The words hurt Tian more than he cared to admit, but he didn’t argue.

  Arguing simply wasn’t in his nature.

  He bowed and began to walk away from the testing location.

  His eyes were cast downward so as to avoid the many curious stares and whispered comments from the large number of spectators assembled in the square. Just another failure to add to the list of many others, another reminder that whatever abilities he might have possessed at some earlier point were gone.

  Yet as he began to walk, something lingered in his mind.

  Master Jian had offered very specific and seemingly legitimate criticisms of Tian's performance.

  While the technical points he had pointed out were probably accurate according to traditional martial theory, there was something about the entire experience that felt off.

  When Tian had held the practice sword, when he had moved through the patterns of attack and defense, it didn't feel like failure to him. It felt like he was remembering something. And he didn’t mean it in the academic way of remembering studied facts. It felt more like a physical remembrance, if there even was such a thing. It was as though he could feel the countless hours practicing movements until they became instinctive.

  The stance that Master Jian had characterized as unsteady had felt perfectly stable to Tian.

  It gave him the freedom to transfer weight in either direction, regardless of how quickly he chose to do so, without revealing his intentions.

  The grip that Master Jian accused of lacking commitment felt controlled and responsive.

  But the claim that the cuts that Tian’s sword followed were ‘inefficient’ was the most confusing of them all. To him, his attacks felt like the most efficient route possible for the practice sword to follow. Rather than the straight lines of motion that formal theory advocated, the curved paths of motion that worked in harmony with the body's natural motion rather than against it.

  At the edge of the square, Tian stopped and turned around to see Master Jian working with another candidate, instructing the student on the proper positioning of the feet and alignment of the blade. The teaching was undeniably good and well intentioned, but watching it made Tian even more confused.

  Everything the swordsman was teaching contradicted what Tian's body had wanted to do.

  Every principle being shown felt wrong in a way that he couldn't put into words.

  The best way he could describe it was as though Master Jian was teaching one approach to sword work while Tian’s instincts were drawing from a completely different tradition. That would make sense if he had some previous training, but he hadn’t.

  Failing wasn’t the worst of it.

  Not knowing what was going on with him was what bothered him the most.

  “You okay there?”

  Tian turned to find Hongyun standing near him.

  Apparently, the young servant had left the testing square while Tian was lost in thought.

  From up close, he looked even more like a hunting cat, full of contained energy and focused intent.

  “Just trying to figure out Master Jian’s assessment,” Tian said honestly. “He said I have no talent, but….”

  “But it didn’t feel that way when you were moving,” Hongyun finished, looking at Tian with a surprising level of understanding.

  Tian stared at him in amazement. “How did you know?”

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  “Because I watched you during the test,” Hongyun said nonchalantly. “Master Jian is a great teacher, and his method is effective for almost all students. But he is teaching a particular type of swordsmanship, one that emphasizes power and directness, and using superior technique to overwhelm one's opponent.”

  “And?”

  “And that isn’t the way your body was trying to move,” Hongyun continued. “You were moving as though you had been trained in a completely different system of swordsmanship. One that emphasized subtlety, evasiveness, and redirecting the flow of battle. One that was less concerned with establishing one’s dominance over an opponent and more concerned about trying to survive.”

  The explanation gave Tian the chills.

  It was exactly what he was thinking.

  “You were able to get all of that from watching only one test?”

  “I’ve been studying sword work for three years and watching humans for a lot longer,” Hongyun shrugged. “I don’t agree with Master Jian, I think you have talent, just not the talent that he recognises.”

  “Different schools,” Tian murmured. “Different approaches to the same problem.”

  “Exactly.” Hongyun paused as though he was thinking how to phrase his words. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you actually never trained before?”

  “No,” Tian replied honestly. “This is my first time holding a sword.”

  That answer made Hongyun go silent for a long moment.

  “Do you feel like you’ve done this before?” he asked carefully. “Maybe in dreams?”

  The question touched closer to Tian’s comfort zone than he cared to admit.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you can’t develop muscle memory from thin air,” Hongyun said quietly. “The way you flowed through the sequence, the stance you took, the grip you used — all of those are the result of years of practice. But you said you’ve never formally received any training and I believe you.”

  For a while, Tian stood there silently, watching the tests continue in the square while his mind rapidly ran through possible explanations.

  The dreams he’d had as a youth, full of images of mountain locations and robed fighters in blue. The odd intuition that had allowed him to perfectly execute a combat technique against Song Wei. The constant sense that he was forgetting something significant about his own identity.

  That must be what Hongyun was referring to.

  “Sometimes I dream about fighting,” he said finally, not knowing why he was opening up to this stranger. “Sometimes it’s as though I’m in some formal duel, other times it’s as though I’m just trying to survive.”

  “Have you noticed anything else?” Hongyun asked.

  “Sometimes when I’m awake, I'll see a movement or hear a sound that makes me want to react in specific ways. Ways I shouldn't know.”

  Hongyun nodded as though all of this verified something he had suspected.

  “Would you like to find where those instincts are coming from?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Master Jian is preparing to leave Moonhaven City tomorrow morning. We travel all the time, visiting different cities and regions to teach and learn. If you’re interested, I can convince him to let you join us as a servant. It won’t be formal swordsmanship training, he’s already decided that you’re not suited for his methods, but you’ll have the chance to watch and train independently, and maybe eventually you’ll discover what your purpose is.”

  “Why would you do that for me?” Tian felt his pulse quicken. “You barely know me.”

  Hongyun smiled, and for the first time, the expression appeared sincere rather than diplomatically polite. “Because I recognize something in the way you move. Something that suggests you might have more to offer than what appears on the surface. And because traveling with Master Jian alone gets lonely after a while.”

  “But I don’t have any money or any practical skills that would be useful…”

  “You can read and write, can’t you?” Hongyun cut in. “You can help with correspondence, keep records, manage supplies. Believe me, there are a lot of ways you can prove your value that have nothing to do with the sword.”

  Tian looked back into the square where his friend Chen Hao was likely wondering where he had disappeared to. Then he thought about returning to his family’s diminished quarters and how his father would ask about the testing and his mother would try to hide her disappointment when he told them about Master Jian’s harsh words.

  He thought about the years of quiet resignation ahead of him in Moonhaven City, where he would always be seen as the failed prophecy child, where every social interaction would be influenced by memories of his embarrassment during the testing ceremony.

  Or he could venture into the unknown, travelling with strangers who didn’t care about his destiny or potential. He could look for answers to the questions that had haunted him since childhood, explore the possibility that his dreams might point toward something real rather than just the fantasies of a disappointed mind.

  “I need to first talk to my parents,” Tian said slowly. “I can’t go without their blessings.”

  “Of course,” Hongyun replied. “We’re not leaving until dawn tomorrow, so you’ll have enough time to talk to your family and decide. I’ll speak with Master Jian tonight about adding another servant to our group in case you do accept.”

  Tian gave a deep bow which Hongyun returned.

  “Thank you,” Tian said, implying more than the simple words could convey.

  As he walked through the darkening streets of Moonhaven City, Tian felt something he hadn’t experienced in years: genuine enthusiasm for his future.

  Tomorrow might be the beginning of a journey that would bring answers to questions he had carried since youth, or it might just bring new experiences in places he'd never seen before.

  Either way, it would be better than staying where he was.

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