When Gang Hua first heard the name Ye Chang, he had the same reaction anyone would.
A heaven-chosen.
In a village where nearly everyone shared the surname Gang, this boy alone used his father's name. That single detail was enough to spark whispers—soft at first, then inevitable.
But the name was only the beginning.
Ye Chang walked before he turned one. He spoke in clear sentences while other children were still drooling on themselves. His parents were the strongest cultivators in Gang Village, especially his father—a man many believed could have joined a minor sect if he ever chose to leave the mountains.
And then there was Xiao Yu, always following him like a shadow.
If fate had stopped there, Gang Hua wouldn't have cared.
Unfortunately, fate never stopped where it should.
Four years ago, when the beasts descended from the mountains, Ye Chang became the center of everything that followed.
Not intentionally.
Just… foolishly.
Born with exceptional spiritual roots, Ye Chang's qi had been active since infancy. Even before he understood what cultivation was, he could feel the flow of heaven and earth. For most children, that would have been a blessing.
For Ye Chang, it became arrogance wrapped in curiosity.
Whenever beasts came down from the higher peaks, he would sneak out to watch. His parents always found him in time.
Until one day, they didn't.
He went too close.
When the beast noticed him, his parents didn't hesitate. They burned their cultivation, forced their qi to rupture, and dragged the creature away from their son.
Ye Chang lived.
They did not.
He saw everything.
Bones shattering. Qi collapsing. Blood soaking into the earth, still warm when it touched his hands.
Something inside him broke that day—and never quite fit back together.
Afterward, his qi became unstable.
For a child with powerful spiritual roots, emotions weren't just feelings. They were disturbances in the flow of qi. Guilt, fear, and self-hatred clogged his meridians like thick poison.
So Ye Chang stopped.
He stopped cultivating instinctively.
Stopped speaking.
Stopped looking at people.
Instead, he began sitting at the edge of the village cliffs, where the wind was strongest—where the world felt distant enough that he didn't have to hear his own thoughts.
I should have died.
Why am I alive?
If I hadn't gone…
The only person who could pull him out of that spiral was Xiao Yu.
But even she couldn't always reach him.
When Gang Hua reached the edge of the village that evening, he saw the familiar figure again.
Ye Chang sat at the cliff's edge, legs dangling over nothing.
Every time Gang Hua saw that scene, his chest tightened.
Are you trying to give everyone a heart attack?
Do you know how much paperwork this would cause if you slipped?
None of those thoughts left his head.
He was six years old. Adults were nearby. Letting it slip that he thought like an exhausted adult from another life would raise too many questions.
Still… fear crept in every time.
Fear that one day, Xiao Yu would run to him, clutching a letter, crying—
He jumped.
Gang Hua walked over and leaned against a nearby tree, forcing his voice to stay casual.
"It's time for dinner."
"Yes."
Ye Chang's voice was flat. Empty.
He didn't move.
"If you don't go," Gang Hua added, "I'll be late again."
"…Yes."
"You know Miss Ye is furious today."
"…Yes."
Gang Hua sighed internally.
Congratulations. I'm talking to a very polite wall.
That was when he felt it.
A faint ripple of qi surrounded Ye Chang—chaotic, compressed, like a blade buried in thick mud. Dangerous, not because it was wild, but because it was restrained too tightly.
Talking wouldn't work.
It never did.
Gang Hua stepped forward, grabbed Ye Chang by the collar, yanked him away from the cliff—
—and punched him square in the face.
The sound echoed.
Ye Chang's eyes snapped toward him, fury flashing for the first time all day. His qi surged instinctively—raw, unrefined, but powerful.
He swung.
Gang Hua had already moved.
He ducked beneath the punch, stepped inside Ye Chang's range, and slammed his shoulder into his ribs while sweeping his leg. The movements flowed naturally—too naturally for a six-year-old.
But Gang Hua wasn't normal.
He didn't rely on strength. He used balance, timing, leverage. Fragments of techniques from another life surfaced—not as clear memories, but instincts etched into muscle and bone.
Ye Chang elbowed his side.
Gang Hua hissed, twisted Ye Chang's arm, and slammed him into the ground.
They fought like this often.
It was the only way to shake Ye Chang awake.
Gang Hua won every time.
Not because he was stronger.
But because Ye Chang was holding back.
Because some part of him still believed he didn't deserve to win.
"This hurts less than your thoughts," Gang Hua muttered quietly, more to himself than to Ye Chang.
When the struggle ended, Gang Hua hauled him up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
"Dinner," he said. "You're eating."
Ye Chang didn't resist.
By the time they returned to the orphanage, dinner was nearly finished.
Miss Ye had saved them a small portion. If they'd arrived any later, even that would have vanished.
When she saw Gang Hua carrying Ye Chang at the entrance, the corner of her eye twitched.
"Why are you always fighting?" she asked tiredly.
Gang Hua lowered Ye Chang gently.
"Because talking doesn't reach him," he replied. "And kindness slips off."
Miss Ye sighed and rubbed her temples. "You and Xiao Yu… you're the only ones who can pull him back before it's too late."
Gang Hua didn't answer.
Because he knew something she didn't.
If Ye Chang didn't resolve his guilt soon, his spiritual roots wouldn't save him.
They would destroy him.