The sound of clashing bamboo sticks echoed through the quiet courtyard, as young Wei swung with all his might. His grandfather, an imposing figure with a long white beard and piercing eyes, parried every blow effortlessly, his movements smooth and controlled. The early morning sun cast a soft glow over the courtyard, painting it with hues of gold and shadow, and the scent of dew clung to the air.
"Focus, Wei," his grandfather's voice rumbled, low and patient, as he blocked yet another strike. "Your energy is wild. You must learn to harness it, control it. Only then can you truly master the art."
Wei, barely ten years old, bit his lip in frustration, his arms aching from the repeated strikes. "But Grandpa, it's so hard! You're so fast—I can't keep up."
His grandfather chuckled, a deep, knowing sound. "In time, you will. But martial arts, just like cultivation, requires patience. Rushing only leads to mistakes."
