The courtyard was drenched, rain lashing against the tiles, disciples scrambling to secure shutters. Wei Renshu stood in the downpour as if it were sunlight, robes soaked but posture serene. When one panicked student slipped, nearly losing control of their qi, he caught them by the wrist with gentle firmness.

“Steady,” he said, as if the word itself could still the storm. And strangely, it did—the disciple’s trembling breath smoothed, their energy untangled. Around them, thunder cracked, but Wei Renshu only smiled.

“You see? The willow does not resist the storm. It bends, and so it endures.”