The moon hung bright over Ox Ridge Town as Zhao Xunan and Zhao Ping'er dismounted from their carriage, the creak of wooden wheels fading into the night. Ahead loomed the overgrown Zhao Family Ancestral Grounds, a shadow of the once-proud estate now reclaimed by weeds.
"Master…" Zhao Ping'er's voice trembled, her small hand clutching his sleeve. "They took everything, didn't they?"
Zhao Xunan said nothing. He'd known this day would come. Three years ago, when he'd come to claim his father's scholarly credentials, the Zhao clan elder—Zhao Wudong—had offered him a choice: surrender the family home to the clan's "public coffers" to take the imperial exams, or abandon his ambitions and live as a commoner.
"Your father built this estate with the clan's help," Zhao Wudong had sneered. "Now that he's gone, it's only right we reclaim it."
And then, the final insult: "Besides, everyone knows your father died a heretic. You—you're the real abomination."
A thirteen-year-old Zhao Xunan had turned on his heel, signing the clan's papers with a flourish. "Tell your precious grandson," he'd thrown over his shoulder, "that his 'talent' got him expelled from the county school. Maybe he can find redemption here."
Now, three years later, Zhao Xunan stood at the graves of his parents, the scent of wild grass mingling with the stench of decay. He'd brought incense, paper offerings, and a heart heavy with unresolved anger.
Behind him, Zhao Wudong cleared his throat. "Zhao Xunan, you're back. The ancestors are smiling."
Zhao Xunan turned, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Did they smile when you stole their home? When you called my father a heretic?"
Zhao Wudong's smile faltered. "You've changed, boy. The academy's praise follows you now—'Qingliang's First Talent,' they call you. But blood is blood. Come home. The clan still has a place for you."
"Home?" Zhao Xunan scoffed. "You mean the grave you've turned our family into?" He knelt, pressing his forehead to the cold earth. "Father, Mother—I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."
Behind him, Zhao Ping'er sobbed softly. Zhao Xunan rose, brushing dirt from his robes. "Come. We leave this place to the weeds."
The journey to the provincial capital was uneventful until the fourth night, when the convoy camped in a desolate valley. The moon cast long shadows over the wagons, and the air smelled of pine and damp earth.
Zhao Ping'er tucked a cushion under his elbow. "Master, you've been 'resting' all day. The others are studying—shouldn't you too?"
Zhao Xunan smiled, his eyes closed. "I am studying. Just not with books."
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
He opened his eyes, a glimmer of starlight in them. "I'm cultivating. The Fuyao Manual… it's working faster than I thought. In another month, I'll break through to the second level of Qi Refinement."
Zhao Ping'er gaped. "But… how? You barely slept!"
"Sleep is for the weak," he teased, though his smile softened. "Besides, I have you to keep me company."
She blushed, swatting his arm. "Flatterer."
Dawn broke crisp and clear, but the convoy's mood soured as they reached the edge of a forest. The road ahead was narrow, winding through towering pines, and the guards tensed, fingers hovering over their weapons.
Suddenly, a shout rang out. Dozens of men burst from the trees—rough-looking bandits armed with clubs, knives, and even a rusted crossbow.
"Hand over your valuables!" the leader barked, a burly man with a shaggy beard and a scar across his cheek. "Or we'll make you wish you had!"
The lead driver, a weathered man named Li, stepped forward, his hand on his saber. "We're scholars heading to the exams. No gold, no jewels—just books and clothes."
The bandit leader sneered. "Scholars? Ha!" He gestured to a group of nervous maids trailing the convoy. "We'll take the pretty ones. The rest can go—after we're done with them."
Zhao Ping'er clutched Zhao Xunan's arm, her face pale. "Master…"
He stepped forward, his voice calm but lethal. "Release the women. Now."
The bandit leader laughed. "Or what? You'll hit me with your scholar's brush?"
Zhao Xunan's smile vanished. "Try me."
In a flash, he moved—faster than anyone expected. His fist connected with the bandit leader's jaw, snapping his head sideways. The man staggered, blood spurting from his split lip.
The guards roared, drawing their weapons. The remaining bandits hesitated, but the leader, now furious, raised a rusted sword. "Kill them all!"
Chaos erupted. Zhao Xunan fought like a demon, his movements precise and brutal. He disarmed one bandit, broke another's arm, and sent a third fleeing with a kick to the chest. Zhao Ping'er, meanwhile, stayed close, her small dagger glinting as she defended herself.
Within minutes, the bandits lay groaning on the ground. The leader, now unconscious, was bound with rope.
"Master…" Zhao Ping'er stared at him, awestruck. "You… you fought like a warrior!"
Zhao Xunan brushed blood from his knuckles, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. "I've had years to practice."
Li, the driver, clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, Master Zhao. Those men won't trouble us again."
As the convoy regrouped, Zhao Xunan glanced at the sky. The moon, once bright, now hung low—a reminder that time was slipping away.
"Autumn Exams," he thought, clenching his fist. "I'll show them all."
And deep in the woods, a pair of glowing eyes watched the convoy pass, a low growl echoing through the trees.
"Interesting," a voice murmured. "A scholar with such… talent. Perhaps he'll make a fine pawn."