A few hours passed and the afternoon sun began to shine. Wei Long stood among his senior brothers on the outer disciples’ training grounds. He looked like a sapling among palm trees. He looked out of place—because the older disciples towered over him by at least two heads. “Master Feng!” Ren spat, “Why do you continue with this foolishness?!”

  “Such as?” Master Feng asked.

  Ren turned to stare at Wei Long venomously, then pointed. “HIM!... He doesn't deserve to be here!”

  “...and let me guess... you do?”

  Master Feng turned to face Ren and gave him a glare that silenced him in one. He sneered at Master Feng, but the elder man ignored him.

  “Today,” Master Feng started, “we will practice the Mountain Stance. This is the foundation of wielding your swords. Without proper rooting, the blade will control you rather than you controlling it.”

  Wei Long watches as Master Feng starts his demonstration. Master Feng plants his feet on the ground, earth shifting between his toes. He straightens his back and stretches out his arms. “Now, all of you. Begin.”

  The disciples spread out, each claiming a patch of the packed dirt training ground. Wei Long found a spot near the edge, away from the others. He tied the weight that Master Feng had given him to his waist, feeling its pull as he attempted to mimic the stance he had seen.

  His legs begin to tremble after a few minutes, forcing him to realise the weight grew heavier with time. Then, it began to pull his body downward, threatening to topple him with each passing second.

  Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, dripping into his eyes, but he ignored them. It took him three months to build the willpower to perform such an act.

  And he was proud of that fact.

  “Wei Long,” Master Feng called out. “Widen your stance… if I were to press my hand against your shoulder, you’d topple over. Your core isn’t balanced.”

  “Yes, Master Feng,” Wei Long said, adjusting his stance. He spread his feet further, feeling the strain on his thighs intensify. He gritted his teeth and began to breathe through his nose and mouth, hoping that it would ease the strain.

  “Master Feng…you handicapped the street rat. I’m sure he’ll complain to Master Hao soon… saying how you bully him with stones of air!”

  “Stones of air? Wonder where you stole that one from Disciple Zhao.”

  “I heard it from a Core Disciple today!” he said proudly, puffing out his chest more as if he won a prize.

  “Ahh, that makes sense, you don’t have the brain for such wits. You however, have the

  for mockery. Which makes it clear you aren’t working hard enough. Hold this.”

  Master Feng tossed a heavy iron ring in the air. The ring spun violently, then dropped into Zhao’s hand perfectly. He flinched as he caught the ring, and his squat stance lowered. “Heavier than expected, isn’t it? Maintain your stance until I dismiss the class.”

  His face paled after a few seconds. Then his arms began to pale under the additional weight.

  Wei Long ignored Zhao’s predicament. Instead, focusing on his own. When Master Feng reached Wei Long, he stopped longer than he had with the others. “Your body is small, but your root must be deep,” he said, tapping Wei Long.

  He winced as the pain from Ren’s pebble shot back up his leg. He let the pain wallow, then completely ignored it. “Imagine drawing strength from the earth itself.”

  Wei Long closed his eyes, envisioning roots extending from his feet into the ground below, anchoring him. When he opened them again, Master Feng moved on.

  The sun began to hang low in the sky, Wei Long’s legs were burning like fire; the weight on his waist felt as though it had doubled in mass. Still, he managed to hold the stance for the entire two-hour session without falling, right up until Master Feng dismissed the class.

  “Wei Long, return the training yard to order before you leave,” Master Feng called out, just as all the disciples dispersed.

  It wasn’t an unusual request for the youngest disciple, but Wei Long noticed the smug looks on the faces of Ren and his friends as they departed. They deliberately scuffed their feet in the dirt, creating unnecessary work for him.

  Wei Long waited until everyone left before retrieving the rake. His arms protested as he began smoothing the churned earth of the training ground, erasing footprints and returning the surface to its pristine condition.

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  The weight now hung from his waist as he transferred it from his hands. He felt more centered now that he had removed it from his hands, so as he began sweeping, pulling the rank was another exercise in endurance.

  Wei Long finished raking the training ground as the dinner bell echoed across the sect compound. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had been working since before dawn with nothing but a small bowl of rice porridge for breakfast.

  He stored the rake in the equipment shed and made his way toward the dining hall, his legs still trembling from the prolonged stance training. Every step felt like walking through deep mud, but he forced himself to maintain proper posture even when no masters were watching.

  The dining hall buzzed with the voices of hungry disciples. Wei Long slipped through the doorway. The long wooden tables were already crowded with students wolfing down their meals. Outer Sect Junior disciples like him were served last, so Wei Long joined the short line at the serving station.

  “One bowl of rice, two pieces of steamed vegetables, and a small slice of pork,” the cook said gruffly, ladling the modest portions onto Wei Long’s wooden tray.

  Wei Long balanced his tray and scanned the room for an empty spot. Most tables were packed with tight-knit groups of friends, leaving no space for a seven-year-old outsider. He finally spotted a corner with enough room at the end of a table occupied by younger disciples.

  He had taken only three steps when a foot jutted out in his path. “Watch your step, Rat,” Ren sneered from his seat.

  Wei Long tried to step over the extended leg, but Ren raised it at the last moment. Wei Long stumbled forward, spilling his rice all over the floor. “Clean it up,” Ren commanded, loud enough for others to hear. “Rats usually eat their food from the ground, don’t they?”

  Wei Long balled his hands into fists and tried his best to keep calm, but how could he? He woke at the crack of dawn to train. He trained for an hour and a half, then wolfed down his breakfast in five minutes before he started his chores. When he finished his chores, he proceeded to the outer sect training yard for his class. He then cleaned up the training area.

  After a long day, he just wanted to eat peacefully…but now his food was on the ground. He just couldn’t believe it. “Just this once,” Wei Long whispered, “can’t you get a life?”

  “What did you say, RAT?!” Ren roared,

  “WHY DO—“

  A loud boom echoed throughout the room. Silencing the hall, everyone turned to the noise and it was Senior Sister Tie Nian, her practice sword slamming down on the table in front of her.

  The impact rattled the bowls and cups, filling the room with a tense silence. “Enough!” Nian said, her voice carrying an edge that could cut air like a blade.

  She stood and stared at Ren, aura that swirled around seemed as though she would destroy Ren if he spoke back. “If you have so much energy to bully a child, perhaps you should spend it on training instead. Or would you prefer to explain to Master Hao why you’re wasting food and disrupting the peace of the sect?”

  Ren’s face flushed, but he didn’t dare argue. He muttered something under his breath and looked away, his bravado crumbling under Nian’s stern gaze. The other disciples quickly returned to their meals, avoiding eye contact with her.

  Nian turned to Wei Long, her expression softening. She crouched beside him, her voice gentle. “Leave it. I’ll have someone clean it up.”

  Wei Long shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s my responsibility, Senior Sister. I will take care of it.”

  “Very well. But don’t take too long. You need to eat.”

  Wei Long finished cleaning the mess, his stomach growling louder with each passing moment. By the time he returned to the serving station, the cook had already packed up most of the food. The man glanced at Wei Long and sighed, shaking his head.

  “Sorry, boy. There’s nothing left.”

  His heart sank instantly. He barely ate that morning, and now his dinner was plastered all over the dining hall floor.

  A shadow moved beside him. Nian stood with her tray, still holding half of her meal. She wordlessly pushed it toward him. “Here. You can have some of mine.”

  Wei Long hesitated. His stomach screamed for him to take the food, but his pride clenched at his ribs. He had already embarrassed himself enough for one night. Taking pity food from his Senior Sister would only make it worse. “Thank you, Senior Sister, but I’ll be fine.” He said shaking his head.

  “There’s no need to be stubborn.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he repeated, bowing his head.

  Nian studied him for a long moment, then sighed. She didn’t press him further. “Suit yourself.”

  Wei Long turned to find a place to sit. The dining hall was nearly empty now. The other disciples had already finished their meals and left.

  He sat alone at the end of the table, staring at the empty wooden surface before him. His stomach twisted with hunger, the ache gnawing at his insides. He swallowed against it, pushing the feeling down.

  Senior Sister Nian was still there, watching despite having finished her meal. She gave him a small nod before turning and leaving the hall. Wei Long felt a flicker of gratitude and returned a bow.

  After fighting off the growls as best he could, he made his way back to the dormitory. The cold night air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was focused on one thing: sleep.

  The dormitory was quiet when he entered; the other disciples were already asleep or lost in their own thoughts. Wei Long moved silently to his mat by the door, the thin straw offering little comfort.

  He untied the weight from his belt and placed it carefully beside him, running his fingers over the smooth leather cord. It was a reminder of Master Feng’s words: You must become more than you are.

  He lay down, pulling the thin blanket over his shivering body. His stomach growled again, a hollow ache that reminded him of his hunger. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore it. Tomorrow would be another long day, and he needed to be ready.

  Tears began to flow from his eyes as his hunger began to claw at his body. He swallowed his saliva deeply one more time and hoped that would be the last he’d ever experience when it came to hunger.

  He was familiar with this hunger ever since his father died; he roamed the streets for months, but to experience such things at a sect such as the Heavy Sword Sect was disappointing. But what could he do?