The sky above Yunchuan glowed a soft orange as the sun dipped below the horizon, its last rays slipping through the cracks of the Ling family's small shack. Inside the humble dwelling, the faint aroma of watery rice porridge wafted through the air, warm despite being made from cheap, nearly spoiled grains. Ling Tianhao, a thirteen-year-old boy with a dirt-streaked face and tattered clothes, sat on the earthen floor, his hands clutching a small wooden bowl. His dark eyes sparkled with simple happiness as he gazed at his mother, Ling Xueyin, who stirred the porridge over a small stove, a gentle smile on her pale face. Beside him, his father, Ling Zhantian, sat on a worn straw mat, his dry cough occasionally breaking the silence, but his face was filled with warmth as he told a story.
"And then, the Jade Emperor swung his sword, splitting the sky into seven colors!" Zhantian said, his voice hoarse but brimming with enthusiasm, his hands moving as if mimicking the sword's motion. Tianhao let out a small laugh, his eyes shining, momentarily forgetting the fresh bruises on his hands from a day of hard labor in the Gray Stone Sect's courtyard. "Father, can we become as strong as the Jade Emperor one day?" he asked, his voice full of hope, though deep down he knew cultivation was a distant dream for a poor family like theirs.
Zhantian smiled, but a shadow of sadness crossed his eyes. "Perhaps, Tianhao… but this world, Tianxu, is not an easy place for people like us," he replied, his voice soft, heavy with regret. "Our Ling Clan was once great, you know? Fifty years ago, we had Jindan cultivators in our family, but the Immortal Mist Sect destroyed everything because they wanted our resources. Now, we can only survive… and bow to the Gray Stone Sect." He sighed, his cough returning, causing Xueyin to glance at him with concern.
"Don't talk too much, Zhantian," Xueyin said gently, her calloused hand touching her husband's shoulder. She then turned to Tianhao, her smile returning, though her eyes were filled with exhaustion. "Tianhao, you must stay kind, alright? Even if this world is cruel, we have each other. That's what matters most." She began to sing a folk song about a lotus flower that remained pure despite the mud, her voice soft like the night breeze, warming Tianhao's heart. He nodded, though a small doubt lingered in his mind—he had often heard rumors in the village market about demonic cultivators hunted by great sects like the Sky Sword Sect, and he wondered if kindness was truly enough to survive in this world.
As the night grew darker, the shack's door creaked open, and a girl around Tianhao's age stepped inside, holding a piece of dry steamed bun in her hands. "Tianhao! I brought something for you," she said, her voice cheerful, her dirt-streaked face still pretty with a shy smile. It was Mei Lian, Tianhao's childhood friend, the daughter of another poor family in Yunchuan. They often played together by the river, sharing dry buns and small dreams of a better future. "Thank you, Mei Lian," Tianhao said, his face lighting up, his hands carefully accepting the bun as if it were a treasure.
But their happiness was short-lived. In the distance, heavy footsteps echoed, followed by a coarse laugh that made Tianhao's heart tremble. He recognized that voice—Huo Gang, a disciple of the Gray Stone Sect who often beat him just because he was "bored." Alongside that voice was another, older and colder—Huo Wuchang, Huo Gang's father, a Late Lianqi Stage cultivator known as a ruthless debt collector in Yunchuan. "They're coming again," Zhantian whispered, his face paling, his hands trembling as he stood. Xueyin hurriedly hid the porridge bowl, her eyes filled with fear, while Mei Lian retreated to the corner of the shack, her face pale.
Tianhao stared at the door, his eyes a mix of confusion and fear, but there was also a spark of anger within them. He remembered his father's words: "This world is not an easy place for people like us." But in his heart, he wondered—why did they always have to bow? Why did they always have to be afraid? And on that night, a small seed of hatred began to grow in Tianhao's heart, though he didn't yet know that this seed would soon bloom into a black flame that would consume his entire life.