Time seemed to freeze in the Silent Bamboo Pavilion. The only sound was the drip of sweat from Xiao Yue's brow as it fell onto a blade of grass. The servant, the scrawny boy whose name she didn't even know, was still standing there, his posture relaxed, his expression as neutral as an accountant examining a ledger. He had spoken. He had broken a month of obsequious silence to deliver the strangest and most humiliating critique she had ever heard in her life.
The first wave of emotion was pure, white-hot fury. The audacity! The insolence! She was Xiao Yue, daughter of the Silver Cloud Clan's Master. Servants were less than the dust beneath her sandals; they existed to be invisible, to not speak unless spoken to. And this… this scarecrow dared not only to speak, but to criticize her cultivation, the very core of her identity and her deepest shame.
"You…?" she managed to hiss, her voice trembling with restrained rage. Her golden eyes, which moments before had been swimming in despair, now burned like two miniature suns. "What does a worthless servant know about the flow of Qi? What do you, who smell of lye and kitchen sweat, know of the sacred art of the sword?"
She expected him to flinch, to fall to his knees, to beg for forgiveness. It was the natural protocol, the response programmed into the hierarchy of this world.
Kenji Tanaka did not flinch. He didn't even blink. In his mind, her outburst was cataloged and filed within seconds. Subject's defensive response. Attempt to reassert hierarchical dominance via ad hominem attack and questioning of credentials. Predictable. Ignore emotion, focus on the data.
"I know nothing of the 'sacred art,'" he replied, his voice so calm and flat it was almost more insulting than a shout. "But I understand systems. And your cultivation system has a fundamental design flaw. A bottleneck."
Xiao Yue stared at him.
"A bottle… neck?" The word was foreign on her lips, a term for merchants, not cultivators.
"Imagine your dantian is a great lake," Kenji continued, raising a hand and gesturing in the air as if drawing an invisible diagram for a boardroom. "And your sword is the field that needs to be irrigated. Your meridians are the channels that carry the water. The problem is that, right here"—and he vaguely gestured toward his own shoulder and hip—"you've built an unnecessary dam. The channel narrows to a fraction of its capacity. The water, your Qi, crashes against this dam. Some of it seeps through, evaporates, is wasted. Only a small, weak, and turbulent trickle reaches the final destination. That's why your sword strike lacks force. You're trying to water a field with a kinked hose."
The analogy was so crude, so vulgarly pragmatic, that Xiao Yue was speechless for a moment. No one spoke of cultivation like this. Masters spoke of the Dao, of unity with heaven and earth, of feeling the flow of the universe. They spoke in poetry and mystical metaphors. This boy spoke of plumbing.
"You're lying," she said, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction. The clarity of his bizarre explanation was… unsettling.
"Lying is an inefficient tactic that damages long-term credibility," Kenji retorted with the same monotone. "I am merely presenting an analysis of observational data." He dared to take another step. "Your stance. The foundation. When you initiate the movement, you lock your right knee and tense your left trapezius muscle prematurely. Both are unconscious actions. They create a rigidity that acts as the dam I mentioned. Your own body is sabotaging your mind's intent."
Xiao Yue's world wavered. Lock the knee? Tense the trapezius? She had never in her life thought in those terms. She was taught to "feel" the movement, to "be one" with the sword. But every time she tried, she felt a block, a frustration she couldn't name. And this servant had just given it a name. A stupid, technical name: "bottleneck."
Kenji saw the doubt in her golden eyes, the first sign that his presentation was breaching the client's barriers. It was time for the call to action.
"You don't have to believe me," he said. "Results are the only metric that matters. I offer you a simple proposal, a no-cost A/B test." He paused, ensuring he had her full attention. "Try it. If there is no measurable improvement, I will never speak in your presence again. I will continue to bring your meals in silence, and you can petition Matriarch Feng to have me flogged for my insolence. I will offer no resistance."
Silence. The offer was absolute. The certainty in his voice wasn't arrogance. It was something colder, deeper. It was the certainty of a mathematician who has solved an equation and presents the proof. He doesn't hope people believe 2+2=4; he knows it is, regardless of their opinions.
Desperation was a potent acid, capable of dissolving the hardest pride. Xiao Yue had spent years in this courtyard, striking at the air, feeling her own talent mock her from inside her body, a treasure locked in a safe whose combination she had lost. She had cried, she had pleaded with the heavens, she had meditated until dawn. Nothing had worked. Her siblings advanced past her, junior disciples surpassed her, and her father… her father barely looked at her.
What was the humiliation of following a servant's advice compared to the daily, constant humiliation of her own failure? It was a zero-risk gamble against a tiny, minuscule, almost impossible chance for… something. For a change.
Clenching her jaw so hard her teeth ached, she bent down and picked up the wooden sword.
"Show me," she growled, the word torn from her throat.
Kenji nodded, his face showing not a hint of triumph. He moved a couple of steps closer, maintaining a respectful distance.
"Assume the opening stance of the 'Waking Crane,'" he ordered, his tone no longer that of a servant, but of an instructor.
Xiao Yue complied, her cheeks burning. She settled into the stance she had practiced ten thousand times.
"Incorrect," he said instantly. "You're already tensing the shoulder. You're treating it as a strength-based move. It isn't. It's a conduction move. Relax." His gaze dropped to her feet. "Your right foot is pointed one centimeter too far out. Correct it. Now, bend your right knee. No, don't bend it like you're about to sit down. Imagine it's a spring you are lightly compressing. Store the potential energy there. Don't lock it."
Skeptical, she shifted her foot. She bent her knee as he said. It felt… odd. Vulnerable. Less stable.
"Good. Now the left shoulder. Let it drop. Imagine it's a dead weight. Your right hand guides the sword; the left only stabilizes it. You've been using both hands to force the movement. Inefficient. Now, take a deep breath. Don't begin the strike until your lungs are full."
Xiao Yue closed her eyes for an instant. She felt like a puppet. The humiliation was immense. But the desperation was greater. She inhaled deeply, filling her chest with air. For the first time, she waited, following the boy's strange cadence.
"Now," Kenji said, his voice quiet. "Execute the cut. And as you do, exhale. And most importantly: do not think. Just be the channel."
Xiao Yue obeyed.
The instant she began the movement, something was different. Radically different.
The Qi, which always felt like a thick, rebellious sludge inside her, suddenly flowed. No, "flowed" was too weak a word. It surged from her dantian, shot up through her torso without hitting the usual, frustrating "dam" at her shoulder, and poured into her right arm like a torrent of clear water through a newly dredged canal.
There was no tension. No strain.
The wooden sword, which had always felt heavy and clumsy, was suddenly a light, living extension of her own will. It sliced through the air, and instead of the usual weak, whining whistle, there was a sharp, clean SHING! A sound of power. A sound she had only ever heard when her brothers or the advanced disciples practiced.
The movement ended. The sword was perfectly extended, not a tremble in it. Her body was balanced. Her breath had been released in a single, smooth whoosh.
She stood there, frozen in the final pose, staring at the tip of her own sword. Then, slowly, she lowered her arm. She looked at her hands, turning them over as if they belonged to someone else. It couldn't be. It was the same sword. The same body. The same Qi. But the result… the result was otherworldly.
She raised her head slowly, her golden eyes—now huge and stripped of all anger—fixed on Kenji. The arrogance and defensiveness had evaporated, replaced by an awe so profound it bordered on fear.
"How…?" her voice was a broken whisper. "What… what did you do?"
Kenji watched her, his mind already processing the next phase. The A/B test had been a resounding success. The client was convinced of the product's value. It was time to present the service proposal.
"I did nothing," he replied, his analyst's tone returning. "I simply corrected a glaring inefficiency in the operating system. Energy transfer is now functioning at approximately 92% capacity for this specific movement, an 11% improvement over the previous baseline estimate. Strike velocity has increased by 23%, and Qi expenditure per movement has been reduced by 15%. These are acceptable figures for a first adjustment."
Xiao Yue gaped at him. Figures? Percentages? Adjustments? It was as if a poet were trying to discuss the beauty of a flower with a botanist who would only talk about the chemical composition of its petals.
"But… you're a servant," she said, still trying to reconcile reality with the identity of the boy before her.
"My current role in the clan hierarchy is irrelevant to my ability to analyze patterns and optimize processes," Kenji stated. He straightened his posture, and for the first time, Xiao Yue saw a flicker of something else in his stance. He wasn't a servant. He wasn't a scarecrow. He was… something else.
"Young Lady Xiao Yue," he said, and his tone shifted subtly. It was still respectful, but there was now a nuance of equality, like a consultant addressing the CEO of a company in crisis. "What you just experienced is a proof of concept. Your problem is not a lack of talent or Qi. Your problem is a deficient training methodology and a total lack of technical oversight."
He took a step forward, his gaze direct, his purpose clear.
"I am presenting you with a formal proposal. I will act as your… Cultivation Optimization Consultant. In exchange for my absolute discretion and my services, you will provide me with protection within the clan and access to more advanced information resources when necessary."
Xiao Yue felt the ground give way beneath her feet. Cultivation Optimization Consultant? Protection? Resources? Was this boy proposing a business alliance with her?
"My initial development plan for you would consist of three phases," he continued, undeterred. "Phase One: Fundamental Restructuring. We will correct all of your basic stances, establishing an efficient foundation. Estimated duration: one month. Phase Two: Qi Flow Optimization. We will work on breathing and meditation techniques to maximize energy output and control. Phase Three: Tactical Application. We will integrate the corrected foundations into the clan's complete sword forms."
"Each week," he concluded, "we will review performance metrics and adjust targets. My goal is to bring your performance from its current state, which I estimate to be at 12% of your total potential, to 75% or higher within a six-month timeframe."
Xiao Yue leaned on her sword, feeling dizzy. She had two choices. She could scream, call the guards, and have this madman dragged away. Or she could accept the hand offering her the strangest, most promising deal of her life.
She looked at her own hands, the hands that had just produced a sound of power she never thought possible. Then she looked at the boy, this enigma who spoke of her soul as if it were a spreadsheet.
A slow smile, the first genuine smile to grace her face in years, pulled at the corner of her mouth. It was a smile of disbelief, of relief, and of a new and dangerous emotion: hope.
"I accept," she said, her voice firm for the first time that day. "I accept your… consulting proposal, servant."
Kenji gave a single, short, professional nod.
"Excellent. The first restructuring session will begin tomorrow, at this same hour. Please ensure you are well-hydrated. I will bring you your dinner."
And with that, he turned, picked up the now-cold food tray, gave a perfunctory bow, and walked away down the bamboo path, leaving Xiao Yue alone in the courtyard, with the echo of a clean sword strike in the air and the feeling that she had just signed the most important contract of her life with either the devil or a genius.
She wasn't sure which, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't care.