The cold bit at Fu Yang's skin as he sat cross-legged on his simple bed, cultivating with relentless focus.
For four hours, he had remained still, his legs numb from the biting chill of the unheated chamber and the unyielding posture of his meditation.
Outside, the world lay silent, draped in the stillness of midnight.
Rising stiffly, Fu Yang shuffled to the window and pushed it open. The crisp air rushed in, carrying the scent of snow. The sky was a vast canvas of indigo, unmarred by clouds, where the full moon hung like a jade lantern, casting its silvery glow across the snow-covered landscape. Stars glittered, their light dancing on the crystalline snow, creating a scene of ethereal beauty. Fu Yang inhaled deeply, the cold air sharp in his lungs, grounding him in the moment. With a slow, deliberate motion, he closed the window, sealing the silence within his room once more.
He returned to his bed, Lying down, he stilled his mind, letting thoughts dissolve into the void. His focus turned inward to his core, the nexus of his cultivation.
Night after night, he examined it, searching for any sign of progress—a spark, a pulse, a shift. But it remained as it always had: steady, unchanging, a quiet frustration.
With a quiet exhale, he withdrew his focus, pulled the coarse blanket over his body, and surrendered to sleep.
.
...
A week passed, each day blending into the next with the rhythm of cultivation and study. Fu Yang sought out Master Wan, his mentor, in the shady room again.
Master Wan, imparted knowledge that Fu Yang had already mastered. Yet, when tested with questions, Fu Yang answered with precision, his voice steady, his demeanor respectful.
Master Wan's approval was subtle but evident in the slight nod of his head.
As their session drew to a close, Fu Yang lowered his gaze, his voice soft but deliberate. "Master Wan," he began, a carefully crafted curiosity in his tone, "I heard rumers of a prisoner, a man said to be innocent, who once helped many. Why is he confined?"
Master Wan's eyes narrowed, his weathered face tightening. "Why do you ask of this prisoner, Fu Yang? Just tell me what you want ? do not weave riddles before me."
Fu Yang bowed slightly, his expression one of practiced sincerity. "Thank you, Master. It's only that I heard Sir Shin Tian is imprisoned. He was kind to me, sir, taking me in when I had no one. But… accidents followed, and I know little of his fate."
His words dripped with gratitude, though his heart harbored no such warmth.
Master Wan studied the boy, a faint amusement flickering in his gaze. "Very well," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I will look into this matter. If this Shin Tian is truly innocent, I will see what can be done. But you, Fu Yang—focus on your cultivation and studies. Leave such matters to me."
"Thank you, Master." Fu Yang bowed deeply, his face a mask of gratitude. As he turned to leave, heading toward the canteen where the scent of steamed buns and savory broth filled the air, a cunning thought curled in his mind.
(Oh , Shin Tian, you are proving ever more useful. I'll wring every advantage from you yet, hehe.)
In truth, Fu Yang cared nothing for Shin Tian. His inquiry was a calculated move, a step toward winning Master Wan's favor. He believed that if the master learned of the hardships "poor Fu Yang" had endured, he would grow protective, perhaps even indulgent, toward his disciple
That night, under the same moonlit sky, Master Wan strode toward the prison, his robes billowing like storm clouds.
A guard, sent by Headmaster Xiang Xi, leader of the Xiang faction, accompanied him. The prison was a grim structure of stone and iron, its walls stained with dampness, its air thick with despair.
Inside, Shin Tian sat in chains, his gaunt frame hunched over a meager meal of gruel. The sight ignited a fire in Master Wan's chest. With a snarl, he kicked the bowl from Shin Tian's hands, the clay shattering against the wall. Grabbing the prisoner by his tattered robes, Master Wan unleashed his fury, his fists striking with controlled but relentless force.
"You vile, wretched cur!" Master Wan roared, his voice echoing through the cell. "How dare you lay your filthy hands on my disciple? You monstrous filth!"
Each blow was a release of rage, though he heeded Headmaster Xiang's warning, restraining himself from delivering a fatal strike. Shin Tian, frail and helpless, endured the beating in silence, his body crumpling under the assault.
After half an hour, Master Wan stepped back, his breath heavy, his anger spent. As he exited the prison, the cold night air stung his face, and a memory surfaced, vivid and sharp.
Earlier that day, Master Wan had visited Headmaster Xiang Xi in his study, a room adorned with scrolls and the faint scent of ink.
Their meeting was meant for academic matters, but Master Wan had mentioned taking Fu Yang as his disciple. At the boy's name, Xiang Xi paused, his brush hovering over a parchment. "Why bring this to me?" he asked, his tone curious but guarded.
"Headmaster," Master Wan said, his voice respectful, "I seek only to understand my disciple better. I heard he was once taken in by another, now imprisoned. I thought you, of all people, might know more."
Xiang Xi chuckled, his eyes glinting with mirth. "Wan Chi, why so formal? We're old friends—speak freely!" Though younger than Master Wan, Xiang Xi carried the weight of authority with ease.
Master Wan remained deferential, his posture unwavering. "Please, Headmaster, enlighten me."
Xiang Xi's expression grew serious. "Very well. I'll tell you, not for our friendship, but because you must know as Fu Yang's master. But this stays between us."
Master Wan nodded solemnly.
Xiang Xi leaned forward, his voice low. He revealed that Fu Yang was the nephew of Li Tian. He recounted the incident of a fire that had exposed Shin Tian's crimes. The man had been caught and interrogated, revealing his true nature: a predator who took young disciples under false pretenses, committing unspeakable acts.
Xiang Xi withheld details about the "three frogs," leaving Master Wan to wonder at their significance.
As Master Wan listened, his blood ran cold. The thought of Fu Yang, with his innocent face and quiet demeanor, falling prey to such a man filled him with dread. Had the fire not intervened, what horrors might the boy have endured? His face flushed with anger, though he forced himself to remain composed before the Headmaster.
"And then," Xiang Xi continued, a wry smile breaking through, "we saw how this fu yang was also beaten and bullied by Li Tian's sons, with Cin Yan involved as well, can you believe it when I saw her kick him in frustration hehe.
Oh, the chaos was almost amusing!" He chuckled, though his eyes remained sharp.
"That's the tale," Xiang Xi concluded. " And You know the rest when he entered the accademy."
Master Wan nodded, his jaw tight.
"And I suppose," Xiang Xi added, his tone softening, "this explains why Fu Yang lives so alone, friendless at such a young age. The world is cruel, Wan Chi."
Master Wan's voice was firm. "Headmaster, I request your permission."
Xiang Xi understood at once. He granted it, but with a warning: "Do what you must, but do not kill him or leave him crippled."
Now, in the present, Master Wan walked toward his courtyard, the prison's grim walls fading behind him. The moon still hung high, its light cold and unyielding.
"The world is cruel," he muttered, his breath visible in the frosty air. "Children with no one to shield them are left to suffer. Even dogs may tear at them, and none would care. Haaah." His sigh lingered, heavy with the weight of a world that spared no one, not even the innocent.
Authors note ( i know this topic may be disturbing for some readers but don't forget,.worse things than this are happening in our world, so don't blind your self seek what real truth is.)