Wei had opened his cultivation school in a former storehouse and hung evacuation maps beside the practice diagrams. The students came in with dust on their boots and questions already forming. One boy stood before the locked cabinet at the back, reading the labels through the glass.
“Are the forbidden arts really in there?” he asked.
“They are,” Wei said. “The cabinet is not a prize shelf. First you learn what a method does, what it costs an ordinary practitioner, and who chose to take that cost.” He tapped the lesson cards beside the lock. “Then you decide what you need to know.”
Yan arrived carrying a practice staff. “You said you needed a moving target.”
Wei’s mouth turned up. “I said we needed to show them how a fighter changes direction. You volunteered yourself.”
The students drew close as Yan stepped into the marked yard. Wei asked him to demonstrate Nine-Death Blood Ignition, the surge that burned its user’s lifespan and vitality. Yan settled his stance, drew on the art, and burst forward. The chalk dust jumped from the nearest post. Instead of weakening, Yan felt fresh life flood through him; the dangerous cost had turned into added vigor.
