I woke to pain before I woke to consciousness.

  A deep, bone-humming ache pulsed through my ribs, my shoulders, my back—basically everywhere except maybe my left earlobe. That one had gotten away clean. Lucky bastard.

  The medic hall ceiling floated above me in a wavering blur, all pale wood and thin paper lantern light. For a terrifying moment, I couldn’t remember how I got here. Then memory slammed back into place with a force almost as unpleasant as the prodigy’s final punch.

  Right. The tournament.

  Right. I’d hit him.

  Right. He’d launched me into next week.

  I let out a low groan.

  Turns out groaning also hurt.

  Flow Cycle tried to circulate on instinct, but the moment it reached my ribcage, my first meridian flared like a pulled muscle. The current staggered, stuttered—yet didn’t collapse entirely.

  That surprised me. After the trashing I’d received, I’d expected my channels to feel like someone had stuffed wet rope into them. Instead… they were sore, strained, battered—but intact. Even steadying. Spirit Anchor, too, pulsed with an odd heaviness, like a weight had settled into it rather than hovering restlessly as usual.

  Weirdly enough, some part of me felt stronger.

  Or maybe my brain was still concussed.

  Probably both.

  I blinked hard until the room came into focus—rows of cots, the soft hiss of incense braziers, healers’ shadows drifting behind screens. The air carried that bitter medicinal smell that somehow managed to insult both my nose and my dignity.

  Then I heard it.

  A small, sharp inhale from my left.

  Mei sat slumped on a stool beside my bed, hair messy, eyes swollen from crying—or worrying. Probably both. Her head jerked up as soon as she noticed my breathing change.

  “You’re awake,” she whispered, voice breaking on the second word.

  “Apparently,” I rasped. “Unless this is a very realistic afterlife. In which case I have complaints.”

  She half laughed, half choked, and immediately leaned forward as if she had to confirm with her own eyes that I was alive. Her fingers hovered over my shoulder, then retreated like she remembered that touching me might rearrange my bones into new and exciting shapes.

  “You shouldn’t talk,” she scolded. “Your ribs—”

  “Already informed me,” I said. “Loudly.”

  Her lips trembled, but she managed a glare. “Idiot.”

  “Hi, Mei. Yes. Still an idiot. Glad we’re keeping traditions alive.”

  She shook her head, but the tension in her shoulders loosened just a fraction.

  After a few breaths—very careful, very shallow ones—I forced my head to turn enough to actually look down my own body. Bandages everywhere. My torso was wrapped so thickly I looked like a badly prepared rice dumpling.

  The healers had also placed a pale green talisman over my sternum. It pulsed faintly, diffusing pain and stabilizing my breathing. Every few seconds, the rune brightened, and my first meridian hummed sympathetically.

  Below that hum, farther and fainter, the second meridian flickered like a flame starved of oxygen.

  Still shut. Still inconsistent. But active.

  Trying.

  A spark jumped at the edge of my awareness, like a muscle twitching in anticipation.

  Mei followed my gaze as if she could sense what I was sensing. “The healers said your meridians aren’t broken. Just… stressed.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  She didn’t laugh. Not this time. Her expression darkened with something like fear.

  “You almost died,” she whispered.

  I opened my mouth to respond—but the door to the medic hall slid open with the kind of violence that suggested bad news had arrived and wasn’t even trying to hide it.

  A cluster of servants rushed by in hushed conversation. Behind them, two disciples whispered loudly about “investigations” and “Elder Xun’s fury.” I heard my name twice. Neither instance sounded particularly encouraging.

  Then the healers approached—two elders in pale robes, moving with calm disapproval.

  The older one, a man with eyebrows long enough to sweep the floor, examined the talisman on my chest. “Pulse stable. Pain suppression active. Subject conscious.”

  Subject.

  Nice.

  The other healer, a gray-haired woman whose stare could curdle milk, tapped lightly along my ribcage. Pain shot through me like fireworks.

  I hissed through my teeth. “Ma’am—I mean—honored healer—m—maybe don’t do that?”

  She ignored me entirely. “Some fractures. No internal bleeding. What concerns me is the meridian strain. Forty percent is manageable. Fifty would not have been.”

  A familiar whisper brushed across my mind as the System nudged the thought.

  Correction: Forty-three percent.

  “Yes, yes,” I thought irritably. “Thank you for your helpful math.”

  Recommend: minimal movement. Avoid Rooted Palm and all Burst-class exertion for at least seventy-two hours.

  “Yes, thank you, I figured that out when breathing almost killed me.”

  Acknowledged.

  At least the System had the decency to be quiet after that.

  The healers stepped back and addressed Mei rather than me—because of course. Servants talked to servants; patients were furniture.

  “Assist his rest,” the woman ordered. “Replace his wraps at dusk. Do not permit strenuous movement. Or attempts at heroics.”

  “Those are mutually exclusive,” I muttered.

  The healers left without commenting. Probably wise.

  Mei exhaled slowly, rubbing her hands together. “They said you might not be able to fight for days.”

  “Funny,” I said. “Because I wasn’t planning on fighting anyone from bed.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  She shot me a look. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Pillows are vicious.”

  She made a strangled noise halfway between exasperation and relief. But it only lasted a heartbeat before the fear returned.

  “They made an announcement,” she said carefully. “Earlier this afternoon.”

  I watched her face tighten in a way that told me I wouldn’t like this next part.

  “What announcement?”

  “That…” she hesitated, then blurted it out, “they’re removing you from the tournament.”

  The air seemed to freeze around me.

  “Due to injuries,” she added quickly.

  Right.

  Injuries.

  Sure.

  “And unofficially?” I asked.

  “Unofficially…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Elder Xun demanded it.”

  A hollow pit opened beneath my ribs—separate from the physical pain.

  Of course Elder Xun wouldn’t let me continue. His prodigy heir had been struck. In front of the entire clan. Even if I never got close to winning the tournament, even if all I did was exist in the same arena again, it would stain their prestige.

  My being injured was simply convenient.

  “What about everyone else?” I asked. “Disciples? Servants?”

  She looked conflicted. “Some disciples are angry. They think it cheapens the tournament. That the clan looks petty.”

  “Fair.”

  “Some are mocking. Saying you got what you deserved for being ‘arrogant.’”

  “Also fair.”

  “And some…” Her voice softened. “…some are scared of you.”

  I blinked. “Scared?”

  “You touched him,” she whispered. “Wu Jianxu. You made him bleed.”

  “I don’t think he actually bled.”

  “You made him stumble, then. No one has done that.”

  I let my head fall back against the pillow. The ache rippled down my spine, but the weight of the moment pressed harder.

  I’d wanted to be seen.

  Now I was.

  And not just by Elder Xun.

  “Mei,” I said slowly, “your family…”

  She stiffened. “They’re under questioning. Some elders think they helped you train. Others think they hid your potential. Some think we’re trying to climb the hierarchy.”

  “And are you?”

  She glared at me. “We’re trying to survive.”

  I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for—”

  “It isn’t your fault,” she snapped. “You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to anger a prodigy. Or make yourself a symbol.”

  I flinched at that word.

  Symbol.

  I was barely a person at the moment, let alone an idea for people to latch onto.

  But Mei wasn’t done.

  “My father said something,” she murmured. “He said: ‘If the clan starts to fear a servant boy, then the walls around us are already shifting.’”

  “That’s dramatic,” I said weakly.

  “It’s true.”

  A silence stretched, brittle and heavy.

  Then she stood. “I’ll bring you broth.”

  “You’re trying to bribe me into staying alive.”

  “Yes,” she said flatly.

  “Very effective,” I admitted.

  She slipped out of the room.

  Night fell slowly over the medic hall, shadows stretching across the floor like cold ink. The lanterns flickered, casting long shapes across the ceiling. The hall grew quieter as injured disciples fell asleep or groaned themselves unconscious.

  I breathed shallowly, carefully, trying to ignore the pulsing pain in my ribs. Flow Cycle ran like a hesitant stream—sluggish, interrupted, but functional. Spirit Anchor hummed more deeply than ever, an almost comforting weight in my mind.

  And the second meridian…

  It flickered again.

  Not destabilized.

  Not fraying.

  Just… knocking.

  Like it wanted to open a door it wasn’t aligned with yet.

  “So close,” I whispered.

  The moment the words left my mouth, something stirred.

  The jade token at my bedside warmed against my skin, a pulse rippling out from it like a soft harmonic tone.

  Before I could reach for it, reality thinned.

  My consciousness lurched sideways—

  —and the medic hall dissolved into pale mist.

  Except… not fully.

  I was only half here.

  My physical body stayed behind, tethered by pain and the healers’ talisman. But my awareness slipped into the jade realm in a fragmented shimmer, like a reflection barely holding shape in rippling water.

  Master Jian appeared with the same irritating serenity as always, hands clasped behind his back, robes drifting like they were underwater.

  “Child,” he said, voice warm and rough. “You survived.”

  “I get the sense that surprises you.”

  “It surprises everyone,” he replied solemnly. “Including Elder Xun. Especially Elder Xun.”

  I snorted. “He’s furious.”

  “Fury is the surest sign of a wounded ego,” Jian said. “You landed a strike on his heir. A clean one. A meaningful one. Even the elders who wanted you beaten cannot ignore that.”

  I swallowed. “I’m banned from the tournament.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Yes.”

  “…Care to share?”

  He smiled faintly. “Because you threaten the narrative they built. And once a narrative cracks, it becomes difficult to repair.”

  My stomach twisted. “I didn’t mean to become anything. I was just trying to—”

  “Live?” he offered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Intent does not erase impact,” he said gently. “You stepped into the clan’s gaze. They will not look away now.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “I love being a walking political inconvenience.”

  “Good,” Jian said.

  “…Did you just say good?”

  “Pressure refines,” he said. “You must understand the principle I teach next, or the second meridian will remain shut.”

  I straightened—or tried to. Even in the jade realm, my ribs protested.

  “What principle?”

  “The Three Alignments.”

  The air around him shimmered faintly. Threads of pale jade light curled in the mist.

  “Flesh Endures. Flow Adapts. Will Guides.”

  A quiet resonance vibrated through me at those words—something deep, intrinsic, like my body recognized the shape of the idea before my mind could grasp it.

  “These three are not separate,” Jian continued. “They must converge. Your body endured beyond what it should have today. Your Flow adapted under pressure that would break most disciples.”

  “Great,” I said. “So why isn’t my Will cooperating?”

  He raised a brow. “Your Will struck the prodigy.”

  “I think that was mostly stubbornness.”

  “Stubbornness is Will,” he said. “Raw, unrefined, but potent. You must learn to guide it, not merely wield it in desperation.”

  A chill rippled through the mist.

  Something was shifting around Jian. Not dangerous—just tense.

  “Listen well,” he said quietly. “The clan sees you now. That visibility is both opportunity and threat. The prodigy’s Burst violated etiquette today. Some elders protested behind closed doors. Fractures are forming.”

  “Because of me.”

  “Partly. But those fractures existed long before you arrived. You simply illuminated them.”

  Lucky me.

  “Be cautious,” Jian warned. “Ambition circles the wounded. And Elder Xun is wounded.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Focus on the Alignments. When you truly understand them—when they echo through your body, your Flow, and your Will—the second meridian will open.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You die,” he said simply.

  I froze.

  His expression softened. “But not yet.”

  “So reassuring.”

  A faint chuckle. “Return now. The realm will pull too strongly if you linger.”

  The mist dissolved.

  Pain rushed back in.

  I gasped as my consciousness slammed into my body again. The talisman flared brightly then dimmed, stabilizing the ripple of meridian strain.

  I blinked up at the medic hall ceiling, breath shallow.

  Flesh Endures.

  Flow Adapts.

  Will Guides.

  The words echoed through me like a drumbeat.

  I didn’t understand them. Not truly. Not yet.

  But something inside me shifted around them, like feeling a lock loosen even if the door stayed shut.

  I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, Mei was shaking my shoulder gently.

  “Shu Ren,” she whispered urgently. “Wake up. Someone’s here.”

  For one horrifying moment, I thought she meant Elder Xun.

  Instead, a young disciple in formal robes stood at the doorway, holding a lacquered scroll case marked with the clan’s elder seal.

  He didn’t bother bowing.

  “Shu Ren of the labor branch?” he announced.

  “That’s me,” I croaked.

  “You are hereby summoned to the Elders’ Pavilion at dawn.”

  My heart stopped.

  Mei’s hand tightened around my sleeve.

  “What—why—?”

  The disciple didn’t answer. He simply set the scroll case at the foot of my bed, bowed stiffly, and left.

  Silence swallowed the room.

  Finally, Mei whispered, “That’s… impossible.”

  “Apparently it’s happening anyway.”

  She hovered, fear tightening every line of her face. “They’ve never summoned a servant. Not for good reasons.”

  “Yeah,” I murmured. “I figured.”

  She swallowed hard. “There’s more.”

  Of course there was.

  She leaned closer, voice barely a whisper. “While you were asleep… people came by. Supporters of Elder Xun. I heard them asking which ward you were in.”

  A cold spike went down my spine.

  “Were they here for me?”

  “I—I don’t know. But they didn’t look like healers.”

  My pulse thudded.

  “So I’m either going to be interrogated,” I said slowly, “or assassinated.”

  She didn’t deny it.

  I exhaled a laugh that sounded far too much like nerves cracking. “Fantastic. Really thriving lately.”

  “Shu Ren,” she hissed. “This isn’t funny.”

  “I know,” I said softly. “I’m just… deciding.”

  “Deciding what?”

  Whether to run.

  Whether to hide.

  Whether to pretend none of this was happening.

  But the words wouldn’t form aloud.

  Instead, I pushed my palm against the mattress and began to sit up.

  Mei panicked. “What are you doing?!”

  “Preparing.”

  “For what?!”

  “For dawn.”

  Her eyes widened. “No. No, that’s insane. You can’t go.”

  I met her gaze.

  “I stood in front of the clan, Mei.”

  She shook her head violently. “This is different. This is the elders—”

  “And now I have to stand in front of them too.”

  “You’ll be killed!”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “But if I don’t go? That sends a message too. The wrong one.”

  She stared at me as if seeing something unfamiliar—something dangerous.

  Or something inevitable.

  “You’re not the same person you were when you woke up in this clan,” she whispered.

  “Neither is the clan,” I said. “Not after today.”

  She closed her eyes, fighting tears. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I know.”

  “But you will.”

  “Yes.”

  She wiped her face with her sleeve and nodded once, tiny and trembling.

  “Then I’ll help you stand.”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just held her gaze until she stepped back.

  The pain in my ribs pulsed with each breath. My first meridian ached. My second flickered.

  The Jade token lay warm beside me.

  And somewhere far above, the elders of the clan waited.

  Great.

  No pressure.