In the stygian dark of the cellar, the echoes of a boy’s weeping had long faded, replaced by the profound, chilling silence of a heart that had been broken one too many times.

  Wei Zheng sat upright, his back pressed against the cold, damp stone, his gaze fixed on the heavy wooden door.

  Hopelessness was a physical weight within his chest, a constant, suffocating pressure, but beneath it, a tiny, defiant ember of hope still stubbornly glowed.

  He knew he couldn’t rely on anyone. He had to be his own savior.

  Gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of agony, he pushed himself to his feet.

  Every muscle screamed in protest, a familiar symphony of pain from the extensive labor and daily beatings that had become the grim rhythm of his life.

  He had been a captive for so long now, a nameless slave in this bandit fortress.

  But I'm not used to it, he thought, a silent, vicious snarl forming in his mind.

  I'll never be used to it.

  The heavy scrape of boots on the stone steps sent a jolt through him.

  A plan, born from desperation and forged in hate, instantly crystallized in his mind.

  He scrambled back into the corner, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face, forcing the tremors back into his small frame, recreating the perfect image of a broken, sulking child.

  The door swung open with a groan, spilling a rectangle of dim torchlight onto the filthy floor. A hulking bandit stood silhouetted in the opening, a wooden plate of slop clutched in his meaty hand.

  "Hah?! Are you still crying like a little bitch?" he sneered. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the plate, the meager grub scattering across the grime.

  "I brought you food and all, yet you still have the gall to cry!" He grinned, a cruel, ugly expression, and took a step into the cellar.

  As the bandit approached, Wei Zheng launched himself forward, not in an attack, but in a pathetic, groveling display.

  He latched onto the man’s thick leather boots, his face pressed against the dirt-caked material. "P-Please! I can't take it anymore!" he sobbed, forcing a convincing tremor into his voice.

  The bandit laughed, a deep, rumbling sound of pure, sadistic pleasure. "What do you want me to do then?"

  Wei Zheng gulped, swallowing his own bile as he gently rubbed the man's legs, his touch a desperate, fawning caress.

  "I-I'll do anything…"

  The bandit rubbed his chin, his mind already drifting into a fantasy of power and violation.

  These types of people, Wei Zheng thought, his own mind a pool of cold, clear ice beneath the feigned hysteria,

  they don't care who it is. As long as they have power, they want nothing but to abuse the people they hold it over. There's no saving them.

  While the bandit was lost in his foul thoughts, Wei Zheng’s small, trembling hand crept upwards, his fingers brushing against the worn leather sheath at the man’s belt.

  In a single, fluid motion, he launched himself up.

  The stolen dagger was a blur of motion, burying itself to the hilt in the soft, unprotected flesh of the bandit’s neck.

  "B-Brat-ghkl!" The man’s eyes bulged in shock, his hands flying to his throat as he stumbled back, a choked, gurgling sound his only reply.

  He crumpled to his knees, trying to crawl towards the open doorway, towards life.

  Wei Zheng grit his teeth, the cold fire in his heart erupting into a roaring inferno. He lunged forward, kicking the dying man in the gut, again and again.

  "How does it feel?! Huh?!"

  He watched, panting, as the bandit’s struggles weakened, the light finally fading from his eyes. A grim, terrifying satisfaction settled over him.

  "Like I said," he whispered, his voice a low, guttural promise to the corpse and to himself, "I, Wei Zheng, will not succumb to this. I will take all of you down! No matter what!"

  He dragged the body into the darkest corner of the cellar, covering it with the single, rough blanket.

  They'll come for my punishment tomorrow, he reasoned, his mind already several steps ahead. I'll endure it.

  He peered out of the still-open doorway. The coast was clear. He slipped out, found a loose stone in the floor just outside the cellar, and carefully hid the bloodied dagger beneath it.

  He could retrieve it later. "I'll endure," he vowed, his voice a ghost in the empty hallway.

  "I will return to my family, but before that, everyone dies here! Every single piece of shit bandit!"

  He returned to the cellar, pulling the heavy door shut himself.

  There's no way I can hide the body outside, it'll be noticed. The smell will be foul… But the cellar has always been foul. They won't bat an eye.

  A faint, ethereal glint shone in his cold, determined eyes.

  He could see them now, more clearly than ever—the scattered, shimmering lights that filled the air around him. He let out a long sigh, sinking back down against the wall.

  "If only I knew how to absorb this strange light around me," he murmured, the memory of his father's words a distant, hopeful echo in the darkness.

  "My father told me about this once. This is called… Qi."

  The first rays of dawn painted the sky in soft, forgiving hues of grey and rose, but the morning light offered no mercy to the village square.

  It was a scene of joyous devastation. Empty wine barrels lay on their sides, discarded platters were strewn across the long tables, and a few of the more enthusiastic revelers were still fast asleep under them, their snores a rumbling counterpoint to the groans of the waking.

  "Ugh… my head…" one man mumbled, clutching his temples as if to keep his skull from splitting apart. A loud, wet burp echoed from a nearby bench. "I'm so stuffed…"

  A sharp smack landed on the back of his head, delivered by the village chief, whose own face was a mask of weary exasperation.

  "Get up on your asses!" he roared, his voice cracking with a potent mix of authority and a hangover of his own.

  "The garbage won't clean itself! I swear, you're all a bunch of overgrown children!" The assembled men groaned in unison but slowly, reluctantly, began to stir, their movements stiff and uncoordinated as they started to clear the remnants of their legendary feast.

  High above the commotion, nestled in the sturdy branches of an ancient oak, Bi Kan’s eyes fluttered open.

  He sat up, a branch digging uncomfortably into his back, and blinked, a moment of disorientation giving way to a flush of self-reproach.

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  "What was I doing again…?" His mind drifted back to the night before, to his decision to stand "guard" over Ying Xia while she honored her grandfather.

  "Seriously," he muttered, shaking his head. "I fell asleep just like that. So much for being cautious."

  He rose to his feet on the thick branch, his balance perfect despite the awkward perch.

  He went through his usual routine, stretching his arms high above his head and rolling his neck until it produced a satisfying series of cracks.

  "Guess I'll help everyone out," he decided with a sigh, "just right before I leave." With a silent, effortless leap, he dropped from the tree, landing softly on the grass.

  A few heads immediately turned, their tired expressions replaced by ones of respect and awe.

  "Oh? Is the young hero going to help us clean up?" a villager asked, his voice filled with a genuine, if slightly slurred, surprise.

  Bi Kan nodded, cupping his fists in a polite gesture.

  "Of course," he said, his voice clear and steady in the morning air. "It would be impolite of me to feast with you and then simply leave like that."

  The village chief hobbled over, waving a dismissive, trembling hand.

  "No, no, you mustn't!" he insisted, his face a mixture of gratitude and profound embarrassment. "You have more important duties, young one. Your mission. We can't let you clean up our mess."

  I know I should be in haste,

  Bi Kan thought, his own objective pressing at the back of his mind,

  but this will be quick. "Don't worry, Elder," he said aloud, his tone firm but respectful.

  "I won't be here for long, just a few minutes to lend a hand. Besides," he added, his gaze turning sharp and focused, "I still have to gather that information from you."

  An exasperated breath escaped the chief’s lips.

  "I-If… If the young hero insists…" This is so embarrassing, the old man thought, his cheeks flushing.

  We've already received so much help from this boy. He saved us from death, helped feed the entire village, and now this…

  He bowed his head, a gesture of deep, heartfelt respect.

  "We will do our best to give you everything you need to know, young hero."

  Just as the men were about to protest Bi Kan’s involvement further, a whirlwind of pink and violet burst from one of the huts.

  Ying Xia, her pigtails already bouncing with an impossible energy, had woken up as well, looking as if she had slept for a week.

  "Woohoo!" she cheered, her voice a bright, clear bell that cut through the morning groans. "Let me help out as well!"

  She grinned, immediately snatching up an empty wine skin and a discarded platter, her movements quick and efficient.

  The sight of her unrestrained vigor seemed to shame the other villagers into moving a little faster, their own cleanup efforts gaining a new, if reluctant, sense of purpose.

  The last of the debris was cleared away, leaving the village square clean and orderly under the bright morning sun.

  Bi Kan wiped a final bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, a tired but satisfied smile on his face.

  "I actually worked more than I thought I would," he mused to himself, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Heh, so much for 'just a few minutes'."

  He turned, his gaze sweeping over the villagers who were now beginning to go about their day with a renewed sense of purpose. It was time.

  He approached the village chief, his expression turning serious. "Elder, if I may..."

  Before he could finish, a different voice, hoarse and heavy with pain, cut through the quiet morning air.

  "I heard you were looking for additional info on those bastards."

  Bi Kan turned. A man sat on a nearby bench, his arm wrapped in thick, clean bandages, a fresh wound from the battle.

  His eyes, though weary, held a dark, haunted light. Bi Kan nodded slowly, walking over and taking a seat beside him.

  The festive air of the previous night felt a world away now, replaced by the grim reality of what was to come.

  The man gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he stared at the ground, the memories clearly a fresh and agonizing wound.

  "The bandits," he began, his voice a low, trembling rasp, "they're capturing women and men, keeping them as slaves. Sometimes they sell them, one large batch at a time."

  Bi Kan nodded, his own face hardening into a mask of cold fury.

  "Mostly bought by nobles," he finished, the words tasting like ash in his mouth, "or corrupt figures who need dirty work done."

  It was a tale as old as the cultivation world itself, a cycle of predation where the strong fed on the weak in every conceivable way.

  "From what I heard… from my friend who fled that camp…" The man’s voice broke, and he took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing.

  "It was a wooden fortress of some sort. He said they were beaten every day, and the women were… harassed every night." He looked at his own bandaged arm, a grim understanding in his eyes.

  "They were forced into labor. Horrible, degrading things. Cleaning pig shit with their bare hands… Horrible, too horrible." He let out another shuddering sigh, the sound a ragged remnant of a scream.

  "My friend didn't live long after he escaped. The trauma… it left a deep mark on him. And he… well…" The man’s voice trailed off, his meaning hanging in the air, heavy and unspoken.

  "He couldn't take it anymore."

  The air grew cold around Bi Kan. His hands, which had just been wiping away the honest sweat of good labor, slowly balled into fists at his sides.

  The pressure was immense, his knuckles turning white, the crescent moons of his own nails digging deep into his palms, threatening to draw blood.

  He rose and placed a firm, steadying hand on the grieving man’s shoulder.

  "Don't worry," he said, his voice a low, chilling promise that held the weight of an unbreakable oath.

  "We'll avenge your friend." His eyes, now burning with a cold, righteous fire, gazed out towards the distant, unseen fortress.

  "No matter what."

  The small, leather-bound notebook was a battlefield of ink and charcoal.

  Bi Kan’s hand moved with a steady, deliberate precision, sketching lines that connected the locations of the smaller bandit camps he had cleared, triangulating the likely position of the main fortress.

  The information the wounded villager had provided was the final, crucial piece of the puzzle. He folded the notebook, the crinkling of the parchment a soft, final sound, and tucked it securely into his pouch.

  His preparations were complete.

  "I'll take my leave now, everyone," he said, turning to face the villagers who had gathered to see him off.

  He looked back at them with a genuine smile, not as a savior, but as a comrade who had fought alongside them.

  The two men who had accompanied him on the hunt stepped forward, their faces etched with a profound, if sad, respect. "Leaving so soon, young hero?" the stubbled man asked, his usual boisterous tone softened.

  "We were just getting ready to show you how we hunt when we're not running for our lives!"

  Bi Kan’s smile widened. "Don't worry," he reassured them, his gaze warm and sincere. "I'm sure we'll meet again."

  He then turned to the village chief, his expression becoming more formal. "This village… you have all proven your strength and spirit. The sect takes notice of such things. I have no doubt they will send representatives soon, Junior Elders, or perhaps even Core and Direct Disciples, to form an alliance, an agreement of protection."

  He looked the old man in the eye. "I do hope you'll accept our offer when the time comes."

  He cupped his fists, bowing slightly.

  "The young hero is too polite," the village chief sighed, a weary but grateful look on his face. "I will definitely think about it—"

  "Think about it?!" a voice from the crowd interrupted, a wave of enthusiastic shouts immediately following.

  "Are you kidding, Elder? With the sect's protection, we'd be in far less trouble! We could improve our homes, our defenses!"

  "That's right!" another villager chimed in, "And we could potentially visit the sect and see our young hero again!"

  The chatter behind his back made the chief's eye twitch. He was about to snap, to remind them all of the complexities of such an alliance, but he held his tongue, his composure a thin, fragile veneer he maintained only because their young champion was still present.

  Amidst the growing discussion, a different villager scratched his head, his gaze sweeping over the faces in the crowd.

  "That's strange," he murmured, his voice cutting through the noise. "Out of everyone here, I thought she'd be front and center for this." He looked around, a confused frown on his face.

  "Where'd Ying Xia go?

  Bi Kan grinned, waving one last time as the cool morning wind caught his robes, making them flow behind him like a banner as he finally took his leave.

  Alright, one village down, two to go. The next one lay somewhere past the creek the villagers had described. A fond, weary smile formed on his face as he walked.

  "Hah… I really had fun there," he mused aloud, the memory of the titanic battle still a fresh, exhilarating thrill.

  "That Three-Horned Boar was truly something else." But it wasn't just the fight. He had made friends again, forged connections in the fires of a shared battle.

  I'm glad I made it in time, he thought, a quiet warmth spreading through his chest. He took one last look back at the distant plume of smoke rising from the village.

  I wonder… Seeing as the chief will probably accept the sect's offer, then she'll become a disci—

  A rustle of leaves from the canopy above was the only warning before a whirlwind of pink and violet dropped from a thick branch, landing squarely in his path with a soft thud.

  Ying Xia stood there, her hands on her hips, her chest heaving slightly from the effort of her quick cultivation session.

  "You think I'd just let you leave me behind?!" she demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest, a fierce glare forming on her face.

  Bi Kan opened his mouth to protest, to talk of danger and responsibility, but she cut him off again, taking a resolute step forward.

  "No buts! I'm going whether you like it or not!" Her eyes, which had held the ghosts of battle just the day before, now blazed with a new, incandescent fire of purpose.

  "I want to cultivate just like you! And become as strong, if not stronger!"

  A smile, a mix of fondness and exasperation, formed on his face once more.

  "Heh, then it'll take you a long time," he teased, his own competitive spirit rising to meet hers. "Maybe long after my death."

  Smack.

  Her hand connected with his shoulder in a playful but surprisingly solid blow. "Shut up! You just got a head start, a big one!" she retorted, her glare melting into a wide, confident grin.

  Her gaze turned distant for a moment, a flicker of profound satisfaction in her eyes. "I'll definitely surpass you, just like how I surpassed my grandfather!"

  She fell into step beside him, their journey now a shared one.

  She raised a determined fist into the air, the two bandit daggers at her sides glinting in the morning sun with a soft cling.

  "This time," she declared, her voice ringing with the thrill of a new hunt, "it's not boars."

  "Let's hunt those bandits down!"