It was his first real exchange. Except for the boar maybe. But at the time, he was just a boy without any cultivation. This was different.

  The lynx's paw came lateral and fast, the sweeping strike of a forelimb that weighed almost as much as Wei's torso and moved with the velocity of qi-enhanced muscle.

  Wei dodged, mostly. His body moved left — trained reflex, the instinct-muscle-nerve composite he had built into him through months of training. His feet found the ground and his center held.

  Almost.

  The claw caught his sleeve and fabric tore. A clean line appeared from shoulder to elbow. There was no blood, but it looked close enough, that Wei must have felt the air of the passing strike.

  The lynx didn't pause. Its second attack came as a continuation — hindquarters compressed and launched, the animal's full weight aimed at Wei's chest.

  Wei rolled — shoulder, spine, hip, feet, up. The combat roll he'd practiced two hundred times, executed without thought, carrying him three meters across. The lynx landed where he'd been, claws finding earth instead of boy, letting dirt fly.

  Wei stood with qi in his hands, bright and ready.

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  The lynx turned, fast — impossibly fast for something that large, a pivot that ignored what mass should have required.

  It came again.

  This time Wei didn't dodge. He met it. The decision that separated defense from combat — the moment he chose to stay his ground — to hold the space where the attack would arrive rather than the space where it wasn't.

  His qi-hands caught the lynx's momentum. Not fully — you didn't fully catch seventy kilos of qi-enhanced predator, not when you were fourteen and still learning the difference between confidence and capability. But enough. Enough to deflect.

  The lynx slid past. Its flank scraped Wei's shoulder. Brief and hot.

  Wei spun. Followed with a qi-strike — palm-forward, raw energy in a directed pulse. He connected. The lynx skidded past, recovered and shook its head.

  The lynx wasn't hurt but still here. It circled now. More wary about its opponent after two exchanges. It had discovered that this small and loud creature was not easy and prey — so it circled.

  Wei breathed hard, lungs at combat rate, face red, chest heaving — but his eyes were clear and focused, present in the moment's fight.

  I kept my place at the edge, eight meters away — hands closed into fists without my permission. The discovery came unbidden and unwelcome. My fingers had curled into my palms. My nails pressed crescents into skin. Restraint made muscular.

  I told myself again that he was ready, he could do this. He was trained. He was capable. If I intervened now and unmade the lynx with a fraction of my capacity, I would solve this fight and solidified him into dependence.

  I tasted iron. I'd bitten the inside of my cheek. The body's version of the mind's restraint.

  Blood on my tongue and palms. Eight meters of distance that felt like a continent.

  The lynx charged.