The thud of fist meeting weathered wood echoed monotonously across the Bai Clan's main training ground. Bai Yu grit his teeth, sweat plastering strands of startling white hair to his brow. He struck the training dummy again, channeling every ounce of physical strength he possessed. The impact was solid, born of sixteen years of relentless, grueling effort, yet it lacked the explosive resonance, the subtle hum of internal energy that marked true martial prowess.
He was still firmly, depressingly, rooted in the Body Refining Realm. Stage one. The absolute foundation.
Around him, younger disciples, some barely twelve winters old, moved with a fluidity he could only envy. Their strikes crackled with nascent Qi, their movements possessing a speed and power that already surpassed his own laborious efforts. They were well on their path through the Qi Refining Realm, some even approaching its peak, their eyes alight with the promise of reaching the coveted Martial Master Realm before their twentieth year.
Bai Yu ignored the pitying glances, the barely concealed whispers that sometimes drifted his way. He was used to them. Bai Yu, Young Master of the prestigious Bai Clan, one of the three pillars of Water Court City. Bai Yu, son of the formidable Bai Feng, the Clan Patriarch, a powerhouse who had reached the revered Martial Grandmaster Realm decades ago. Bai Yu, the clan's greatest disappointment.
His distinctive white hair, a stark contrast to his sharp, black eyes, made him instantly recognizable, a walking symbol of potential unfulfilled. In a world where lineage often dictated talent, his lack of progress was a constant, quiet embarrassment to the clan elders – all eight of whom comfortably resided in the Martial Master Realm, capable warriors who formed the backbone of the Bai Clan's strength.
He drew back his fist, knuckles aching, lungs burning. He could train until his body screamed, follow every instruction, consume every strengthening tonic the clan provided, but the mysterious energy called Qi remained elusive, refusing to gather or circulate within him beyond the most insignificant trickle. It was like trying to fill a sieve with water.
"Young Master," a voice, respectfully neutral, called out.
Bai Yu turned. Elder Qiu, one of the eight Martial Master elders responsible for overseeing the younger generation's training, stood nearby, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was level, betraying no judgment, yet Bai Yu felt the familiar weight of scrutiny.
"Elder Qiu," Bai Yu bowed slightly, wiping sweat from his chin with the back of his hand.
"Your diligence is commendable, Young Master," Elder Qiu stated, his eyes flicking momentarily to the barely marked training dummy. "Persistence builds character, even if the path is steep."
It was the closest thing to encouragement Bai Yu ever received, and it still felt like a veiled critique. 'Even if you'll never amount to much.'
"Thank you, Elder," Bai Yu replied, keeping his voice steady. "I merely strive not to disgrace the Bai name."
Elder Qiu gave a slight nod. "The Patriarch requests your presence in the main hall."
A knot tightened in Bai Yu's stomach. Summons from his father were infrequent and rarely pleasant, usually involving inquiries about his nonexistent progress or reminders of his duties as the heir – duties he felt utterly unqualified to fulfill. A Martial Grandmaster leading a clan, with an heir barely able to handle street thugs relying solely on muscle... the succession was becoming a whispered worry within the clan, and likely a point of ridicule for their rivals, the Shen and Zhao families.
"I will attend immediately," Bai Yu said, bowing again.
He picked up a towel, drying his face and neck as he walked away from the training grounds, leaving the sounds of energetic shouts and Qi-infused strikes behind him. The weight of his position, the burden of his white hair and his useless meridians, settled heavier on his shoulders with every step towards the imposing main hall where his father, the Martial Grandmaster, awaited.