Dawn broke over the Stone Hollow Mountains with a pale, brittle light that seemed to slice through the lingering mist. Shen Yuan rose before the others, stretching muscles that still throbbed from yesterday's climb. The outer disciples moved sluggishly, some groaning, some silently cursing, their fatigue evident in every hesitant step. But Shen Yuan's body, though sore, had already begun adjusting. Muscles remembered yesterday's strain, and joints responded with a precision born of necessity rather than comfort.
Elder Han's voice rang across the courtyard, sharper than the wind itself. "Today, you will test your endurance in stone hauling. Each of you will carry five large blocks from the riverbed to the training yard. Drop one, and you repeat it until the mountain teaches you the lesson it must."
The disciples shuffled toward the riverbed, dragging rough-cut blocks from the stream. Water splashed cold against their boots, and mud clung stubbornly to their hands. The air was thick with exertion, the rhythmic grunts of the other disciples forming a relentless chorus. Shen Yuan bent over his first block, feeling its coarse surface bite into his palms. He adjusted his stance, back straight, knees slightly bent. Each movement had to be deliberate. One slip, one lapse of focus, and failure would follow.
Qiao Feng, the boy who had tested him yesterday, glared at him as he approached. "Don't think I'll let you take it easy. The mountain doesn't forgive weakness." His tone was mocking, but Shen Yuan said nothing. He didn't need to. Every swing of the block, every careful lift, was his answer.
By midday, several outer disciples had already collapsed, unable to bear the repetitive strain. Blisters, bruises, and sheer exhaustion claimed them, but the elders watched without intervention. This was survival. This was cultivation in its purest, rawest form. Shen Yuan felt the burn in his arms, the ache in his shoulders, the tightness in his thighs. Each sensation was a teacher. Pain was not an enemy here; it was a guide, shaping him into a vessel capable of carrying more than mere stones.
The riverbed was a theater of struggle. Some disciples resorted to shortcuts, sliding the blocks along the mud, hoping to save energy. But Elder Han's gaze was unforgiving. "Control, discipline, and proper form! Shortcut and you fail, no exceptions!" Shen Yuan observed quietly. The mountain demanded more than speed or brute force; it demanded technique, balance, and endurance. He adjusted his footing, lifting with precision, letting his legs bear the weight rather than his arms alone. It was slow, grueling work, but each motion conserved energy while maximizing efficiency.
As the sun climbed higher, Shen Yuan noticed something else: subtle cues in the terrain. Small protruding rocks offered leverage for his feet, minor depressions in the mud stabilized the blocks, slight variations in the river current allowed him to anticipate resistance. He moved in rhythm with these natural shifts, letting his body adapt seamlessly. This was the beginning of his understanding of the Stillbody Martial Path. The body first, awareness second, intent third. Every motion, every breath, every subtle adjustment in balance was recorded and stored in muscle memory.
Around him, others faltered. Qiao Feng, overconfident, had overexerted himself lifting his third block and collapsed onto the muddy riverbank, face twisted in frustration. Several disciples mocked, some laughed quietly, but Shen Yuan ignored it. Observation was as important as action; he noted each mistake, each misstep, storing it not in pride, but as a guide for his own improvement.
By afternoon, Shen Yuan had completed the first three rounds. His arms throbbed with the rhythm of exertion, his back ached, but his movements remained precise. The mountain, relentless as ever, seemed almost aware of him, testing him subtly with uneven terrain, slick mud, and the constant pull of gravity. Yet he adapted, never rushing, never wasting effort, letting the rhythm of his body dictate the pace.
Elder Han approached silently, watching from the sidelines. He observed Shen Yuan's posture, the way he shifted weight, the calm determination in his eyes. Unlike the others, who strained, grunted, and faltered, Shen Yuan moved with controlled grace. There was no flash, no display of brute power — only efficiency, endurance, and precision. The elder's lips twitched ever so slightly, a hint of acknowledgment buried beneath his stern exterior.
As the final round commenced, Shen Yuan lifted his fifth block. Muscles screamed, sweat stung his eyes, and every fiber of his body begged for rest. He clenched his teeth, focused on his breathing, and let each movement flow naturally. The rhythm of the mountain had become his rhythm, and he moved not against the stones, but with them.
When he finally set the last block in the training yard, silence fell. Around him, many disciples had not finished, gasping for breath, trembling with fatigue. Qiao Feng, still on his knees, stared at him with disbelief, a mixture of irritation and grudging respect in his eyes. Shen Yuan did not look back. He simply exhaled, feeling the subtle pulse of qi that stirred faintly in his body — weak, almost imperceptible, but undeniable. This was his reward for discipline, endurance, and awareness.
Night fell, bringing cold winds that seeped into the outer dormitory. Shen Yuan sat cross-legged, attending to minor injuries, massaging sore muscles, and meditating quietly. His body ached, yes, but it was a constructive pain. Every strain was a teacher; every bruise, a reminder of yesterday's limits and today's perseverance. He reflected on the lessons of the day: patience, precision, awareness, and adaptation. The mountain would break those who resisted it, but it would forge those who submitted to its discipline with understanding.
By the time he lay down to rest, the world outside was silent. Stars shimmered faintly over the peaks, indifferent and eternal. Shen Yuan closed his eyes, letting his mind settle. Survival today did not mean mastery tomorrow. But it was a start, and every journey began with a single step. And for Shen Yuan, the path of unyielding flesh had only just begun.