The pastoral field had a beauty that would have made even the hardest of souls pause and smile. Tall wildflowers swayed and bowed their heads in honor of the breeze that rippled from one end of the field to the other. Birds, migrated from other, more seasonally afflicted parts of the world, called out from hidden locations; their joyous songs erupted from the tall grasses as if the terrain itself was singing. The sun's rays shone with gentle warmth; on a day like today, it would be easy to believe that the Sun Spirit was giving a benediction.

The students made no response. They simply abandoned their stances and moved forward to start collecting the valuable metal arrowheads. The splintered shafts were placed into the nearly empty quivers. No one spoke, not even after Master Shi-Yun departed the field. No one offered sympathetic glances to the ones that had failed. Everyone on the field had the same goal: to become a yu-yan archer, but only a few of them would make it. Only the very best of the best. That made everybody else indirect competition.

The fourteen-year-old rose to her feet and silently bowed to the headmaster. He watched as she padded from the room, waiting until she left before reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose. It seemed such a waste that the spirits would give such talent and desire to one without the proper temperament to be yu-yan. Her brother hadn't been nearly this difficult. He had possessed some anger issues, but they had dissipated after he had passed a specially modified version of the fourth year exam. Freed from his pent-up feelings of resentment and inferiority, the boy had become a quintessential yu-yan.