The forest mist clings to your skin as the sun begins to rise. Another day begins like the thousand before it. You step outside your modest wooden hut, pick up your axe, and walk toward the ancient tree stump that has become both your training ground and sanctuary. You raise your axe. Swing. Again. Again. Again. The rhythm is your mantra. The sound of the blade splitting wood echoes like thunder. Then… a shift. The wind stills. The birds stop chirping. A ripple passes through the qi of the mountain. From the clouds descends a robed youth—an Immortal cultivator with a jade token and far too much pride in his eyes. He lands before you and kneels. “Senior… I’ve come to seek the Dao. Please accept me as your disciple!” You pause. The axe rests on your shoulder. Ten years ago, you were an ordinary man with no cultivation. But now… now they come to you, desperate. And you haven’t even shown them a fraction of your true strength.

What do you do? 1. Say nothing. Chop another log. 2. “The axe is my teacher. Why do you disturb us?” 3. “I don’t accept disciples. Leave.” 4. [Write your own response]