Limitless Cultivation System: From Trash to Immortal

He turned that over for a long beat. Long enough that Mira added a quiet:

[ I rather liked that one, by the way. ]

’You said it on purpose.’

He drummed two fingers against the flat of Plain Steel. Three components. All in the western range. All inside the radius the old Lin Xuan’s memory cache covered. None of them requiring a side trip. The cliffs gave him the Marrow. The slopes gave him the Tusker. The high crags gave him the Quill, and learning to take the Quill quietly would tune him for the mine afterward.

It was almost too tidy.

’How long, realistically?’

[ Three days if you don’t dawdle. Add a day if you want to learn the Hawk approach properly before you try the snatch. Which I’d recommend. ]

The morning had crawled enough that the bench was warm through his robe now, and the disciples at the yard had finished their warm-up rounds and rolled into form drills. Wood clacked. Counts called. Plain Steel went back to his hip. The panel folded itself down to a corner of his vision and went quiet, the way Mira did when she’d dropped a load on him and wanted to see what he’d do with it.

He stood.

’I’ll spend the points tonight. Before we leave. I want to be at seven before I take a step out of the gate. So change of plans, the body goes first.’

[ Stage seven and the climb, Xuan? Greedy. ]

’You’re the one who said it was possible.’

[ I did. I just like watching you commit to it out loud. ]

He didn’t dignify that.

The senior outer at the head of the formation snapped to attention when he saw Lin Xuan crossing the yard. Twenty-four years old, twice promoted, and looked twelve when he was trying not to look nervous.

"Master Lin. Third form, second sequence. I was holding the count where you told me."

"Carry on," Lin Xuan said, mild. "I’ll walk through."

The senior outer carried on.

Lin Xuan walked.

The first one he stopped at was a thin boy at the end of the second row, sixteen, sweating into his collar. His breathing was wrong. Inhaling on the downswing, exhaling on the rise. It would feel fine for a month and then start tearing something in his chest he wouldn’t know how to name.

"You. Stop."

The boy stopped.

"Hand on your diaphragm. Right there." Lin Xuan set the kid’s palm low on his ribs. "Now do the cut again. Slowly. What do you feel?"

The boy raised the sword and brought it down. His diaphragm jerked in on the descent.

"Wrong. You’re breathing in when you should be breathing out. Inhale when you raise. Exhale when you cut. The cut rides the exhale. Try."

The boy tried. The diaphragm jerked outward this time. His face went pink, half from effort, half from being singled out.

"Better. Drill that for a month. Every cut. Every form. Skip it and in six months you’re spitting blood every time you train and you won’t know why. Clear?"

"Yes, Master Lin."

He stepped past.

The next one had her feet wrong. Front foot too forward, back foot too splayed. He could have explained it. He stepped behind her instead and tapped the back of her rear ankle with the inside of his boot.

She stumbled half a step.

"If I push you with two fingers, you fall. Imagine what a sword does."

She corrected without arguing. He kept walking.

The third one held his blade with his shoulders locked. Lin Xuan pressed both palms down on the boy’s trapezius muscles and felt them seize like rope under tension.

"The weight rides the wrist. Not the neck. If it hurts here," he tapped between the shoulder and the throat, "you’re doing it wrong. Drop your shoulders. Now hold the form."

The boy held. The muscle softened under Lin Xuan’s hands.

"That’s the position. Memorize what that feels like. Anything else is wrong."

He was about to keep walking when the boy half-turned.

"Master Lin, Master Jin had us hold the blade with the shoulders for stability, not the—"

Lin Xuan did not let him finish.

"Master Jin taught you to survive the first month. I’m teaching you to survive the first year. Pick which one you’d rather make it to."

The yard went very quiet around that.

The boy did not finish the sentence.

Lin Xuan walked to the front of the formation and turned to face them. Forty-some disciples, all of them watching, none of them pretending to be mid-drill. Good.

"Two weeks. Then I’m gone. Maybe ten days out on the western range. I have business there."

A small ripple of looks. The west was where the lost mine was.

"While I’m gone, you train. Wei Tianming will lead the yard. He’s an inner disciple now and he speaks for me when I’m not here. You will listen to him as you’d listen to me. If you don’t, I’ll find out, and I’ll be far more disappointed than he will."

He let that one carry on its own.

"There will be a test when I return. I’ll walk your forms, one at a time, and I’ll check your breathing. If you’ve slacked, I’ll know inside three cuts. If you’ve worked, I’ll know inside one. The ones who’ve worked move to the next program. The ones who’ve slacked repeat this one until they don’t. Are we clear?"

It was not a question.

"Yes, Master Lin."

He held their eyes a beat longer than was comfortable for any of them. What he saw in their faces was not the awe-drunk look from yesterday. It was steadier. Disciples did not look at their teacher with that face unless they had decided to follow him. He hadn’t asked for that. He’d asked for compliance.

This was past compliance.

He turned away before any of them could see his own face change.

Plain Steel warmed against his hip. Three components on the mountain. Two weeks to be ready. A body to push two and a half stages. A sword to push half a tier. A brother bolted into his room with full trays piling outside the door.

He started toward the inner gate, and as he walked, he spoke under his breath.

’Mira. Open the shop.’

[ Tier two? ]

’All of it.’

[ Yes, Xuan. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ ]