Dawn broke as Jaden returned home, his body aching from the battle. The sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink, yet the weight of the night's events still lingered on his shoulders. He stepped into the house, his footsteps light, but Master Shang was already awake. It seemed the old man never truly slept.
Master Shang stood by the fire, stirring a pot of his traditional herbal soup. The aroma—earthy and pungent—filled the room. Jaden stood by the door, silent, watching.
Without turning around, Master Shang spoke. "You're back."
Jaden simply nodded.
Master Shang ladled some soup into a wooden bowl and extended it toward him. "Here, have some."
Jaden hesitated before taking the bowl. He sipped cautiously, and his face immediately twisted in discomfort. The bitterness spread across his tongue like a cruel joke.
"Does everything you make have to be herbal and bitter?" Jaden asked, his voice tinged with exasperation.
Master Shang let out a hearty laugh, a sound so carefree that it was almost childlike. His laughter echoed through the small home, filling the air with an unusual warmth.
"Were you expecting it to taste good?" Master Shang teased. "Everything sweet isn't always good for the body, you know."
Jaden stared at him, unamused, but there was something oddly comforting about seeing the old man laugh like that. It was rare to witness such a moment, and for the first time in a long while, Jaden almost smiled.
After finishing the soup—well, as much as he could tolerate—Jaden left the house and made his way up the mountain near Master Shang's home. He had been going there ever since the old man had taken him in, using the secluded area as his personal training ground. The crisp morning air carried a sense of familiarity, and the mountain had become his sanctuary.
He began his training immediately. His body was sore from the previous battle, but pain was no excuse to stop. He moved through his forms—each strike, each stance, each breath disciplined and precise. His muscles burned, but he welcomed the strain. He needed to be stronger. He had to be.
As he continued, a voice interrupted him.
"You're just coming back. Don't you think you need rest?" Master Shang called out as he approached.
Jaden didn't stop. He struck forward with force, his sweat glistening in the morning light. "Only the weak rest," he replied. "You have to keep training to get stronger."
Master Shang sighed and walked toward a nearby rock, sitting down with ease. He watched Jaden for a moment before shaking his head.
"Even the strong need rest," he said quietly.
Jaden stopped mid-strike and turned to face him. There was something different in Master Shang's voice—something thoughtful, almost wistful. The old man, who had always pushed him to train harder, was now telling him to rest. It didn't make sense.
Master Shang met his gaze. "You think strength comes only from pushing yourself beyond your limits every day," he said. "But what happens when you break? When your body betrays you before you achieve what you seek?"
Jaden clenched his fists, his scar burning as if in response. He couldn't afford to be weak. Not again. Not ever.
Master Shang let out a slow breath. "I was once like you," he admitted. "Consumed by anger. Obsessed with revenge. I thought if I just trained hard enough, I could fix everything."
Jaden narrowed his eyes. He had never heard Master Shang speak of his past so openly.
"What changed?" Jaden asked.
Master Shang smiled, though there was a deep sadness behind it. "I learned the cost of never stopping. And trust me, boy, it's higher than you think."
Jaden stood there, silent, staring at the man who had once encouraged his endless training. For the first time, he questioned whether his path was truly the right one.
But there was no time for doubts. Not yet.
Not when Lord Zu was still alive.