Lin did not immediately ask how to begin.
That alone seemed to amuse the Sword God.
They lingered in silence after the last words of history faded, the weight of it settling into the narrow room. Outside, Jade Reach continued as it always did. Footsteps. Distant voices. The sound of someone arguing over copper coins. None of it cared about Heaven, or men, or cultivation systems rewritten in blood.
Lin sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor.
"So," he said eventually, "you think I can cultivate."
The Sword God tilted his head. "I think you might be able to."
Lin looked up. "That is not the same thing."
"No," the Sword God agreed pleasantly. "It is significantly worse."
Lin let out a breath that was half a laugh. "You are very bad at reassurance."
"I am excellent at honesty," the Sword God replied coyly.
He drifted closer, the faint outline of lightning along his form dimmer than before, as if conserving itself.
"I do not know why your body acts the way it does," he said. "Not precisely. Heaven is not fond of leaving loopholes."
Lin's shoulders tensed. "But you have a theory."
"Several," the Sword God said. "None of them are comforting."
He held up a finger. "Possibility one. Your soul does not match the body you inhabit closely enough for Heaven's restriction to recognize you properly. A misalignment. An accounting error."
Lin frowned. "That sounds temporary."
"It is," the Sword God said. "Heaven corrects mistakes eventually."
A second finger rose. "Possibility two. The restriction was never meant to be absolute. It degrades under specific conditions. Trauma. Death. Reconstruction."
Lin's jaw tightened. He did not like that one.
"Possibility three," the Sword God continued, "you are standing in a narrow overlap where the system does not know what you are yet."
He smiled faintly. "It may be a brief window."
Lin was quiet for a long moment.
"You are saying this could stop working," he said.
"Yes."
"And you are still telling me to try."
The Sword God shrugged. "Because not trying guarantees failure. This only risks it."
That was the kind of logic Lin was beginning to recognize.
He nodded once. "Then tell me how."
The Sword God's expression sharpened, amusement giving way to something more focused.
"Before that," he said, "you need a method."
A faint crack of thunder echoed softly as lightning gathered along his spectral form, not violent, but precise.
"The cultivation technique I received from the Realm Seven," he said. "The lightning method."
Lin's eyes widened slightly. "You said you never used it."
"I did not," the Sword God confirmed. "I dissected it. Stripped it down. Integrated its principles into martial arts. You, however, are not walking my path… yet."
He extended a hand. Lightning condensed, forming a lattice of symbols in the air, sharp and intricate.
"This method accelerates resonance between qi and the body," he continued. "It sharpens control rather than amplifying output. That makes it suitable for Body Tempering, and for most cultivation techniques."
Lin stared at the glowing construct. "And dangerous."
"Yes," the Sword God said cheerfully. "Lightning techniques attract attention. They are loud, conceptually speaking. If you survive long enough to be noticed, someone will notice."
Lin swallowed. "You are really selling this."
"I am not selling," the Sword God replied. "I am warning."
The lightning faded, dispersing into Lin's memory rather than his hands.
"You will not explode," the Sword God added. "Probably. But you will need precision. Body Tempering is not about pulling qi inward. It is about letting diluted qi pass through the skin in controlled layers."
He gestured toward Lin's arms. "You do not store it yet. You do not compress it. You guide it across the surface, reinforce tissue, then release it."
Lin nodded slowly, committing each word to memory.
"If you force it," the Sword God continued, "your skin will tear. If you rush it, the qi will reject you. If you lose focus, circulation will collapse and rebound."
"That sounds fatal," Lin said.
"Not immediately," the Sword God replied. "Which is the worst kind."
Lin closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
"And if it works," he asked, "what then?"
"Then you will have done something men are not supposed to do," the Sword God said. "Quietly. Without permission."
He studied Lin closely. "Do not mistake that for safety. You will not be outmatched because you are male. You will be outmatched because others are older, stronger, richer, the list goes on. Backed by sects and laws that were not written for you."
Lin absorbed that.
"So power is not enough," he said.
"No," the Sword God agreed. "Power is necessary. That is all."
Silence returned.
Lin stood, rolled his shoulders once, and moved the small table aside. He sat cross legged on the mat, back straight, hands resting loosely on his knees.
He did not feel triumphant.
He felt cautious. Hopeful, in a restrained, almost afraid way.
"If this works," he said quietly, "you are not going to say 'I told you so.'"
The Sword God smiled thinly. "No promises."
Lin drew a slow breath.
Then another.
Then he reached outward, not with force, but with careful intent, following the lightning-threaded method etched into his mind.
****
The first attempt nearly killed him because Lin did exactly what men were never meant to do.
He listened.
When he reached outward with his intent, he did not grab. He did not force. He followed the lightning-threaded pattern the Sword God had impressed into his mind, letting his breath set the rhythm and his awareness trace the surface of his skin.
And the qi answered.
Not reluctantly. Not partially.
It answered immediately and too eagerly.
That was the problem.
For most men, Body Tempering fails because the skin resists. Qi skims the surface, refuses to sink, disperses unevenly. The body rejects reinforcement long before damage becomes possible.
Women's bodies on the other hand would welcome it. How efficiently they cultivated was based on talent and resources.
Lin's body did not reject it like a man normally would. It did not welcome it like a woman normally would. It threw the flood gates open.
The diluted ambient qi flowed toward him like water finding an open channel, spreading across his skin in a thin, responsive layer. The lightning method sharpened the interaction, increasing sensitivity and resonance instead of raw power. Every breath pulled the qi into tighter alignment with his flesh.
Too tight.
Control lagged behind the torrent.
The qi thickened unevenly, gathering along his forearms and shoulders while leaving other areas thin and exposed. The reinforced regions tightened, compressing faster than the surrounding tissue could adapt. Microfractures formed at the boundaries, invisible but spreading, each breath widening the imbalance.
Pain followed, sharp and immediate, but pain was only the warning.
The real danger came when his meridians reacted.
Not ready to circulate qi internally, they attempted to compensate, tugging at the excess, trying to redirect it inward. The lightning-aspected flow resisted, snapping back toward the skin with amplified feedback.
For a brief, terrifying moment, Lin's body tried to do everything at once.
Store. Circulate. Reinforce.
It could do none of them safely.
His vision blurred. His heartbeat stuttered. Something tore along his chest, not flesh, but structure, the unseen pathways meant to remain dormant at this stage. Blood rushed to his nose and mouth as his breath hitched violently.
"Stop," the Sword God said.
Not sharply. Not loudly.
Precisely.
Lin did not stop because he was told to.
He stopped because his body finally failed to keep up.
The qi collapsed outward in a chaotic rush, dispersing violently off his skin. Lin pitched forward, gasping, hands clawing at the mat as if it might anchor him. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, nerves misfiring from overload rather than injury.
He did not die.
He came close.
Silence followed, broken only by his ragged breathing.
When Lin finally managed to lift his head, the Sword God was watching him with an expression that was carefully neutral.
"That," the Sword God said, "is why men do not attempt to cultivate."
Lin swallowed, throat raw. "Because it is too dangerous?"
"Exactly," the Sword God replied. "They cannot regulate it."
Lin stared at his hands. They were trembling, skin flushed but intact.
"Did it work?" he asked slowly.
"Yes," the Sword God said. "Too well. So well in fact that I'd mistaken you for a talent blessed by heaven."
He drifted closer, gaze sharpening, as if reassessing a problem he had underestimated.
"Body Tempering requires rejection as much as acceptance," he continued. "The skin must resist enough to shape the qi evenly. Your flesh did not resist. It welcomed it."
Lin felt a chill that had nothing to do with pain.
"That is not supposed to happen," he said.
"No," the Sword God agreed. "It is not, especially for a man."
He did not say more.
Lin lowered his head, breathing slowly, carefully, as if afraid the air itself might betray him.
"So," he asked quietly, "what do we do?"
The Sword God was silent for a moment.
"Now," he said, "we slow down."
Lin let out a weak, humorless breath. "You are calm about this."
"I am cautious," the Sword God corrected. "Calm would imply confidence."
He turned away slightly, lightning along his form dimming as if withdrawing inward.
"You succeeded," he said. "In the wrong way."
Lin looked up. "That does not sound encouraging."
"It is not meant to be," the Sword God replied. "You did not gain power. You gained proof."
"Proof of what."
"That Heaven's restriction does not recognize you properly," the Sword God said. "Or that it has not decided how to deal with you yet."
Lin absorbed that in silence.
"And that means," the Sword God continued, "you will have to cultivate with restraint. Precision. Control above all else. If you chase speed, you will die since you already possess too much of it. If you chase strength too quickly, without being able to suppress it, you will be noticed."
Lin nodded once. "And if I do neither?"
"Then," the Sword God said, "you might survive."
Lin leaned back against the wall, exhausted, shaken, but alive.
He felt slightly triumphant.
A small smile playing on his lips.
Outside, Jade Reach continued to breathe, unaware that a quiet error in Heaven's system had just taken its first unsteady step.
Lin closed his eyes.
He was not standing in Heaven's light.
But somewhere, deep and narrow, he had found its shadow.