Amon, The lowest tier disciple in the Insanity Sect

Master Fang Zheng sat cross-legged on a mossy stone, sipping tea while I stood before him, trying to figure out what he wanted.

"You want to become strong," he said, not looking up. "Tell me, what is strength?"

I froze. This felt like a trick question. "Uh, strength is… punching stuff really hard?"

Fang Zheng sighed. "Not wrong, but also incredibly wrong. Sit."

I plopped down on the grass.

"Strength," Fang Zheng began, "is the ability to understand what you lack and compensate for it. Tell me, what do you lack?"

"Uh… talent?"

"Correct," he said with a smirk. "But also everything else."

I blinked. "Wait, was that an insult?"

Ignoring me, he waved his hand, summoning a large jar of water. He placed it in front of me. "Your next lesson: empty this jar using only your bare hands. No tools, no tricks, no spiritual energy."

I stared at him. "You're joking, right?"

He gave me the same flat look he always did. "Do I look like someone who jokes?"

I looked at the jar, then at my hands. "This is going to take forever!"

"That's the point," Fang Zheng said, sipping his tea.

Hours later, I was soaked and exhausted, my hands red and pruny. Fang Zheng finally stood and inspected the jar.

"Not bad," he said. "For someone with no talent."

"Thanks… I think?"

As he walked away, I realized something important: Master Fang Zheng was a genius at making simple tasks feel like impossible challenges. But maybe, just maybe, I'd learn something along the way.