“What are these sloppy attacks, Junior Fan Zhong? Are you a martial artist? Or just some rabid beast?” The calm voice of his opponent washed over Fan Zhong’s mind like oil on a fire, fanning it hotter.

Currently, he was standing in the middle of a square training field, one of many that took up the northeastern quarter of the second ring within the sect. Across from him was a woman in steel gray robes with flowing onyx hair who held a sword casually to the side. Blood was running from several cuts all across his body and Fan Zhong was currently kneeling on one knee five paces from his opponent.

Tiyun Areal was her name and she was one of the elite First-Grade realm disciples of the Reclusive Sword Mountain Sect. Shaking his head he stopped thinking of extraneous details as he let his focus narrow to the woman. In an instant, he dropped low, almost allowing himself to fall forward and onto the ground.

‘Momentum of Shifting Earth’ kicked in immediately curving that downward momentum into a charge as he got his feet under him and closed the distance in two bounding steps. Dirt flew into the air at the force of the steps as Fan Zhong seemed to teleport to his opponent in the eyes of several observing Second-Grade disciples. His origin palm strike was met with a block and counter thrust in the same motion scoring a deep cut on his shoulder.

Red subsumed his gaze and Fan Zhong no longer thought of the pain as he pushed with all of his might. With his opponent thrown off balance, he lashed out with a low kick before coming up with an earth-shifting palm meant to hit the outside of her leg. The shove accomplished nothing as Tiyun Areal turned the momentum into a flourish that transferred the force into a block that left a stinging cut on his leg in response to the kick.

Meanwhile, the crossguard of her blade was already positioned to block the shifting palm and in one smooth motion, the elite disciple used that force once more to shift out of the way of the blow. As she did this his opponent allowed her blade to be carried upward in a circular motion until she was back into a guard position with her sword resting on Fan Zhong’s throat.

“Enough, the bout is mine, Junior Fan Zhong.” Tiyun Areal’s voice was as calm as ever, only a small tinge of sadness and contempt seeping into her words.

“This one thanks you for the instruction, Senior Areal.” Fan Zhong intoned through gritted teeth, referring to the elite disciple in a casual tone to at least strike back at her slightly.

“Hmph, you do the name Fan a disservice acting this way. Your brother would be disappointed in you.” Tiyun Areal’s tone dropped any pretense and her contempt became palpable as she seemed to dismiss him while turning to walk away.

Hearing these words set off an explosion in Fan Zhong's sight. It was as if the heavens had descended once more and destroyed the damn in his heart that held back all the feelings in the world. Sound bled away from him while color drained from his vision, as the world turned scarlet…

Tiyun Areal looked one last time at the last remaining heir of the Fan clan. She had heard of him, one of the three stars of the strongest martial clan within the valley. It was said that at the height of their power the Fan clan could’ve easily taken control of the inner part of the valley becoming a third overlord of this region.

The only thing that had stopped them was the philosophy of Fan Long, the previous leader of the clan. He had been a true martial artist, someone who had sought the martial path to better understand the world and protect those around him. She had admired that man and while hearing of the exploits of the Fan clan throughout the war with the Wei that admiration had only grown.

At the time she had been new to her First-Grade realm strength and her mother had recently advanced to the master realm while her father was close to the same breakthrough. Being powerful martial artists the war had called them to make many sacrifices and give up their peaceful secluded life spent training her. As such every victory became a symbol of the possibility that they would once again return to those idyllic times.

Unfortunately, the heavens had willed that it was simply not to be. It had been early on, during the time that the foreign illusionist the Wei dogs had hired was devastating the sect forces. The mission had been a routine one, sending out a powerful set of reinforcements to aid where the enemy had struck. Only this time the illusionist disguised an enemy squad just well enough that they seemed like a battered and injured band of sect forces returning to request aid.

With fury and valor, her parents had taken over two dozen trained sect disciples to help their fellows only to be trapped against a cliff with no escape. By the time additional reinforcements had arrived only her mother had remained, mortally wounded atop a mound of enemy corpses. She had never been angry with her parents, only proud that they had been so willing to charge forth for their fellow sect members.

In the years that followed the victories of the Fan clan had been like beacons to her, light that warded away thoughts that would distract from her getting stronger. Now here was the last of the three stars of that clan moving like an uncoordinated mountain goat. His movements were fast and practiced; however, in the eyes of an experienced First-Grade martial artist, they were simple and easy to read.

They had been here for over two weeks and every time she had seen the young man, irrational anger had bloomed in her heart. How could the man who represented the last of the three stars of the Fan move with such obvious tells? During practice and drills, he showed the temperance of a true follower of the martial path, executing forms with resolve in his eyes.

While sparring, however, it was as if he became a different person. Calm blocks warred with thinly masked aggression, while measured tactics were nowhere to be found. Watching him fight felt like watching two different people inside the same body, one with the training of a martial artist and the other with the savagery of a beast. The results were predictable combinations, sloppy feints, and an overall style that was easy to goad into over-extending.

Inwardly Tiyun Areal scoffed at the idea that she had ever held Fan Zhong in such high esteem, had ever pinned hopes of punishing the Wei on him. At that moment however, the hairs on the back of her neck raised as if to stand at attention. Heat blossomed as across her body as a gaze landed on her back and a primal howl echoed throughout the courtyard.

Turning she only had time to see the eyes of a primal beast barreling across the training yard, eyes filled with only thoughts of death and destruction.

A shout broke Xing Zheng from his speech inside the lecture hall. He had been giving a speech on some of the finer points of low-level techniques to use from the bind; however, at that sound all thoughts of the lesson immediately disappeared.

“Juniors, excuse this old man for just one moment.” He said gently, as a scowl that threatened to form on his sagely expression was instantly crushed with an effort of mental will.

Before the words even left his mouth Azure Sword Qi thrummed through his body out of the door and into the sky outside the hall forming a slow running hazy river of blue light. With a single step he was outside the hall and within three more Xing Zheng crossed the expanse that formed the second circular ring of the sect. At this time the words he had spoken were still traveling through the room he had just left causing the students in the lecture hall to only hear the complete sentence after their teacher had seemingly vanished.

As his foot met the ground, Xing Zheng’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Fan Zhong charging at a surprising speed towards a female disciple, a core disciple by the name of Tiyun Areal if he remembered correctly. Sighing, he exerted a small amount of force to dash between the two and let loose a sliver of Qi in a wide area. Instantly Fan Zhong was pressed into the ground in a cloud of dust as well as bringing every disciple within or around the training field to their knees.

Snarls came from the young man and Xing Zheng looked at him with considerable worry. Those were the eyes of madness, eyes he had seen all too often in his service to the baroness. A small bit of anger rose in his stomach and it showed as the ground around the youth pressed into a depression that sank a few centimeters before he got himself fully under control.

Pained groans came from the pit however, the rasping snarls that sounded more beast than man continued, if diminished significantly.

“JUNIOR FAN ZHONG,” Xing Zheng leveled a scathing glaze at his young charge as power filled his voice, eyes turning into blazing stars of azure as he let energy leak into them. “CALM YOURSELF, NOW!”

These words carried Qi and Divine Sense along with his intent, meant to suppress and bring order to the young man. As the working of will hit him Fan Zhong’s eyes seemed to go slightly dull as if a hammer had hit his soul. Even still the anger in his heart could not be quelled and he returned Xing Zheng’s look with his own, one filled with defiance, rage, and indignation.

“What would you know? You who sit so high as the heavens, watching from your moun-” Fan Zhong’s voice contained enough venom to melt stone and his words even unknowingly carried some of his mental energy.

“Remember yourself, JUNIOR. Your actions affect more than just yourself here, now explain what's going on, or do you mean for me to read your mind to determine what has you in such a fuss?” Calm overtook his words as Xing Zheng spoke, hundreds of years of training asserting themselves to keep a clamp on his irritation.

This was getting out of hand, Fan Zhong had been having outbursts more and more over the few weeks the group had been at the sect. At first, it was only minor outbursts during sparring but this was far more than even the bloodlust he had displayed at the gate. He had hoped that attending lectures and practicing with the sect disciples would allow both of the young Fan scions to hone their technique and pave a start to their path to the master realm.

However, it seemed that if something wasn’t done soon then Fan Zhong would lose himself to rage rather than walking further down the path. It was affecting his growth as well and after the initial training they had done on the journey here had allowed him to solidify his experiences over the past five years the young man’s growth had almost completely stalled. Fan Yong by contrast was still progressing far slower as well but the sect atmosphere seemed to be doing him good, allowing years of unresolved tension and stress to slowly ebb away.

Observing the scenario it seemed drastic measures would need to be taken.

“Senior… She spit on my brother's grave. What would you do in my place?” Fan Zhong’s expression calmed enough that he seemed in control of himself, if struggling to be so, and as the fury ebbed from part of his gaze, resolve took its place.

“Senior Zhang Zheng that is-” Tiyun Areal started to speak but her words caught in her throat as Xing Zheng’s piercing gaze turned to face her.

“Is. That. True?” Xing Zheng kept a tight lock on his Qi as emotions he thought buried for centuries surfaced, memories of rain washing away a sword coated in black lightning flashed through his mind.

“With all due respect senior, I told Brother Fan Zhong that his brother would be disappointed in him. There was no disrespect to his family, only his skills” The young woman maintained her resolve, refusing to be pressed down from her kneeling position to the floor as small parts of his energy unconsciously pressed down harder on her.

Taking a deep breath Xing Zheng pulled back his Qi so that everyone except for Fan Zhong could stand. As he did so looked back to the young man before glancing at the sect disciple again with a hard gaze.

“Is this how a core disciple of one of the nine swords of the Reclusive Sword Mountain Sect treats one of their guests? Apologize now, and swear on your blade to never speak so callously about Junior Zhong’s late clansmen ever again.” Xing Zheng’s tone brooked no quarter and Qi as well as Divine sense infused his words, making them echo throughout the training area.

“My… apologies Brother Fan Zhong. I was thoughtless and spoke out of turn. By this sword let it be known that Tiyun Areal shall never disparage the clansmen of the Fan Clan as long as life still courses through my veins, may the heavens witness this oath and strike me down if it is broken.” The young woman’s face set into a grimace as she began to speak the oath; however, to her credit the resolve returned by the time she finished speaking.

It seemed that the Reclusive Sword Mountain Sect chose and trained their disciples well after all. Nodding Xing Zheng walked over to Fan Zhong and stood over him before addressing the young man.

“Junior Fan Zhong, are you an animal or a martial artist? What gives you the right to shame our hosts like this? Quickly apologize and let us be done with this farce.” Slowly he lifted the aura that he had used to suppress the youth, allowing him to stand.

In a blur Fan Zhong pushed himself up before the force was entirely gone. As he landed the young man sent a withering gaze at Xing Zheng before fury crept into his expression as he slowly turned to face the female disciple.

“Apologies. For. The. Shameful. Display. Senior.” Fan Zhong intoned through gritted teeth, giving the young woman a martial salute as he bowed low to his waist.

“Hmph, there it is. Disciple Tiyun Areal, please send a messenger to the lecture hall and inform them I will not be able to return to finish my lesson today. Worry not as I’ll find time to reschedule it. In the meantime Junior Zhong, I think it's good we speak in private.” As he finished these words Xing Zheng swept a stream of his movement techniques river under the young man and they both blurred out of the training arena.

Weak. Too weak. That was what it all came down to. Too weak to save Wang Quiang on his own. Too weak to defend Sir Teng’s crewman. Too weak to matter during the war.

Now he had been too weak to even control himself in a training yard, like some child throwing a temper tantrum. Shame roiled in Fan Zhong’s stomach, warring with rage and indignation. Even now he couldn’t quench the seething anger that had overcome him upon hearing those words.

The most infuriating part is, she was right. Fan Cheng would’ve beaten him senseless for acting like that and in a sense what Xing Zheng had done was tame in comparison. Heat pulsed in his chest at the thought of his brother even as the cold winds of the air rushing around him brushed along Fan Zhong’s body.

Below the ground streaked past beneath a transparent film and in front of them, the slopes of the Green Mist Mountain loomed overhead. With the turmoil going through his mind Fan Zhong hardly noticed when they stopped on a plateau some few hundred or so meters below the peak. From there the valley stretched out below, wondrous green forests that hid the undergrowth beneath their canopies with sprawling prairies that filled the gaps between the dense plant life.

Overhead the sun shone dimly through cloud cover, casting a soft light across the entire landscape. Through the middle of it, all sat the expanse of the Flowing Grass River, a resplendent channel of blue that bisected the valley down its center. So large was the river that throughout tiny islands could be seen as if they were the high point of the back of some monstrous serpent slumbering in the depths of the waters.

Taking in the sight caused all thoughts to flee from Fan Zhong’s mind for just a moment. In that blissful period of peace, his mind found a song he thought forgotten, one that spoke of shifting sands and firm mountains. A song that was as patient as the earth and as free as the heavens.

As he basked in the music of the world it was perfect, for a moment. Then suddenly a note was eschewed, causing disorder in that harmony. Drums beat, matching a new tune that beat down the shifting sands forcing them to work to erode the mountains. Heavy boulders fell crushing down the unity of the world, throwing it into ruin as the sun bled the blood of the innocent.

Fan Zhong screamed as he dropped to the ground, and clutched his head in pain. Slowly the song receded and as he came to his senses he found himself curled in a ball at the edge of the plateau beside Xing Zheng. The immortal swordsman was sitting next to him, patiently meditating in a lotus position with a sword lazily floating in front of him.

“It was beautiful” The old swordsman’s words seemed to come from the air itself, light as the wind and flowing like water.

“Wh… What was beautiful?” Fan Zhong asked with confusion as slowly pulled himself into a sitting position while moving back a few meters, leery of the proximity to the edge.

“Your song, it was once a great work.” Xing Zheng spoke as he opened his eyes that glowed with a flowing azure power, one that seemed to meld with the world itself.

His words were so simple yet Fan Zhong couldn’t make sense of them. That song had been in his mind not played out loud and what was meant by once?

“Senior, forgive me for being lacking, but what exactly are you saying?” Fan Zhong’s expression became more and more confused as he tried to puzzle out the meaning of the older man’s words.

It was as if mist covered his thoughts, shrouding his mind with a cool and calming feeling. Perhaps this was some form of mental whiplash from his rollercoaster of emotions. He had been seething with fury just a few moments ago and the sight of the valley had instilled inside of him a peace he’d forgotten about.

Both were so extreme as if they came from opposite ends of the world. After hearing no response after some time he simply took a deep breath and closed his eyes and tried to center himself, to lift the veil from his mind while the immortal formulated his reply.

“Do you understand now, Junior brother Zhong?” Xing Zheng’s voice came to him not as an interruption but rather a new layer of calm, as if applying a balm to a wound he’d never known he had.

“No, honestly I don’t think I do.” Fan Zhong opened his eyes to see the sun had dipped considerably on the horizon.

It seemed that his meditation had taken quite some time as it had been morning when they had arrived. Looking back he saw that Xing Zheng stood at the center of the plateau with a practice sword in hand. The old swordsman had a solemn look on his face as he gazed back at Fan Zhong, a rare sight to see such a serious expression on him.

“Then we’ll have to do this the hard way.” He said, letting loose a small sigh “Come and attack me so we can get started, neither of us is leaving this plateau until you understand.”

With these words Xing Zheng raised his sword in a martial salute and took a fighting stance, steel flashing in his eyes. Internally alarm bells flared in Fan Zhong’s mind, that type of look only ever crossed the immortal’s face when he was preparing to fight seriously.

“Senior, I understand my actions were rude please forg-” a smack to his face cut off Fan Zhong’s words and he found himself tumbling through the air to the center of the plateau.

Stumbling to his feet he found that he’d traded positions with Xing Zheng and an ache in his side spoke of a hard blow.

“Enough, speak like a martial artist!” At these words, Xing Zheng charged at him at a… visible pace?

Fan Zhong was perplexed as the old swordsman moved with the speed of a newly minted First-Grade Martial artist. With no other options he withdrew his brick from the folds of his robes and charged forward, it seemed the time for talk was over.