The air in Clearwater Village was thick with the scent of damp earth, river water, and nervous sweat. For the youth of the village, the tenth day of the third month was the most important day of their lives—the day of the Spirit Awakening Ceremony. It was the day fate deigned to draw a line in the mud, separating the destined cultivators from the common folk who would spend their lives fishing the murky waters of the Azure Serpent River.
Li Yu stood amongst the other ten-year-olds, a small, solitary figure. He was thinner than the others, his simple linen shirt a little too large for his frame. While other children glanced nervously at their parents for reassurance, Li Yu's gaze was fixed on his own worn straw sandals. His parents weren't there. They would never be there again.
Whispers, meant to be quiet but easily overheard in the tense silence, drifted from the crowd of adults.
"It's the orphan, Li Yu."
"Poor boy. His parents were lost in the beast tide last autumn. He's been on his own since."
"So young to be alone. Even if he awakens a spirit, who will guide him?"
He had grown accustomed to the talk, to the mix of pity and morbid curiosity that followed him like a shadow. The beast tide, a frenzy of demonic river creatures, had been particularly brutal last year. His parents, caught mending nets by the riverbank, were among the many victims. Since then, the small hut at the edge of the village had been quiet and empty, and he had learned to fend for himself with a maturity that no ten-year-old should possess.
At the center of the village square stood a simple, unadorned stone altar. It was ancient, its surface worn smooth by generations of hopeful hands. Elder Shan, the village chief and a man whose cultivation had stalled at the third stage of the Body Tempering Realm decades ago, stood before it, his face a mask of solemnity.
"The spirits of our ancestors watch over us," he began, his voice raspy but carrying over the husched crowd. "They bless the lands that feed us and grant our children the power to protect this village. Today, we ask for that blessing once more. Step forward when your name is called. Place your hand upon the Awakening Stone and let your destiny be revealed."
One by one, the children stepped forward. A stout boy awakened the spirit of a Forest Badger, its ethereal form snarling silently. "Grade Two, Inferior." A nimble girl summoned a Sparrowhawk, which soared in the air above her head. "Grade Three, Average."
The best of the day was Li Jie, the son of the village's best hunter. He placed his hand on the stone, and a brilliant green light erupted, forming the image of a ferocious-looking snapping turtle. "Grade Four, Superior! Excellent!" Elder Shan's voice boomed with rare excitement. Li Jie puffed out his chest, basking in the envious stares of his peers.
Finally, Elder Shan's gaze fell upon the small, quiet boy standing alone. "Li Yu."
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Li Yu walked forward. His heart hammered against his ribs, not with excitement, but with a grim sort of determination. He had no one to make proud and no one to disappoint but himself. He reached the altar and placed his small palm on the cool, smooth surface of the Awakening Stone. He closed his eyes, his mind empty of prayers.
One second. Two. Ten.
Nothing. The stone remained inert. A few snickers broke the silence.
"As expected," someone muttered. "The unfortunate are often without talent."
Li Yu's small hands clenched into fists at his side. A familiar coldness seeped into his heart. Of course. Why would fate grant him anything?
Elder Shan's brow furrowed. He was about to declare the result when he noticed it—a flicker. It was a light so faint, so minuscule, that he thought it was a trick of the eye. But then it came again, a soft, crimson pulse from deep within the stone, like a single drop of blood in a muddy puddle.
The light slowly seeped out, not with the brilliance of Li Jie's turtle, but with a strange, almost unnerving grace. It flowed like water, pooling in the air behind Li Yu. The villagers leaned forward, squinting. The light coalesced, taking shape, and then solidified into an ethereal image.
It was a fish. A small Koi, no longer than his forearm. But its color was a deep, startling red, like freshly spilled blood. It swam lazily in the air, its crimson scales seeming to drink the light around them. It looked utterly harmless, but its unnatural color sent a quiet shiver through some of the onlookers. It was not a creature of power, but an omen.
The square was silent for a moment before a wave of uneasy laughter erupted. It was a mix of dismissal and discomfort.
"A Koi fish? And a red one at that?"
"What a strange thing. Is it a good sign or a bad one?"
"It's useless either way! My grandmother keeps prettier ones in her pond!"
Elder Shan sighed, the flicker of hope in his eyes replaced by confusion. He had seen thousands of awakenings, but never a spirit like this. It was clearly a fish, a creature of water, yet it felt... different. Still, it radiated no power.
He cleared his throat, his voice flat. "Grade One, Inferior. Li Yu, you may step down."
Li Yu opened his eyes. He didn't look at the laughing villagers or the perplexed elder. His gaze was fixed on the blood-red Koi swimming peacefully behind him. He didn't feel shame or despair. Instead, he felt a strange and profound connection, a quiet companionship that eased the loneliness in his heart. The Koi spirit felt like the first truly interesting thing that had ever happened to him.
He gave a slight bow to the elder and walked away from the altar, the laughter following him like a swarm of harmless flies. As he moved, the ethereal Koi dissolved back into his body, and he felt it take residence in his dantian, a tranquil, warm presence in his spiritual sea.
He didn't go straight home. He walked towards the edge of the village, where several large, muddy ponds were kept for raising common river fish. As he approached, a strange sensation tickled his senses. It was a faint, chaotic murmur, a jumble of simple impressions.
Hunger. Danger. Swim. Food.
He stopped at the edge of a pond teeming with Black Carp. He focused, and the impressions became clearer. He could feel the collective, simple consciousness of the fish. He could sense their needs, their primal instincts. He knelt down, trailing his fingers in the cool, murky water. He felt nothing but the chill of the water.
A small carp, bolder than the rest, swam up and nibbled at his fingertip. The moment it made contact, Li Yu felt a minuscule thread of energy, pure and clean, flow directly from the fish into his hand. It traveled up his arm and was instantly absorbed by the red Koi in his dantian, which seemed to hum with faint pleasure.
The energy was spiritual energy. Qi.
It was a tiny, almost unnoticeable amount, but it was undeniably there. His heart, which had been numb for months, began to pound with a new, secret excitement. He had no cultivation manual, no training, yet he had just absorbed spiritual energy from a living creature.
He stayed there for a long time, letting the small fish nibble at his fingers, feeling the faint but steady trickle of energy. It was slow, inefficient, but it was real.
That night, in his cold, empty hut, he filled a wooden basin with water to test his theory. He stared at his reflection—a young boy with ordinary features and eyes that now held a quiet, calculating depth beyond his years. He plunged his hands into the basin.
He focused his will, and the red Koi manifested, swimming in the small basin. Its crimson scales glowed softly, illuminating his determined face. He waited, concentrating, but felt nothing. The water was just water. There was no gentle pull of ambient Qi, no energy for his Koi to absorb.
His initial excitement cooled, replaced by a sharp, clear understanding. His ability was not as miraculous as he first thought. He couldn't draw power from the rivers and lakes themselves. He could only draw it from the life within them.
His Koi spirit couldn't fight. It couldn't defend. It was, by all accounts, useless and strange.
But it could devour the spiritual energy of aquatic life.
And in this world, where spiritual energy was the foundation of all power, that ability was a secret worth more than any Grade Four snapping turtle. It was a dangerous secret.
He knew, with a certainty that belied his age, that he could never reveal this. His spirit was seen as a joke, an ill omen. Let them think that. He wanted no fame, no glory. He only wanted to be safe, to be strong enough that no beast tide could ever threaten him again.
His plan solidified. He thought of the nearby Green Mountain Sect. They were always recruiting, even children, for menial jobs. They had vast lakes where they raised spiritual fish—demonic beasts of the water—as delicacies and alchemical ingredients for powerful cultivators. To others, it was a life of servitude. To Li Yu, it was the only path forward. It was a paradise of cultivation resources no one else could see. He would be surrounded by an endless supply of spiritual energy, all hidden within the flesh and blood of the sect's livestock.
He would lay low, raise his fish, and cultivate in secret. He would become the unseen predator in the tranquil pond.