Chapter 9 – The Thing That Shouldn't Be War
The first frost hadn't come yet, but the mornings had begun to whisper of it.
Dew clung to the grass like tears that hadn't yet fallen, and the villagers of Qinghe wrapped thin shawls around their shoulders as they began their daily routines. Smoke curled lazily from cookfires, and roosters crowed like they had something to prove.
Yun Long woke late.
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His small room was filled with sunlight through the window, and the straw chicken was half buried beneath the blanket. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Yun Long sat up and scratched his neck.
That's when he felt it.
Not pain. Not heat.
Just… warmth.
He reached under his pillow and found the silver stone the merchant had given him two days ago. It pulsed faintly, like a pebble that had been left too long in the sun.
"Huh."
He squinted at it. The spiral on its surface hadn't changed. It didn't glow. It didn't hum. It just sat there — solid, smooth, unremarkable… but warm.
Yun Long rubbed it on his sleeve. "Did you sleep there too?"
He tucked it into his pouch again and yawned.
He didn't mention it to Madam Su or Old Yun. Why would he? It was just a stone. A neat one. A gift, and besides, today was important.
---
Today was the first morning of Qi Preparation Week.
Every child above the age of seven — those who had completed their Stone-Stepping Ceremony — was to gather behind the town temple for preliminary exercises. It wasn't true cultivation yet, but it was the first step: to test the body, the breath, the spirit.
Qinghe didn't have a proper sect or shrine master. But it followed the traditions.
Children lined up beneath the towering cypress trees, faces washed, clothes neat, feet bare on the grass. An old scroll-holding clerk, with a back more bent than straight, stood at the head.
"Hands behind your backs," he said. "No slouching."
Yun Long stood beside two other boys and a girl from his area. He smiled at all of them, even though none smiled back.
He didn't mind.
---
One by one, they began the Qi Measuring Stance — similar to the posture he'd learned for Stone-Stepping, but now held longer, deeper, and in complete silence.
"Knees bent. Palms flat over your navel. Eyes shut."
The clerk's voice was gravel wrapped in dust.
Yun Long followed exactly. Like always. Obedient. Curious.
The breath was hard to find. He kept trying to hold it, then forgot, then tried again. But his back remained straight. His feet didn't shift. His brow furrowed in concentration.
The first child fell within a minute.
Another groaned and sat down.
But Yun Long remained. Not with glory. Not with brilliance.
Just... with persistence.
He didn't notice the stone in his pouch growing warm again.
He didn't feel the faintest trace of Qi gather around his spine — not like a flood, not like a spark, but like a thread caught on a nail.
---
At the side, the clerk rubbed his beard.
"Old Yun's boy," he murmured. "Stubborn."
He made a note in the scroll.
---
By the end, only four children had lasted the full round. Yun Long was the last to fall, collapsing softly with a sheepish grin.
"I did good, right?" he asked, glancing at the clerk.
The man gave a noncommittal grunt. "We'll see."
Later, Madam Su fed him an extra bowl of millet porridge.
"You looked tired when you came home," she said, brushing his sweaty hair back.
"I was the last one to fall!" he said proudly with big round eye.
She smiled and kissed his forehead. "Then you did good, my silly Long'er."
He giggled and poked at the porridge with his chopsticks.
---
That night, after he fell asleep…
The stone in his pouch twitched once. Just once.
And for the briefest moment, the spiral line across its surface shifted — as if adjusting.
No light.
No sound.
But something, somewhere, had taken notice.
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