The road beyond Blackstone Village was narrower than Yan Xuan expected.
Packed earth, worn smooth by years of carts and feet, curved gently between low hills. Grass pushed in from both sides, stubborn and untrimmed. There were no markers to indicate where it led, only the certainty that it went away.
Yan Xuan walked without hurry.
His pack was light—clothes, dried food, nothing else. Each step felt deliberate, not because he was cautious, but because his body now finished movements cleanly. There was no excess sway, no wasted shift of weight.
He noticed it immediately.
Before, he had corrected himself.
Now, correction happened first.
Yan Xuan slowed and stopped.
He stood in the middle of the road and focused inward.
Qi pressed faintly against his skin, constant and impartial. His muscles responded in layered coordination, joints supported without conscious effort. The sensation was unfamiliar—but not uncomfortable.
So this was what Mu meant.
Change was not dramatic.
It was persistent.
Yan Xuan resumed walking.
By midday, he reached a shallow ravine where the road dipped and climbed again. The descent was uneven, loose stone scattered across hard earth.
Yan Xuan stepped down.
His foot slid.
Before his mind could react, his body shifted—hip rotating, knee bending, toes gripping. He regained balance without breaking stride.
He stopped again.
That should not have been possible before.
Yan Xuan crouched and placed his hand on the ground. The earth was cool, dry. Nothing unusual.
The difference was entirely his.
He straightened and continued.
Toward evening, voices reached him from ahead.
Yan Xuan adjusted his pace and soon saw a small group gathered near a roadside well—five men, poorly armed, clothes patched and stained. Bandits, or something close enough.
They noticed him at the same time.
One stepped forward, hand resting on the hilt of a chipped blade.
"Evening," the man said. "Road toll."
Yan Xuan stopped several steps away.
"How much?" he asked.
The man blinked, clearly not expecting cooperation. "Everything valuable."
Yan Xuan considered that.
He could leave. The terrain offered paths around them.
He could comply. His possessions were minimal.
Or—
He chose the shortest outcome.
Yan Xuan stepped forward.
The man's grip tightened. "I said—"
Yan Xuan moved.
He did not strike hard.
He struck correctly.
His fist landed just below the man's ribs, not fast, not flashy. The impact drove air from lungs and disrupted balance simultaneously. The man folded, blade clattering uselessly to the ground.
The others froze.
Yan Xuan stood still, arm already relaxed at his side.
No Qi flare.
No killing intent.
No follow-up.
Just result.
The remaining men looked at the one gasping on the ground, then at Yan Xuan.
They backed away.
Yan Xuan waited until they were gone, then stepped past the fallen man without another glance.
His heart rate never spiked.
He frowned faintly.
That had been… easier than expected.
Night fell as he reached a small roadside settlement. Lanterns flickered to life, casting warm pools of light against darkening sky. A wooden notice board stood near the inn, crowded with posted papers.
Yan Xuan paused.
One notice caught his eye.
CLOUDFALL SECT — OPEN RECRUITMENT
All who meet the requirements may apply.
Yan Xuan read it once.
Then again.
The location was marked clearly.
Cloudfall Mountain.
He looked down at his hands.
Body Tempering was only the first step. Alone, progress would be slow. Information scarce. Resources limited.
A sect meant:
Structure
Knowledge
Constraint
Constraint could be navigated.
Yan Xuan folded the thought neatly and stepped into the inn.
Tomorrow, he would head toward Cloudfall Mountain.
Not because he sought protection.
But because systems—when understood—could be used.
And Yan Xuan had already learned how to walk inside pressure without breaking.