Morning sun carved the Misty Jade Mountains into sharp relief as Wāng Hanxi stumbled from the dormitory, his face a canvas of fresh bruises. Morning sparring had gone exactly as expected.
"Junior Brother Wāng! Conscious again, I see!"
Senior Sister Mei hung upside-down from a tree branch, executing one-handed sword forms with the casual grace of someone showing off. Her laughter rang like wind chimes in a storm.
Hanxi managed a grunt. Every muscle screamed. Seven years at this "prestigious" sect—three as a servant, four as an apprentice—and what did he have to show for it? A cultivation base that couldn't light a candle. Bruises in anatomically improbable locations. The distinction of being the weakest disciple in five generations.
At least his older brother Bojian was thriving. The last letter mentioned Bojian's first son. The Wāng bloodline was secured. Which meant Hanxi's value to the family had officially hit zero.
"The Heavens are truly unfair," he muttered, limping toward the well.
His reflection stared back from the water—lean features, untamable black hair, eyes holding more determination than talent. Master Zhang always said he had "the spirit of a dragon but the meridians of an earthworm."
Not exactly the résumé that impressed anyone.
Just quit, the voice in his head whispered. Go home. Help Bojian with the medicine shop. Marry a merchant's daughter. Live normally.
But every time he considered it, he remembered his brother's words at that wedding: "Don't worry, Hanxi. When this cultivation thing doesn't work out, you can work for me. I'll need someone for the branch shop."
For him. Not with him. For him.
No. Hanxi would rather die than crawl back to failure.
"WĀNG HANXI!"
Master Ironwood Zhang materialized in the courtyard with Core Formation speed, white beard bristling with righteous fury. "Why aren't you in the training hall? Think the Heavenly Demon Sect will wait for your beauty routine?"
"Master, the Heavenly Demon Sect hasn't been seen in fifty years—"
"SILENCE! One thousand push-ups! Circulate your qi while you do it!"
Hanxi dropped into position with a sigh. This was his life. Wake. Get beaten. Get yelled at. Clean. Fetch water. Chop wood. Get beaten again. Collapse. Repeat.
Seven years. Still in the Body Tempering realm.
His grandmother's words echoed: Second sons are touched by the moon—they shine only in another's light.
Well. If the sun wouldn't have him, maybe the moon would.
He was on push-up forty-seven—arms trembling like leaves—when fate intervened.
"AIYAAAAA!"
A scream tore through the forest beyond the sect walls. Something large crashed through the underbrush.
Master Zhang shifted to alertness instantly. "Defensive positions! Junior disciples, retreat to the inner hall!"
Hanxi did the opposite.
Maybe it was seven years of frustration. Maybe desperation to prove his worth. Maybe his brain simply lagged behind his legs, which were already carrying him toward the forest.
"WĀNG HANXI, YOU IDIOT! GET BACK HERE!"
Master Zhang's voice faded as Hanxi plunged into the Whispering Shadow Forest.
The forest earned its name. Shadows whispered secrets here. Ancient trees grew so dense that even midday barely penetrated. Hanxi had been forbidden from entering alone at least a hundred times. Spirit beasts prowled here. Demonic creatures. According to older disciples, the occasional ghost of failed cultivators.
"Hello?" he called out, immediately regretting it.
A whimper answered from his left.
Hanxi crept forward, hand moving to his training sword. Basic iron. Standard apprentice issue. Better than nothing. Probably.
He found her in a small clearing—a young woman, maybe sixteen, pressed against an oak tree. Elegant blue robes torn and muddy. Face pale with terror. Eyes fixed on the bushes ahead.
But what stopped Hanxi's breath wasn't the girl.
The creature stalking toward her was twice a normal tiger's size, fur shimmering with otherworldly silver light. Its eyes glowed with unnatural intelligence. When it growled, the sound resonated with qi that made Hanxi's bones vibrate.
Foundation Establishment realm spirit beast. Minimum. Possibly Core Formation.
Hanxi was so incredibly dead.
"HEY! UGLY CAT!"
The words escaped before thought could stop them.
"Pick on someone your own size!"
The beast's massive head swiveled toward him. Hanxi could have sworn he saw amusement in those glowing eyes. Did this ant just call me ugly?
"Run!" Hanxi shouted to the girl, drawing his sword with what he hoped looked like confidence rather than pure terror.
The beast lunged.
What happened next would be debated for years. Hidden genius, some would say. Dumb luck, others would claim. Hanxi would never be sure.
As the creature flew toward him—jaws wide enough to swallow his head—Hanxi did the only thing his panicked mind could manage.
He threw his sword.
Not with technique. Not with qi manipulation. He literally chucked it like a tantrum-throwing child.
The sword spun in a wobbly arc that should have missed completely, probably lodging in a tree while Hanxi became lunch.
Instead, through some miracle, the pommel struck the beast directly on its nose.
The creature stopped mid-lunge. Landed heavily. Sat down, looking more confused than hurt. Then It sneezed. Once. Twice. Three times.
It turned and bounded back into the forest, apparently deciding this wasn't worth the trouble.
Hanxi stood frozen, arm still extended, mouth hanging open.
"You... you saved me!"
The young woman rushed forward, fear replaced by admiration. "That was incredible! Facing a Silver Moon Tiger without fear! And that technique—striking its weak point with your weapon! You must be a master!"
"I... uh... yes?" Hanxi managed, still processing the fact he was alive. "Totally intentional. The, uh, Pommel Strike technique. Very advanced. You probably haven't heard of it."
Her eyes sparkled. "I'm Yue Lian, daughter of the Yue Merchant Clan. I was traveling to deliver supplies when I got separated from my guards. Please, let me repay this debt!"
She pressed something into his hand—a small pouch that clinked. His eyes widened. Silver taels. Enough to buy a decent sword, or a month of proper meals, or—
"Wāng Hanxi," he said automatically.
"Wāng Hanxi." She repeated it like a prayer. "I won't forget this. Perhaps we'll meet again?"
She smiled, blushing prettily, then hurried toward the sect.
Hanxi stood alone, holding silver and trying to understand what just happened. He'd faced a spirit beast and survived. Saved a beautiful girl. Been called a brave warrior.
Best day of his life. Hands down.
He was about to leave when something white caught his eye in the grass where the beast had sat.
A fang. Large, curved, gleaming with residual spiritual energy.
His heart nearly stopped. Spirit beast fangs were priceless. Alchemists used them for pills. Weapon smiths forged them into legendary blades. Cultivators absorbed their energy for breakthroughs.
"A Silver Moon Tiger fang," he whispered reverently. The fang was palm-length, wickedly sharp, pulsing with faint silver light. "It must have fallen when I hit its nose! The Heavens truly smile on me!"
He clutched it to his chest, imagination already running wild. He could sell it and live comfortably for years. Use it to breakthrough. Present it to Master Zhang and finally earn respect.
Hanxi practically skipped back to the sect.
"You did WHAT?!"
Master Zhang's face had achieved an impressive shade of purple.
"I saved a girl from a Silver Moon Tiger, Master!" Hanxi repeated proudly. He'd gathered quite an audience—Senior Sister Mei, several disciples, even Elder Cloudwhisker, the sect's second elder, had emerged to hear the commotion.
"And you expect us to believe this?" Senior Brother Zhao sneered from the corner. He'd made Hanxi's life miserable since day one. "You can barely defeat a training dummy. How did you face a Foundation Establishment beast?"
"I have proof!" Hanxi produced the fang with a flourish.
The room went silent.
Elder Cloudwhisker shuffled forward. Usually his eyes were half-closed in meditation. Now they opened wide as he examined the fang.
"Extraordinary." His voice was barely a whisper. "This is indeed from a powerful spirit beast. Substantial spiritual energy." He looked at Hanxi with new interest. "Tell me, boy. How exactly did you defeat this creature?"
Hanxi launched into his tale, perhaps embellishing certain details. In his version, he'd "strategically analyzed weak points" and "executed a flawless disarming technique" rather than "panicked and threw his sword like an idiot."
"Remarkable," Elder Cloudwhisker said when he finished. "This fang could aid your cultivation greatly, Wāng Hanxi. Silver Moon Tigers are rare. Their fangs contain pure yang energy, perfect for strengthening meridians."
Master Zhang still looked skeptical, but couldn't argue with physical evidence. "Very well. You may keep the fang. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."
Hanxi bowed deeply, fighting not to grin too widely. "Thank you, Master!"
That night, Hanxi sat cross-legged in his small room, the fang placed before him. According to the cultivation manual from the library, he needed to meditate while holding it, allowing spiritual energy to flow into his meridians.
He picked up the fang, closed his eyes, began circulating qi according to the Solar Vein technique he'd practiced for seven fruitless years.
At first, nothing. Then, slowly, a trickle of energy flowed from the fang into his body.
Cold. Bitingly cold. Like plunging into a mountain stream in winter. His meridians—usually sluggish and resistant—suddenly froze, then cracked open like ice splitting stone.
"It's working!" he thought excitedly, even as frost formed on his fingertips. "I'm actually going to breakthrough!"
But then his Solar Vein cultivation reacted.
Golden warmth surged upward to meet the invading cold. The energies collided in his chest like summer meeting winter. His body became a battlefield—burning with fever one moment, shivering with frost the next.
This isn't right, some distant part of his mind whispered. Breakthroughs don't work like this.
The fang pulsed. A flood of silver energy—not gold, not warm Solar Essence, but cold moonlight given form—crashed through his meridians like a frozen tide.
Images flashed: running through snow-covered forests under the full moon, the thrill of winter hunts, the taste of prey's fear on cold wind.
These weren't human memories. And they weren't from a tiger.
"What's happening?!" he gasped, trying to release the fang. But his hand wouldn't obey—frozen to the bone surface, ice crystals forming where flesh met fang.
His Solar Essence fought desperately, sending heat waves through his channels, trying to burn away the cold. The forces spiraled around each other—neither yielding, neither winning—creating a vortex of conflicting energy in his dantian.
Then, just as he thought his body would tear apart, the energies suddenly locked together like gears finding rhythm. Hot and cold. Gold and silver. Fire and frost. Spinning faster until they blurred into something else entirely.
Something gray.
Hanxi screamed as the fused energy exploded through his meridians, shattering the barrier to Qi Condensation like a hammer through glass. But it didn't stop at the first level. The wild, chaotic power tore through the second level, then the third, before finally exhausting itself.
The realization hit like thunder. "This isn't a tiger fang... this is from a wolf. A Lunar Frost Wolf!"
As if responding to his revelation, the fang pulsed once more. A vision seared into his mind—a massive silver wolf on a mountaintop, howling at the full moon, breath forming frost clouds.
Everything went black.