Wei Chen found Instructor Feng at the training lot behind the inn.
The scarred Fire mage was running through forms—precise, economical movements that spoke of decades of practice. His flames flickered around his hands like living extensions, controlled and deadly.
Wei Chen waited at the edge of the lot, watching. Interrupting a mage's training was disrespectful. And stupid.
After five minutes, Feng completed his sequence and the flames extinguished. He turned, unsurprised.
"The shadow mage. Wei Chen, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Instructor."
"I'm not your instructor. Not yet, anyway." Feng grabbed a water skin, drank deeply. "What do you want?"
Wei Chen stepped forward. "I want to hire you. For combat training."
"My rate is one gold eighty silver for three months. Three sessions per week." Feng's tone was matter-of-fact. "Can you afford that?"
"I have one gold thirty-two silver."
"Then you can't afford it." Feng turned away. "Come back when you have the full amount."
"Wait." Wei Chen didn't move from his spot. "I can pay the rest in installments. Eight silver per month for six months after training begins."
Feng paused. Looked back. "Why would I accept that arrangement?"
"Because I'm worth the risk."
"Bold claim." Feng walked closer, studying Wei Chen with those sharp, assessing eyes. "You're what, five years old? Six? You have intermediate Darkness magic, which is impressive. But impressive isn't the same as dedicated."
"I've worked six months to save this money. Took odd jobs. Invested in a merchant venture that lost silver." Wei Chen met Feng's gaze. "I didn't quit. I'm here anyway."
"Desperation isn't dedication."
"I'm not desperate. I'm hungry." Wei Chen pulled his shadow quartz from his pocket. "I practice daily. I spar with the top student at temple. I learn from every loss. This isn't desperation. It's ambition."
Feng's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Interest, maybe.
"Show me."
"Show you what?"
"Your magic. Best technique. Right now." Feng gestured at the empty lot. "Prove you're not wasting my time."
Wei Chen pocketed the quartz and stepped into the center of the lot. He took a breath, centering himself.
Then he pulled.
His shadow responded instantly, splitting into multiple tendrils. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Each moved independently—some extending across the ground, others rising like serpents, two wrapping around Wei Chen himself in defensive coils.
He held the coordination for thirty seconds. His core burned, but he pushed through. Forty seconds. Fifty.
At sixty seconds, he released. The shadows snapped back to normal.
Wei Chen was breathing hard but stayed standing.
Feng watched silently for a moment. "How long have you been training?"
"Six months since awakening."
"And you can hold multi-directional shadow control for a full minute?" Feng's tone was neutral, but his attention was focused. "Who taught you that?"
"No one. I improvised it."
"Improvised." Feng circled Wei Chen slowly, like a predator evaluating prey. "Elder Shen doesn't teach combat applications. So where did you learn to fight?"
"I don't know how to fight. That's why I'm here."
"But you spar. With who?"
"Yun Hao. Water mage, intermediate level. Advanced techniques."
"And you lose."
"Every time." Wei Chen straightened despite his exhaustion. "But I learn from it. Every round teaches something. Water sensing counters visual stealth. Active defense beats static. Feints work against superior opponents."
Feng stopped circling. "You lose consistently and still keep fighting. Why?"
"Because losing is temporary. Quitting is permanent."
Feng studied him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled — a small, sharp expression that transformed his scarred face.
"I like you, shadow mage. You've got the right mindset." He crossed his arms. "But liking someone doesn't mean training them for free. I'm not running a charity."
"I'm not asking for charity. I'm asking for a payment plan."
"Which is still risk on my end. What if you stop paying?"
"Then you stop teaching. Contract terminates." Wei Chen pulled out a piece of parchment —he'd prepared for this. "Written agreement. Signed and witnessed. Enforceable."
Feng took the parchment, read it. His eyebrows rose slightly. "You wrote this yourself?"
"Merchant Liu helped. He knows contracts."
"Smart." Feng handed it back. "But I still don't know if you're worth the investment. So here's what's going to happen."
He gestured to the lot. "I'm going to test you. Not your magic — I've seen that. Your willingness to suffer. Because real combat training isn't temple lessons. It hurts. It's exhausting. Most students quit within the first month."
"I won't quit."
"Everyone says that. Few mean it." Feng's smile turned predatory. "So prove it. Right now. You and me. Sparring match. Non-lethal, but not gentle either. Last ten minutes without yielding, and I'll accept your payment plan."
Wei Chen's core was still depleted from the shadow demonstration. His magic reserves were maybe thirty percent.
Fighting now would be stupid. He'd lose badly.
But refusing would be worse.
"All right."
Feng didn't give him time to prepare.
Fire erupted from the instructor's hand — a whip of flame that cracked toward Wei Chen like a living thing.
Wei Chen's shadow jerked upward, forming a hasty wall. The flame struck it and dispersed, but the heat washed over Wei Chen's face.
Move. Don't just block.
Wei Chen rolled sideways as another fire whip came down where he'd been standing. His shadow split into defensive tendrils, intercepting the next three attacks.
But Feng was faster. More experienced. The fire whips multiplied — four, five, six — attacking from multiple angles simultaneously.
Wei Chen's shadow defenses collapsed under the assault. A whip caught his ankle, burning through his pant leg. Pain flared sharp and immediate.
He bit back a scream, pivoted on his uninjured leg, and used shadow concealment to blend with the lot's natural darkness.
Feng's laugh echoed. "Good instinct. But I don't need to see you to hit you."
Fire exploded outward in all directions — a nova of flame that illuminated every corner of the lot. Wei Chen's concealment shattered.
Another fire whip. Wei Chen couldn't block this one. It struck his shoulder, searing cloth and skin.
He stumbled, vision blurring from pain.
Ten minutes. Just last ten minutes.
Feng didn't relent. More fire. More attacks. Wei Chen blocked what he could, took hits he couldn't avoid.
His magic reserves drained to nothing. His shadows became sluggish, unresponsive.
A fire whip wrapped around his waist, lifting him off the ground.
"Yield?" Feng asked, not unkindly.
Wei Chen checked the sun's position. Maybe six minutes had passed.
Not enough.
"No."
Feng dropped him. Wei Chen hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb impact. His burned ankle screamed. His shoulder throbbed.
But he stood up anyway.
"Again."
The next four minutes were agony.
Wei Chen couldn't use magic anymore — his core was empty. So he relied on movement. Dodging. Rolling. Using terrain.
Feng's attacks came slower now. Not weaker — still more than enough to overwhelm Wei Chen — but measured. Testing.
Wei Chen took burns on his arms, his back, his legs. Each one sent lightning through his nerves. But he didn't yield.
He fell twice. Got up twice.
At eight minutes, Feng created a fire prison around Wei Chen — a circle of flames that trapped him completely.
"Last chance. Yield, and I'll heal those burns for free. Refuse, and you suffer another two minutes."
Wei Chen's vision swam. His legs shook. Every breath hurt.
But he'd promised himself. Promised his parents. Promised that he wouldn't quit just because things were hard.
"Two more minutes."
Feng's smile was approving now. "Stubborn bastard."
The fire prison collapsed. Wei Chen collapsed with it, legs finally giving out.
But he'd made it. Ten minutes.
Feng approached, crouched beside him. "You're either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."
"Both," Wei Chen managed.
Feng laughed — genuine amusement. Then he placed his hand on Wei Chen's shoulder, and heat flowed through. But this heat was different. Soothing. The burns on Wei Chen's skin began to close, pain fading.
"Fire can destroy," Feng said quietly. "But it can also purify. Cauterize. Heal, in its own way."
The burns didn't disappear completely — faint scars remained — but the agony receded to manageable levels.
Feng stood, offering his hand. Wei Chen took it, letting the instructor pull him up.
"You lasted ten minutes against a combat specialist while magically exhausted and injured." Feng's tone was matter-of-fact. "That's not skill. That's willpower. And willpower can be trained into something dangerous."
He produced the contract Wei Chen had written. "I'll accept your terms. One gold thirty-two silver up front. Eight silver per month for six months. Three sessions weekly. Miss two consecutive payments, contract terminates. Agreed?"
Wei Chen nodded, not trusting his voice.
Feng signed the contract, then handed it to Wei Chen for his signature.
When both names were written, Feng pocketed his copy. "Training starts tomorrow. Dawn. Don't be late."
"I won't."
"And Wei Chen?" Feng's expression turned serious. "What I just did? That was a fraction of real combat. A taste. If you're serious about learning, it gets harder from here. Much harder."
"I know."
"Good." Feng turned away, returning to his practice. "See you tomorrow, shadow mage."
Wei Chen limped home, body aching, burns tingling despite Feng's healing.
But he'd done it.
One gold thirty-two silver paid. Contract signed. Training secured.
His parents would worry about the burns. He'd have to explain carefully, reassure them he was fine.
But fine or not, he'd taken another step forward.
Temple lessons taught control. Feng would teach combat.
And maybe — just maybe — that would be enough to close the gap between him and people like Yun Hao.
Or at least give him a fighting chance.