A large courtyard was stretched out.

  White stone under his feet, jade pillars along the edges, and a sky so blue it looked painted. He had seen this place before. The same courtyard from the dream about the sword, the one where the lazy boy had learned the first form of the Broken Jade Sword Art from the instructor in grey robes.

  The same boy stood in the center of it now, older by maybe a year, wearing silk robes that were too clean for someone about to train. His arms were crossed and his chin was tilted up and he looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

  The instructor stood across from him. Grey robes, straight posture, hands behind his back. His face was blurred at the edges the way it always was in these dreams, like someone had smudged it with a thumb, but his voice was clear.

  “Today we begin the body refinement method.”

  The boy groaned. “Again with something new? I just finished learning that sword form. Can I not have a break?”

  “You finished the first form in a single day. Most students take weeks.” The instructor’s tone carried no praise. “That does not mean you have earned a rest.”

  “It was boring.”

  “Most worthwhile things are.”

  The boy scratched the back of his neck and looked toward the far end of the courtyard where a table was set with food. Steam rose from the dishes and the smell of roasted meat drifted across the stone. “Can we eat first?”

  “No.”

  “After, then.”

  “If you listen.”

  The boy sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “Fine. What is it?”

  The instructor walked a slow circle around him. “Tell me what you know about cultivation.”

  “Gather qi, get stronger, fight people.”

  “And before gathering qi?”

  The boy shrugged. “Nothing. You just start.”

  “That is what most people believe. And most people are wrong.” The instructor stopped in front of him. “Before a cultivator gathers qi, there is a stage that prepares the body to receive it. It strengthens the bones, reshapes the meridian pathways, and builds a foundation that everything else sits on top of. Most cultivators skip it because it is slow and painful and the results are not visible for years. They rush to gather qi because it feels like progress.”

  “So they are lazy.”

  “They are impatient. There is a difference.” The instructor paused. “The method I am going to teach you is not available to ordinary disciples. It is reserved for the young masters of our clan. Only those of distinguished lineage are permitted to learn it.”

  The boy’s posture changed. His shoulders pulled back and his chin came up a little higher and the boredom left his face. “Only young masters?”

  “Only young masters.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the resources required to support it are expensive, and because the clan does not waste them on those who may not survive long enough to benefit.” The instructor’s voice was flat. “You are being given something that most cultivators will never have access to. Whether you deserve it is not my decision.”

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  The boy smiled. It was the same smile from the other dream, the one that expected the world to arrange itself around him. “Then teach me.”

  The instructor began. He showed the boy a series of exercises, slow movements that looked simple but required the body to hold positions that strained the muscles and joints in ways that normal training did not. The boy copied them and his face twisted with discomfort after the first few repetitions.

  “This hurts.”

  “It is supposed to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are reshaping what is already there. The bones must be stressed before they can reform. The meridian pathways must be stretched before they can widen.” The instructor watched him hold a low stance with his arms extended. “When you reach Channel Refining, your body will be ready for it. Your bones will reform properly and your channels will open wider and cleaner than anyone who skipped this stage. The difference between a cultivator who did this and one who did not is the difference between a house built on sand and a house built on stone.”

  The boy held the stance. His legs were shaking and sweat ran down his temples, but he did not complain again. He was not doing it because he understood the value of what he was being given. He was doing it because it made him special, because it separated him from the ordinary disciples who would never learn this method, and that was enough for him.

  The dream blurred after that. The courtyard faded and the instructor’s voice went distant and the details softened into fog.

  Yan Qiu opened his eyes.

  The stone room was dark. The strip of light under the door was gone, which meant it was night. He sat on the mat with his hands on his knees and let the dream settle.

  The same courtyard, the same boy, the same instructor who had taught the Broken Jade Sword Art. He had dreamed of this boy three times now. The pampered child who had a servant whipped for tripping near him, the same child learning the sword form, and now this, the body refinement method. The dreams followed the same person through different moments of his life, and each one was clearer than the last.

  He still did not know who the boy was or why the dreams came when his cultivation pushed toward a boundary. But the knowledge in them was real, and the instructor’s words about body refinement before Channel Refining stuck with him.

  He thought about the village chief’s book, “Cultivation in the Times of Strife.” It had described Flesh Forging in five sub-stages: legs, arms, torso, head and neck, and then the whole body together. He had followed that method back in Blackroot before he ever started gathering qi, running laps around the village, climbing hills with stones on his shoulders, holding stances until his legs gave out. He had done all of it because the book said to and because something inside him had pushed him toward it when he thought about skipping ahead.

  The sect had never mentioned Flesh Forging. Every disciple he had met had gone straight to Breath Weaving without building the physical foundation first. He had done it differently, and now he understood why it mattered. When he reached Channel Refining, his body would be ready. The foundation was already there.

  He closed his eyes and started cultivating.

  The burning in his chest was still there, heavier now, and the qi thickened with each circulation. It pressed against the walls of his channels and the pressure built until his breathing grew shallow and his jaw tightened and the heat spread from his chest into his shoulders and down through his arms.

  He could feel the boundary, thin and taut, like something stretched across the inside of his channels. His qi pressed against it and it held. He pressed harder and it held again.

  He did not force it. He kept the circulation steady and let the qi build naturally, cycle after cycle. The heat in his chest was almost unbearable and his hands were shaking against his knees.

  The boundary gave. It stretched and thinned and then it was gone, and the qi flowed through into the space beyond. His channels widened and the energy that had been building for days spread out and settled. The pressure in his chest eased and the burning dulled to a low warmth that pulsed once and went still.

  Third stage of Breath Weaving.

  The qi in his body was denser than before and his channels carried it with less resistance. The circulation that had taken effort a few hours ago now moved on its own. He could feel the difference in his arms and legs and chest.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the dark room around him. The boy in the dream had learned the body refinement method because it made him feel special, because only young masters were allowed to learn it, and that had been enough for him. Yan Qiu had done the same thing because an old book told him to and because something in his chest had pushed him toward it. He had not known what it was for and he had not felt special doing it.

  The same path, for entirely different reasons.

  He lay back on the mat. The burning was gone and his body felt settled and the silence did not bother him the way it had before. He still had weeks of seclusion left, and for the first time since the door closed behind him, that felt like an opportunity rather than a punishment.