For the next couple days, Song practiced. And practiced. And practiced.

  When he was no longer sending arrows into the horizon with every shot, he moved to the Lee family’s private training grounds. And practiced.

  The normal frenzied summer activity of the village became a mere backdrop, as Song fired shot after shot. His brothers, cousins, and other martial artists of the Lee branch families would occasionally join him there, performing their own drills and practice, but Song barely noticed their presence. When he wasn’t herding horses with his brothers, he practiced. When he wasn’t doing his math or classics lessons, he practiced. He skipped his usual afternoon topshur exercises and everything else that wasn't a bow.

  Well, almost everything.

  “When you’re done with the push ups, you can start on squats,” Wook commanded with a grunt as he lifted a bag of stones in a bicep curl.

  “One… hundred.” Song collapsed to the ground with a gasp, and lay there breathing hard for a minute. It was hard to escape workouts with Wook, when Wook cornered him in the training yard.

  Wook poked him with a toe. “Your friends came by again. Are you sure you want me to keep sending them away?”

  Song stared up at the sun. The pain in his eyes just barely matched the pain in his heart. “Yes. I’ll see them when I’m ready.”

  This time Wook kicked his brother in the arm. Hard.

  Song sat up with a jolt, rubbing the spot. “Hey!”

  “You worry too much, little brother,” Wook stated. “They’re your friends! They won’t care that you underwent qi deviation.”

  “Thanks,” Song said dryly.

  “And if they do, they weren’t worth it in the first place!” Wook laughed. Song just dropped his head into his hands, not wanting to be a part of this conversation.

  “Now, squats. And if you’re not feeling it, grab a rock.”

  They resumed their workout in silence. Just Song, Wook, and the burn. And the anxious thoughts.

  “How do you deal with it?” Song suddenly asked his brother, breaking the quiet.

  “*Huff*, *Huff*, deal with what?” Wook asked, gasping mid-pushup.

  “People talking about you. Thinking that you’re… different.”

  Wook stopped and slowly stood. He grabbed a wool towel and wiped his face. “Are you insulting me, little brother?”

  “No! I just…”

  “HAH!” Wook reached down to pat Song on the shoulder. “I know what you mean. But I punch through stones, and headbutt through trees. A few barking dogs aren’t going to bother me.”

  “They bother me.”

  “But I’m not you. And you’re not me, Song. You care. Sometimes a bit too much, if you ask me.”

  “Should I just stop caring then?” Song walked over and washed his face in a basin. “How?”

  “How does a carp learn to drown? No. I think you should care a bit more about yourself first. And about the people who do care about you. Especially when it’s making you half-useless out in the field, you brat!” Wook grabbed Song in a headlock and rubbed his hair with a giant fist until Song yelped for mercy.

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  Wook let his brother go with a loving slap on the back. “Hurry up and figure it out. I’m always here if you want to talk. Now, I’m going to drink my elixir then go for a couple laps around the village. Want to join me?”

  Song shook his head. “No, I need to practice some more.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll meet you at the herds after Seojoon’s shift. And stop pushing away the martial instructor, they're just trying to help.”

  Song waited till his brother was gone before performing a few stretches. His usual training with Wook had revealed much about his new body. He was lighter and faster than he used to be, with quicker reflexes and better vision. He was able to make out more minute details at a distance, and even see somewhat in the dark.

  But his punches were no stronger, and his skin no tougher.

  And his aim no better.

  With a sigh, Song dropped his bow and walked to the target to retrieve his arrows. Sixteen shots, and only four had hit. At least he was no longer hitting his forearm thanks to Cyrus’s advice, but at this point he was wondering if the bow just wasn’t meant for him.

  “Are you still practicing, Song?” A voice piped up from the entrance of the training grounds.

  Song didn’t even have to look. “Go away, Mae. I’m busy.”

  “I brought meat buns for lunch!”

  “I guess I have some time to spare…” Song deposited his arrows in the quiver on his hip, then walked over to where Mae stood with a platter covered in lightly browned bao buns.

  “It’s your favourite buns! I made them myself!” She proclaimed.

  Song paused with a bun halfway to his lips. “By yourself?”

  Mae shuffled her feet and looked off to the side. “Aunt Chohee helped a little.”

  Song took a bite of the bun, the sweet and savory mashed daikon and mutton filling spilling out as he realized too late that it was still piping hot. He huffed with an open mouth until it cooled down, then chewed it appreciatively. The meat had been given a heavy helping of pepper, just the way he liked it, and he sighed with pleasure before finishing off the rest of the bun.

  “Are you done hiding, yet?” Mae asked as she watched him grab another bun and begin devouring it.

  “Hiding?” Song licked his fingers. There were four buns left. He could eat them all and his brothers would never be the wiser…

  “Mhm. Big brother says that you’ve been hiding from the rest of the family because you’re ashamed about deviating.”

  The buns sat heavy in Song’s stomach. “Oh…”

  “But I told him he’s dumb. You’re just sick and–”

  Song shook his head. “No, it’s true, Mae. I underwent qi deviation while forming my dantian. I… failed.”

  “Oh… but, you don’t have any tentacles?” She countered, “Mom said you come out of qi deviation with horrible suckers and too many eyes.”

  Song pulled up his shirt, to reveal his gently glowing governing vessel. “No, nothing as interesting as that.”

  Mae placed a hand over his stomach. “Does it hurt?”

  “No,” he lied.

  Mae spoke with the wisdom of a child. “At least you’ll never be stuck in the dark again!” She leaned in and whispered, “I still need a candle at bedtime or I cry until Seojoon comes in and sings me a lullaby.”

  Song couldn’t help it. He laughed, then grabbed two more meat buns and devoured them, brotherly retribution be damned.

  “What’re you doing here, Mae?” He asked with a mouth full of mutton. “Did you just come over to bring me some buns?”

  Mae shook her head. “No. Big brother finished herding early and said he had to come talk to cousin Juwon. He thinks he found grasswolf tracks.”

  Song’s head swiveled in the direction of his brother’s tent; he had a bad premonition. Uncle Seok had never really forgiven father for overtaking him as the Patriarch, and still coveted it for his branch of the family. He’d named his first son Seojoon, with the ancient Hanja characters for ‘Handsome and Talented’ in hopes that it would serve prophetic.

  And it had.

  Cousin Seojoon was already an expert refinement level cultivator at the young age of twenty-five, not even a year older than brother Tae. He was tall as Wook, with handsome swarthy features worthy of being called The Black Stallion of Changpo. He was handy with the horses, popular with the younger generation of the village, and had all the qualities that Song considered ideal in a leader. He was charismatic, righteous, and a hard-working genius.

  Taeyang had been compared to Seojoon all his life, which probably hadn’t helped Song’s second brother’s self-esteem. These days, Seojoon was being compared more and more to Juwon instead, as people whispered that perhaps the family’s future would be set if the Patriarch chose him as the heir instead.

  “Let’s bring them some buns,” Song said, grabbing the tray then jogging off with Mae following on his heels.