Two years passed.
Kai Jin turned sixteen.
In that time, much had changed. His frame had grown leaner, taller—a whipcord body forged from relentless discipline. His face, once soft with boyish uncertainty, had narrowed into something sharper, more defined. But his eyes remained the same: cold, still, and watching.
He spoke little. Laughed less. The coldness in his chest, once a flicker, now felt like frost clinging to bone.
Though he remained among the outer disciples, whispers of his strength continued to drift through the sect like smoke. Some praised his silent tenacity. Others loathed it. And more than a few wanted to see him fall.
He knew it.
Felt it.
But Kai no longer cared.
Each day was a cycle: rise before the sun, train until sweat turned to blood, meditate in silence, observe without being seen. He cultivated at night, drawing from the world around him with a slow, deliberate method few had patience for.
He had not yet advanced beyond the Body Tempering realm. Not officially.
But his control, his presence, made many who stood above him wary.
There were challenges. Some open. Some in whispers behind the training halls. Kai responded to each with precision, never cruelty—but always finality.
Injuries healed. Reputations did not.
---
One afternoon, he stood atop the east watch platform, overlooking the valley below. The wind whipped at his robes. Down the slope, other disciples were sparring. Voices carried up to him, tinged with frustration, awe, and somewhere beneath that—fear.
"He never fights seriously," one muttered.
"Yeah, but did you see how he caught Liang's blade last week? With his bare hand?"
"I think he's pretending to be weaker than he is."
"That or he's just waiting."
Kai didn't flinch at the words. He stood still, arms behind his back, mind wandering.
In his chest, the voice stirred again.
**They see you now.**
**But they still don't understand.**
He exhaled through his nose.
"Let them talk," he whispered.
Behind him, Lin Yue stepped onto the platform.
"They're starting to think you're untouchable," she said, her tone unreadable.
Kai didn't turn. "I'm not."
"They'll test you again soon. Probably together. The older ones."
"Then they'll break together."
A long pause followed. The wind moved between them.
"You've changed," Yue said at last.
Kai finally turned to face her. "Or maybe I stopped pretending."
Her eyes met his. For a moment, there was something between them. Not warmth. But recognition. A mirror, maybe.
Then she nodded, turned, and walked away.
---
That night, Kai sat cross-legged on the edge of a cliff. The stars stretched above him like scattered crystal. In his mind, he could feel the quiet pull of energy from the world—a slow river threading through bone and marrow.
He hadn't broken into Qi Condensation yet.
But he was close.
And when he did, he wouldn't announce it.
He would let the world discover it when they tried to break him again.
And failed.
---