The morning sun bathed the eastern horizon in warm hues of orange and gold. A faint mist curled over the training grounds of the Li Clan, drifting like ghostly serpents through the open courtyards and over tiled rooftops. Birds chirped softly, and the rhythmic thuds of fists striking wood echoed from the outer edges of the compound.
There, away from the bustling heart of the clan, a lone figure trained.
Li Tianming, sixteen years old, stood bare-chested under a weathered pavilion. His fists slammed again and again into a thick wooden post, the vibrations rattling through his bones. Sweat poured from his brow, drenching his rough clothes and forming a dark patch on the earth beneath him.
He had been at Body Tempering Realm, Stage 4, for over a year now.
In a clan like Li, that was the mark of failure.
Most disciples his age had already broken through to Stage 6, and a few had even stepped into the Qi Gathering Realm. Compared to them, Tianming was nothing more than a cripple. A leech, living off the scraps of a clan that barely acknowledged him.
But he trained.
Every morning before the others woke, and every night long after the lamps were extinguished.
His arms ached, knuckles bled, but he never stopped.
He couldn't.
---
Inside the small hut behind him, his mother stirred from sleep.
"Tianming," she called softly, voice hoarse from illness, "you're out so early again?"
Tianming paused, breathing heavily, then stepped inside.
The hut was barely furnished. A single straw mat, a table with uneven legs, and a rusted pot hanging above cold ashes. His mother, Yun Lan, lay on the mat, her face pale and thin, her lips chapped from constant coughing.
She smiled at him despite her condition.
"You should rest more," she said. "You train so hard, every day. I worry."
"I can't afford to be weak, Mother," Tianming replied. "If I become stronger, they might stop looking down on us."
Yun Lan reached out a trembling hand and brushed his damp hair from his forehead. Her eyes were full of pain—not from her illness, but from the life her son was forced to endure.
"You're just like your father," she whispered.
Tianming said nothing. He had never met his father. Sixteen years ago, his mother had arrived at the Li Clan gates carrying a baby and a letter. The letter bore a seal that proved he was the son of a Li clansman. No one knew who his father was—only that he had vanished without a trace.
The clan elders allowed them to stay, but they were placed at the very edge of the compound. No resources. No support. Barely considered part of the family. Their days were filled with hardship and whispers, their nights with hunger and cold.
The letter had granted them survival.
But not acceptance.
---
Later that morning, the training grounds were alive with activity. Disciples lined up in formation, practicing their stances. Elders observed from stone benches, their eyes sharp and cold.
Today was the monthly sparring session.
Tianming stood at the edge of the crowd, holding a practice sword made of worn wood. His presence drew sneers and laughter.
"Look who showed up," someone muttered.
"The trash from the outer huts."
"He still thinks he can cultivate? He's just wasting air."
Tianming ignored them. He had heard worse.
"Next match: Li Shuang versus Li Tianming," an elder announced.
The crowd erupted in laughter.
Li Shuang stepped forward, smug and confident. He was seventeen, already at Body Tempering Stage 6, known for his talent and cruel mouth.
"Don't worry, Tianming," he said mockingly. "I'll go easy on you."
Tianming stepped onto the platform, his grip on the wooden sword tightening.
The match began.
Li Shuang moved fast, launching a flurry of strikes. Tianming blocked the first few, dodged to the side, but the gap in strength was too great. A heavy blow knocked the sword from his hands. The next slammed into his ribs, sending him sprawling.
Blood trickled from his mouth.
"Still think you belong here?" Li Shuang spat.
The crowd jeered.
Tianming slowly stood, swaying on unsteady legs.
He picked up his sword.
The elder narrowed his eyes. "Match over."
Tianming walked off the platform in silence, his body aching, his pride bruised but unbroken.
Behind him, laughter followed like a shadow.
---
That night, he sat beside his mother's bed.
She had fallen asleep after another coughing fit. Her breath was shallow, her skin clammy.
He looked at her, then at the small letter on the shelf. The same letter that had brought them here.
He clenched his fists.
"This can't go on," he whispered. "There has to be more than this."
---
The next morning, he left the compound and made his way to the Forbidden Cliffs—a place every elder had warned him to avoid.
Legends said the cliffs were cursed. That anyone who entered would never return. But something inside him urged him forward.
Weeds covered the path, and shattered stones marked old warnings.
He reached a stone wall at the end of the trail, ancient symbols carved deep into the rock. Faint light pulsed from the markings, like a heartbeat.
He placed his hand on the wall.
The ground trembled.
A low hum filled the air.
Cracks spidered across the stone, and with a loud rumble, the ground gave way.
Tianming fell.
Darkness swallowed him.
---
When he awoke, he was lying in a vast underground chamber. Pillars towered above him, etched with ancient runes. Floating crystals lit the space with an ethereal glow.
In the center of the room, suspended in air above a stone platform, was a black ember.
It pulsed with power.
He approached slowly, eyes wide.
On the wall behind it, golden words blazed:
"To the forsaken son, let the flame of truth awaken."
He reached out.
The ember flared and shot into his chest.
Fire coursed through his veins. Pain unlike anything he had ever felt wracked his body.
And then—
Everything changed.