And who knows? It might teach me something new.”

The disciples murmured their approval, and Jian Feng stepped into the clearing, spinning the staff once more before settling into a ready stance. “Custom dictates I give you the first three moves,” he said with a wry smile. “Use them wisely.”

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Wang Jun didn’t hesitate.

He surged forward, hammer held low as he closed the distance with alarming speed. For someone his size and wielding such a heavy weapon, his movement was fluid, his footwork surprisingly light. His first strike was a sweeping arc aimed at Jian Feng’s side, the head of the hammer whistling through the air.

Jian Feng reacted instantly, pivoting on his back foot to deflect the strike with his staff. The clash made a loud noise, but Jian Feng’s stance remained firm even with Wang Jun's full weight bearing down on him. He shifted slightly, ready for the next attack.

Wang Jun’s second move came just as quickly, a feint upward that transitioned into a quick jab toward the disciple's midsection. The staff spun, deflecting the blow with a loud crack. Undeterred, he followed with a downward swing, his hammer crashing toward Jian Feng with a force that could split wood.

Jian Feng sidestepped, the hammer slamming into the packed earth with a dull thud. He spun his staff in a fluid arc, stepping back into his stance, the same faint smile on his lips.

“Your strength is impressive,” Jian Feng said, his tone admiring but measured. “But strength alone isn’t enough.”

Wang Jun grunted, pulling his hammer free from the ground and resetting his stance. His face was set in determination, his jaw clenched as he stepped forward to close the gap again.

I watched, my arms folded, as Wang Jun pressed the offensive. His strikes were relentless, each one precise and deliberate, a reflection of his years spent forging steel. The hammer wasn’t just a weapon in his hands, it was an extension of his body, moving with a rhythm honed by years at the forge.

And yet, as impressive as he was, Jian Feng remained several steps ahead. The senior disciple’s movements were calculated, almost effortless as he parried and dodged each attack. He wasn’t just defending, his eyes were sharp as they followed every swing of Wang Jun’s hammer.

It was clear that the blacksmith had a natural gift. His strength, combined with the technical refinement gained from years of smithing, made him a formidable opponent. If I compared him to myself at the same stage in our journeys, I had to admit; Wang Jun was stronger. He didn’t have the raw power of someone like Ping Hai but there was something undeniably solid about him.

If Ping Hai was an ox, Wang Jun was a horse: strong, agile, and athletic.

It stung, just a little, to realize this. I’d spent so much time as a child envying Wang Jun’s constitution, bemoaning how he seemed to have the perfect base for a fighter while I’d struggled to find my footing in the beginning of my journey. His strength came naturally, while I had to claw for every inch of progress.

But even as the old pang of envy surfaced, I felt a swell of pride. Wang Jun had taken what he was given and worked hard to refine it. That determination, that grit, was something I couldn’t help but admire.

The sparring match came to a decisive end when Jian Feng shifted from defense to offense. His staff moved like a blur, striking Wang Jun’s hammer in a way that forced him to overextend. In the same motion, Jian Feng swept his staff low, catching Wang Jun’s leg and sending him sprawling onto his back.

For a moment, the clearing was silent except for the sound of Wang Jun’s heavy breathing. Then, Jian Feng stepped back, lowering his staff and bowing slightly.

“You’ve got potential,” Jian Feng said, his tone even. “For someone with no formal training under a sect or clan, you’re impressive.”

Wang Jun grunted as he sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. His expression was a mix of frustration and respect. “Thanks,” he muttered, pulling himself to his feet. "I learned well."

I clapped him on the shoulder as he dusted himself off. “You did great,” I said with a grin. “Besides, you can’t expect to win against someone like Jian Feng on your first try. He’s probably been training since he could walk.”

Wang Jun chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. Still, it stings a bit.”

The second-class disciple remained quiet, his gaze shifting from Wang Jun to me.

“Kai,” he said suddenly, his tone curious. “How about you? Care to spar?”

The challenge hung in the air, and I straightened, feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Me?” I asked. “You sure you want to take me on after that warm-up?”

Jian Feng’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’m curious,” he said. “Wang Jun’s strength is impressive, but I’d like to see how you compare.”

The other disciples murmured among themselves, their interest piqued. I glanced at Wang Jun, who gave me an encouraging nod.

“Well,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “If you insist. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Despite my feigned reluctance, I was quite eager. This would be a good test, as well as a way of furthering my quest to learn the Combat Anticipation Array.

Wang Jun stepped out of the clearing, grinning through his sweat. “Go get him, Kai. Show him what Gentle Wind Village is made of!” he said, waving me forward with a casual gesture.

“Hmph! Fear not! I shall avenge you!” I declared dramatically, striding into the clearing with a flair that made the disciples chuckle.

“Please don’t,” Wang Jun muttered, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Just fight already.”

Jian Feng inclined his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’ll give you the first three moves,” he said, planting his staff firmly in the ground. “Take your best shot.”

“Generous,” I replied with a grin, stepping into the stance of the Heavenly Flame Mantra. My hands ignited with a faint red glow as heat surged through my body, gathering in my palms. “I appreciate the gesture.”

The clearing grew quiet, the tension crackling like kindling in a fire.

I moved first, closing the distance in a single step and aiming a flaming strike at Jian Feng’s midsection. He parried effortlessly, his staff intercepting my hand with a solid thwack.

Undeterred, I spun, bringing my other hand up in a fiery arc aimed at his shoulder. Again, his staff was there to meet me, the impact sending a jolt up my arm.

My third move was more calculated, a feint to the left before pivoting to strike low. For a moment, I thought I had him, but Jian Feng shifted his weight, his staff sweeping in to block me with almost insulting ease.

From there, we continued to exchange several strikes, garnering a feel for each other's range. Jian Feng was similar in size and speed to all the second-class disciples. And that gave me an opportunity; sparring with Tianyi, who moved faster than the eye could see, had given me more poise and confidence even against physically superior opponents.

"Hngh!"

I tucked my shoulder in, allowing a strike to my shoulder. But with the Iron Boar hide cloaked over me, the impact was muted.

He stepped back, resetting his stance. “Clean strikes,” he said, his tone calm. “But why are you holding back?”

“Who says I am?” I replied lightly, though my grin faltered slightly.

Jian Feng tilted his head, his sharp gaze unwavering. “I saw your fight against Ping Hai. Those other techniques… the Rooted Banyan Stance, the Bamboo Reprisal Counter. Why aren’t you using them?”

I clenched my fists, extinguishing the flames momentarily. “I can’t,” I admitted. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not without my mentor's permission. He’s made it clear I need to focus on mastering this style first.”

Jian Feng’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. “I see. And yet, this style… it doesn’t seem to suit you.”

He wasn’t wrong. The Heavenly Flame Mantra demanded aggression, constant pressure; everything that went against my instincts. Every move I made felt like swimming upstream, my body fighting against ingrained habits.

But I trusted Elder Ming’s instructions. This was a test, a way to push past my limits and grow stronger. And if that meant taking a few hits or losing, so be it.

Jian Feng didn’t wait long before pressing his advantage. His staff moved like a living thing, darting and striking with precision. I managed to block some of his attacks, but others slipped through my defenses, landing sharp blows on my arms and legs.

THWACK!

CRACK!

The impacts stung, but I gritted my teeth and stayed on my feet.

“Still holding back,” Jian Feng muttered, his disappointment palpable. He shifted his stance, preparing for what I could tell would be a decisive strike.

Now or never.

A map of the clearing materialized in my mind’s eye, the position of his weapon, every subtle shift in Jian Feng’s stance, and even the snow underneath us. It was like a glowing path etched in that mental map, revealing the most likely arc of his attack.

I dodged his next attack, stepping inside his guard. As he adjusted, I refined the heat of the Heavenly Flame Mantra into a single, concentrated point at my fingertips. With a sharp jab, I struck his thigh, channeling the heat directly into the muscle.

Jian Feng’s leg spasmed involuntarily, a reflexive jerk that made him stumble. His eyes widened in surprise as I seized the moment, unleashing a flurry of rapid blows.

The strikes landed with precision, each one forcing him further off balance.

Just as he staggered, his defenses crumbling, I pulled back my fist, stopping inches from his chest. The heat radiated from my hand, but I didn’t deliver the final blow.

“I’ve learned well,” I said, letting the flames flicker out as I stepped back.

Jian Feng exhaled slowly, bowing his head. “You’ve won,” he said, his voice humble. “I underestimated you. That was a mistake.”

I snorted, crossing my arms. “You were using a staff you’re not familiar with. Let’s not pretend it was a fair fight.”

The disciples clapped, their expressions a mix of admiration and amusement. Wang Jun was the loudest, cheering as if I’d just won a grand tournament. “That’s our Kai!” he shouted, his grin wide enough to split his face.

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. “Alright, alright,” I muttered. “Don’t make it weird.”

I looked at my quest, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Quest: Beyond the Memory Palace

- Successfully evade or counter 10 different attacks by predicting their trajectories using a simulated visual map in real time. (10/10)

- Land 5 precise hits on a moving opponent using openings simulated beforehand. (3/5)

- Use the Refinement Simulation technique on an alchemical reaction mid-combat to create an advantage. (0/1)

Learning how to predict and visualize people's moves had done wonders for me. Soon, I'd complete this quest and hopefully learn the Combat Anticipation Array just like Feng Wu did. But one task still loomed: using the Refinement Simulation in combat. That was a hurdle I hadn’t yet crossed, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy.

But I was progressing. And that's all that mattered.