Mu did not take Yan Xuan to the river.
That alone told Yan Xuan today would be different.
They walked beyond the fields, past the low hills where footpaths thinned and the ground grew uneven with exposed stone. The air felt heavier here—not oppressive, but dense, as if sound carried less easily.
Yan Xuan noticed it immediately.
Mu noticed him noticing.
"Don't label it," Mu said without turning. "Just remember the feeling."
They stopped in a shallow ravine where water had carved smooth channels into dark rock. The space was narrow, sheltered from wind. Moss clung to stone where moisture lingered.
"Sit," Mu said.
Yan Xuan lowered himself carefully, legs crossed, spine straight. The ground was cold through his thin clothes.
"Today," Mu said, "you will touch it again. Once."
Yan Xuan nodded.
"Only when I tell you," Mu added. "And only as much as I allow."
Yan Xuan waited.
Mu placed his staff against the stone between them and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his presence felt… firmer. Not stronger in a physical sense—more defined.
Yan Xuan's attention sharpened involuntarily.
Mu raised a finger. "Now."
Yan Xuan turned his focus inward.
The resistance responded first, tightening like a drawn line. Beneath it, the warmth stirred—slower this time, cautious.
Yan Xuan did not pursue it.
He held his attention at the edge, observing without grasping.
The warmth approached on its own.
It brushed against his awareness—faint, curious, responsive.
Mu watched closely.
"Hold," Mu said softly.
Yan Xuan held.
The warmth settled, spreading gently through his chest and limbs. Not power. Not strength.
Presence.
Yan Xuan's breath slowed naturally.
The resistance did not vanish—but it thinned, becoming something like structure rather than barrier.
For the first time, the two did not conflict.
Yan Xuan felt… aligned.
Mu's eyes narrowed.
"That's enough," Mu said.
Yan Xuan released immediately.
The warmth receded without resistance, like water slipping back into a channel. The resistance returned to its usual state, unchanged.
Yan Xuan opened his eyes.
The ravine looked the same.
He did not.
"What was that?" Yan Xuan asked quietly.
Mu did not answer right away.
"That," Mu said at last, "is why most people never walk far."
Yan Xuan waited.
"Because the moment the world responds," Mu continued, "they want more. And wanting distorts alignment."
Yan Xuan absorbed this in silence.
Mu picked up his staff. "Stand."
They climbed out of the ravine slowly. Yan Xuan's steps felt surer, his balance subtly improved—not because he was stronger, but because his body moved with less internal conflict.
At the top, Mu stopped.
"Listen carefully," Mu said. "What you touched today does not make you a cultivator."
Yan Xuan nodded.
"It makes you eligible," Mu continued. "That is all."
Eligible.
The word settled heavily.
Mu turned to him fully.
"If you chase this feeling," Mu said, "you'll die. If you fear it, you'll stagnate. If you respect it…"
He paused.
"…then one day, you might understand why it exists."
Yan Xuan bowed his head slightly. "I will remember."
Mu studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Good. Tomorrow, we return to work."
Yan Xuan did not hide his surprise.
Mu snorted. "Alignment without labor rots. Never forget that."
That night, Yan Xuan slept deeply for the first time since arriving at Blackstone Village.
No dreams. No pain.
Just steady breath and quiet awareness.
Somewhere within him, the faint warmth rested, undisturbed.
It was not his.
But it had noticed him.
And for now, that was enough.