Lin Tian lowered the practice sword and let his breathing slow until his chest stopped rising too hard. He wiped his face with his sleeve, then flexed his right wrist and felt the thin cold line under his skin again.
It was still there.
It did not stab him, but it never let him forget it existed.
He muttered, "You are quiet when I am quiet," and he rolled his shoulder once. "So you want me calm."
He felt the deeper reservoir behind his cultivation stir when his focus sharpened. It waited like a door that could open with one push.
Lin Tian's jaw tightened. "Not yet," he said out loud, as if saying it made it easier.
He set the sword back against the wall, washed quickly, and left his courtyard.
He did not need to think about where his feet were going. They already knew.
The east garden.
The pavilion.
