Mu did not return.
Yan Xuan expected that.
Morning came as it always did—cold air, pale light creeping over the hills—but something fundamental had shifted. When Yan Xuan rose from the straw mat, his body responded instantly, no stiffness, no delay. The faint pressure of the world pressed gently against his skin, present even when he did not seek it.
Qi.
The word settled naturally now.
He washed his face in cold water and noticed the change immediately. The chill bit less sharply. Not because the water was warmer, but because his body no longer yielded to it so easily.
He flexed his fingers.
The movement felt… efficient.
No wasted motion.
Outside, the village stirred. Work called. Routine demanded participation.
Yan Xuan stepped into it without hesitation.
The fields tested him first.
He lifted the hoe and swung.
The impact sent vibration through the handle, but his grip adjusted before strain built. His muscles responded smoothly, distributing force with precision he had never possessed before.
He worked faster.
Not because he tried to.
Because inefficiency no longer lingered.
By midday, he noticed something unsettling.
He was not tired.
Not truly.
There was exertion, yes—but beneath it, a steady reserve remained untouched. His breath stayed even. His pulse never spiked.
He stopped and sat at the edge of the field, frowning slightly.
So this was the cost Mu had warned him about.
Effort compounded now.
Which meant mistakes would too.
That afternoon, he returned to the river alone.
Not to test limits.
To confirm control.
He stepped into the water.
The cold pressed in—and stopped.
Not halted, but resisted.
Qi flowed instinctively, reinforcing muscle, stabilizing balance, aligning posture without conscious direction. The river pushed.
Yan Xuan remained unmoved.
He stayed only a short while, then stepped out.
No triumph.
Just confirmation.
As evening approached, Yan Xuan gathered his few belongings from the storehouse. The man who kept records looked up briefly, then nodded when Yan Xuan said he would be leaving soon.
"Going to try your luck elsewhere?" the man asked.
"Yes."
No elaboration.
That night, Yan Xuan stood at the edge of Blackstone Village and looked back once.
The river flowed as it always had. The fields lay quiet. The paths remained unchanged.
Mu was nowhere to be seen.
Yan Xuan did not search.
Guidance had ended because it was meant to.
He turned and walked toward the road leading beyond the hills, Qi pressing lightly against his skin, body moving with quiet certainty.
The world no longer passed through him unnoticed.
And for the first time, Yan Xuan stepped forward not as someone who endured…
…but as someone who had begun to change.