Supreme Elder Song reached into her sleeve and retrieved a folded strip of aged parchment and laid it gently on the table before Xun Wei. The ink was old, the brushstrokes elegant and deliberate, like the poem had been written not just with words, but with intention.
Xun Wei began to read silently.
[ "Steel falls like rain upon the mountain,
Yet the mountain does not bleed.
One sword splits a thousand shadows—
But which is the true strike?
When the wind retreats and silence reigns,
What does the blade still defend?" ]
Xun Wei read it once, then again—each line washing over her like ripples on still water. It wasn't a technique in the conventional sense. It was a riddle. A philosophy.
"Take your time," Supreme Elder Song said.
The courtyard fell still.
Xun Wei didn't sit, nor close her eyes, nor furrow her brow in thought. She simply stood there, as if letting the words sink through her skin rather than her mind.
After a long pause, she finally spoke.
