Tragedy shapes a man — but in Mo Shing's life, that was not the full truth. Tragedy is merely a part of existence; it could overwhelm you if you let it, or you could simply move forward, leaving it behind. It brings depression, helplessness, indifference — yet every dark tunnel has an end, and it is your choice: to resist, to rise, or to fall into it and be consumed. Mo Shing had learned early on that life itself was indifferent to one's suffering, and strength came not from lamenting, but from enduring.
The village was alive with sounds. The voices of villagers calling to one another, the laughter of children chasing each other through the streets, and the merchants hawking their goods mingled with the roar of the wind. Flags and streamers fluttered, jingling faintly in the breeze. The sky above was calm and gentle, painted with the pale hues of early evening, while lanterns hung from rooftops, glowing warmly against the dimming light. Every corner seemed to hold the scent of cooking fires, roasted meats, and sweet pastries, mixing with the earthy aroma of the surrounding hills. The decorated streets and soft illumination told a story: this festival was sacred, important, a day of joy and pride for the villagers.
Mo Shing's steps were careful, quiet, deliberate, next to Yui. Her voice flowed constantly, a river of words he found both excessive and irritating.
Yui's chatter grated on his patience. Mo Shing loved silence and focus; training was his world, his sanctuary. Festivals, noise, and celebrations annoyed him deeply. Unlike other children his age, few things pleased him at seventeen — only training, which he now viewed as both essential and futile at the same time. Knowledge had come too early in his life, stealing the blissful ignorance of youth, leaving behind only calculation, expectation, and the constant measuring of ability.
"The Tanshin Village Festival — the most important event of the year. And here we are again, after a year," announced the festival organizer, his voice carrying across the gathered crowd, cutting through the ambient noise.
Villagers gathered closer, forming clusters around the main square. Children perched on fences and rooftops to get a better view. Merchants paused in mid-sell, smiling and gesturing to passing neighbors. Laughter and murmurs echoed down narrow alleyways. Mo Shing stood among them, seemingly indifferent, yet internally alert. He scanned the crowd carefully, noting the gestures, the expressions, and the subtle hints that might reveal information about this year's tests. Every sound, every glance was data to him.
"Heh, how famous I've become! Am I really that amazing? Haha!"
He was standing atop a small platform in the square, dressed in broad, ornate belts wrapped around his waist, pouches filled with colored feathers dangling from them. His shoes were light, flexible, and embroidered with silver threads that glinted in the lantern light, whispering with every step. A small hat adorned with tiny jingling bells completed the outfit, each movement producing a gentle, rhythmic chime.
He laughed freely, gesturing expansively, as if he owned the world.
"Welcome back! I'm here especially for the gifted children… is there anyone among you?"
"I… I… I'm here! Over here! Me!"
The voices of the talented children rose, shouting their presence. To Mo Shing, they seemed foolishly boastful. True talent never announces itself with the words, "I'm gifted."
"I want a talent at level 0!"
"What? What is he saying? Is he joking — level 0?" a voice from the crowd echoed.
Laughter and mockery rippled through the villagers.
"Level 0? Even my little brother, who was just born, is level 1!" one man remarked sarcastically, shaking his head.
Those at level 0 were often ridiculed, sometimes destroyed, or even enslaved.
Mo Shing stood silently among them, disturbed internally. The mockery, the marginalization, the relentless training that had yielded nothing — he carried it all silently, forcing his emotions to remain hidden.
Level 0 meant possessing only a single rune. Mo Shing had the Moonflower Rune, which he had tried endlessly to refine. Two years of effort had not sufficed to elevate it to level 1.
"A person like me deserves to die… but how will I achieve my goal if I die? The Moonflower Rune is useless — a curse bound to my body," he whispered, eyes fixed on the silver rune ring encircling his finger.
The jeers continued, harsh and biting. Mo Shing wanted to participate, to step forward, but hesitated — not because of the others, but because he did not wish to confront his own weakness.
"Let everyone hear me!" suddenly Yui's voice rang out, cutting through the crowd like a sharp blade. She sighed, drawing attention. Some turned to listen; others continued their chatter.
Mo Shing observed her, knowing she would exaggerate, yet choosing to let her speak.
"He's level 0…" she said, pointing at him with a soft, encouraging smile.
He ignored her and attempted to move away, but:
"Hey! You! Stop!"
Mo Shing turned, slightly annoyed. His calm composure emphasized the tension in his posture. He wore a light, short-sleeved shirt, loose trousers that were wide at the thighs but tapered at the ankles, secured with a simple belt.
All eyes were on him: some mocking, some pitying, others admiring.
"Mo Shing, son of Lin Shing — the man I once looked up to!"
The man spoke to him, arms outstretched.
All Mo Shing could see in that moment was the absurdity of it — the words of a fool.
"I heard you're level 0, but my Sensing Rune has never been wrong," he continued.
His declaration stunned everyone.
"The Sensing Rune senses power."
The Sensing Rune, or the Tea-Leaf Rune, had been refined to level 4 and was fully functional.
Whispers of astonishment spread across the crowd.
"He raised the rune's level so it can detect an opponent's strength!"
Previously, the rune could only sense animals, monsters, or residual traces of energy. Now it could measure the power of an enemy. The villagers were shocked — last year it had been level 1; now, level 4 — an almost impossible feat in a single year.
Upgrading a rune from level 1 to 2 required a full year; 2 to 3 took three years; 3 to 4 took five. Beyond level 4, only extraordinary talent could make the difference.
That man was level 3.
Mo Shing stared at him, baffled.
"In just one year? How could this be possible?"
Though Mo Shing had trained two years with the Moonflower Rune, he had achieved nothing. Even the curse of level 0 clung to him.
"Listen, everyone! We have a talent at level 0! Do you hear me? Level 0!"
The crowd's attention focused sharply on Mo Shing. He stood there, calm but slightly uneasy.
Yui encouraged him, nudging him forward into a role he did not yet understand. The gazes of the villagers were laden with mockery, jealousy, and envy. Even level 0 talent could provoke envy — such is the way of human nature, where jealousy is often stronger than respect.