The sun had barely risen when Wang Shi resumed his training. His body ached from the night before, but he ignored the fatigue. Bai Lu had left him a task, and he would complete it.
He started slowly, guiding the Breath of Flowing Qi as he moved. Walk, circulate. Step, maintain. He focused on control rather than speed, ensuring the energy did not waver.
It was harder than he expected.
Each motion threatened to disrupt the balance he had painstakingly built. When he turned too sharply, the flow staggered. When he stepped too forcefully, the energy scattered.
Again and again, he adjusted.
Hours passed. His movements grew smoother, his steps lighter. Yet, even as he improved, he knew he wasn't ready. Bai Lu had told him to hold his ground under pressure. But training alone was different from being tested in real combat.
A thought crept into his mind.
Could he test himself?
He glanced at the trees lining the valley. Cultivators used natural elements to refine their techniques. Bai Lu had demonstrated this herself—cutting the wind, disturbing the air with a single strike.
If he couldn't spar against an opponent, then he would spar against nature itself.
Steeling his resolve, he faced the nearest tree.
He took a slow breath, guiding his energy. Then, he moved—stepping forward, focusing on maintaining the flow even as he exerted force.
His palm struck the tree's bark.
A dull thud.
The energy faltered.
Not enough.
Again.
He struck, moving fluidly. This time, the energy flowed better, but still lacked force.
Again.
His breathing deepened, his body adjusting. He wasn't just striking anymore—he was integrating movement with circulation, forcing himself to maintain balance even as he attacked.
By midday, his arms trembled with exhaustion, but the difference was clear.
He was adapting.
He still had far to go, but for the first time, Wang Shi felt that he was no longer just absorbing Bai Lu's lessons—he was making them his own.
And that meant he was growing stronger.
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