Months bled together in the green heart of the bamboo forest, marked not by calendars but by the rhythm of pain, progress, and the ever-present, patient whisper of the leaves. The change was gradual, a silent accumulation of effort, until one day it simply *was*.
Gen didn't notice he'd gained the extra inch of height until the morning he rose from meditation and found his old trousers riding slightly high on his ankles. His frame, always wiry, had filled out with a lean, corded strength born from daily combat with a creature of condensed violence. His face had lost the last soft edges of early boyhood, revealing sharper cheekbones and a firmer jaw, though his amber eyes still held their fiery, youthful light.
The real testament came during his daily spar with the Mantis. For months, the dance had been one of evasion, desperate blocks, and painful impacts. But on this day, something shifted. He saw the telltale compression of air—the preamble to the Mantis Hammer—not as a blur, but as a clear, flowing pattern. His body, trained by countless beatings, moved not just away, but *into* the flow. He didn't sidestep the jab; he pivoted around it, his own condensed fist of air meeting the chitinous limb in a muffled *crack* of force. He stood his ground, his boots carving shallow grooves in the earth, but he did not fly backward.
He traded blow for blow. A hook to the mantis's thorax, a swift kick deflected by a scything limb, a flurry of exchanges that sounded like a rapid series of damp thuds. Finally, spotting an opening in the creature's relentless rhythm, Gen funneled all his **Shidow** into a single, devastating thrust. The air around his fist didn't just cushion; it *spiraled*, compressing into a focused point of torque. He drove it forward.
The mantis, for the first time, was lifted off its feet and sent skidding back across the clearing, landing in a controlled, rustling heap.
A stunned silence followed, broken only by their ragged breathing.
"Boring!" Lolly's voice rang out from her usual perch. She was watching, her chin in her hands, a look of exaggerated disinterest on her face. "Even the big bug can't beat you up anymore. What's the point?"
Gen turned, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across his sweat-streaked face. He laughed, the sound free and full of a hard-won confidence. "My Jingdao isn't back yet," he said, his chest heaving. "But I can feel it. It's... waiting. I don't know when it'll wake up, but it's there. And until it does, this," he gestured to the air still shimmering around his hands, "is more than enough."
Liang approached from his own training ground. He too had changed, though less dramatically. His posture was more solid, rooted, the constant glow of his **Jingdao** now a steady, subdued hum rather than a flickering effort. His control over his **Kalash of Elements** had deepened; he could now conjure not just basic earth or water, but brief, shimmering shields of combined force. He looked at Gen, then at the mantis slowly righting itself, and gave a slow, approving nod. "Took you long enough."
It was the end of the year. In a month and two weeks, the cycle would turn. Gen would be sixteen, Liang seventeen.
Black-Green Wood summoned them that evening. They entered his simple home, the familiar space now feeling like a second sanctuary. The ancient, pulsing bamboo staff stood in its corner, a silent witness. The hermit gestured to the low table where a pot of fragrant tea steamed.
They sat, this time without hesitation, and took the cups offered. Their hands, calloused and marked with small scars, were steady.
Lolly scampered in and immediately reached for the teapot. "Mine too!"
Black-Green Wood moved the pot a few inches out of her reach without looking. "This is for those leaving. You are staying."
She pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a spectacular display of wounded injustice. With a theatrical huff, she plopped herself down between Gen and Liang, crossing her arms and glaring at the hermit.
Gen chuckled. "Look at her. After all these months, she hasn't changed a bit."
Lolly whipped her head around, pointing a furious finger at her own scalp. "I have! I've grown at least five hairs! Five! You're just blind!"
The room filled with their laughter, a warm, genuine sound that felt both familiar and fleeting.
When the laughter faded, Black-Green Wood's expression grew solemn. He looked at the two young men he had forged in his green crucible. "You are not fully ready," he stated, the truth plain and unvarnished. "The foes you will face at the Tower of Wonder have been groomed for this moment their entire lives. There is almost no certainty you will win, or even place high enough to earn a look from the expedition selectors."
He let the reality hang in the tea-scented air for a moment before continuing. "But there is no more time. The great gathering begins in less than two days. Your path lies there now."
Gen and Liang set their cups down in unison. They clasped their hands together and bowed their heads deeply toward the hermit. "Thank you, Master," Gen said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't fully name—gratitude, respect, the bittersweet ache of leaving a hard but safe harbor. "For everything you've done for us."
"It was nothing," the hermit replied, his tone dismissive, but his moss-green eyes held a glint of something softer. "A transaction. A teacher's duty." He reached behind him and produced an object he had been preparing.
It was a length of bamboo, about the size of a straight sword. It had been meticulously worked—the nodes smoothed, the surface polished to a deep, lustrous green that seemed to drink the light. It was utterly unadorned.
He offered it to Gen. "Without your Jingdao fully returned, your strikes lack decisive, concluding force. This will compensate." Gen took it. It was astonishingly light, almost weightless in his grip. He gave it an experimental swing; it whispered through the air without a sound. "Master... it feels like nothing. What makes it special?"
"A year of my training would not allow you to cut this bamboo," Black-Green Wood said simply. "Its fibers have been infused and realigned. It is harder than any mortal steel, more resilient than most low-grade spiritual arms. With your **Shidow** to guide it and lend it speed, it will cut what your fists cannot. When your Jingdao finally awakens, you may find no need for it. Until then, it is your edge."
Liang leaned in, curious, reaching out a finger. "Can I—"
Gen pulled the bamboo sword back, holding it protectively to his chest. "Mine!" he said, a playful smirk on his face, though his grip on the simple weapon was firm, already feeling its perfect balance.
Liang snorted and shoved him lightly. "Fine. Keep your fancy stick."
The time for farewells had come. They walked to the very edge of the bamboo forest, where the whispering green wall met the ordinary world. Black-Green Wood stood, a pillar of calm authority. Lolly lingered behind him, one small hand clutching the hem of his simple robe. The defiant, mischievous glint in her eyes was gone, replaced by a quiet, uncharacteristic sadness.
Gen knelt, bringing himself to her eye level. He ruffled her already-messy hair, earning a half-hearted swat. "Hey, little devil. Don't look so worried. We'll be back. And when we come," he added, his voice dropping to a sincere whisper, "it'll be with the cure."
Lolly blinked. Her nose scrunched in confusion. "A cure? For what? I'm not sick. Grandpa says I'm healthier than a mountain goat."
Gen's smile froze. The blood drained from his face. *Idiot! You absolute fool!* He had spoken without thinking, betraying the hermit's deepest secret.
Liang moved with sudden, panicked speed. He grabbed Gen's shoulder, yanking him upright. "What he means is, we'll be back with stories! And treats! From the big city! Right, Gen? Rapid farewell now, gotta go!" His words tumbled out in a rushed, awkward cascade.
Black-Green Wood's gaze settled on Gen. It was not angry, but it was profound, a silent reminder of the promise made in the shadows. Gen gave an awkward, apologetic wave, his face burning.
With a final nod to the hermit, who returned it with a slight, almost imperceptible incline of his head, Gen and Liang turned. They stepped out of the whispering green sanctuary and onto the path that would lead them back to Heaven's Gate, and from there, to the Tower of Wonder.
As they walked, the weight of the bamboo sword in Gen's hand was a tangible promise. The memory of Lolly's confused face was a weight of a different kind, a debt inscribed on his soul. He looked back once, at the wall of bamboo that hid a legend and a little girl's future.
*We'll be back,* he promised again, this time only in the silent vault of his heart. *Next year. With the root from the Sky Ocean. I swear it.*