The resistance did not vanish overnight.
Yan Xuan felt it the moment he woke—no longer as a single boundary, but as something diffused throughout his body, like tension held too long in a drawn bow. He lay still, breathing evenly, attention turned inward.
It was there.
Not pain.Not weakness.
A presence that reacted when he noticed it.
He rose slowly, testing his balance. His legs held without delay. The heaviness from yesterday had lessened, but the resistance remained, quiet and watchful.
Mu was already waiting outside the storehouse.
"You didn't return to the river," Mu said.
"You told me not to," Yan Xuan replied.
Mu nodded once. "Good. People who can't wait ruin themselves early."
They walked toward the hills again, taking the same path as yesterday. Yan Xuan noticed something immediately.
The climb felt… different.
Not easier.
More coherent.
His breathing synchronized naturally with his steps. The resistance inside him shifted with each movement, tightening when he rushed, loosening when he slowed.
Mu watched him closely.
"Tell me what changed," Mu said.
Yan Xuan did not answer immediately. He tested his footing on a loose stone, adjusted, then spoke.
"My body is responding faster," he said. "Not because it's stronger, but because something else is participating."
Mu's gaze sharpened.
"Name it."
Yan Xuan hesitated. Naming something implied understanding. He did not want to assume.
"…Focus," he said finally.
Mu did not correct him.
"That's acceptable," Mu said. "For now."
They reached the flat outcropping again. Mu gestured for Yan Xuan to stand at the edge, overlooking the river below. The water moved steadily, unchanged.
"Yesterday, you touched the line," Mu said. "Today, you will knock on it."
Yan Xuan did not ask how.
"Close your eyes," Mu said. "Stand. Do nothing else."
Yan Xuan obeyed.
At first, there was only the wind, cool against his face. The distant sound of water. The steady rhythm of his breath.
Then the resistance stirred.
It thickened where his attention gathered, pressing back gently, as if testing him in return.
Mu's voice came softly. "Don't push."
Yan Xuan relaxed his muscles without losing posture. The resistance shifted again—less confrontational, more curious.
"Don't retreat either," Mu continued. "That's fear pretending to be caution."
Yan Xuan held his attention steady.
Something responded.
It was faint—so faint he almost dismissed it as imagination. A subtle warmth deep within, spreading slowly, not outward but inward, as if something had turned toward him for the first time.
Yan Xuan's breath caught for half a second.
Mu noticed immediately. "There," he said. "Do you feel that?"
"Yes," Yan Xuan replied, voice controlled.
"Describe it."
"It's… moving," Yan Xuan said. "But not like blood. Not like breath."
Mu's mouth tightened, expression unreadable.
"That," Mu said, "is the world acknowledging you."
Yan Xuan opened his eyes.
Nothing looked different.
Everything was.
The resistance was still there—but now it had depth. Layers. The faint warmth pulsed once, then settled, like an animal deciding not to flee.
Yan Xuan steadied his breathing.
"Is this—" he began.
"No," Mu said sharply. "Do not name it yet."
Yan Xuan stopped.
"Names create expectations," Mu continued. "Expectations distort first contact."
They remained on the outcropping until the sensation faded naturally. Mu watched the timing carefully.
"Enough," he said at last. "If you linger, you'll force it."
They descended in silence.
That night, Yan Xuan did not dream.
He lay awake, attention turned inward, observing without interfering. The resistance remained, but now it was interwoven with something else—faint, responsive, indifferent to emotion.
He tested it once, carefully.
The warmth shifted.
Not stronger.
More aware.
Yan Xuan stopped immediately.
Mu's warning echoed in his mind.
Names create expectations.
He released his focus and let his breathing slow.
This was not strength.
This was contact.
And contact, he sensed, changed everything.
Outside, the river flowed as it always had.
Inside Yan Xuan, something had responded for the first time.
And the path—still unspoken, still unnamed—had finally noticed him back.