“A spear is not meant to prove your strength.
It is meant to protect what stands behind you.”
– Teaching of the Poison Tribe
The rains had passed.
The Black Marsh was alive once more.
Bright green shoots covered the forest floor.
Birds returned to their nests.
For a brief moment…
It seemed the unease of recent weeks had faded.
…
Early that morning…
Grandmother Wu led Zhao Long to the edge of the village.
An old man sat beneath a towering cypress tree.
His hair was as white as mountain snow.
A simple wooden spear rested across his knees.
Its shaft was worn smooth by countless years.
“Master Shen,” Grandmother Wu called.
The old man slowly opened his eyes.
“So…”
“This is the boy.”
…
Zhao Long bowed respectfully.
The old man did not return the greeting.
Instead, he tossed the wooden spear onto the ground.
“Pick it up.”
Zhao Long obeyed.
The spear felt surprisingly balanced.
Lighter than the hunting spears used by the tribe.
“Attack.”
Without hesitation…
Master Shen took one small step.
The spear missed.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each thrust met only empty air.
Not once did the old man raise his own weapon.
Finally…
Zhao Long lowered the spear.
“I cannot hit you.”
Master Shen smiled.
“Good.”
The boy blinked.
“Most children believe the spear exists to strike.”
“They spend their lives chasing an opponent.”
“The spear…”
He gently tapped the wooden shaft.
“…is about distance.”
“Control the distance…”
“And the battle begins on your terms.”
…
For the rest of the morning…
There were no flashy techniques.
No secret forms.
Only simple movements.
Hold.
Step.
Thrust.
Again.
And again.
Until Zhao Long’s arms trembled with exhaustion.
…
As the lesson ended…
Master Shen planted the spear into the earth.
“There are thousands of spear techniques.”
“But if your heart is restless…”
“None of them matter.”
Zhao Long looked at the old weapon.
“It seems ordinary.”
Master Shen chuckled.
“It is.”
“A weapon gains its name from its owner.”
“If you seek a legendary spear…”
“You’ve already lost.”
Grandmother Wu smiled quietly.
She knew those words would remain with Zhao Long for years.
…
As Zhao Long and Grandmother Wu walked back toward the village…
A distant hawk cried from high above.
Master Shen watched them leave.
Then his gaze slowly shifted toward the eastern edge of the marsh.
His smile faded.
Without a word…
He lifted the wooden spear beside him.
For the first time in many years…
The old spearman stood.