And so started Jin’s path to intent. With mild curiosity, Jin asked Shen, “So how do I start training intent?”

Shen got up, walked to a corner of the dungeon, and picked up a rock. He placed it in front of Jin.

Jin frowned. “Do you want me to do something like cutting the rock with my mind alone?”

Shen Fei didn’t respond. Instead, he calmly sat on the rock.

Jin stared. “Brother Shen, how am I supposed to cut the rock open with you sitting on top of it?”

Shen began to explain, “Brother Jin, how exactly are you going to cut this rock open with your mind? You have no understanding of how intent works. The rock would split open due to natural causes before you learn to cut it with your mind.”

He continued, “The way to train one’s intent is to understand themselves and come to terms with their life, so they can understand what they truly desire.”

Jin looked confused but decided to let Shen continue. Shen adjusted himself on the uncomfortable rock and went on. “To come to terms with your past, we must examine moments that may have traumatized you. So, Brother Jin, tell me—what was your childhood like?”

Unable to contain his discomfort, Jin tried to dodge the question. “Brother Shen, are you trying to make me cry or break out?”

Shen muttered, “The patient seems to be deflecting. He likely feels insecure or vulnerable about his childhood. It seems we’ve bitten the arrowhead from the start.”

Realizing what was happening, Jin sighed. Refusing to fail at intent training, he resigned to his fate.

And so began Jin’s first stride toward intent—The Great Therapy Session.

[Therapist Shen sets the scene. He sits cross-legged on the stone, hands folded, wearing imaginary glasses and holding an invisible notepad.]

Shen: “Alright, let’s begin properly this time. Tell me about your childhood.”
Jin: “You mean the years of unpaid labor and questionable soup? Riveting stuff.”
Shen: “Start wherever the trauma begins. Preferably before lunch.”
Jin: “That’s a long list. Do you charge by the hour or by the existential crisis?”
Shen: “By progress. So far, you owe me three silvers and a shred of self-awareness.”
Jin: snorts “Fine. I grew up in an orphanage. Lots of kids, not enough food. The caretakers were nice until you cried too loud—then they got creative.”
Shen: “And how did that make you feel?”
Jin: “Hungry. Mostly hungry.”
Shen: “Deflection again. Classic case. When emotions knock, you answer with sarcasm.”
Jin: “Keeps the door from creaking.”
Shen: “Humor as a defense mechanism—mature, but counter-productive. Try again. What did little Jin want back then?”
Jin: after a pause “To stop being the spare part nobody needed.”
Shen: jots invisible notes on his palm “Excellent breakthrough. Ten out of ten honesty, minus five for tone.”
Jin: “You’re terrible at empathy.”
Shen: “Therapists don’t empathize, we invoice.”

For a moment, the jokes faded. The hum of the array filled the cell like slow breathing.

Shen: “That feeling—being unnecessary—still clings to your soul. That’s what keeps it clouded.”
Jin: quietly “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just all the stale bread I didn’t eat.”
Shen: “Congratulations. You’ve successfully avoided a moment of vulnerability.”
Jin: “Old habits die harder than cultivators.”

Shen sighed and gestured at the air between them.

Shen: “Good. Now take that same feeling and press it outward. Make the world remember you exist.”
Jin: “So… weaponized childhood trauma?”
Shen: “Precisely. Intent arts in one sentence.”

Jin rolled his eyes, muttered something about malpractice, and the air trembled faintly—dust lifting from the floor.

Shen: “See? Progress. Emotional damage: finally productive.”
Jin: “You’re a menace.”
Shen: “A licensed one. Same time tomorrow, patient Jin.”

The Great Therapy Session continued for a few more days.

In the next session, Therapist Shen was talking to Jin about his relationship with his fath—master.

Shen: adjusts imaginary glasses “Alright, Brother Jin, last session we unearthed your tragic backstory. Excellent progress. Today, we’ll address paternal influences. Tell me about your master.”
Jin: “You mean the giant who beat enlightenment into me using hogs?”
Shen: “Correct. Master Bao Kun. Describe your relationship.”
Jin: “Complicated. Mostly bruised.”
Shen: “Physical or emotional?”
Jin: “Both. Usually in that order.”
Shen: “Good, we’re identifying patterns.”
Jin: “The pattern was usually me getting hit.”
Shen: “What was your first impression of him?”
Jin: “That he was a drunk lunatic pretending to be a martial artist.”
Shen: “And now?”
Jin: “A drunk lunatic who actually was a martial artist.”
Shen: “Growth. Continue.”
Jin: “He found me starving in a forest, said, ‘From today onward, you’re my disciple.’ No context, no introduction. Just like that. I thought it was a fever dream until he threw me at a wild hog.”
Shen: “That sounds profoundly traumatic.”
Jin: “It was Tuesday.”
Shen: scribbling invisible notes “So, your master’s teaching methodology can be summarized as ‘violence with purpose.’”
Jin: “Purpose? He once said getting trampled builds character.”
Shen: “And did it?”
Jin: “Yeah. It built trauma and a strong left hook.”
Shen: “Would you say you respected him?”
Jin: “Respected is a strong word. Feared, maybe. Tolerated, definitely. But… I guess I respected him, yeah.”
Shen: “Why?”
Jin: “Because no matter how much of an ass he was, he never lied. Said the world’s cruel and that strength is the only language it listens to. He didn’t sugarcoat it. Didn’t pretend to care. He just… was. And somehow, that felt honest.”
Shen: nodding slowly “Fascinating. You equate honesty with affection.”
Jin: “When you grow up surrounded by fake smiles, a genuine punch feels like love.”
Shen: “Emotionally unhealthy, but surprisingly poetic.”
Jin: “Heh. He used to say the same thing.”
Shen: “So what did you learn from Master Bao Kun, aside from unconventional uses for livestock?”
Jin: “That I don’t get to wait for the world to hand me anything. If I want something, I take it. If it’s too heavy, I train until it isn’t. If that fails, I hit it harder.”
Shen: “And how does that make you feel?”
Jin: “Sore. Constantly sore.”
Shen: “Deflection.”
Jin: “No, seriously, he hit like a collapsing mountain.”
Shen: “Very well. Let’s rephrase. What emotional weight does your master still hold over you?”
Jin: pauses, staring at the floor “He was a bastard, but… he was my bastard. The first person who didn’t look at me like I was disposable. He never said he was proud, but I think… I think he expected me to keep going. No matter what.”
Shen: jots invisible note “Excellent. Attachment through hardship. Textbook conditioning.”
Jin: “You sound way too pleased about that.”
Shen: “Therapist pride.”
Jin: “You should see a therapist.”
Shen: “I would, but he died after hearing my rate.”

Shen leaned back slightly. “Now, channel that feeling—the stubbornness, the defiance he left you. Push it outward.”

Jin inhaled deeply. “Universe, I have abandonment issues—give me power!”

Heat bloomed behind his eyes, spreading down to his upper dantian. Focusing inward, he saw faint threads glowing within his body—delicate, shifting lines that pulsed with each heartbeat. It wasn’t like momentum; there was no surge of raw force. Instead, the world itself seemed to part to make way for him.

Intent felt strange—less like drawing strength, more like the world responding to his will. It was desire given shape, and when that desire was clear enough, reality itself bent to acknowledge it.

‘For the first time, Jin understood what Bao Kun intended with his training and his use of momentum. The endless trials he forced me through were meant to refine my desire into clarity. By imposing that desire upon my energy, I learned to control what it did. Understanding this, I find intent arts incomplete—almost like they were once part of momentum arts.’

After familiarizing himself with intent, Jin spent the next two days working with Shen to understand how to manipulate these threads. Finally, he was ready to break through the formation alongside his reluctant therapist.

And so, the first Great Therapy Session ended. With both mental and physical breakthroughs achieved, Jin was no longer quite so averse to the idea of therapy.