Master Chen sat cross-legged on his yoga mat, eyes closed. The morning sun painted shadows through bamboo leaves onto the worn purple surface.

“Your form is sloppy today,” he said without opening his eyes.

Zhang Wei dropped from his handstand, landing silently. “The mat is too soft, Master.”

“A true warrior finds balance anywhere.” Master Chen’s voice carried no judgment. “Even on clouds.”

“I prefer solid ground.”

“That’s why you’re still learning.”

Zhang Wei had spent five years studying under Master Chen, the last guardian of the Ancient Mountain Style. The old master insisted on teaching atop this precise spot on Dragon Peak, using only this peculiar yoga mat.

“Why this mat, Master?” Zhang Wei finally asked. “Why not practice on stone like the ancients?”

Master Chen opened one eye. “Come. Sit.”

Zhang Wei settled onto the mat. The foam felt foreign under his calloused feet.

“What do you feel?” Master Chen asked.

“Unstable. Weak.”

“Look deeper.”

Zhang Wei closed his eyes. The mat seemed to pulse beneath him, like a living thing.

“It… supports while yielding,” he said slowly. “Like water.”

Master Chen nodded. “The ancient masters fought on mountains because they sought hardness. But true strength flows like river around stone.”

“This mat…”

“Was my wife’s.” Master Chen’s voice softened. “She taught yoga here for thirty years before cancer took her. Her last gift was showing me that softness could contain more power than any punch.”

Zhang Wei opened his eyes. For the first time, he noticed the mat’s edges were frayed from decades of use.

“I think I understand now, Master.”

“No.” Master Chen stood in one fluid motion. “But you’re beginning to.”

He walked to the cliff edge, mat rolled under his arm. “The final lesson is yours to teach now.”

Before Zhang Wei could move, the old master stepped off the edge, falling like autumn leaf into mountain mist below.

All that remained was the purple yoga mat, unrolling in the wind.

Zhang Wei picked it up. The foam felt different now - not soft, but alive with possibility.

He sat down and closed his eyes, searching for balance between strength and yielding, just as his master had taught.

Behind him, the sun continued painting shadows through bamboo leaves, unchanged.