Punch, relax, inhale, exhale—breathing out impurities. The breath leaves him like a lingering fog, spiraling through the air for some time. The sky has just cleared after a rain, and the slippery puddles reflect the grandmaster as he practices. Mirrored movements at mirrored speeds, yet a thread of disharmony can be seen in this mirror image. Chongyue halts and looks around. The breath slowly forms into a shape with a head and tail—the shadow of a beast. It clings to his feet, eyes glaring like daggers. Mobilizing his Qi, the grandmaster shifts position and surges forward with a flip. Clouds move and light shifts. The shadow twists, using the surrounding shadows to form a beast tail that threatens to strike him down. He dodges and thrusts his palm, dispersing the tail instantly. But by then, the white fog has grown large. It opens its maw and bares its claws, poised to attack. 'Hah!' With a cry that shakes the earth, he tightens his fist, gathers force, and unleashes a punch. Wind whips as it connects, scattering the fog, yet it condenses again into a larger and now grayish-black beast, darkening the sun with its form. It narrows its eyes at the 'human' before it. 'I know you won't give up that easily. Come; be it a hundred or a thousand times, I won't back down.' The enraged beast stirs a wild gale, leaves sticking to it like green scales. It opens its jaws wide and charges at Chongyue. He makes no move to avoid it, taking the full brunt of its fearsome blow. With a push of his palm, he sends it reeling. 'What words can't convey, my actions will.' He dashes forth, palm now again a fist, and slams down with all his might. A dull thud resounds across heaven and earth, followed by a violent roar. He does not stop, instead raining down blow after blow, until the beast can no longer lift its head. Thunder rolls and dark clouds gather, but the beast seems to show slight signs of surrender. 'A usual sparring would end here, but between us, I must go all out. Apologies!' Chongyue leaps into the air, his body light as a feather, his fist heavy as a mountain. With a single strike, he punches a hole straight through his foe. With this upper hand, he presses the attack. His fists become palms, then claws—his left tears as his right clutches—and the beast roars, unwilling to admit defeat. But in the end, the fog disperses, bereft of form and spirit. After a while, the sun begins to shine once more. Where the bestial shadow once swept, a sword now remains. The grandmaster picks it up, unsheathes it, calms his heart, and steadies his Qi. A few breaths, and Chongyue paces his slightly quickened breathing. 'Practicing a new move, grandmaster? It looked mighty impressive.' Two passing soldiers clap in awe, as if they have been watching for quite a while, and only dare to speak when Chongyue is completely finished. 'It is nothing special. I dare not let my skills waste nor my original aspiration fade— 'I was simply sharpening myself.'