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The morning air in the grove was crisp, the moss damp beneath Wu Ken's palms. His arms trembled as he lowered himself, a jagged stone pressing into his back like a stubborn mountain spirit. Sweat dripped from his chin, soaking the earth.
"Lower, magpie! I said lower!" Zang Ai's voice rang in his mind, sharp and amused. "You look like a chicken trying to hatch a boulder!"
Wu Ken grunted, pushing through the pain. The stone weighed nearly half his body, and every push-up felt like a battle against gravity itself.
"Better," she said. "Now do a hundred more. And try not to sound like a dying goose. It's distracting."
He didn't argue. He focused on the hum of Qi in his limbs, the slow strengthening of his muscles, the way each movement felt more deliberate than the last. Zang Ai's training was brutal, but it was working. He wasn't just surviving—he was changing.
A few days earlier, after Wu Ken had become her disciple, Zang Ai had summoned him to the grove with a gleam in her eye.
"Let's talk about that scrap you picked up," she said, gesturing toward the dull metal tucked in his satchel. "It's not just junk. It's a storage container—an old one, but still intact. And inside it… well, it's been screaming at me since you touched it."
Wu Ken blinked. "Screaming?"
"Metaphorically," she said. "It holds the imprint of a martial skill. Not just any skill—one of the most domineering techniques of its era: the **Void-Breaking Palm**."
She floated upward, voice swelling with pride. "This technique channels Qi into explosive strikes that tear through defenses and distort space itself. Even in its fragmented state, it's a **Second Grade, Lower-level** skill. Quite impressive for something found by a barefoot cabbage like you."
Wu Ken's eyes widened.
"There are four primary grades of martial skills," she continued. "Yellow Grade, Black Grade, Earth Grade, and King Grade. Each has Lower, Middle, and Peak variants. You'll learn about the rest as your journey unfolds."
She had then guided him through the first mental diagrams of the Void-Breaking Palm. Wu Ken tried to follow, but his spiritual sense faltered, and his Qi scattered like startled birds.
Zang Ai didn't scold him. She laughed.
"Oh, delightful! Your body's not ready at all. It's like trying to pour thunder into a teacup. You'd explode in the most embarrassing way."
Wu Ken flushed. "So I can't learn it?"
"Not yet," she said, still smiling. "But that's the fun part. We'll forge your body until it can hold the storm. Think of it as building a proper stage before the performance. Right now, your stage is made of twigs."
That was how the training began: stone-on-back push-ups, sprints through the grove, and sun salutations that twisted his muscles into knots. Zang Ai was relentless, sarcastic, and oddly encouraging.
Now, as Wu Ken rolled the stone off his back and stretched his aching limbs, her voice returned.
"Satisfactory, magpie. Perhaps one day you'll grunt with dignity. Now let's refine your Qi flow. The stronger your body, the louder your palm will roar."
Wu Ken smiled, breathless but determined. The path ahead was long, painful, and absurd—but with Zang Ai guiding him, it felt like the beginning of something extraordinary.
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