Promises Beneath the Willow
The night clung softly to the riverbank, the moon silvering the waters beneath the willow trees. The air was cool, heavy with the scent of grass, and the ripples on the stream caught light like fragments of shattered jade.
Zhou Wei stood facing Jing. His figure was outlined in the pale glow, his shoulders straight but his eyes carrying a heaviness Jing had never seen before.
"Jing," Zhou Wei began at last, his voice low yet steady. "You know my Zhou Family is not just another village clan. We are a branch of the Zhou Merchant House in Redcloud City. Though my father moved outside the city walls, our bloodline remains tied. And with that tie comes expectation."
He paused, his gaze flickering toward the water as though ashamed of what he carried.
"My father… even as a minor branch elder, spent everything he had for my sake. He begged favors, called in debts, traded away every scrap of wealth. In the end, he managed to purchase a breathing technique — mid Mortal Grade. For a merchant, that is a treasure beyond price. Worth more than lands or shops, worth more than a lifetime of labor."
Zhou Wei's expression dimmed, the bitterness plain.
"With this technique, I struggled, clawed my way forward, and after years of effort finally stepped into the early stage of Qi Condensation. But my talent is shallow. My progress is slow. Even with this foundation, I have no confidence I can advance further. My father… he still believes the Scarlet Phoenix Clan might see me as useful, but I…" He exhaled a long breath. "…I do not share his hope."
The river murmured quietly between them.
When Zhou Wei looked up again, his eyes widened faintly. He had pitied Jing many times in the past — the crippled boy who carried water awkwardly, who stumbled when he ran, who practiced old stances that broke his body rather than built it. But tonight, Jing did not look pitiful.
The boy stood calm and straight, his frame lean but sharp. The weight of his gaze was steady, unnerving in its composure. His crippled leg still bore weakness, yet the aura around him had shifted.
For a long moment, Zhou Wei was silent, struck by the change. Then, slowly, he reached into his sleeve and drew forth a thin jade slip. Holding it with both hands, he extended it toward Jing.
"This technique," Zhou Wei said quietly. "Take it. My father bought it for me, sacrificed nearly everything to place it in my hands. But I have reached the limit of what my talent allows. You…" His eyes narrowed as he studied Jing's calm bearing. "You may surprise me. Perhaps even the heavens favor you more than me. If so, then this will not be wasted."
Jing's eyes flickered, but his face remained still.
Inside, his thoughts moved like slow iron. This jade… it is not merely a technique. It carries Zhou Wei's father's sacrifice, his family's hope, years of desperate struggle. To accept is to take what is not mine. Yet to refuse would be to scorn both him and his father. Such a gift, once offered, cannot be left hanging between us.
At last, he extended his hand. His fingers closed firmly around the cool jade slip.
"I will accept," Jing said quietly. His eyes did not waver. "But hear me, Zhou Wei — I will not forget this. One day, when you stand at your lowest, I will repay this debt."
Zhou Wei's lips curved faintly. There was a trace of a smile, but beneath it bitterness remained, deep and sharp. "Then I'll hold you to that, brother."
The two stood in silence for a moment more, the willow branches swaying gently above them, the moonlight falling like a quiet witness upon their pact.
Before dawn, Jing returned home.
The small house glowed faintly with firelight. His mother and little sister bent together over a clay bowl of millet, their tired faces brightened by laughter at some childish mistake. His grandfather lay on his straw bed, frail and thin, but awake as always, his old eyes watchful even in weakness.
Jing entered, placed the jade slip carefully aside, then moved to kneel before the bed.
"Grandfather," he said calmly, his tone steady. "I want to join the Scarlet Phoenix testing ceremony. Zhou Wei told me of it tonight."
The old man's chest rattled with his breath, and his lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace.
"Join…? Jing, do you know what you ask?" His voice was raspy, thin yet weighted. "Every youth in the kingdom dreams of that ceremony. Thousands strive for a single chance. Sons of nobles, heirs of great clans — all sharpen their blades for that moment. And you?" He coughed, the sound dry and harsh. "I was nothing more than a servant. I scrubbed floors, carried water, fetched wine. I had no name, no place. What help could I possibly give you?"
But Jing's eyes did not flinch. The calmness in them was unbroken, the same resolve that had carried him through countless nights of pain. He did not argue. He did not plead. His silence itself was his answer.
The old man studied him for a long time. Then slowly, he exhaled.
"Perhaps… perhaps there is one chance. When I was young, I served under a man named Deacon Ming. He was my direct master. If he still lives, and if fate is merciful, perhaps he might remember me. Perhaps…" His voice trailed into bitterness. "But no. A deacon of Scarlet Phoenix? Why would he waste a thought on a servant long forgotten?"
Jing bowed his head in respect but said nothing.
Later that evening, as the fire burned low, Jing sat quietly in the doorway, watching his family. His mother's smile, worn but warm; his sister's laughter, bright and full of innocence. The sight carved itself into his heart. To leave them, even for the chance of strength, was no small matter. Yet weakness would one day take them from him if he did nothing.
His grandfather's eyes followed him closely. After a long pause, the old man turned with effort, reaching beneath his bedding. From the straw he drew a small bundle wrapped in coarse cloth. Unfolding it, he revealed several silver ingots, their edges dulled with age.
"These," he whispered, "I kept hidden. For an emergency. If sickness worsened, if famine struck, if your mother and sister starved. But I see now — the true emergency is you. You are our future. I can last with what remains for two years. until then Do not burden yourself with worry. Go. Take your chance."
Jing's throat tightened faintly, but his face did not change. He lowered his head deeply, bowing until his forehead touched the worn floorboards.
"Grandfather… thank you."
The old man's hand, thin and trembling, reached out and rested on Jing's arm. His eyes, clouded by years, softened with a glimmer of pride.
"Do not thank me," he whispered. "Prove me wrong. Show me that I did not waste these years raising you."
Jing lifted his gaze, calm and firm. "I will."
The fire crackled softly, the silver glinted faintly, and in the quiet night, a boy's resolve and an old man's weary hope joined into one.