The sun dipped below the horizon in Yunchuan, casting long shadows that stretched across the village like the fingers of a vengeful spirit. Inside the Ling family's shack, the air was thick with a quiet dread, the kind that settled into the bones and refused to let go. Ling Tianhao trudged through the door, his small frame hunched with exhaustion, his hands raw from another day of labor in the Gray Stone Sect's courtyard. At thirteen years old, he carried a weight far heavier than any child should—his father's worsening condition, his mother's fear of Gu Shan, and the gnawing guilt over Mei Lian's abduction. His dark eyes, once bright with the simple joy of his mother's songs, now burned with a mix of desperation and rage, the single copper coin in his pocket a cruel reminder of how far he still was from the two silver coins they owed.
The shack was eerily silent as he stepped inside, the usual warmth of his mother's voice absent. No crackling fire, no soft humming of the lotus flower song—just a heavy stillness that made Tianhao's heart sink. In the dim light of a flickering paper lantern, he saw his father, Ling Zhantian, slumped in the corner, his frail body trembling with each shallow breath, his face pale as death. Beside him stood Ling Xueyin, her eyes red and hollow, her hands clutching the hem of her tattered dress so tightly that her knuckles were white. The sight of her—his mother, who had always been a pillar of strength—looking so broken sent a chill down Tianhao's spine.
"Father? Mother?" Tianhao called, his voice hesitant, the copper coin slipping from his hand to the floor with a soft clink. The silence stretched for a moment, a suffocating void, before Zhantian finally looked up, his wrinkled eyes glistening with unshed tears. He stood slowly, his movements shaky, and shuffled toward Xueyin, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Xueyin," he rasped, his tone raw with anguish, "did… did Gu Shan… do something to you?"
Xueyin's head bowed, her hands tightening on her dress, her fingers trembling as if they might snap. "I'm fine, Zhantian," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the quiver in her tone betrayed her. Tianhao's heart clenched—he knew that voice, the way it shook when she was hiding something too painful to say. Zhantian's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp despite his weakened state. He had lived with Xueyin for decades; he knew every line on her face, every tremor in her voice. Rumors of Gu Shan had long plagued Yunchuan—a lecherous elder at the Early Lianqi Stage who preyed on the village's women, using his power to coerce those too poor to resist. And now, seeing the fresh red marks on Xueyin's arm, barely hidden by her sleeve, and the haunted look in her eyes, Zhantian knew the truth.
"Don't lie to me!" Zhantian roared, his voice echoing through the shack, shaking the fragile clay walls until small flakes of dirt fell to the ground. "Tell me the truth, Xueyin!" Tianhao flinched, his breath catching in his throat. He had never seen his father like this—his gentle, broken father, who had always endured the world's cruelty with a bowed head, now trembling with a fury that seemed to burn through his frail body. Xueyin bit her lip, her tears finally spilling over, her voice a broken whisper as she spoke. "Yes," she admitted, her words barely audible, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "He… he came this morning, while you were asleep. He said… he said if I didn't come to him tonight, he'd take Tianhao instead. I refused, but he… he tried to force me. I fought him off, but he…" Her voice broke, her hands covering her face as she collapsed to her knees, her sobs filling the shack.
A wave of rage erupted in Zhantian's chest, his face flushing red, his hands clenching into fists so tightly that his knuckles cracked. For years, he had swallowed every insult, every humiliation, bowing to the Gray Stone Sect to keep his family safe. He had swept their courtyards, endured their beatings, and watched his clan's legacy crumble—all for the sake of survival. But this? This was too much. Gu Shan had violated his wife, the woman he had sworn to protect, and threatened his son—the last light in his broken world. "That beast!" Zhantian bellowed, his voice a raw, primal scream that shook the walls, his eyes blazing with a vengeance he had buried for far too long. Without another word, he stormed to the corner of the shack, grabbing an old axe with a cracked wooden handle—the same axe he used to chop firewood for their meager meals.
Tianhao stepped forward, his heart pounding, his voice trembling with confusion and fear. "Father, where are you going?" he asked, his small hands reaching out, but Zhantian didn't answer. His father's eyes were wild, consumed by a fury that Tianhao had never seen before, a fury that mirrored the growing storm in his own heart. Xueyin scrambled to her feet, her tears streaming as she grabbed Zhantian's arm, her voice desperate. "No, Zhantian! You can't fight him! He's a cultivator—you'll die!" she cried, her words choked with sobs, but Zhantian was beyond reason. He shook her off, his movements rough—not out of anger toward her, but because his rage had blinded him to everything else. "I don't care!" he roared, his voice cracking with emotion. "I've bowed enough in this life! I won't let him destroy what's left of us!" With the axe in hand, he stormed out, the door slamming behind him as he marched toward Gu Shan's residence at the edge of the village, beneath the shadow of a pavilion with dragon-carved pillars.
Tianhao stood frozen, his breath ragged, his mind reeling. He turned to his mother, who had collapsed to the floor, her hands covering her face as she wept, her sobs a haunting echo of Mei Lian's cries. "Mother… what happened? Why is Father like this?" he asked, his voice small, his dark eyes searching her face for answers. Xueyin shook her head, her tears falling unchecked, her voice a broken whisper. "Don't ask, Tianhao," she said, her tone heavy with guilt and despair. "I don't want you to be consumed by this… I don't want you to become like them." But Tianhao could feel it—the darkness growing inside him, the same darkness he saw in his father's eyes, the same darkness that had taken root when Mei Lian was dragged away. He was only thirteen, but the world had already taught him a cruel lesson: kindness was a luxury the weak couldn't afford.
Outside, Zhantian's footsteps echoed through the silent night, the old axe in his hand glinting faintly under the pale moonlight. The cold wind carried the scent of damp earth and charred wood, but Zhantian felt nothing but the searing heat of vengeance in his chest. He knew he was no match for Gu Shan—a mere mortal against a cultivator at the Early Lianqi Stage—but he didn't care. Gu Shan had violated his wife, threatened his son, and shattered the last shred of dignity he had left. He would make him pay, even if it meant his death. His steps quickened, his frail body fueled by a rage that defied his broken lungs, as he approached the pavilion where Gu Shan resided—a place he had once feared, but now saw as the den of a demon he had to destroy.
Back in the shack, Tianhao sat beside his mother, his small hand resting on her trembling shoulder, his heart a storm of fear and anger. He didn't know what would happen next, but he knew one thing for certain: the world he had once dreamed of—a world where he could be as strong as the Jade Emperor, where kindness could prevail—was slipping further away with every passing moment. And as the night stretched on, the small light of hope in his heart flickered dangerously, on the verge of being snuffed out by the growing darkness of his rage.