Lin Feng sat on the cliff's edge, staring down at the sea of mist below. The stars
shimmered faintly above, their constellations strange and fractured, as if the heavens themselves had been wounded.
The scrolls lay in his lap, their glow muffled by cloth, but no matter how tightly he wrapped them, he could still feel their pulse against his chest like a heartbeat that was not his own.
Behind him, the village slept uneasily. He could hear it in the silence: the unspoken
fear, the whispers of Jianghu's shadows. He knew the truth now. If he stayed, the Black Shadow Mist Sect would come again. They would slaughter the innocent to reach him.
He could not allow that.
Lin Feng stood slowly, tightening the bundle of scrolls across his back. His hands
trembled, but his resolve hardened. He had no martial skill, no weapon, no master to guide him. But he had his will and the memory of the Guardian's eyes, fierce and sorrowful.
At the edge of the path leading down the mountain, he paused. His mother's lantern
still flickered faintly in their small home by the docks. For a long time, he stood there, torn between duty and love. Finally, he whispered into the wind, voice cracking:
"Forgive me, Mother. If I stay, I will bring only death."
He turned and began the descent. He headed towards the small rafts tethered at the base of the island. His footsteps echoed, louder than they should have been, Halfway
down, he froze.
A shadow shifted in the fog. His heart leapt into his throat, but it was only an old fisherman, slumped against the wall, holding a half-empty flask. The man blinked at him blearily.
"Feng? Out so late?"
Lin Feng forced a smile. "Couldn't sleep."
The fisherman grunted, then drifted back into half-sleep. Feng hurried past, guilt
gnawing at him.
At last, he reached the docks. The sea of clouds stretched endlessly before him, vast
and unknowable. The rafts rocked gently, ropes creaking. No villager ever dared
beyond the safe currents. Beyond lay only storms, wandering sects, and the
endless hunger of Jianghu.
Feng placed a hand on one of the wooden rafts. His fingers lingered there, cold
against the worn planks. This is madness, he thought. I don't even know where I'm going.
But the memory of poisoned blades flashing in his village steeled him. He untied the
raft and pushed it into the mist.
As he climbed aboard, a voice broke the silence behind him.
"Leaving without a goodbye?"
Lin Feng spun. His mother stood at the edge of the dock, her lantern swaying in the
mist, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Feng's breath caught. "Mother—I—"
She shook her head, stepping closer. Her face was lined with sorrow, but her voice was
steady.
"I knew this day would come. Your father… he left the same way, long ago. Jianghu does not let go of its chosen."
His heart wrenched. "You knew?"
Her gaze softened. "I prayed I was wrong. But when the Guardian came, I understood.
Feng… you must live. That is enough for me."
She placed a small dagger in his hand, plain, unadorned, but its edge sharp. "This was his. It may save you once. No more."
Tears burned his eyes. He wanted to stay, to cling to her embrace, but the weight of
the scrolls pressed against his back like chains. He bowed deeply, voice breaking:
"I will return. I swear it."
His mother's lips trembled in a smile. "Then go, before my heart stops me."
Lin Feng stepped onto the raft. The mist closed around him, swallowing the dock, the
lantern, his mother's figure… until all that remained was the endless sea of clouds and the unknown horizon.
The boy of the forgotten island had fled. The man of Jianghu was yet to be born.
The raft creaked as Lin Feng guided it into the shifting currents of the Mist Sea. The
rope-woven oar felt clumsy in his hands, every movement sending the vessel
spinning.
The mist pressed close, thick as a curtain, swallowing sound and light. He had only the stars above, fragmented, glimmering faintly as his guide.
Hours passed, though the mist allowed no sense of time. Hunger gnawed at him. His
eyelids drooped. But when he closed his eyes, the scrolls whispered.
When the heavens fracture, the void shall bind…
The words pulsed through his veins like fire. Lin Feng clutched his chest, trembling. For
a heartbeat, the mist around him rippled, thinning to reveal strange lights, floating
runes, glowing as if the stars themselves had sunk into the sea. He gasped,
reaching out, but the vision shattered.
The raft rocked violently. The currents surged, pulling him toward a whirlpool of cloud.
Panic rose. He jammed the oar into the misty waters, muscles burning, until the
raft wrenched free and drifted onward.
Am I going mad? He thought, shaking. But deep down, he knew it was the scroll. It
was alive.
--
Far from the sea, in the heart of the Black Mist Sect's fortress, a different storm
gathered. The fortress loomed over jagged cliffs, its spires stabbing into the sky like blades. Within its walls, braziers of black fire burned, filling the air with a haze of poison.
At the highest chamber, Master Hei Yun sat cross-legged upon a throne of dark stone.
His robes were woven with threads of shadow, and in his hand rested a blade
forged from mist itself. His eyes snapped open, cold, gleaming silver.
"The boy has left the island."
A ripple of unease passed through the hall of disciples. Dozens knelt in silence, clad
in flowing black robes, their faces hidden behind veils.
One broke the silence, his voice like gravel. "Shall we burn the village anyway, Master?"
Hei Yun's lip curled. "No. The Guardian would intervene. Better to let the villagers live with fear… that is the slowest poison. The boy is what matters."
He raised his blade. His voice dropped to a whisper that echoed like thunder,
"Send the Shadow Envoys. He cannot be allowed to reach another sect. The Celestial Void Manual belongs to us."
The disciples bowed as one. In the darkness, figures detached themselves from the walls, shrouded in cloaks, silent as smoke. Their eyes glimmered faintly red.
Within moments, they were gone, vanishing into the night like phantoms.
[The misty Sea]
Lin Feng's raft drifted onward. Exhaustion dragged at him, but unease kept him
awake. He felt it... something vast, circling beyond. The air had grown heavier, as if the sea itself were holding its breath.
He gripped the dagger his mother had given him. Its blade was plain, but the metal hummed faintly, catching the reflection of the fractured stars.
"Father…" he whispered. "Was this your path too?"