The village chief's house was larger than any other in Blackroot. Yan Qiu stood between his parents while the Zhou family stood on the other side of the room, and the chief sat at the head with his hands folded in his lap.
Zhou Wei's face was a mess of bruises and swelling.
"The boy started it," Yan Zhuo said. "He provoked my son, insulted our family, grabbed him by the arm. What happened after was wrong, I do not deny that."
"Your son nearly killed mine," Zhou Wei's father said.
The village chief raised his hand. "I have heard from the witnesses. Zhou Wei did provoke the fight." He paused and looked at Yan Qiu. "However, what followed was excessive. The Zhou family will lose some of their work contracts. As for the Yan family, Yan Zhuo will work one month of overtime without payment."
"I can work too," Yan Qiu said quickly. "I can—"
"No," his father said firmly. "This is my responsibility."
Yan Qiu wanted to argue, wanted to say that it was his fault and he should be the one to pay for it, and his parents would not let him speak. They accepted the punishment without complaint and walked home in silence.
The situation was getting worse. The Yan family had never caused any trouble in Blackroot, had never been involved in any disputes or conflicts, and now they were at the center of everything. Yan Qiu felt the weight of it pressing down on him every day as he watched his father leave before dawn and come home after dark, exhausted and silent.
His father worked for one month without payment, doing the same backbreaking labor he had always done and receiving nothing for it. Yan Qiu tried again and again to help, to take on some of the burden, and every time his parents refused. They told him to stay home, to rest, to let them handle it.
Yan Qiu grew sadder with each passing day.
On the last week of the punishment, his father did not come home.
Yan Qiu and his mother waited by the door as the sun set and the sky turned from orange to purple to black. His father was always home before dark, always, no matter how tired he was or how much work remained. The evening passed and the night came and the hut stayed empty, and Yan Qiu could see the worry growing in his mother's eyes with every passing moment.
"Something is wrong," she said finally, her voice tight. "He has never been this late."
They went to the neighbors, knocking on doors and asking if anyone had seen Yan Zhuo. No one had. The worry spread through the village like ripples in a pond, and soon there was a search party gathering in the square, men with torches and lanterns heading out into the darkness to look for him.
Yan Qiu wanted to go with them, and his mother held him back with a grip like iron. "Stay here," she said. "Stay here and wait with me."
So they waited. The hours crawled by, each one longer than the last, and Yan Qiu sat with his mother in the doorway of their hut and watched the darkness for any sign of the torches returning.
It was past midnight when they finally came back, and Yan Qiu knew something was wrong before he could even see their faces. The men were moving slowly, carefully, and they were carrying something between them.
His father's body, limp and pale, with blood soaking through his clothes and dripping onto the ground.
His mother screamed and ran to them, and Yan Qiu followed on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.
"He's alive," one of the men said quickly, seeing the terror in their eyes. "He's alive. His leg though... we found him at the bottom of a ravine. He must have slipped in the dark."
They carried him into the hut and laid him on the bed, and the village doctor came with his bag of herbs and his grim expression. Yan Qiu stood in the corner with his mother, both of them crying, both of them watching as the doctor worked on his father's leg for what felt like hours.
"The bone is shattered," the doctor said finally, wiping his hands on a cloth and shaking his head slowly. "I have done what I can. He will not walk again. Not unless you can afford a healing pill, and those cost more than most families earn in a lifetime."
Yan Qiu's mother made a sound like something breaking inside her, and she buried her face in her hands.
Yan Qiu stood there staring at his father's pale face, and the guilt that had been sitting in his chest since the fight with Zhou Wei turned into something cold and heavy that he knew would never go away.
This is my fault. If I had not beaten Zhou Wei, Father would not have been working overtime. If he had not been working overtime, he would not have been out in the dark. This is all my fault.
His father woke the next morning.
Yan Qiu was sitting beside the bed when his eyes opened, and he had been sitting there all night. His own eyes were swollen from crying, red and puffy, and his mother was beside him looking just as worn.
"Qiu," his father said weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Why are you crying?"
The tears started again, and Yan Qiu could not make them stop no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to tell his father that he was sorry, that this was all his fault, that if he had just controlled himself during the fight none of this would have happened. The words would not come out.
His father could not work anymore. His father, who had worked every day of his life, who had never complained about the aching in his back or the blisters on his hands, who had taken on extra labor without payment just to protect his son from the consequences of his own actions. His father would never walk again.
Someone had to bring in money. His mother was already working as hard as she could, taking in mending work until her eyes hurt and her fingers bled. She could not do more. And his father could not do anything at all.
There was only one option left.
"I will do it," Yan Qiu said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I will work. I will bring in money."
His parents looked at each other, and he could see the fear in their eyes. The work was not that dangerous for a grown man. For a boy like Yan Qiu, anything could happen. What had happened to his father could happen to him.
"Qiu," his mother started, her voice full of worry.
"I have to," he said. "This is my fault. Let me fix it."
His father was quiet for a long moment, looking at his son with an expression that was equal parts pride and sorrow. Then he nodded slowly.
"Not the fields," he said. "The fields are too hard for you. Go to the southern edge of the village, into the forest. Gather herbs, firewood, anything edible you can find. Do not wander too far, and come back before dark."
Yan Qiu nodded. His parents still looked worried, and he understood why. A parent's heart was a parent's heart, and they would worry about him no matter what he said.
"I will be careful," he promised. "I will come back safe."
He picked up a woven gathering basket and headed out the door, and his parents watched him go with fear in their eyes.
The forest at the southern edge of the village was supposed to be safe.
His father had told him about it many times, how the trees were not too dense and the paths were easy to follow, how there were herbs growing near the streams and mushrooms under the old oaks. Yan Qiu walked toward the edge of the village with his basket on his back, thinking about what he might find and how much it might be worth.
Then he entered the forest, and he realized something was wrong.
The trees were different here. They were taller and darker than his father had described, with bark that looked almost black in the shadows. The undergrowth was thick and tangled, full of vines and thorns that caught at his clothes as he pushed through. The air had a strange smell to it, something sharp and wild that made his nose itch.
This does not look like what Father described. Maybe it is a different part of the forest.
He kept walking, thinking he might find the area his father had meant if he just went a little further. The forest wound deeper and deeper, and he could not find any of the normal herbs his father had told him about. No ginseng, no wild ginger, nothing he recognized.
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He thought he had trailed too far off the path, so he tried to turn back. He tried to retrace his steps, to find the way he had come, and the trees all looked the same. Every direction seemed identical, every path led deeper into the darkness.
He was lost.
Father said south. I went south. I know I went south.
But even as he thought it, he was not sure anymore. He had been so distracted, so lost in his own thoughts about his father and the accident and everything that had happened. Had he even been paying attention to where he was going?
He wandered for what felt like hours, growing more desperate with each passing moment. He called out, hoping someone might hear him, and the only answer was the rustling of leaves and the distant cry of birds he did not recognize.
Then he heard a growling.
Three creatures emerged from the undergrowth, like wolves except longer and leaner, with claws that curved like sickles. The first one lunged, and Yan Qiu threw himself to the side. He felt something stir in his chest, that familiar heat, and when the second wolf came at him he swung his fist without thinking.
The impact sent the creature flying.
His body seemed to have accumulated some qi over time, and when he moved without thinking, it responded. He fought the wolves as they came, his fists hitting harder than they should have, until he stumbled into a clearing and stopped.
The wolf in front of him was massive, twice the size of the others, with fur as black as midnight.
Yan Qiu raised his fists, and the wolf charged.
The impact hit him like a boulder. He flew backward and slammed into a tree. The wolf stalked toward him, its jaws opening wide.
I'm going to die.
The wolf lunged.
And then its head fell off.
The massive wolf collapsed, and standing in the middle of the clearing was a man. He was old, with a long grey beard and robes that shimmered in the dim light. He was floating, his feet hovering above the ground, and in his hand was a sword that gleamed like starlight.
"What is a child doing in the Northern Wastes?" the man said sharply.
He tossed Yan Qiu a pill. "Eat this before you bleed to death."
Yan Qiu swallowed it, and warmth spread through his body as his wounds began to close.
"I was gathering herbs," he managed. "My father told me to go south, and I got lost—"
"The southern forest?" The old man stared at him. "Boy, you are in the north. The Northern Wastes. Can you not tell directions?"
The old man studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing.
"You held off those wolves by yourself," he said slowly. "With barely a trace of qi in your body. That is... unexpected."
Yan Qiu did not know what to say.
"You could have joined a sect," the old man continued. "The Barched Wind Sect recruits from this region. Why are you in such a miserable state instead of cultivating?"
Yan Qiu was quiet for a moment, and then the words started coming out. He told the old man everything. About the sect selection and how his parents had sold everything they had to pay for it, about his mother's jade hairpin and his father's blistered hands. About how he had failed because he could not channel qi properly, how every time he reached for the energy inside him something blocked it and scattered it before he could use it. About the fight with Zhou Wei and the punishment that followed, about his father working overtime without pay and then falling into a ravine in the dark. About the shattered leg and the doctor's words and how his family had nothing left.
"So I came to gather herbs," he finished. "Because my father cannot work and my mother is already exhausted and there is no one else. I thought I was going south."
The old man listened to all of it without interrupting, his expression unreadable.
"Dark blockage," he said finally. "That is what you described. Something blocking your qi." He stepped closer, his gaze intense. "Let me see your spiritual roots."
Before Yan Qiu could respond, he felt himself lifted off the ground and floated toward the old man. A weathered hand gripped his wrist, and he felt something probe inside him, examining.
"Interesting," the old man murmured. "Very interesting." He released Yan Qiu's wrist and let him float back down. "Boy, I can help you solve this crisis."
"Really?" Yan Qiu's heart leaped. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"Calm yourself." The old man held up a hand. "Listen carefully. When you try to gather qi, you feel two currents, yes? One bright, one dark. The dark one blocks you."
Yan Qiu nodded.
"Simply ignore it," the old man said. "Focus only on the bright part. When the darkness rises, pretend it does not exist. Do not fight it, do not acknowledge it. Just ignore it completely."
"That's it?"
"That's it." The old man paused, studying him again. "Your roots are white. Rare. You will understand what that means when you begin cultivating properly."
Yan Qiu wanted to ask more, but the old man was already reaching into his robes.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked suddenly. "You do not know me."
The old man smiled slightly. "I wanted to help a small petty junior, that is all."
He reached into his robes and pulled out another pill, this one glowing with a soft golden light.
"Give this to your father," he said, pressing it into Yan Qiu's hand. "It will heal his leg."
Yan Qiu stared at the pill, then at the old man. "I cannot repay you for this. I have nothing—"
"I do not want repayment." The old man's voice was firm. "Just do not come to this forest again unless you can fly on your own. And go to the Barched Wind Sect. You can apply directly for qualification, you do not need to wait for them to come to your village."
"I will," Yan Qiu said. "I promise."
The old man nodded, and then the world blurred around Yan Qiu.
He found himself standing at the edge of the village, his basket at his feet. Inside the basket were herbs, good ones, more than he could have gathered in a week.
He ran home.
His parents looked up when he burst through the door, and their eyes went wide at the sight of him, breathless and grinning.
"Qiu?" his mother said. "What happened? Why are you so happy?"
He held out the golden pill to his father. "For your leg. It will heal you."
His father stared at the pill, then at his son. "Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?"
Yan Qiu opened his mouth to answer, and the words would not come. He tried to remember the old man's face, his name, anything about him, and it was all fog.
"I... I do not remember," he said slowly. "He told me to go to the Barched Wind Sect. He said I can apply directly for qualification."
"Who told you?" his mother asked.
Yan Qiu shook his head. All he could remember clearly was the instruction about ignoring the darkness when he gathered qi, and the command to join the Barched Wind Sect.
"I do not know," he said. "I know what I have to do now."
His parents looked at each other, confusion and hope mixing in their eyes.
Outside the hut, a shadow passed by in the darkness, moving too fast for mortal eyes to see.
I have done my job here, Jie Han. It is all up to you now. I can finally have some peace for a while.
