Chapter 7
Chapter 7: Conflict
Zhao Chun stayed in her room for six or seven days straight before she fully digested the entire heart mantra.
Once she could recite it without stumbling, she sat cross-legged and began to practice in earnest, silently following the formula.
At first came a strange sensation—hard to describe, like something vast brushing the edge of her awareness. Then her senses sharpened, startlingly clear. Warmth stirred at the soles of her feet, then her palms, her lower abdomen, her chest, even behind her eyes.
She’d tasted success. After that, she spent more than ten days consumed by practice. Aside from eating, sleeping, and washing, every moment went into cultivation.
Zhou Pian Ran came by to chat for the first two days, but after seeing Zhao Chun’s intensity, she felt guilty about interrupting and stopped coming.
Two days before the date they were meant to depart for Heng Yun World, Zhou Pian Ran and Wang Chu Yan rushed in together, breathless and pale.
“Something happened!” Zhou Pian Ran cried. “Something happened!”
“What?” Zhao Chun sat up at once. She poured each of them a cup of water and pushed it into their hands. “Slow down. Tell me.”
They’d run the whole way. They sat, panting.
Zhou Pian Ran clutched her cup. “A Yan and I were chatting in the yard. We heard shouting next door, so we went over and found Zhang Ming Zhan and Xie Bao Guang fighting.
“Bao Guang isn’t his match. He was beaten until his face was covered in blood. We didn’t dare pull them apart, so we came to find you.”
Zhao Chun almost laughed from sheer disbelief. She was younger than both of them. What, exactly, did they expect her to do?
But there was no time for that.
“We have to separate them first,” she said. “Then we find Steward Cao.”
Wang Chu Yan stood immediately. “I know someone in the temple. I’ll go get help.”
She lifted her skirt and ran.
Zhao Chun turned to Zhou Pian Ran. “We’ll go find Steward Cao.”
“He’s not here,” Zhou Pian Ran said miserably. “Steward Cao left three days ago. He still hasn’t returned.”
“Then what about Senior Brother Wang?” Zhao Chun asked. “Is he here?”
Zhou Pian Ran nodded. “Yes. I saw him yesterday.”
“Good. We’ll go to him.”
They hurried through the corridors. On the way, Zhao Chun asked what had led to this.
“You don’t go out much anymore, so you don’t know,” Zhou Pian Ran said in a rush. “They’ve had problems for days.”
Then she laid it out.
Liu, Peng, and Zhang were commoners. They’d naturally formed a little clique and edged Xie Bao Guang out.
Xie Bao Guang looked down on them too, so he started hanging around Zhou Pian Ran and Wang Chu Yan instead, and the girls ended up familiar with him.
“Bao Guang’s personality is a little overbearing,” Zhou Pian Ran admitted, “but he isn’t bad. Zhang Ming Zhan is the truly nasty one. If he isn’t making noise at night just to bother people, he’s putting little bugs in the food. He has all kinds of disgusting tricks. But there’s no way to report it to the steward.”
“After this,” Zhao Chun said, “stay away from those three.”
Zhou Pian Ran nodded hard, relieved to be told plainly.
They found Wang Fang in his courtyard, seated in meditation. The moment he heard what happened, he stood, face darkening, and followed them at once.
“What time is it,” he snapped, “and you’re still causing trouble?”
By the time they arrived, the fight had already been broken up.
It was clear Liu and Peng had helped Zhang Ming Zhan. Zhang’s clothes were only rumpled, his collar tugged out of place. Xie Bao Guang, on the other hand, sat on the ground. Someone had wiped his face, but blood still streaked beneath his nose. Both eyes were swollen; his right cheek had turned purple-black. He was almost unrecognizable.
Wang Fang took one look and understood where the fault lay. He let out a cold laugh. “Not even officially in the sect yet, and you’re already throwing your status around.”
Those three had changed completely in the past month.
Wang Chu Yan had learned to keep her head down, to move carefully, to make herself small.
Liu, Peng, and Zhang were the opposite—like fish in water, growing bolder by the day.
“The method was given to you early so you could cultivate,” Wang Fang said sharply. “At first, you all worked hard. Then after only a few days you couldn’t resist—banquets, gifts, favors, nonsense.
“And now you’re fighting.”
He turned to an attendant. “Find Xie Bao Guang a new place to stay.”
Zhang Ming Zhan finally looked afraid. The three boys stood rigid, barely breathing.
Wang Fang’s voice cut through them. “All of you. Starting today, no one steps out of their rooms. Not one step. Reflect.”
It wasn’t only for the fighters. Everyone present was punished.
They were all disciples. They only called Wang Fang “Senior Brother” because he’d entered the sect earlier. He couldn’t truly beat them. In this temple, the only person who could impose real punishment on disciples was Steward Cao.
But the three boys didn’t understand that. They mistook Wang Fang’s restraint for softness and agreed in trembling voices.
Zhao Chun took in the scene without surprise.
Zhou Pian Ran looked ashamed, cheeks flushed. Wang Chu Yan stood beside her, murmuring comfort.
Xie Bao Guang was hauled upright. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles shone white. Rage still burned in his swollen eyes.
This wouldn’t end today. The resentment was too deep, the lines too drawn. Wang Fang’s decision to punish everyone—no questions asked—had not given Xie Bao Guang the justice he’d wanted.
If the bitterness kept fermenting, something worse would happen sooner or later.
But Zhao Chun had neither the strength nor the desire to mediate. Let them learn, on their own, what kind of road they were walking. One day they would understand that grudges born from status and birth were nothing but chains.
As for Zhao Chun, confinement was practically a reward. She was obsessed with the breathing method and wished no one would disturb her.
After half a month of relentless practice, she felt her body changing in ways that mattered. When she trained the sword forms Instructor Zheng had taught, moves that once failed for lack of strength now came cleanly. Her bones and muscles felt more supple, and her combinations flowed with a smooth, almost effortless rhythm.
On the night before departure, Steward Cao returned and summoned everyone to the hall.
Unlike Wang Fang—who had only recently drawn qi into his body—Steward Cao could tell at a glance who had practiced and who had not.
Zhao Chun’s complexion was rosy. A faint, mysterious light gathered between her brows. She could tell from his gaze that he knew: she hadn’t rested much at all this month. She’d thrown everything into cultivation.
Zhou Pian Ran, Peng Zheng, and Zhang Ming Zhan looked little different from the day they were chosen. They likely hadn’t even memorized the formula properly.
Liu Zi Yi surprised Steward Cao. He didn’t have Zhao Chun’s visible glow, but his eyes were bright, his breath steady and long. He’d worked hard too.
He had provoked others into fighting, yet still carved out time to cultivate. If no one else had truly devoted themselves, he would have stood out easily today. Steward Cao’s mouth twitched in something like a snort. Young, and already frighteningly shrewd.
“How far will that cleverness carry you?” he seemed to wonder.
Cultivation was years of accumulation. Cleverness might help one avoid detours—but only steady effort and the ability to endure loneliness could walk the true path.
At last, Steward Cao nodded and looked directly at Zhao Chun.
“You,” he said. “Very good.”