A Month of Silence - A Jiang Chen Omake
Jiang Chen was never a people person. He contemplated this as, outside the chamber he had secluded himself in, countless disciples from all the local sects met and intermingled with one another. He had heard some of his fellows speak of their interactions with these strangers, of friendships formed and romance blooming. Of an expansion of the web of connections which defined them, and served as one of the strongest tools a Cultivator could wield, outside of their own Cultivation base.
Really, Jiang Chen should be taking the opportunity to intermingle with the other sects Disciples. Even if he did not manage to form a connection with them, he could still obtain valuable information about his upcoming competitors, information that could make the difference between victory and defeat in the Competition he was set to take part in, one that could very well decide the future of the Sect, for if the Red Dew could show the promise their future generations held, while still maintaining the show of strength to not be simply crushed underfoot, then their fellows may well make concessions to build bridges with the bright sparks who would eventually rank among the Sects leadership. He was aware of these things, truly.
One hand moved, then froze, just before the door to the outside world. Jiang Chen felt his heart beat rapidly, memories of his days as a mortal flashing through his mind. 'Jiang Chen the Weirdo', 'Jiang Chen the Indolent', 'Jiang Chen the Fool', the unwanted child of a farming family, Jiang Chen, who understood only numbers, and not people. More tool than man. Jiang Chen breathed in, held the breath for 3.457 seconds exactly, then breathed out. He repeated this cycle eight times, then let his hand drop. Such memories could not be dwelt on, lest they become an Inner Demon, and besides, he was beyond mere Mortality now, a Cultivator, facing the Heavens alongside his fellow Disciples. Still...
Jiang Chen returned to the centre of the chamber, and sat cross legged on the stone floor. Still, he had to prepare for the upcoming tournament, and as polished as his Sword Technique was, his body was not of the same calibre as some of his fellow Disciples, the likes of Loutou liable to best him through a combination of skill and raw bodily might. His assets lay not in his physical form, but in the might of his Spirit, his very essence of being, and the powerful mind it fuelled. To match the bodily might of his fellow Cultivators, he would not spend years to hone his flesh, like others would, but rather would focus on the Innate Technique that allowed him to surge Qi from his heart to the rest of his body, elevating him as his flesh finally matched to what his mind could achieve. He breathed, in, out, in, out, as he surged his Qi in regular intervals, sending it racing through spiritual pathways with each beat of his heart, reinforcing and expanding them to withstand and sustain the explosive power he needed. He was not running, not at all. He simply needed a bit more to prepare.
(Failure Insights, please)
