Yan Xuan woke with blood on his lip.
It took him a moment to understand why.
His jaw ached faintly, muscles sore from tension he hadn't been aware of holding. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and saw the smear of red. Dry. Minor.
He had been clenching his teeth in his sleep.
Attention had a cost.
He sat up slowly, testing himself. The faint warmth from yesterday was still there, barely perceptible unless he looked for it. The resistance remained as well—unchanged, watchful.
Mu was not waiting outside.
That absence was deliberate.
Yan Xuan ate a small portion of porridge and left the storehouse alone. The village was already awake, movement and sound returning in quiet rhythms. No one stopped him. No one questioned where he was going.
He did not go to the river.
Instead, he walked toward the far end of the village, where the ground sloped unevenly and the air smelled faintly of damp stone. He chose a spot near a large boulder half-buried in the earth and stood still.
If attention had caused response…
Then careless attention would cause reaction.
He closed his eyes.
Immediately, the warmth stirred—faster than yesterday. The resistance tightened in response, pressing back with subtle force.
Yan Xuan frowned.
So the world did not like being watched too closely.
He adjusted, easing his focus without releasing it entirely. The warmth slowed. The resistance eased.
Balance.
He held it.
For three breaths, everything aligned.
On the fourth, pain flared behind his eyes—sharp and sudden. His vision swam. The warmth surged uncontrollably, then scattered like startled birds.
Yan Xuan staggered back, nearly losing his footing.
He broke contact instinctively, breath quickening.
The sensation vanished.
He stood there for a long moment, pulse steadying, mind clear despite the brief shock.
So this was the boundary Mu had meant.
Attention could invite response.
But too much too soon invited backlash.
"You learn faster when no one is watching."
Yan Xuan turned.
Mu stood a short distance away, leaning lightly on a walking staff Yan Xuan had never seen him use before. His gaze flicked briefly to Yan Xuan's face, lingering just long enough to notice the faint pallor.
"You overreached," Mu said.
"Yes."
"You didn't panic."
"No."
Mu nodded. "Acceptable."
He walked closer and tapped the boulder with his staff.
"Do you know why I didn't come this morning?" Mu asked.
Yan Xuan considered. "So I would test myself."
"And so you would fail without guidance," Mu added. "Failure teaches limits better than warning."
Yan Xuan inclined his head slightly.
Mu's expression grew serious.
"What you touched yesterday," Mu said, "is not yours yet. It will respond to attention, but it does not belong to you. Treat it like a wild animal."
Yan Xuan remembered the way the warmth had scattered.
"I understand."
"Good," Mu said. "Because many people die here."
Yan Xuan looked up sharply.
Mu met his gaze. "Not from malice. From impatience."
He turned away. "Come. Today, you work again."
The fields felt heavier than before.
Yan Xuan's body responded well enough, but his mind kept drifting inward, tempted to observe the faint warmth again. Each time he noticed it, his concentration fractured.
Stones slipped. The hoe struck poorly.
He corrected himself, deliberately shifting attention outward.
The warmth receded.
Work stabilized.
By midday, his head throbbed faintly. Not pain—pressure. He recognized it now as the echo of earlier overreach.
Mu watched him from a distance, offering no correction.
That, too, was instruction.
That night, Yan Xuan lay still, staring at the ceiling beams of the storehouse.
For the first time, cultivation—though he still did not know the word—had demanded restraint instead of endurance.
Pain could be endured.
Cold could be analyzed.
But attention itself was dangerous.
He closed his eyes and deliberately did not look inward.
The warmth remained quiet.
Satisfied.
Yan Xuan exhaled slowly.
Understanding was not the same as control.
And control, he realized, always came with a price.
Tomorrow, Mu would push again.
Not toward power.
But toward precision