Under the light of the Blue Moon, Chang Heng sat in the courtyard. The same one he had been dragged to in the last weeks.

  In the morning, he'd have to go and participate in the year's tournament. If he won, he'd gain more freedom and resources to focus on what he loved to do.

  If he lost, he'd have to abandon his clan, all that it gave him, and his family.

  His parents hated the idea, and yet they accepted to let him go, if they had to. No matter how sorry their eyes were looking.

  This isn’t the time to get lost in musings. I have to be ready for tomorrow.

  It was too little, too late, he knew it. But he still needed to do it.

  In the next day’s matches, he’d have to put to use his only strength: his resistance.

  With his cousin, he had understood a few ways to gain an upper hand with it. Most of the time, he’d do the same thing he did- analyze his opponents and understand them, then use that knowledge to win; other times, he’d just tire them out, letting the fight drag for so long their stamina and Qi would end up depleted.

  They had another few strategies ready, but they were for different kinds of fights.

  In those hours left, he wanted to do two things: finally learn that attack technique he and the patriarch had developed, and practice the one thing he could do that surprised Chang Jian.

  The technique was called [Mountain Weight Fist], an excessively big name, but explicative for what it did, using aspects of the Rock and Wood elements. They hadn’t managed to find a way to accommodate all the three elements he had access to, but it was still very powerful.

  At least they thought so.

  Chang Heng just couldn’t get the feeling for it- the sturdiness and enduring aspects used for [Three Layers Defence] he wished for a lifetime, but not the weight. It hadn’t been something he cared about, but he now knew that he had to learn to do it.

  He crossed his legs by the old tree, resting his back on it. Focusing on his memories, he forgot the pains in his body.

  He tried to gather all relevant images and memories: The city walls he saw that day, their immense size. The mountains in the distance. The palace in the centre of the city. … He was done. Couldn’t envision anything else.

  And for all those images, their solidity, the way they would persevere and withstand the passage of time and the actions of monsters, the way they’d protect those behind them. But not their weight, the sheer mass they possessed. Even their size was easier to envision.

  He just felt too far from that concept, it didn’t truly affect his life in a meaningful way.

  But there was another image that came to mind.

  That focused pressure the patriarch showed when they first met, making his knees buckle. The barely restrained aura Old Man Ling released all the time, pressing on his shoulders, holding his breath tight. Even that of Chang Jian, the light weight of an understandable superiority, and the huge wall he so easily destroyed, that pressed on the minds of all the people who saw it.

  The weight of his burden, of tomorrow’s challenge, of his illness, of his incapability. He let these last few thoughts go, they’d just distract him.

  Still sitting down, he slowly extended his arm forward. Within, the unique stamina possessed by a Cultivator moved, gaining part of the properties of his elements, forming patterns and shapes as it moved through his arm, his mind only caring for those “right” images of weight.

  Energy built up.

  His movement was complete, the punch finished. But no technique.

  Time passed, time in which he tried it again and again. He even focused on those aspects he wanted to ignore. But nothing happened.

  With the Blue Moon at the top of its arch, he gave up on that. He had somewhat progressed, so that was something, but he clearly wouldn't master it by the end of the night.

  So, he moved to the other thing to practice. He got up, and started running circles in the courtyard.

  His head was focusing on something else: Qi control, and the technique inside of him.

  He reached out, slowly. One mote was attracted, and he grasped control of it. He could barely move it, having it just follow him.

  He wanted to, but knew that absorbing it in that moment was beyond his capabilities.

  He slowly reached out again. Grabbing another mote, he moved it close to the first, having them merge into a slightly bigger one.

  It didn't increase or decrease the total amount of it, but it made keeping it within his grasp slightly easier.

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  The same happened for a third and fourth. After that, it was too much. His head was already pounding, keeping his steps steady hard.

  When he stopped running, it took a couple dozen seconds to have it enter his body, and then his Dantian. It stopped there.

  He needed more concentration and calm to bring it inside the Core and actually cultivate. This was a practice used for recovering Qi, the gathering of motes in one mass to make it faster.

  It was useful for longer fights, where he could use it to recover.

  He wasn’t supposed to be able to do this, not this early. It was already a rare practice for those in upper realms, let alone in his. There's to say, they needed it less, as the same amount of Qi would be much less relevant for them.

  In the next couple hours, he kept practicing, keeping more Qi, gathering it faster, absorbing it with less delay and in a shorter time.

  “Finally, you are taking things seriously.”

  Patriarch Guang was sitting on the tree, watching him.

  Chang Heng let out a scream, but kept his wits after that.

  The man got off the grey branches with the grace of a gorilla, his huge frame barely a hindrance.

  The ground slightly trembled from his fall.

  “It's a bit late, but it's still a good thing.”

  The boy bowed.

  “Patriarch, to what do I owe your presence?”

  “First, you have really bad etiquette. You should learn from your father more. Second, that's not how we have talked until now, I don't want the threat of kicking you out of the clan to be the reason for such respect. So drop it.”

  “Of course…”

  The huge man sat down, beckoning the younger to sit with him. So he did, cautiously.

  Heavens knew what the man wanted from him.

  “I'm here to give you a gift. I hope it isn't the last one I give you, but it will be if you lose tomorrow.”

  Together with the second reminder of his challenge, he took out a book from his robes, and a scroll. Both looked new, never used yet.

  “Both of these are for your future.”

  First, he handed him the book. It had a sombre cover, and as its title, it read Chang Guang's approach to fighting techniques.

  “I think you can guess what it's about. I will publish it in the future, when I'll be too old to keep working, but this can be a headstart for you. I know I’m not the biggest scholar there is, but I’ve had almost a century of experience doing this.I trust you to not be the biggest competitor of our clan for a while.”

  Second, he grabbed the scroll. Chang Heng opened it, watching an incredibly complicated pattern and writing inside.

  “This is something that took us months to make. Or at least, the original version.”

  He started pointing to parts of the design, some of which looked incomplete, as if part of it had been canceled.

  “It was made a bit before you joined us here. It’s the technique my son uses, we worked on it since the day he awakened.

  It's called [Past’s Eye], and it divides in two parts: one, while used, stores what he sees with his eyes, the other makes him see it again. It was made for training, but I think he recently started using it even in combat. The version I'm giving you is incomplete: Basically, it doesn't yet know what aspect of your perception will be stored. You will be free to choose, and with the foundation from my book, complete it.”

  The boy was astonished. The first was already a great gift- when one man can support a big clan like theirs on his own shoulders, his work had to be good, and he saw it. But the scroll… the patriarch and his son worked on it alone for months, when his two techniques took just three days.

  From its description, he couldn’t tell what was so special about it, but he was sure there was much more behind it than he thought.

  “Why… why are you giving me these? You could just wait for me to win, or leave me be if I lose. I… I don’t get it.”

  He had always seen the man as a practical bunch, be it in the way he talked or acted. His every action had a purpose, and the purpose was always the prosperity of the clan and its members.

  “Why wouldn’t I? We are connected by blood, Heng, even if you lose the name of our family.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this explanation.”

  He would’ve believed him, if he said it before the morning. But his cousin’s words… Every Cultivator is my enemy, he says. I know he is family, but maybe… maybe I shouldn’t blindly trust him.

  He hated the thought. It wasn’t him. But his challenge was happening for a reason: He had nothing to offer to the clan that they didn’t have already. He was only a liability, an expense, and the patriarch acted for the best of the clan.

  “I know you are not evil, but your priority is not my wellbeing, it’s the clan’s. So, before I accept, I need to understand.”

  Chang Guang looked almost hurt for a second, but his expression was calm again in a moment. He shifted the weight on his legs.

  “I told you, we are family. This stands. But you are not only connected to me, now. The Old Relic- hum, Old Man Ling, has been more active and in a better mood this month than any other time in the last hundred years.” There was something unsaid there, Chang Heng noticed. “Your father’s skills and knowledge in economics is a boon to our clan. Your mother alone let us triple the size of our staples, and is showing how talented of a teacher she is to other clan members.

  And your sister… you may not notice, but there is something special about her. She took all the best aspects of your parents, no matter what she will do, her character alone could make her a future leader, if given even just the barest chance to shine. And they all love you, in their own ways. Those are people I want the goodwill of, so here I am.”

  Chang Heng felt pride, for once not for himself, as he heard the words. He never had to worry about taking care of any of them, but the idea they would be valued and appreciated still warmed him inside.

  “Thanks for your honesty. Please, keep taking care of them.”

  “I will, but this is not all. You are also one of the people I want to be in the good graces of. I knew it from the moment you turned years of pointless work of the Old Man into one of his greatest successes, and how relevant you were in the making of his Magnum Opus. And I got more certain from seeing what you were working on tonight.”

  He stood up, and so did the boy. In front of each other, they couldn’t be more different: one huge, with a spiky beard and arms thick as a head, the incarnation of masculinity in his face and body, the other small, thin, with a soft look, almost a child despite his age, the only thing they shared the red hair.

  But they had the same look for each other: respect.

  “That’s finally a good expression I see on you, Young Chang Heng.”

  “Thanks , Patriarch Chang Guang.”

  The man walked away, calm steps to his rooms.

  The boy sat down, his back on the tree, legs crossed. He opened his new book. Before he started reading, he asked a question to the leaving man.

  “As I read… could you let out your aura? I’m trying to do something.”

  Chang Guang stopped, turned, and smiled. With one jump, he was back on a branch of the dead tree.

  “That is finally a good question you ask me. The answer is yes, but be ready for the consequences.”

  …

  The night passed, and a multitude of young Cultivators walked towards the stadium, fight in their eyes.