The young boy was none other than, Bai Feng.
He couldn't have been more than six.
"Again!" an instructor barked.
The boy lunged forward with an imperfect stance but determined look. His strike lacked refinement, yet there was something else there... intent. A refusal to yield.
A larger boy scoffed from the sidelines. "Why does a bastard even get training time?"
Laughter rang out.
The memory changed again, displaying a different scene in a courtyard.
The image was clear. Cold stone pressing against small knees.
A young boy knelt at its center.
It was Bai Feng.
He was clad in a fabric that was worn thin at the elbows and slightly torn at the hem. His hands were clenched, knuckles pale, nails digging into skin as laughter echoed around him.
"Again?"
"That's all he can do?"
"Six years old and still can't circulate qi properly?"
The voices came from boys his age—and older ones too. Sons of legitimate bloodlines. Clan heirs.
Bai Feng lowered his head with pursed lips.
