By the time Jalen returned home, the sun had dipped behind the southern ridge, leaving the sky washed in copper. His back was stiff from drills and dust, but it wasn't fatigue that slowed his steps.
It was voices. From inside.
"…you don't understand," Jaquan was saying. "He's disciplined. Always has been. He doesn't ask for more than he needs. He just… needs a chance."
Jalen paused just short of the doorframe. His father's voice carried an unfamiliar edge—something raw beneath the words.
"I'm telling you this out of kindness," came a second voice—measured, clipped. "Even if he has some trace of qi, he's already what—fifteen? Sixteen? Late starters never advance far. The body's root structure should awaken by six—eight at the latest. If he begins now, with luck and backbreaking discipline, perhaps he'll reach Emerald by thirty. Early Sapphire, if the heavens smile, by fifty."
Jaquan didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice was quieter.
"I just… I want him to have a future that's his."
"You're a good father," the instructor said, gentler now. "But the clans are not built on kindness."
Jalen stepped in.
Both men turned.
Instructor Beilin was tall—mid-thirties maybe—clothed in the teaching robes of a Sapphire Realm cultivator, creased neatly, bearing the clan's instructive seal. His gaze raked over Jalen with cool detachment.
"So. This is the boy."
Jalen gave a shallow bow. "Junior, greet senior Beilan."
Beilan reached into his sleeve and drew out a small, translucent qi crystal—the kind used to test core compatibility and latent potential. "Place your hand here. Let's see if there's anything to measure."
Jalen stepped forward. Jayquan stood off to the side, hands wringing his sleeves, hope and dread fighting behind his eyes.
Jalen laid his fingers gently on the crystal. Just a brush. He summoned the barest spark of his qi—thread-thin and unthreatening. Early Ruby, nothing more. It hummed to life in a dull red glow at the base of the crystal. Nothing extravagant.
Beilan clicked his tongue. "Well, I've seen worse."
"Does that mean you will assist with his cultivation?" Jaquan asked desperately.
"Normally, I wouldn't," Beilin said, his tone clipped. "But out of respect for our past friendship, I'll give him a chance."
He turned to Jalen. "You'll join the foundational group starting tomorrow morning. Standard breathing forms, root alignment drills, and early-movement steps. No shortcuts."
Jalen resisted the urge to sigh.
That group was mostly younger cousins—six to ten years old. Still learning to guide breath through their dantian without turning red in the face. Children who hadn't yet shaped their qi or touched a real technique.
"Understood," he said.
Beilin turned to Jaquan. "You did well to push for him. Let's hope he repays your faith with effort."
Jaquan bowed, eyes shining.
After the door shut behind the instructor, silence settled over the room.
Then Jaquan looked at Jalen—really looked—and smiled like he hadn't in months.
"I know you told me not to say anything about it," he said softly. "But…"
"It's okay, Dad. I know you did this because you want better for me." Jalen sat beside him, that same quiet smile stitched tight to his face. "Thank you."
He could've told the truth.
That his qi had already broken through thresholds most only dreamed of. That the Shade—the one people were whispering about, the one who outmaneuvered the Ten Great Families—was sitting right here.
But he didn't.
Because his father had thrown pride at the feet of someone unworthy just to buy him a path. And because if he told the truth now, Jayquan wouldn't keep it secret—not out of malice, but in the hope of raising Jalen's value to the clan. To give him a brighter future.
But Jalen didn't want that kind of attention. Not all of it would be good anyway.
The morning drills took place in the eastern courtyard, a sun-soaked space lined with smooth flagstones and too many eyes. Jalen stood near the back of the group—loose linens, shallow breath, eyes half-lidded in practiced boredom.
The others were children. Younger cousins, sons of minor branch lines. Most were between six and ten, still puffing their chests with every breath cycle. One of them—a boy with a lopsided braid and a mouth too big for his frame—snuck glances at Jalen between each movement set.
"You're wasting space, you know," the boy muttered under his breath. "This group's for kids just starting, not failed house rats."
Jalen didn't look at him.
He didn't need to.
The insult came again, louder this time, aimed to catch a few snickers from nearby students. "Bet you bribed your way in. Or your daddy begged hard enough."
Still, Jalen didn't react. Not with his face, not with his breath. He moved as instructed, slow and compliant. None of these children had seen real pain yet. They thought insult was power. He let them think it.
Instructor Beilin barked hollow encouragements over the courtyard.
"Center your flow!"
"Let the breath settle before you rotate!"
"Good—again!"
It was all noise. Movements too simple, patterns too slow, corrections too crude.
Jalen flowed through them half-heartedly, arms tracing the air, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the courtyard wall. These weren't drills. They were theater.
After what felt like half the day, the instructor clapped once.
"Dismissed."
Jalen peeled away from the group and made for the western gate. The ache had already returned—not from the drills, but from pretending the entire morning hadn't been a lie.
His father was waiting just past the archway.
Jaquan stood beneath the shade of a crooked tree, arms crossed but not stern. The look on his face was hard to name—something between pride and prayer. From the scuff marks on his sandals, Jalen guessed he'd been there the whole time.
Probably hoping he'd make a breakthrough. Probably praying it would show.
Jalen didn't look up right away. But when he reached the tree, Jayquan fell into step beside him.
"How was your first lesson?" he asked, voice light.
Jalen shrugged. "It was alright."
Jaquan smiled faintly. "That bad, huh?"
Jalen gave a small laugh. "Let's just say I didn't unlock the heavens."
They walked in silence for a few steps, the gravel crunching softly beneath their feet.
Jayquan glanced sideways. "Did they still use those old breathing drills? The ones where you have to hold your stance until your legs go numb?"
"Worse," Jalen said. "They made us chant the names of the meridians like we were reciting poetry."
Jaquan winced. "Cruel and unusual."
Jalen smirked. "You're just jealous you didn't get to chant."
Jaquan chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You caught me."
They walked on, the path winding gently toward home. The sun was low now, casting long shadows across the stone. The air smelled faintly of pine and distant incense.
They didn't talk about cultivation again. Just the weather. The soup is being served in the lower kitchens. Whether the lanterns near the servant quarters had been fixed yet.
Nothing important. Everything that mattered.
And for a little while, Jalen let himself forget the weight of what he carried. Let himself just be a son walking beside his father.