Sen made his way into the kitchen and was surprised to find it empty. Either Master Feng or Uncle Kho was usually up before him. Still, on those occasions when Sen found himself the first to rise, he knew it was up to him to start breakfast. He stoked a fire in the stove, which added a pleasant warmth to the air. While the cold didn’t bother Sen as much as it once had, steady food and shelter having prompted gains in height and muscle that fortified him better against the elements, he still preferred a warm place when he could get one. Memories of nights shivering in alleys remained all too close to the surface for him to turn down the chance at easy heat. He placed a pot on the stove and started adding ingredients. He mixed together the leftover rice from last night’s dinner, along with some broth that had been set aside for this purpose. The balance between the rice and the liquids looked a little off, so he added a bit of water. After that, it was mostly a waiting game, so he made tea to pass the time.

While he’d had his doubts about tea when he’d first arrived at Uncle Kho’s ridiculously enormous home, he’d come around over the last half year. It wasn’t necessarily that he liked the tea, although Sen certainly didn’t mind the mild kick he got in the morning from Master Feng’s black tea. Sen liked the ritual of it. Making good tea demanded a certain precision in the process. It had taken him months of careful attention to hone that process. Yet, after so many repetitions, it had become ingrained, a second nature, so automatic that it was a kind of effortless meditation that let Sen center himself. Sen poured himself a cup, lifted it, and inhaled. The tea was perfect. He sipped at it, basking in the morning quiet before his lessons. When he judged that the porridge should be ready, he checked on it and nodded in satisfaction. The consistency looked just about right.

“It’s good to see you practicing your cooking, nephew,” said Uncle Kho from behind Sen.

“I was the first one up,” answered Sen. “What else would I do?”

“Ha! Many disciples would take the path of laziness and return to their beds, content to make this simple chore another’s task.”

Sen gave Kho a shocked look. “I have more gratitude in me than that, honored uncle.”

“Yes, so you do,” said Kho, smiling at the boy.

Sen retrieved another cup and poured tea for the old cultivator.

Kho sipped at it and gave a slight nod. “I know that Feng prefers this black tea, but I really must bring you around on green tea.”

“I can make green tea for you, uncle,” offered Sen.

“No, no,” said Kho. “No reason to waste work already well done. I would take a bowl of that porridge, though.”

“Of course,” said Sen.

He ladled up a bowl for each of them, and the pair fell into a comfortable silence as they ate and drank their tea. After they finished breakfast and cleaned up the dishes, Sen looked expectantly at Kho.

“Yes?” Kho asked.

“Shall we proceed with today’s lesson?”

“Oh, no. No more lessons. Not that kind of lesson, at any rate. Your reading is adequate enough that practice will teach you more effectively than additional lessons. In fact, come with me.”

Sen followed Kho to a room that he’d been aware of but hadn’t given much consideration. The entire room was lined with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. Each shelf was lined with scrolls and books. At first, the room was made useless by Sen’s inability to read. Later, Sen’s days were so filled with other kinds of work that he hadn’t really considered what the room might contain. Plus, despite Kho’s words, Sen’s confidence in his reading skills was not high. He knew that he could likely read any simple text that crossed his path, such as signs, menus, and maps. The densely packed words that he had seen on the scrolls that Master Feng and Uncle Kho studied with such care were something else entirely. Those intimidated Sen.

So, he waited as Kho stood in the center of the room, tapping a finger on his lips, and slowly turning. After almost a full minute of consideration, the cultivator decided. He walked over to a shelf and plucked a scroll from it. Kho hesitated for a moment with his free hand hovering near a different shelf. Ultimately, the old man shook his head and made his way back to the door. He offered the scroll to Sen, who cautiously lifted it out of the cultivator’s hand.

“What is it?” Sen asked.

“I don’t have anything that’s truly appropriate for your skills, but this scroll isn’t too bad. It’s just a bit of basic history. Do your best with it for the next few days. If you find words you don’t know or can’t figure out, make note of them. Then, we’ll discuss those things. Do pay attention to what the words say, though. I may ask you a few questions about them.”

“I will, honored uncle.”

“Good. Now, take the morning off. It is the new year after all. Even lowly disciples get a holiday every now and then. You should go throw food at that cat of yours before she decides to come inside and raid the kitchen.”

Sen bowed so Kho wouldn’t see his smirk. The old man could feign irritation all he wanted, but Sen had seen the cultivator out in the courtyard, scratching behind the cat’s ears and feeding her treats. Still, the suggestion had some merit.

***

After depositing the scroll in his room, Sen grabbed a few things from the kitchen and headed outside. Sen focused his attention and scanned the courtyard. Even with months of experience, it was painfully easy to overlook the ghost panther even at close range. He did finally spot her sitting on top of the wall, her head tracking a bird that was flying nearby. Sen made a noise, and the cat turned her head to look at him. Then, with an impossible, lazy grace, she jumped down from the wall and padded across the snowy courtyard to him. There wasn’t so much as a paw print left in her wake.

“Show off,” he said.

The cat got an all-too-familiar look of amusement in her big eyes. Sen shook his head. The cat struck him as a bit too human at times. Of course, all of that changed when he started throwing pieces of food into the far corners of the courtyard. The minute a piece of food left his hand, the disquieting human-ness vanished and all that remained was a barely visible predator pouncing on the food before it ever landed. The game went on for about half an hour before Sen ran out of food. The cat came back over to him and looked at his empty hands. He could have sworn that the cat sighed. Then, she gently bumped her head against his stomach, sauntered over the wall, and leapt over it.

“I honestly can’t decide if that spirit animal is your pet or the other way around,” said Master Feng, stepping up beside Sen.

Sen pondered for a moment and sighed. “She probably thinks I’m her pet. Of course, she’s also really lazy. So, why waste all that energy hunting when we’ll all give her food?”

“We?” Asked Feng.

“I know you and Uncle Kho feed her things when you think I’m not around.”

Feng said nothing and kept his face neutral. Sen lifted an eyebrow at the man. Feng rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Okay, maybe once in a while,” he admitted. “I’ll stop if you want.”

A look of pure horror crossed Sen’s face. “Heavens no! She’d be unbearable if you did that. Can you imagine her moping around here, giving everyone sad eyes?”

Feng laughed, seemed to think better of it, and shuddered a little. “Or, I might wake up with her standing over me.”

“I don’t think she’d try to hurt you.”

Feng shook his head. “I don’t either. I do think she’d follow me around all day and interrupt whatever I was doing to punish me.”

“Yes, that seems like something she would do.”

Feng and Sen traded glances and laughed.

“We’re going to do something a little different today,” said Feng.

“Oh?”

“I want you to show me what you’ve learned.”

Sen nodded. “As you say, master.”

***

As Sen stretched in the cold winter air, nervousness threatened to overwhelm him. Master Feng always provided corrections or input while he trained. The knowledge that he could expect nothing of the sort made Sen feel like he’d come to some kind of test. What if he failed? What if he forgot something? He didn’t think that Master Feng would send him away, not in the middle of winter, but he might stop teaching him if Sen proved a disappointment. Those thoughts churned in Sen’s mind for several minutes, disrupting every attempt to center his body and mind. Then, with a fist of self-control that he hadn’t even realized he was building, Sen crushed those thoughts. He had either learned what Master Feng wished him to learn, or he hadn’t. All that remained now was to demonstrate what he had learned.

Sen dropped into that first stance that Master Feng had taught him. He remembered how uncomfortable that stance had been, how it strained everything in his legs and back. Now, it was as natural as walking or breathing. Sen took one last calming breath and proceeded through the first sequence of movements that Master Feng had taught him. The first strike was a tiny bit off as one last flutter of nerves rose up in him, but then his body took over. His arms and legs moved of their own volition, primed for the moment by thousands of repetitions. There was no need for Sen’s mind to intervene, so he allowed himself to be silent inside. That strange ball of warmth behind his navel hummed in time with Sen’s movements, gentle pulses of warmth flowing out to hands, down to feet, into his limbs. Between those pulses, Sen felt energy from the environment around him gently seeping into his body.

“What is the first thing a warrior requires?” Feng asked.

The reply was as automatic as Sen’s movement. “Strength.”

“Why does a warrior require strength?”

“A warrior must always be ready to defend. Without strength, your defense will crumble. A warrior must also stand ready to attack. Without strength, your attack will fail.”

“What is the second thing that a warrior requires?”

Sen’s body flowed like water. Punch, block, kick. “A warrior requires speed.”

“Why does a warrior require speed?”

“Without speed, your defense will come too late. Without speed, your attack will never find its mark.”

“What is the third thing that a warrior requires?”

“A warrior requires control.”

“Why does a warrior require control?” Feng asked, stepping in front of Sen’s final strike.

Sen’s fist came to a stop a hair’s breadth from Master Feng’s nose. “Without control, your strike may find an unintended target. A warrior strikes only what they intend to strike.”