By the time the hunters had passed below the ridge, Xu Hao had learned to endure three things with reasonable grace.
The first was Da Bao waking him before sunrise. The second was missing an archery target from a distance that would have embarrassed a child. The third was spending an entire evening cultivating without any visible result.
He still complained about all three.
"You've been sitting there long enough," Er Bao said one morning.
Xu Hao opened his eyes. The flat rock beneath him was cold, and the forest had turned bright while he was trying to hold a single thread of warmth steady in his chest.
"Was I doing it correctly?"
"You were breathing. That's a start."
"I was hoping for a more useful assessment."
Er Bao sat beside him. "You told me that yesterday you could hold the feeling for six breaths before your attention wandered. Today?"
"Eight, perhaps. The last two are uncertain."
"Then you've improved."
Xu Hao looked at the forest below them. "At this rate I shall become a powerful cultivator sometime after Da Bao learns to wash his cooking pot."
"A distant future indeed," Er Bao said.
They both laughed. From the shelter came the sound of Da Bao demanding to know what they'd said.
* * *
The next several days were ordinary, which Xu Hao was beginning to appreciate as an achievement.
The hunters did not return. The traps on the lower trail remained disabled. The large tiger whose print he'd found beside the stream did not appear on the ridge. Er Bao refused to conclude that it had gone away forever. Xu Hao thought this wise and deeply inconvenient.
They practised in the mornings and repaired equipment in the afternoons. Xu Hao's aim improved enough that he could hit the fifteen-pace target more often than he missed it, provided the wind was light and he wasn't tired. He could still miss spectacularly when either condition changed.
Da Bao moved the second target farther back and announced that they were going to try twenty paces.
"We could also build a wall halfway between me and the target," Xu Hao suggested. "Then if I hit the wall, I'd know I was getting closer."
"That would teach you to hit the wrong thing."
"I'm beginning to suspect I already have that talent."
On the first morning, none of his arrows struck the far target. On the second, one did. He celebrated by demanding they stop while the success remained unspoiled.
Da Bao crossed his arms. "You can't end training every time you do something well."
"Why not? It seems a very civilised system."
Er Bao handed him water. "Because you also need to learn what happens when you fail after succeeding."
Xu Hao looked at the target. He had no objection to learning, provided it happened without unnecessarily bruising his dignity.
He shot two more arrows. Both missed.
"An excellent lesson," he said sourly.
* * *
The more difficult practice was the one that left no marks in wood.
Each evening Xu Hao entered the dark hall and looked for the pale speck floating beside the brush. It had grown steadier over the past days. Sometimes it seemed to brighten when he relaxed; at other times it dulled despite every effort to remain calm.
He was tempted to describe the change as progress. Er Bao wouldn't allow him to do so without evidence.
"What happens when you stop thinking about it?" the giant asked.
"It stays where it is."
"And when you push Spirit towards it?"
"The warmth scatters."
"Then stop pushing."
"You make that sound simple."
"It's a simple instruction. Doing it is difficult."
Xu Hao hated how much sense that made.
One evening he attempted to hold the warmth longer than he had the day before. He counted his breaths, gripped his knees and chased the sensation whenever it began to fade. After a short time the speck blurred, his temples throbbed and the dark hall vanished.
He opened his eyes with a sharp breath.
Er Bao was already beside him. "Headache?"
"Yes."
"You forced it."
"Yes."
"Then you know what went wrong."
Xu Hao rubbed his temples. "I wish knowing what went wrong hurt less."
Er Bao made him rest the following evening. Xu Hao objected, then found that he slept better than he had in days. The morning after, when he returned to meditation, the faint warmth answered more easily.
He wrote this down with a certain amount of embarrassment. Rest was not a newly discovered cultivation technique. His mother had recommended it to overworked students and stubborn surgeons for as long as he could remember.
He had apparently crossed worlds only to discover she was still right.
* * *
It was Da Bao who noticed the change in him first.
They were returning from the practice targets when Little One dashed across the path in pursuit of an especially interesting leaf. Xu Hao turned to avoid her and planted his feet without stumbling. Da Bao reached to steady him, then stopped.
"You didn't fall."
"A rare and wonderful event."
"You turned quickly. Last month you'd have gone over."
Xu Hao considered it. He'd practised footwork for weeks, falling often enough that the ground ought to have charged him rent. Now he'd recovered his balance without thinking about his feet at all.
"Training," he said.
"Yes. And some Spirit, perhaps. Your body learns to answer more cleanly as your foundation improves."
"A powerful cultivator would still knock me over with one finger."
"Of course. But you're no longer the boy I could knock over by breathing too hard."
Xu Hao looked up at him. "Your breath remains a serious danger."
Da Bao laughed and attempted to catch him in an embrace. Xu Hao ducked under the reaching arm and escaped behind Er Bao.
"There!" Da Bao cried. "See? He's faster!"
"Or more familiar with your habits," Er Bao said.
Both were true. Xu Hao knew better than to decide which explanation pleased him more.
* * *
The breakthrough came on an evening when he had stopped expecting one.
They'd eaten a simple meal of roasted roots and the last of the dried tiger meat. Da Bao was mending Little One's collar. Er Bao had taken the first watch, and Grey lay beside him with her nose pointed towards the southern path. Sia slept close enough to Xu Hao that he could feel her breathing against his leg.
He sat beneath the shelter, closed his eyes and entered the hall.
The brush and deck floated in their usual places. Sia's card remained apart from the blanks, with the two faint connections leading towards her copies. Near them hovered the single speck of dust, pale and steady.
He did not command it to change.
He thought about the small stone channel he'd repaired after the rain. When he blocked the water completely, it merely found another way around him. When he understood where it wanted to flow and arranged the stones accordingly, the channel held.
The warmth in his chest returned.
Instead of counting breaths, Xu Hao allowed himself to notice the sensation as it rose and faded. Each time it weakened, he relaxed his shoulders and waited. Nothing dramatic happened. The speck glowed a little, then settled.
After a while, something beside it stirred.
Xu Hao thought it was a trick of the dark hall. He had become excellent at imagining progress when he wanted it badly enough. He waited without moving.
A second point of light appeared.
It began so faintly that he could barely tell it from the first. Then it steadied, two little specks hanging side by side in the empty space.
Warmth passed through his arms and legs. His back loosened. His breathing became easier, though he had not realised it was strained. He felt as if he had been carrying a pack slightly too heavy for him and had finally set down one small portion of the load.
There was no great surge of strength. No wall of earth rising from the floor. He opened his eyes and found the same rough shelter, the same dark pines and Sia sleeping beside his knee.
But the warmth remained.
Xu Hao sat very still. Then he closed his eyes again, partly to test whether he had imagined it.
Two specks.
He almost laughed. After all that work, all the missed arrows and sore muscles and evenings watching an uncooperative point of light, the reward was another point of light.
It was enough to make him ridiculously happy.
"Brother Er Bao?" he called softly.
The giant looked over from the fire. "What is it?"
"I think I've reached the second layer."
Er Bao set down his cup and came closer. He did not congratulate Xu Hao immediately. He asked about his breathing, whether he'd felt pain, and whether the second speck remained when he looked away from it. Xu Hao answered patiently; by now he expected nothing less.
When Er Bao had finished, he smiled.
"Then well done, little brother. You earned it."
Xu Hao found those words more satisfying than he expected.
* * *
After the excitement had settled, he entered the hall once more, intending only to confirm the two specks before sleeping.
The blank deck was glowing.
Xu Hao stopped. During his first awakening, the brush had moved when he thought of Sia. This was different. The edges of the remaining cards shone with a pale border, and a line of writing appeared beside the original card.
Superimpose: Available.
He stared at the word.
It had been locked since the day he created her. Now, at the second layer, the lock was gone.
He remembered the pain of making the first card and the smaller drain of producing its copies. He looked towards Sia's presence, felt the familiar warmth of their connection, and considered what would happen if he chose something without understanding it.
A month ago he might have reached immediately for the new option.
Instead he opened his eyes and looked at the sleeping dog.
"Tomorrow," he whispered.
She thumped her tail once without waking.
Xu Hao smiled. For perhaps the first time since entering the Dark Forest, he had discovered a new ability and felt no need to use it before breakfast.