The sky was still dark when Lin Hao opened his eyes.
The city slept under a blanket of silence, the streets empty, the air crisp. A faint blue glow began to creep along the edges of the world.
He slipped quietly from his bed, changed into loose cotton clothes, and tiptoed to the corner where his manual waited. A soft breeze moved the pages as he flipped to the section marked Morning Regimen – Foundation Stage.
The instructions were simple.
But nothing about them was easy.
Stretches to loosen the joints. Horse stance to build leg strength. Controlled breathing to stabilize internal rhythm. Each movement designed to awaken the body without harming it.
He closed the book, nodded to himself, and padded to the next room.
His father lay tangled in a blanket, one arm over his face, snoring in short bursts.
Lin Hao stood beside him and cleared his throat.
"Dad."
No response.
He leaned closer.
"Dad."
Still nothing.
He poked his shoulder.
"Dad, it's time."
A grunt.
Then a muffled voice. "Time for what…?"
"Training."
That got him.
His father groaned, sat up slowly, and rubbed his face. "You're serious?"
"You promised."
"…I was hoping you forgot."
Lin Hao raised an eyebrow.
His father sighed and stood, joints cracking audibly. "Alright, alright. Let's go become warriors."
Outside, the courtyard was still shrouded in shadows. The moon lingered above, watching them with silent amusement.
Lin Hao stood straight, arms behind his back.
His father hunched beside him, rubbing his lower back. "We're really doing this, huh?"
"Page fourteen," Lin Hao said, handing him a spare copy he had made of the morning routine.
His father blinked at the paper. "You copied this by hand?"
"Of course. I'm the senior disciple."
"…You're five."
"Still counts."
His father chuckled, then read the first line aloud. "Stretching. Okay. That doesn't sound too bad."
Ten minutes later, he was no longer laughing.
Lin Hao moved through each position fluidly, his small body adapting with surprising ease. His father, on the other hand, struggled to reach his toes.
"I think I tore something," he muttered mid-bend.
"That's just your pride," Lin Hao said calmly.
The horse stance was worse.
Lin Hao sank down with steady breath, arms extended forward, legs firm.
His father managed the posture for a full thirty seconds before one knee buckled. He fell with a grunt and sat down hard on the dirt.
Lin Hao glanced over. "That's okay. Master Yuan says it's about consistency."
His father groaned. "Your master should try this on someone over thirty."
After thirty minutes, sweat poured from both of them. Lin Hao's face was flushed, but his breath was even. His father looked like he'd fought a battle and lost.
"I can't feel my thighs," he muttered.
"You're doing great," Lin Hao said with genuine encouragement.
His father looked at him and laughed—tired, but sincere. "Alright. Day one, completed. If I survive the week, we might actually make something of me."
"We will," Lin Hao said.