The wooden practice sword felt like a lead weight in Joseph's blistered hands. Dawn had barely broken over the sect's eastern peaks when Instructor Bai's voice cracked like thunder across the training yard.
"Formation!"
Twenty disciples snapped to attention, their swords raised in unison. Joseph scrambled to copy their stance, his muscles screaming from yesterday's drills. The morning mist clung to his robes as he shifted his grip, the rough wood grain catching on his raw fingertips.
Han Bo smirked at him from the next position over. "Your stance's weaker than a newborn lamb," he whispered.
Before Joseph could retort, Instructor Bai's shadow fell across them. The man moved like a landslide—deceptively slow until it was too late. His scarred left eye, milky with old injury, seemed to stare straight through Joseph's skull.
"Eyes forward!" Bai barked. The scent of ironwort tea and leather wafted from him as he leaned closer. "Wei Shen. Your Heaven's Descent Slash looks like a drunkard swatting flies."
A few stifled giggles rippled through the ranks. Joseph's face burned as he adjusted his grip.
"Sorry, instruct—"
"Silence! Again!"
Joseph swung. The sword tip dragged through the air like it was stuck in molasses. Across the yard, Lin Yue executed the same move with terrifying precision, her blade whistling in a perfect arc. She didn't even seem to breathe hard.
"Pathetic," Instructor Bai muttered as he passed. "All of you!" He kicked Han Bo's ankle when the boy started slacking. "The Mist Path Trial begins at sunrise tomorrow. You think forest spirits care about your sore arms?"
Joseph's next swing went wide, the momentum nearly twisting the sword from his grasp. His shoulder joints popped audibly.
Ping An materialized beside him during the water break, offering a clay cup. "You're holding it like a calligraphy brush," he observed.
"I wish I was writing poetry instead," Joseph groaned, flexing his swollen fingers. The courtyard spun slightly—he hadn't eaten since last night's meager rice bowl.
"Here." Ping An adjusted Joseph's grip, positioning his pinky finger differently. "The weight should flow through your meridians, not just your muscles."
Joseph blinked. "My what?"
Before Ping An could answer, a wooden sword clattered to the stones between them. Han Bo stood there, chest heaving from sparring. "Stop cheating, An. Let him learn the hard way like the rest of us."
"There's no cheating in cultivation," Ping An said mildly, "only inefficient paths."
Han Bo rolled his eyes and turned to Joseph. "You're dead tomorrow, you know. Yue's killed every partner she's ever had on the Mist Path."
"That's not true," Ping An interjected.
"Okay, fine. Only maimed them." Han Bo grinned and sauntered off toward the weapon racks.
Joseph massaged his aching forearm. "Is he always like this?"
"Today? He's being nice." Ping An nodded toward where Lin Yue practiced alone, her movements so fast the wooden sword blurred. "You should ask her to show you the footwork. She won't offer, but she won't refuse either."
Joseph hesitated. The few times Lin Yue had spoken to him, it felt like being assessed by a very sharp blade. Still, he approached as she finished a devastating downward strike that left cracks in the training dummy.
Up close, he noticed details Wei Shen's memories hadn't supplied—the faint scar along her hairline, the way her sleeves were frayed from countless drills, the surprising delicacy of her hands despite their obvious strength.
"Can you... show me the stance?" Joseph winced at how pathetic that sounded.
Lin Yue didn't look at him. "You're doing it backwards."
"I noticed."
For three heartbeats, he thought she'd ignore him. Then with a sigh so quiet he almost missed it, she shifted into the basic guard position. "Feet here. Weight here." She adjusted without touching him, gesturing with her sword tip. "Your energy is leaking everywhere. It's disgusting."
"Thanks?"
"You asked." Her dark eyes finally met his. "Why are you really here, Wei Shen?"
The question hit like a bucket of ice water. Did she know? Before Joseph could stammer out a reply, a gong sounded across the compound.
"Trial teams!" Instructor Bai bellowed.
The disciples formed ranks, Joseph scrambling to Lin Yue's side. Bai paced before them like a caged tiger.
"Tomorrow you enter the mist. The rules are simple: retrieve a spirit blossom with your partner and return before sunset." His scarred eye gleamed in the morning light. "The forest tests more than your sword arms. It listens. It remembers."
A nervous murmur ran through the group. Joseph noticed how Ping An's usual smile had vanished.
"Han Bo and Liang Jun," Bai began assigning pairs. Joseph barely registered the names until—
"Instructor." Lin Yue's voice cut through the murmurs. "I request to partner with Wei Shen."
Silence fell. Han Bo's jaw actually dropped. Even Instructor Bai paused, his bushy eyebrows climbing.
Joseph's stomach did a backflip. This had to be a mistake. Or a trap.
Bai recovered first. "Very well. Lin Yue and Wei Shen. Dismissed!"
As the group dispersed, Han Bo caught Joseph's arm. "You're dead," he said with startling seriousness. "Last year she broke her partner's arm for stepping on a flower she liked."
Joseph watched Lin Yue walk away, her posture rigid. "Why would she choose me?"
Han Bo shrugged. "Maybe she wants to kill you where no one will find the body."
****
Later That Night
Joseph lay awake in the disciples' dormitory, listening to the others snore. Moonlight filtered through the rice paper screens, painting silver stripes across the floor. His fingers traced the unfamiliar calluses on Wei Shen's palms—evidence of years of training he couldn't remember.
The wooden sword leaned against his bedroll, its surface worn smooth by countless hands. He'd stolen it from the training yard, though he wasn't sure why. Some instinct told him he'd need it tomorrow beyond just the trial.
A floorboard creaked.
Joseph sat bolt upright as a shadow detached itself from the doorway. Ping An knelt beside his bed, face uncharacteristically grim.
"You need to listen," he whispered. "The forest... it knows when someone doesn't belong."
Joseph's throat went dry. "What are you—"
"Not here." Ping An pressed something cold into his hand—a jade amulet carved with twisting vines. "Wear this tomorrow. And whatever you do, don't let go of your sword."
Before Joseph could ask, a cough came from the neighboring bunk. Ping An melted back into the shadows as quickly as he'd appeared.
Joseph uncurled his fingers. The amulet pulsed faintly in his palm, like a heartbeat not his own.
Outside, an owl cried—a long, mournful sound that didn't quite match any bird he remembered from his old life.
Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.