The door didn’t stand a chance.

  With a thunderous CRACK, it exploded inward as Mu Jang’s boot connected, splinters and hinges scattering across the room.

  “Good morning, flower,” the giant rumbled cheerfully. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get to the courtyard. Fifty-nine… fifty-eight…”

  Jinhu shot upright, eyes wild.

  Mu Jang’s heavy steps faded down the hall.

  Several doors cracked open. Silent Edge members peeked out. None spoke. They valued their doors too much.

  Day One. Courtyard. Dawn.

  Jinhu stood blinking in the pale light, wondering if this was still a dream. Mu Jang didn’t speak. He walked to the center of the courtyard, dropped into a wide stance, fists raised. Then he moved. Each step was deliberate. Thunderous. His heels sank into packed clay, leaving deep imprints. Shoulders rotated. Hips drove the force. Power coiled through him. At the peak of the form— He twisted and drove his right fist forward.

  BOOM.

  The air cracked. A crater smoked in the courtyard wall. Birds scattered from the trees. Somewhere in the barracks, someone swore. Jinhu’s jaw dropped.

  “No way in hell I can do that…”

  He raised a hand awkwardly.

  “Uh… Master Mu Jang… is there maybe a scroll?”

  Mu Jang blinked.

  “Scroll?”

  “I… can’t read,” Mu Jang admitted. “And I sure as hell don’t write.”

  A long pause.

  Mu Jang looked at him. Then at the ground.

  He grunted.

  “Fine. Watch.”

  This time, he moved slower.

  Every step intentional. Every pivot controlled. Fresh footprints carved into the clay like stamps of authority.

  “You want to read?” Mu Jang said, not unkindly. “Read this.”

  He stepped aside and suddenly appeared behind Jinhu in a single bound.

  BOOM.

  He shoved him forward.

  “Now read.”

  Jinhu stumbled into the prints. He looked down. Power. Imprinted. He took his first step. Behind him, Mu Jang crossed his arms, hiding the faintest smile beneath his beard. For the rest of the morning, Jinhu struggled. His stance too tight. His steps uneven. His punches lacked weight. But he didn’t quit.

  And Mu Jang—brutal, relentless Mu Jang—watched with the eyes of a man who finally had something worth teaching.

  That Evening.

  The sun dipped behind the mountains. The courtyard was scarred with deep prints and torn clay. Jinhu sat cross-legged, drenched in sweat, legs trembling, knuckles bruised. His eyes remained locked on the impressions in the earth. Mu Jang returned carrying two bowls and a jug of water. He dropped one bowl in front of Jinhu with a loud clack and sat beside him.

  “My master taught me this footwork,” Mu Jang said, staring into the fading sky. “I once watched him crush a man’s rib cage into dust. Asked him how.”

  He jabbed a thumb at the ground.

  “He said, ‘The mountain don’t move for anyone—but if it did, it’d look like this.’”

  Jinhu followed the prints with his eyes.

  “You want elegance?” Mu Jang grunted. “Train with Wu Jin. He’ll teach you to float.”

  He leaned forward.

  “I’ll teach you how to stand. How to break the earth beneath your enemies. That’s Earth Splitting Footwork.”

  His voice lowered.

  “Before you sleep, stare at those prints. Burn them into your mind. Your legs are your roots. Train until they scream. When your fists carry the weight of a mountain, you’ll understand the first form.”

  He took a bite.

  Then added casually—

  “Don’t screw it up.”

  Jinhu dipped a finger into one of the heel impressions and traced it carefully. He wouldn’t forget.

  Mu Jang stood, towering.

  “Oh. By the way.”

  Jinhu looked up.

  “No joint training until after the tournament… or was it until you master footwork?”

  He scratched his head.

  “Either way… Wu Jin said you’re mine until then.”

  His laughter rolled across the courtyard.

  Jinhu wasn’t sure whether to feel relief… or dread. Probably both.

  Day Two. Dawn.

  BOOM.

  Another door reduced to kindling.

  “I’M AWAKE, DAMMIT!”

  “Sixty seconds,” Mu Jang called. “Fifty-nine… fifty-eight…”

  More heads peeked out. No one spoke. They liked their doors.

  The second day was worse.

  Jinhu duck-walked with logs strapped to his shoulders, buckets dangling from a pole across his neck.

  He staggered. Fell. Cursed. Rose again.

  “Legs, not lungs!” Mu Jang barked. “Push from the ground! You want to punch like a boulder? Train like one!”

  Midway through uphill lunges, a presence arrived.

  Wu Jin.

  Arms folded. Face unreadable. Mu Jang approached.

  “Commander.”

  Wu Jin nodded. “You’re pushing him hard.”

  “He’ll master two forms in two weeks,” Mu Jang said.

  Wu Jin glanced at Jinhu.

  Mu Jang crossed his arms. “I give my word.”

  A pause.

  “See that you keep it,” Wu Jin said.

  Then he vanished.

  Mu Jang turned back.

  “You hear that? Two weeks. Two forms.”

  Jinhu spun around, horrified.

  “WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU TELL HIM THAT?”

  A throwing spike zipped past his cheek, slicing a shallow line before embedding into the wall.

  Mu Jang’s eyes blazed.

  “Because I believe you can.”

  A beat.

  “Stop yelling. Or the next one’s going through your forehead.”

  He pointed forward.

  “Move.”

  The Next Four Days

  Every morning began with a flying door. Every morning ended with Jinhu barely able to stand. But his stances deepened. His breathing steadied. His steps grew heavier. More deliberate.

  On the seventh morning, Jinhu dragged his trunk against the door and stacked a table atop it. He sat with arms crossed. Today, his door would survive.

  BOOM.

  The door, trunk, and table exploded inward in one violent blast. Jinhu stared, slack-jawed. Mu Jang stepped through the wreckage.

  “Damnit! I can’t afford a new trunk! What the hell, man?!”

  Mu Jang picked up a chair and hurled it. It smashed against the wall inches from Jinhu’s head.

  “I said no yelling. Sixty seconds.”

  He grinned.

  “Fifty-nine…”

  In the courtyard, Mu Jang watched silently.

  After a long moment, he gave a grunt that almost sounded like approval.

  “Didn’t think you’d get there so soon.”

  He pointed to the fresh imprints marking Jinhu’s path.

  “That’s the first form. Earthshaker’s Mark.”

  He flexed one thick arm proudly.

  “It’s your base. The anchor. Gather your qi from your calves, through your thighs, hips, spine, down your arm—”

  He jabbed a thumb toward the still-smoking crater in the wall. “—then punch. Explode it outward.”

  “Do it right, and you’ll leave marks like that.”

  He stepped closer.

  “For now, focus on becoming the immovable mountain.”

  Jinhu, drenched in sweat and barely upright, managed a crooked grin. The ground beneath him no longer felt impossible. This was the day he mastered the first form of Earth Splitting Footwork. Earthshaker’s Mark. He had one week left to master another. Thanks to Mu Jang.