The streets of Green River Town were bustling with life, a cacophony of merchants shouting their wares, children running through alleyways, and the occasional rumble of a cart rolling over the cobblestones. The town was prosperous, but that prosperity was a cruel illusion. For the strong, it was a place of wealth and power. For the weak, it was a cage, a place where their spirits withered and their lives were traded for copper coins.
Xi Chen walked through the streets, the weight of his simple blacksmith's tools hanging from his shoulder. At 19, he had the broad shoulders and strong frame of a man who could have once ruled over men. His posture, while humble, still carried the remnants of a once-dominant leader—an aura that seemed to intimidate even the roughest characters in Green River. His dark eyes, sharp and calculating, glanced over the people he passed, noting everything. Yet, his expression remained stoic, as if the world was something he had long since stopped trying to change.
He could never forget the gang war in Guangzhou. A life built on bloodshed and loyalty had ended in an instant. One moment, he was at the top, feared and respected, and the next, he was dead. Now, reborn in a world where the strong crushed the weak, Xi Chen had to adapt. His past life, while filled with power, was nothing compared to the potential of this martial world—a world where martial arts were the key to everything.
Yet, he found himself bound by chains invisible to others, chains forged not of steel but of the class system that governed this world.
Martial arts were a privilege of the wealthy and noble. The techniques passed down in bloodlines and secretive clans were locked away from the hands of those born with nothing. Xi Chen, born into the lower rungs of society, had no access to these martial secrets. His fists were all he had, and even those were useless in this world of mighty cultivators.
"Brother Xi Chen!"
A voice called out, breaking him from his thoughts. Xi Bing, he is older brother by a year from the youngest, came running toward him. He was still young, barely twelve, but his face held a determination that reminded Xi Chen of the old days, of the fire that burned in his heart when he led his gang.
Xi Chen gave him a small nod. "What is it, Bing?"
"I… I've been practicing the techniques you showed me. The form, it's not right, is it?" Xi Bing asked, his voice laced with frustration. "I know I'm not strong, but I want to help. I don't want to stay weak like this."
Xi Chen's heart tightened. The world was harsh, and he could already see it in his younger brother's eyes—the desire to grow stronger, to not remain in the shadow of the powerful. But there was little he could do, not yet.
"You're doing well. Just keep at it," Xi Chen said, offering a reassuring smile.
But he knew the truth. Even his simple techniques were barely enough for someone of Xi Bing's age. In the world of martial arts, the difference between life and death was often the difference between a broken body and a perfected one.
He couldn't afford to let his brothers stay weak, but the path to strength was perilous.
Xi Chen stepped into the forge, the familiar scent of burning coal and the rhythmic pounding of his hammer filling his senses. This place, more than anything, had been his refuge. As a blacksmith, he was capable of creating weapons and armor, but for him, the forge was a place of tempering—a place where he could work the metal, just as he had worked his own life.
He set his tools down and took a deep breath, pulling the heavy leather apron over his shoulders. Sweat clung to his back as he started stoking the fire, the heat radiating through the forge like a living thing. The fire crackled, roaring to life as the coals turned a brilliant red.
There was a technique he had stumbled upon in his previous life, a secret passed down through the blacksmiths of old. It was no ordinary technique—no, it was far more dangerous. The tempering process, which usually applied only to metals, could be applied to flesh. Slowly, the skin would burn and darken, but with it came a strength beyond mortal comprehension.
However, it was a technique that came at a cost. The body would be forced to endure unimaginable heat, pushing it to the edge of its limits. But there was no other way. If he was to make a mark in this world, he needed power—power that no noble clan would give him, no martial master would teach him. He would have to forge it himself.
He closed his eyes, his breath steady, and with a single thought, activated the mysterious Tempering Technique that had somehow been granted to him. It wasn't something he had learned. No, it had been there, an unknown force that had awoken when he turned 19. The technique, crude and basic, involved making his body endure a transformation—a red-hot forging, if you will.
He felt his skin burn with a searing heat, but he didn't scream. He welcomed the pain. It was a reminder of how far he had come, of how much more he had yet to achieve.
Slowly, his skin began to glow a faint red, as though molten iron were coursing beneath it. The heat spread through his body, settling into his muscles, his bones, and even his blood. It was a sensation like none other. For a brief moment, Xi Chen saw visions of endless fire, of vast forges where weapons were crafted and tested in the crucible of battle.
His breath quickened as the pain intensified, but he focused. He had a purpose. He wasn't just forging his body; he was preparing himself for something greater. As the heat spread, he could feel his strength rising. His body was transforming, becoming something new, something stronger. The red glow faded, but the strength remained.
Xi Bing had been watching from the doorway, eyes wide with awe. "Brother, what is that?!" he asked, voice trembling with both fear and admiration.
Xi Chen straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow. His body still pulsed with the lingering heat, the aftereffects of his tempering technique. He smiled, though his heart felt heavy with the knowledge that his brothers were still so far from this path.
"It's nothing, Bing," Xi Chen said softly. "Just a way to become stronger. You'll understand one day."
The path ahead would be long and filled with struggles, but Xi Chen had made his choice. He would build his own strength in the shadows, out of sight of the noble clans that held the power. And when the time was right, he would reveal his fists, his strength, and his legacy. But for now, he would work in silence, one hammer strike at a time.
And so, the blacksmith began to forge not just weapons, but his own future. A future where he would rise, quietly, unnoticed, until the day his name would echo in every corner of the land—Xi Chen, the Ghost Fist.