The cold was merciless. It clawed through flesh, gnawed at the bones, and seeped into the heart.
Morning in the Cold Moon Piercing Sect was not greeted with warmth or hope—only bitter wind and the sharp crack of wooden staves as disciples trained relentlessly beneath the frozen sky. Snow drifted through the air like ash, settling onto the gray stone courtyard where legacies were forged… and the weak were forgotten.
Among them, he stood—the boy without a name.
His tattered robes clung to his frail frame, barely enough to shield him from the icy gusts that swept through the training grounds. The other disciples moved with confidence, their every strike sharp, their every step calculated. They were sons of noble clans, prized students of respected masters. Their futures glimmered like stars beyond the clouds.
He was nothing.
A stray glance from one of them—a sneer, a laugh, a shove—reminded him of his place. Lower than dirt. Weaker than a shadow.
"Orphan," a voice hissed behind him. "You shouldn't even be here."
It was Li Fang, a core disciple, the grandson of Elder Shen, whose name carried weight like a blade at the sect. His long black hair was tied back neatly, his eyes sharp and full of disdain. He circled the boy like a hawk savoring the kill.
The boy kept his head low, knowing what was coming.
Li Fang's foot swept out, catching the boy behind the knee. His legs buckled, and he fell to the icy ground. Laughter erupted around him.
"You don't belong here," Li Fang sneered. "Trash like you should be sweeping floors, not wasting space on the training grounds."
The boy's cheeks burned with humiliation as the other disciples chuckled. A snowball smacked the side of his face—someone in the crowd had thrown it, and they all laughed harder.
But the boy stayed down, silent. His fists clenched—not from fear, but from the quiet, suffocating ache beneath his skin.
They didn't know. They didn't understand what stirred within him.
For nights now, in the darkness of his crumbling, frozen hut, he had pored over worn martial scriptures—basic techniques, old philosophies, fragments of knowledge barely enough to make a real cultivator , but he devoured them all, desperate.
Not enough.
The elders called him hopeless. The sect treated him like a stain. But inside, he was dying a little more each day… just surviving.
Li Fang chuckled coldly. "You know what? Let's make this worth everyone's time." He raised his voice so the courtyard could hear. "I challenge you, gutter rat. Here and now."
A ripple passed through the crowd. Some snickered, others exchanged curious glances. A core disciple challenging an orphan? It wasn't a duel—it was a public execution.
Sect law demanded acceptance.
The boy didn't move. His eyes, empty and hollow, stared through the falling snow.
"Too weak to even speak?" Li Fang taunted. "Then collapse quickly."
The disciples circled them, forming a ring. The boy stood like a brittle reed in the storm—thin, frail, one gust away from breaking.
"Don't…" a soft voice whispered.
The crowd parted slightly as Mei stepped forward. Her face was pale, eyes wide with fear. In her trembling hands, a small bundle of food—forgotten now.
"He's no threat to you," she pleaded quietly. "Let him be."
Li Fang laughed. "Little Mei, always picking up strays. I'll deal with him gently… for your sake."
Another voice cut in, calm and sharp.
"That's enough."
All eyes turned as Yue Lan descended the stone steps. Her white robes drifted behind her, untouched by snow or wind. Her gaze swept over the scene, cool and detached.
"If you insist on humiliating someone, at least do it properly," she said, her voice flat with authority.
Li Fang straightened, offering a respectful nod. "Of course, Yue Lan."
The boy's dull eyes flicked to her face. He expected scorn, disgust—he found only indifference. To her, he wasn't even worth hatred.
The duel began.
Li Fang moved first, swift and confident. The boy barely reacted, his body sluggish from hunger, his limbs leaden with cold. A sharp kick to the ribs sent him sprawling onto the frozen ground.
The disciples chuckled.
"Stand up, rat," Li Fang commanded.
The boy lay still for a breath, the snow soaking into his torn robes. Then, slowly, he pushed himself upright, swaying.
Li Fang's eyes narrowed.
The next strike came fast—a sweeping leg meant to drop him again. This time, the boy shifted—clumsily, desperately—and Li Fang's foot missed by inches.
The dull blade in the boy's hand flickered—not sharp, not dangerous—but in that moment, it moved, not with skill, but with pure, raw desperation.
A thin, red line bloomed across Li Fang's cheek.
The boy's eyes meet Li Fang's furious gaze, his voice low and steady, barely more than a whisper:
"Is this what you were training for?"
The courtyard fell into stunned silence.
Li Fang's face twisted with rage and shock, but the sting of the cut—and the boy's words—burned deeper than the wound.
Li Fang froze. His face twisted with fury, but even that could not conceal his humiliation.
The boy stood there, swaying, his eyes as empty as ever. No pride. No triumph. Only the numb ache of survival.
Li Fang's next blow came hard—a brutal kick to the chest that sent the boy crashing to the ground, gasping for air.
Mei hurried forward, her small hands trembling as she knelt beside him. She pulled a torn cloth from her pocket, gently wiping the blood and snow from his cheek.
Without a word, she pressed a small bundle of steamed buns into his hands—simple food, but a rare kindness in this frozen world.
His eyes flickered toward her, dull and lifeless.
"Hang on," she whispered, voice barely audible. "You're stronger than they see. Don't give up."
The boy's lips twitched faintly, almost imperceptibly.
Though he said nothing, a fragile warmth blossomed inside him, a quiet ember in the endless cold.
The crowd began to disperse, their amusement fading into low murmurs.
Yue Lan turned away, the entire scene already forgotten.
The boy lay in the snow, his breath ragged, his body broken.
But there were no vows of revenge. No smoldering rage.
Only the bitter cold… and the hollowness inside him.
That Night
The training grounds emptied as darkness fell. The bitter cold deepened, and the moon cast its pale light over the sect's towers, staining the world in silver and shadow.
Beneath the old dormitory, hidden in a crumbling storage chamber, the boy knelt alone. His meager belongings lay scattered—a torn blanket, cracked training staff, and the faded martial scrolls he clung to like lifelines.
He traced the ink on the brittle parchment, the words nearly illegible with age. Nothing in these worn teachings would ever let him stand beside the proud heirs of great clans.
But what choice did he have?
He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.
"Is this all I'm worth?" he whispered to the darkness.
Outside, the wind howled like a beast in mourning.
The sect had buried him under scorn, but the fire within him refused to die.
Little did they know, fate had already begun to weave its cruel design.
In the shadows of the days to come, he would descend into the forgotten depths—and from the darkness, he would return with power none of them could comprehend.
But tonight, beneath the frozen moon, he remained nothing… for now.
Li Fang's Fury
The blood on his cheek still stung, but Li Fang's fury burned hotter.
"How dare that orphan cut me?" he spat, wiping the blood away with trembling fingers.
His eyes darkened with rage as he stormed through the Cold Moon Piercing Sect's stone corridors toward Elder Shen's chambers.
The ancient elder sat with his hands folded, eyes sharp as ever. The name Shen carried weight—his presence alone could bend the course of the sect.
Li Fang knelt before him, voice trembling but proud. "Grandfather, that wretched orphan has insulted our clan and wounded me. His insolence cannot go unpunished."
Elder Shen's gaze pierced through Li Fang, cold and unyielding. "You have been given a great opportunity and honor as my grandson. This weakling threatens that?"
Li Fang nodded fiercely. "Yes. I ask your permission to deal with him as you see fit."
The elder's expression hardened into a scowl. "This boy threatens the order we have upheld for generations. His presence sows discord among our disciples."
Leaning forward, Elder Shen's voice dropped to a whisper laced with deadly intent. "I will grant you authority to remove this thorn. End his meaningless existence swiftly. Show no mercy."
Li Fang's eyes gleamed with renewed purpose. "I will not fail you, Grandfather."
As he bowed and left, the halls seemed colder—shadows lengthened.
The boy's brief defiance had sown the seeds of a storm far deadlier than the biting cold outside.