Lu Zhenhai fell silent for a brief while, as though the memories weighed too heavily on him. The hall grew still, the faint sound of the wind outside the open windows filling the pause. After several heartbeats, he finally spoke again.
"After that," he said slowly, "Han Zhennan, He Ruying, Xue Lian and I made a decision. We could not remain within the walls of the institute forever. The path of cultivation demanded more than comfort and routine. We debated for days on which sect we should devote ourselves to once we graduated. Many sects held prestige, many promised resources and techniques, but not all aligned with what we sought. In the end, after countless arguments, we chose the Storm Break Sect. It was the sect that best embodied our will to carve our own path, to never bow even against the fiercest of tides."
---
The four of them had gathered late at night in the training yard, their breaths misting in the cool air. A single lantern flickered in the middle, throwing their shadows long across the flagstones.
Xue Lian spoke first, of course. "The Radiant Sword Sect is obviously the best choice! Their sword manuals are said to be unmatched. Think of it—centuries of sword cultivators, entire libraries of techniques just waiting for us."
Lu Zhenhai groaned. "You're blinded by the word 'sword.' They treat their disciples like cogs in a wheel. You'd drown in regulations before you even lifted your blade."
"Better rules than obscurity!" Xue Lian shot back. "And besides, you wouldn't understand—you hide behind your bow half the time!"
Zhenhai's eye twitched. "I do not hide. I strike from a position of advantage. Strategy, Lian, strategy."
Han Zhennan remained quiet, sharpening the edge of his giant blade against a whetstone. The sound rasped between them. He Ruying stood nearby, silent as always, but her gaze shifted from one speaker to another, drinking in every word.
Finally, Zhennan spoke. His voice was low, steady, carrying weight. "The Radiant Sword Sect is strong, yes. But it is rigid. The Flame River Sect, on the other hand, is too consumed by ambition. Every disciple a rival. That will not give us unity, only division. The Storm Break Sect… they fight against the tide, against fate itself. Their cultivation is rooted in defiance, in standing unyielding the other midsized sects don't really align with our paths. So that sect… feels right."
He Ruying nodded softly. "Storm Break accepts many paths. Palm, sword, bow—it does not matter. Only your will matters."
Zhenhai leaned back with a grin. "For once, I agree with her. I want freedom. A sect that lets me fight my way, not force me to copy someone else's style."
Xue Lian groaned and flopped onto the ground dramatically. "Storm Break? Really? Their disciples are lunatics! They throw themselves into storms, climb cliffs during lightning strikes. You're all mad."
Zhennan's lips twitched—the closest thing he gave to a smile in those days. "Perhaps madness is what we need to move forward in the path of cultivation."
For three more nights they argued, Xue Lian yelling, Zhenhai teasing her, He Ruying speaking rarely but always cutting to the heart of things. In the end, even Xue Lian relented, throwing her hands up. "Fine! Storm Break it is! But when we're all struck by lightning and roasted alive, I'll be the first to haunt you!"
Their decision was sealed.
---
That night, before Zhennan could truly rest, he returned home. His father, Han Zhenwu, sat in the dim chamber, hands folded on his knees. The old man's face was chiseled from stone, his eyes sharp enough to strip a man bare.
Zhennan bowed deeply. "Fatheri would like to ask your permission for something" his father nodded"speak" han zhennan took a deep breath before speaking" I wish to join the Storm Break Sect after I leave the institute."
Zhenwu did not answer at first. He studied his son, gaze heavy, suffocating. At last, his voice cut through the silence. "No."
Zhennan's head rose sharply. "No?"
"You will remain here," Zhenwu said, tone like iron. "Your place is with your clan, not chasing after storms. Sect disciples are nothing but pawns, thrown into battles for glory that is not theirs."
Zhennan's fists tightened. "But Father—"
"Enough!" Zhenwu barked, the lantern flame shivering. "You are strong because I forged you so. You will not waste it under another's banner."
Zhennan swallowed his words, bowed, and left the chamber. But his resolve did not falter.
---
The next morning, he returned. Again, he bowed. "Father. Please, grant me leave to join Storm Break Sect. I will train harder than ever. I will bring honor not only to the sect, but to the Han family."
Zhenwu's glare could have frozen rivers. "You think honor comes from serving outsiders? Honor is forged at home. No."
The following day, he came again. "Father, I beg you. Let me prove myself. I will return stronger."
"No. Do not ask again."
But Zhennan did. Day after day. His words varied, sometimes fiery, sometimes quiet, sometimes desperate. He spoke of freedom, of the will to stand unyielding, of forging his own path. He spoke of his companions, of the unity they shared, of how the sect would hone them into something greater.
For seven nights he returned. And for seven nights, his father refused.
On the eighth night, Zhenwu's voice was quieter. "Why do you persist?"
Zhennan's knees pressed into the floor. His head bowed low. "Because, Father, if I remain here, I will break. You forged me into a blade. Now let me cut my own path."
Silence filled the room. At last, Zhenwu exhaled. "Very well at least you have grown brave enough to keep on persisting even after i refused your request that shows that you aren't as fearful and cowardly when it comes to me and i for your own good hope that you are no less then a monster against anyone who stands in your path. You may go. But hear me, Zhennan. The next time I see you, you must have already set your feet firmly on the second realm. At the very least, halfway into the low stage of Rank 2. Do not return otherwise."
Zhennan's voice trembled as he bowed deeper. "Yes, Father. I swear upon my cultivation that I will not fail."
For the first time in years, he thought he saw the faintest flicker of pride in his father's cold eyes.
---
From then on, their lives grew harsher. Missions grew deadlier. Training left their bones aching. Every step forward was drenched in sweat and blood.
One mission would etch itself forever in their hearts.
Zhennan and He Ruying alone were dispatched this time. Zhenhai and Xue Lian had been sent elsewhere. Their task seemed simple—hunt down fugitives hiding in the mountains. Bring them back alive if possible, dead if necessary.
The mountain paths twisted like the coils of a dragon. The air reeked of damp stone and ash from hidden campfires. Soon, they found them: ragged men, armed, desperate. Fugitives with murder in their eyes.
The clash erupted. Zhennan's blade carved arcs of death, each swing shaking the ground. He Ruying's palms struck like thunderclaps, cracking ribs, sending men sprawling. For a while, it seemed victory was near.
Then shadows shifted. Dark-robed figures emerged, their auras foul, their eyes glinting with malice. Demonic cultivators.
"The fugitives were bargaining with them," Ruying whispered, breath sharp.
Zhennan's grip tightened. "Stay close."
The ambush slammed shut. Dozens against two. Zhennan roared, his blade cleaving through three men in a single sweep. He fought like a storm, unstoppable, unyielding. But no storm lasts forever.
Ruying faltered. Cuts marked her arms, blood stained her robes. Her breath grew ragged. Surrounded, her footing slipped. A dagger lunged for her chest—
Zhennan was there. His hand shot out, catching the blade. Steel pierced his palm, blood flowing freely. He did not flinch. His fingers crushed the attacker's wrist, bones snapping like twigs. With one twist, he ended the man's life.
"Stay behind me!" he bellowed, eyes burning.
But even he could not guard her forever. The tide pressed in from all sides. He made his choice. Scooping Ruying into his arms, he ran, his blade carving a path through flesh and bone. She gasped, clutching his shoulder, but he ignored her protest. His only thought was escape.
Through ravines, over jagged rocks, he fled. Demonic cultivators pursued, their shouts echoing. At last, Zhennan dove behind a veil of stones, finding a narrow cave. He pressed them both into the darkness, breath ragged, listening as footsteps thundered past.
The cave was silent but for their breathing. Ruying's head rested on his chest. His blood still dripped, his palm torn, but he held her as though she were the only thing anchoring him to life.
Her voice trembled. "You… you took that blade for me."
Zhennan's eyes closed. "If I hadn't, you'd be dead."
She stared at him, her heart pounding faster than the pain in her wounds. In that darkness, something shifted. The cold, silent girl felt warmth rising within her—a warmth born from the storm that had shielded her. Her gaze lingered, her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, silence spoke louder than any vow.
---
When they returned, battered but alive, their companions listened grimly. The mention of demonic cultivators stirred dread among them all. Yet beneath it was pride—they had survived what should have killed them.
After being granted time to recover, Zhennan returned home. His father awaited, eyes cold as ever.
Zhennan bowed low and spoke of the mission, of fugitives, of the ambush, of the storm of blood and fire. His words were fierce, alive, filled with fire. But when he finished, silence fell.
Zhenwu's gaze did not waver. At last, he spoke, voice low as thunder. "You faced death and crawled back alive. Good. But absolute strength is not survival. Absolute Strength is domination. Do not mistake one for the other."
"Enough of that for now let's see if you committed to your part of the deal,You swore to me you would reach the second realm. Show me with your cultivation."
Zhennan bowed once more, fire blazing in his chest. His father's approval remained as distant as ever, yet he knew now what he must do: endure, grow, and one day, stand tall enough to meet that gaze without fear.