Dawn still clung to the rooftops of Lian County, painting the streets in muted gold. Chen Mo rose before the sun, the chill of early morning brushing against his skin. After a simple breakfast of steamed buns, he tightened his satchel, adjusted his sleeves, and stepped out into the quiet streets. The city was slowly stirring—merchants dragging open shutters, the faint clatter of carts on cobblestones—but his mind was already on the Silver Crane Hall. He moved with measured steps, straight-backed and disciplined, the posture ingrained from months of archery and stance training. By the time he reached the hall’s gates, a few early risers were already assembling in the courtyard, stretching and murmuring greetings, the crisp morning air full of anticipation for the day’s drills.

  As Chen Mo approached the morning lineup, Jia Tao spotted him and waved, a grin spreading across his face.

  “Oh, you didn’t have to work today?” Jia Tao called, jogging to keep pace.

  Chen Mo shook his head, keeping his steps steady. “I realized I can’t miss any moment of the training. Work is important, but I can’t lag behind here.”

  Jia Tao nodded thoughtfully, noticing the faint scent of the body-nourishing soup lingering around Chen Mo. “Makes sense,” he said, choosing not to press further.

  Before they could continue, a stern voice cut through the courtyard. “Stop talking and assume your positions!”

  Master Wei, on duty this morning, stood at the far end of the lineup, his eyes sharp and unwavering. Both youths immediately straightened, the weight of his presence leaving no room for chatter. Chen Mo and Jia Tao fell silent, the clatter of training beginning as everyone focused on the day’s drills.

  The morning session began with the familiar rhythm of the Silver Crane Stance. Youths lined the yard, some struggling with the sequences, others more confident under the watchful eyes of the elders. Master Wei patrolled, correcting stances and offering sharp reminders to those who faltered.

  Chen Mo moved with precision, his archery-trained body naturally finding balance and control. Each time he completed a move correctly, the floating panel before him registered it instantly.

  Panel: Silver Crane Stance 24/100

  He pressed on, mindful of every extension, every shift of weight. With each flawless repetition, the panel ticked upward, confirming progress that was steady and tangible.

  By the end of the morning session, Chen Mo had advanced 5 points, bringing the total to 28/100. His posture remained straight, disciplined, and unyielding, ignoring the struggles of the other youths around him. The panel glowed with each new point, a quiet testament to the methodical pace of his training.

  At midday, Elder Wei called the youths to line up, his commanding presence making the chatter fade immediately.

  “Some of you are progressing,” he began, voice firm, “and some are still lagging behind. You need to focus. It is better to consume the body-nourishing soup daily, as developing qi and blood relies heavily on nourishing the body.”

  A brief silence fell over the line of trainees as they absorbed his words. Then Elder Wei continued, softer but still firm:

  “If any of you have questions, feel free to ask. However, keep your questions strictly about the Silver Crane stance.”

  Chen Mo didn’t intend to take the initiative, hoping someone else would ask. Soon, a youth raised his hand.

  “Master Wei,” he asked, “how can someone know they’ve sensed qi?”

  Master Wei’s gaze swept over the line of trainees. “When the body develops qi, it will feel like a stream of burning blood circulating through your limbs. You will not mistake the sensation—it is very clear.”

  Encouraged, another youth quickly raised his hand. “Master Wei, can consuming several bowls of body-nourishing soup accelerate training?”

  Master Wei’s expression remained composed but firm. “The body-nourishing soup is essential, but excess is not beneficial. Developing qi and blood relies on both nourishment and balanced training. Consuming more without practice will only waste the medicine. Likewise, training more without proper nourishment will lead to injuries. Talent and aptitude, though abstract, are essential as well. Work hard, balance your diet, and strive to perform the Silver Crane stance correctly. Results will follow if you are fated for the martial arts path.”

  With that, Master Wei concluded the questions session. “Rest for a bit before resuming the evening training,” he instructed, allowing the youths a short reprieve to recover.

  As the short rest ended, the youths returned to the training yard, stretching stiff limbs and wiping sweat from their foreheads. Chen Mo settled into his usual spot, shoulders squared, back straight—every motion a reflection of his archery-honed posture. He didn’t speak, didn’t linger; he only focused on the Silver Crane stance, his eyes flicking to the panel whenever he completed a move.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Each time he executed a motion correctly, a faint glow marked the panel: 24/100…25/100…26/100. His chest tightened with anticipation as he tracked his progress, calculating in his mind the days left to reach mastery. Around him, the other youths labored, some struggling to maintain form, some already proficient, but Chen Mo paid little mind. He knew his progress was measured, steady, and most importantly, unstoppable—as long as he kept his focus.

  Master Wei circled the yard, his gaze sharp, occasionally pausing to correct a limb angle or the placement of a foot. When Chen Mo faltered for a split second, the elder’s hand hovered near his shoulder, but he allowed the boy to self-correct. Chen Mo’s eyes tracked his own movements, memorizing the feeling, the tension, the rhythm. Every shift, every extension, every controlled breath fed into the panel’s recognition.

  By the end of the evening session, the panel glowed brightly: 30/100. Chen Mo exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The nourishing soup he had consumed that morning had kept his body resilient, his movements fluid. Though sweat drenched his shirt and muscles throbbed, he felt a satisfaction that went beyond fatigue—this was progress, tangible and measured.

  As the other youths left, exhausted and muttering complaints about their aches, Chen Mo lingered for a moment, eyes fixed on the panel. “Six or seven points a day… I can do this,” he thought. The path ahead was long, but with discipline, balance, and the right nourishment, he could finally master the Silver Crane stance without fail. With that resolution, he gathered his gear and silently made his way back to his room, preparing for the next day’s early hunt for knowledge, practice, and progress.

  As the final whistle of Master Wei’s session blew, the youths wiped the sweat from their brows and stretched tired limbs. Chen Mo collected his few belongings, still keeping his posture straight, back firm, eyes glancing once at the panel—30/100—before he turned to leave.

  Jia Tao jogged up beside him, a grin spreading across his face. “Hey, Chen Mo! You coming to grab a bite? There’s a small restaurant nearby—best dumplings in the county, I swear!”

  Chen Mo shrugged lightly. “Sure, I could use something warm.”

  One of the other trainees, a plump-faced boy with a nervous twitch in his hands, piped up. “I—I hope they have soup. I can barely move my arms.”

  Jia Tao laughed. “You think you’re tired? Try keeping the Silver Crane stance for hours. You’ll forget what your legs look like.”

  The third, a wiry youth with spectacles, added, “At least we’ll get fed properly. No more of those steamed buns for one meal!”

  Chen Mo smiled faintly, walking alongside them. “I don’t mind. It’s about energy and training, not luxury.”

  Jia Tao elbowed him playfully. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Steady Progress. You’ll show us up if you keep this up!”

  They laughed, the exhaustion from training easing as they exited the yard and headed down the cobbled streets toward the restaurant, the evening lights flickering against the wooden shutters and the scent of sizzling food drifting through the air. For a brief moment, Chen Mo allowed himself to enjoy the camaraderie, blending in while keeping his focus sharp for the next day’s training.

  The group squeezed into a corner table of the small, bustling restaurant. The smell of simmering broth and frying meat made the youths’ stomachs growl almost immediately. Plates clattered, steam rose, and the chatter of other patrons filled the air.

  Jia Tao leaned back in his chair, a wry smile on his face. “You know, my old man would have a fit if he saw me wandering around like this,” he said, shaking his head. “He keeps me under tight watch at all times. If I were left alone? Who knows… I’d probably end up wandering into those filthy brothels by the docks.”

  The plump-faced youth snorted, nearly spilling his soup. “Brothels? Seriously?”

  Jia Tao shrugged, grinning. “Hey, don’t look at me like I made it up. That’s what he says! Can’t trust a free kid roaming the city.”

  The wiry youth with spectacles rolled his eyes. “Sounds like my father too, always worrying I’d get into trouble.”

  Chen Mo sat quietly, stirring his soup. He smiled faintly at their chatter, but his mind was elsewhere—calculating the extra bowls of body-nourishing soup he could afford with his current silver, planning tomorrow’s training, and weighing the risk of venturing back into the forests. Even in moments like this, the world outside the martial hall still demanded vigilance.

  Jia Tao noticed his silence and nudged him lightly. “Hey, Chen Mo, you’re too serious! Eat something before it gets cold.”

  Chen Mo nodded and dipped his spoon into the steaming broth, letting the warmth fill him, fueling his body and sharpening his focus for the training that awaited.

  Chen Mo stirred his soup thoughtfully before asking, “Jia Tao… why haven’t we seen many new trainees joining in the past few days?”

  Jia Tao leaned back, swirling the edge of his bowl. “It’s not like our courtyard is the only one recruiting,” he said. “See, our section usually takes kids straight from the city. Most folks out there can’t afford the monthly fee, and honestly, the hall focuses on the sons and daughters of wealthy families. That’s where the real money—and influence—is. The rest of us… we’re just the ones who work hard to keep up.”

  Chen Mo nodded slightly, taking in the information. Nothing new, really, but it confirmed his own position: he had no backing, no family fortune—only his own skill and discipline to rely on. That thought steeled him even further as he sipped his soup, letting the warmth spread through his body.

  Jia Tao grinned, shaking his head. “Honestly, sometimes I wish my father had more money. Then I could afford extra bowls of that body-nourishing soup every day and maybe catch up to the scions faster.”

  Another youth, a thin boy with a sharp gaze named Ren Hui, chuckled. “Catch up? You’ll still get schooled by Master Lian. Talent doesn’t come with money, Jia Tao.”

  Jia Tao snorted. “Maybe, but money buys you resources. That counts for something.”

  A third youth, a stocky fellow called Li Zhen, chimed in, his voice half serious, half teasing. “I heard the hall spends more time pampering those rich kids than training them. They get extra guidance from the elders, special meals, even better lodging. I wouldn’t trade my spot for theirs.”

  Chen Mo listened quietly, his posture straight, eyes scanning the group. He didn’t need to say much—he already knew that talent, discipline, and careful planning mattered more than money in the long run. But hearing their chatter reminded him of one thing: to blend in, he had to keep up appearances while quietly controlling his own pace.

  Jia Tao waved his chopsticks dramatically. “Enough talk about the rich brats. Let’s just eat. I’m starving.”

  Laughter rippled through the table, and for a moment, the tension of the hall, the pressure of training, and the looming three-month deadline all faded behind the warmth of steaming bowls