The forest was a cathedral of ice. The aftermath of the blizzard had left the pine branches bowed under the weight of crystalized snow, creating a claustrophobic maze of white and shadow. Wang Fan stood in a small clearing, his breath forming thick plumes of silver mist. Across from him, Cuihua held a six-foot bamboo staff. It was light, flexible, and in her hands, as lethal as a high-caliber rifle.
"You have learned to take a hit," Cuihua said, her voice barely a whisper against the crackle of freezing wood. "But the goal of the Langkah Hantu is not to be a sturdy wall. It is to be like the eel in the dark water. The eel has no armor, yet the predator cannot grasp it. Why?"
Wang Fan adjusted his stance. His feet were no longer flat; he was perched on the balls of his feet, his weight sh
