Clouds flew aimlessly in the sky, watching it turn night and day for countless cycles. From summer to autumn, leaves turn dull and cold.
And into winter, where the harsh frostbite claims countless lives — all to be rebirthed back in spring, enjoying a complete cycle of colorful life and sorrowful death.
Wei Shun endured past these challenges with a steady heart and unwavering soul.
His knees were bent low, almost touching the ground, his left leg lifted parallel to the ground. His hands followed through, still in the air as he recounted the duration in his mind.
30 minutes.
He had been following the same stance for such a duration, once felt impossible, now achieved after three harsh years of training. Every enduring second was proof that the heavens had not abandoned him.
Now, at the age of fifteen years, his legs no longer buckled as quickly as before. His shoulders have broadened, laden with a faint mixture of scratches from his hunts. His knuckles and palms hardened from the calluses of years of hard work and labor.
"Shun'er, lunch is ready!" Yan Lan's soft voice called out. Though she had aged considerably in three years, seeing her son grow sturdier and more disciplined with every passing day had slowed her sorrow and filled her heart with Pride.
"Coming, mother!" Wei Shun stood up from his stance, dusting dirt from his plain clothes.
He entered their modest home, filled with the aroma of his mother's cooked vegetables and a boiling pot of soup. He inhaled the intoxicating scent, feeling rejuvenated after his tedious martial arts practice.
The brand-new-looking table has been served with dishes and plates by Yan Lan, her hands busy pouring soup into Wei Shun's bowl.
Wei Han had already seated, chopsticks in hand. His face had grown weathered over these past years, but the stubborn gaze in his eyes remained fierce.
"You lasted longer today, Shun'er," he said between bites, nodding at Wei Shun's progress, "By next spring, I wouldn't be surprised if you can last for an entire hour."
Wei Shun chuckled, scratching his head, "I'll try, Father."
Wei Han stared deep at his son's face, reminiscing about Wei Shun's downcast look three years ago. He wondered if his son could have fought back from the brink of depression had he not brought that martial arts manual from the caravan.
"You'll do more than try," Wei Han's tone softened, "Shun'er, you're fifteen now. I promised you before, didn't I? That I would take you to the city when the caravan passes through again this year. There's more out there than this bleak forest and dull rivers. Perhaps a school with a master would be willing to take you as their disciple and pass down their techniques. Even if it's not cultivation, you will be able to carve your own path."
Yan Lan lowered her gaze, twirling her fingers underneath the table, uneased. She knew her husband's hopes only burned brighter over time, and she couldn't bring herself to extinguish them.
Wei Shun swallowed a mouthful of rice, feeling the weight of his father's words, "Father, I will make you proud. I won't embarrass you."
Wei Han shook his head and laughed, "Pride isn't what I want, Shun'er. I only hope to see you stand tall, even if the heavens had looked down on you."
Wei Shun's eyes furrowed, remembering how the entire village had treated him over the years.
Old Man Zhao Gong had turned cold, even feeling irritable when Wei Shun approached him.
Uncle Bao and his wife distanced themselves, their greetings becoming an act of formality rather than hospitality.
Even the village chief had toned down his praise of Wei Shun since the incident, and his usual performances that could have surprised the elder never had the same impact as before.
Wei Han was dumbfounded to see the sudden shift in Wei Shun's face. Then, he felt Yan Lan's hand land on his arms, shaking her head to signal him.
I said something I shouldn't have said, did I?
He lamented internally, cursing himself for not being careful with his words.
Yan Lan, knowing that her husband had mispoken, gathered the courage to shift the topic, "Husband, the caravan hasn't arrived in a few days. Is there any news from the others?"
Wei Han frowned and thought deeply, "There is. Dozens of bandits are wreaking havoc around the area. I heard Brother Lu complaining about it sometime ago. I didn't think it would affect the merchant caravan, honestly."
Yan Lan became curious and wary. Bandits weren't an easy topic, and as a small village on the outskirts, being raided by such villainous people would be disastrous for them.
"Shun'er, be careful on your hunts in the upcoming days." Wei Han turned to his son, "Someone has already reported the bandit problem to the village chief. Security will be tighter, and the warriors might mistake you for one during the night."
"Yes, father. I will be careful," Wei Shun nodded, easily agreeing to his father's words. He had long abandoned the thoughts of the cultivation world and becoming a hero, choosing to cherish this second life of his to the fullest.
It wasn't long until everyone had eaten to their full. Wei Shun helped his mother with the dishes, while Wei Han went out for work in the afternoon.
The day passed in a quiet rhythm. Wei Shun finished his chores, his body still sore from training, and went out to fetch a pail for showering himself.
As he stepped out of the house, shouts suddenly broke out from the village gates. He dropped the pail he was carrying and hurried over, joining the large crowd of shocked villagers.
A figure staggered into view. His gray robe was torn and soaked in blood, half his arm dangling at his side. The faint glint of a jade token at his waist marked him as one of Tian Ming Ling's Lingyuan.
The villagers gasped. Even wounded, the aura around him pressed on their chests like a mountain, forcing many of them to kowtow.
Some villagers knelt out of reverence, others out of fear, their faces pale as if expecting punishment.
"Ah... cultivator!"
"Fetch the chief, hurry!" Someone yelled.
Wei Shun stared, his breath caught. Just as he was already letting go of his cultivator dreams, he stumbled upon another so closely. Not aloof and untouchable, but broken, bloodied... crawling limply, no different to a mortal.
The man's lips trembled as he collapsed to one knee. His voice rasped through clenched teeth.
"I am Lingyuan Zhenhai of Tian Ming Ling! This humble Daoist requires your aid, now!"
Moments later, the village chief pushed through the crowd with several men. Together, they lifted the wounded Lingyuan and carried him toward the medicinal hut at the edge of the square.
"Granny Xiu!" the village chief shouted, startling the old herbalist who was in the middle of bundling some dried roots.
The withered woman rushed forward, her hands trembling as she saw the blood-soaked robes. Still, her voice steadied as she brought out herbs and cloth.
"Lay him flat, quickly, before he loses too much blood."
The men obeyed, lowering Lingyuan Zhenhai onto a straw mat. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, but the faint pressure of qi still lingered around him that almost suffocated Granny Xiu's frail body.
"Daoist Zhenhai will not die tonight," she declared, though the unease in her eyes betrayed her, "But his wounds are deep... far deeper than what these old hands can mend. I can only treat those simpler wounds."
"That... would be good enough," Lingyuan Zhenhai muttered before he lost consciousness.
The hut fell into silence. Wei Shun stood at the doorway, staring at the sleeping but broken figure. For the first time, he realized that even those called cultivators were not untouchable.
Not unkillable.
...
Far from the village, deep inside a damp cave dwelling, another figure wearing dark-red, tattered robes sat cross-legged. His chest heaved with each breath, surrounded by a thick aura of bloodshed.
A faint glow flickered from the pile of broken weapons and scattered corpses strewn outside the cave mouth. Their dried faces remained twisted in fear and disbelief even in death. If Wei Han were here, he would realize one of the corpses to be his trusted merchant brother, Liu Quan.
The man's eyes opened, cold and merciless. He spat a mouthful of blood, then laughed hoarsely, scaring the birds nearby.
"Lingyuan dog... You dare think I'll fall to you?! Hmph. Heal your wounds if you can. At our next meeting, your corpse will feed our Mo clan's worms."
His pale, trembling white hand tightened around a jagged black dagger at his side, its blade etched with blood-red veins. Beside him lay a long, rust-colored sword with a cracked hilt. The names slipped from his lips, sounding like a curse.
"Xueyuan Bishou... Mouxue Jianshou. You two have drunk well today, but have not drunk enough."
His grin twisted into a cruel vibe. "Rot the marrow, wither the flesh, crush the bones. Even a Lingyuan will kneel once your venom sinks in."
He leaned back against the damp wall, muttering to himself.
"The Mo clan does not bow. I was sent to finish one mission by our patriarch... and I will not return empty-handed. Let the heavens curse us if they must."
The cave echoed with his rasping laughter, the stench of blood thick in the night air.