The days following Huo Wuchang's visit were a blur of despair for the Ling family, each moment heavy with the weight of their crumbling world. The shack, once a small haven of warmth, now felt like a cage, its walls echoing with the memory of Mei Lian's cries and Zhantian's pained coughs. Ling Tianhao sat by the door, his dark eyes fixed on the dirt path outside, waiting for any sign of his friend's return. At thirteen years old, he was too young to fully understand the cruelty of Tianxu, but old enough to feel the burning sting of helplessness. His small hands, still bruised from the sect's courtyard labor, clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he replayed the night over and over in his mind—Huo Gang dragging Mei Lian away, his father crumpled against the wall, and Huo Wuchang's cold, mocking words: "If you want to change your fate, grow strong… or die trying."
Inside the shack, Ling Xueyin tended to Zhantian, her hands trembling as she pressed a damp cloth to his forehead. The blow from Huo Wuchang had worsened his condition; his coughs now came with flecks of blood, and his breathing was shallow, each gasp a painful reminder of their fragility. "Zhantian, you need to rest," Xueyin whispered, her voice soft but strained, her eyes red from sleepless nights. She tried to keep her tone steady for Tianhao's sake, but the fear in her heart was impossible to hide. Zhantian managed a weak smile, his hand reaching for hers. "I'll be fine, Xueyin… we've been through worse," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. He glanced at Tianhao, his heart aching at the sight of his son's haunted expression. "Tianhao… don't let hatred consume you," he said softly, his words a faint echo of the hope he once held.
But Tianhao barely heard him. His mind was a storm of emotions—fear for his father, worry for Mei Lian, and a growing rage that gnawed at his insides like a hungry beast. "How can I not hate them, Father?" he muttered, his voice low and trembling. "They took Mei Lian… they hurt you… and Mother…" He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor, unable to voice the terror he felt at the thought of Huo Wuchang's vile suggestion. The idea of his mother being taken to settle their debt made his stomach churn, and the helplessness of it all fueled the fire in his heart. He wanted to be strong, to protect his family, but how could he? He was just a boy, with no talent, no resources, and no power in a world that crushed the weak without mercy.
Determined to do something—anything—Tianhao stood, his small frame trembling with resolve. "I'm going to the sect," he said, his voice firm despite the fear in his eyes. "I'll work harder… I'll sweep the courtyard, carry stones, whatever it takes to earn those two silver coins." Xueyin's head snapped up, her eyes wide with alarm. "Tianhao, no!" she cried, reaching for him. "It's too dangerous… you saw what they did to your father. If they hurt you too…" Her voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks, but Tianhao shook his head, his jaw set. "I have to try, Mother. I can't just sit here and do nothing." Before she could stop him, he slipped out the door, his small figure disappearing into the early morning mist.
The Gray Stone Sect's courtyard was a sprawling expanse of stone and dust, nestled at the edge of Yunchuan village, its gray walls looming like a fortress of despair. Tianhao had been coming here for years, doing menial tasks for a few copper coins, but today the air felt heavier, the weight of his family's debt pressing down on him with every step. As he swept the courtyard, his broom kicking up clouds of dust, he overheard whispers among the sect disciples—rumors of a demonic cultivator spotted in the Western Region, a man who had slaughtered an entire village before being hunted down by the Sky Sword Sect. "They say he used the Blood Poison Crystal," one disciple muttered, his voice tinged with fear. "It made him strong enough to kill a Jindan cultivator, but it turned him into a monster… his own clan disowned him before the Sky Sword Sect cut him down." Tianhao's hands tightened on the broom, his mind racing. A power that could kill a Jindan cultivator… but at what cost? He shook his head, pushing the thought away. He wasn't like that—he couldn't be. Not yet.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, mocking voice. "Well, if it isn't the little rat," Huo Gang said, striding into the courtyard with a group of sect disciples trailing behind him. His gray robes fluttered as he approached, his sneer as cruel as ever. "Still sweeping dirt for your pathetic family? I heard your father's on his last breath… maybe we should speed things up." The other disciples laughed, their jeers cutting into Tianhao like knives, but he kept his head down, his hands trembling as he gripped the broom tighter. He wanted to fight back, to scream, to do something, but he knew it would only make things worse. Huo Gang stepped closer, his shadow looming over Tianhao. "Where's that little friend of yours? Oh, right… we sold her to a merchant in the next town. She cried the whole way—kept calling your name. Pathetic."
Tianhao's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury. "You… you sold her?!" he shouted, his voice cracking with rage. He dropped the broom, his small fists clenching as he took a step toward Huo Gang, his fear momentarily forgotten. "She's my friend! How could you do that?!" Huo Gang laughed, a harsh, grating sound, and shoved Tianhao to the ground with a single push. "Friends? In Tianxu, the weak don't get to have friends, you idiot," he sneered, kicking dirt into Tianhao's face. "She's better off fetching coins for us than wasting her time with trash like you."
The disciples laughed again, their voices a cruel chorus, but Tianhao barely heard them. His vision blurred with tears of anger and shame as he lay in the dirt, his hands clawing at the ground. Mei Lian… sold like an animal, all because he was too weak to protect her. The hatred in his heart grew stronger, its roots digging deeper, but beneath it was a gnawing sense of guilt. If I were stronger… if I had power… The thought echoed in his mind, mingling with the whispers he'd overheard about the demonic cultivator. He pushed it away, but it lingered, a dark seed planted in the fertile soil of his despair.
As the sun began to set, Tianhao dragged himself back to the shack, his body aching from hours of labor and Huo Gang's blows. He had earned a single copper coin—far from the two silver coins they needed—but it was something. He pushed open the door, hoping to see his father sitting up, his mother smiling, but the sight that greeted him made his heart stop. Xueyin sat on the floor, her face pale and streaked with tears, her hands clutching a small bundle of cloth. Zhantian lay beside her, his breathing even shallower than before, his face ashen. "Tianhao…" Xueyin whispered, her voice breaking as she looked up at him. "Your father… he's getting worse. And… and I heard something in the market today. Gu Shan, one of the sect's elders… he's been asking about me. He… he wants to settle our debt… with me."
Tianhao's blood ran cold, his mind flashing back to Huo Wuchang's vile suggestion. Gu Shan—an elder of the Gray Stone Sect, a man known in Yunchuan for his lechery, a cultivator at the Early Lianqi Stage who used his power to prey on the weak. The thought of that man laying a hand on his mother made Tianhao's stomach churn, his hands trembling with a mix of fear and rage. "No… I won't let him," he said, his voice low but fierce, his eyes burning with a determination that belied his age. "I'll find a way, Mother. I'll protect you… I'll protect us all."
But deep down, Tianhao knew the truth—he was powerless, a mere boy in a world that devoured the weak. As he sat beside his dying father and weeping mother, the whispers of the demonic cultivator and the Blood Poison Crystal echoed in his mind once more, louder this time, tempting him with a power he could only dream of. And in that moment, the small light of kindness his mother had nurtured in him began to dim, overshadowed by the growing darkness of his rage.