Han Lie woke up gasping for air, cold sweat drenching his emaciated body. His heart pounded as if he had just run a marathon around the entire Green Bamboo Village. In his recurring dream, he saw himself again—but not the him of the present.
The figure in the dream sat serenely in meditation on the highest mountain peak he could ever imagine. White clouds drifted slowly beneath his feet, as if the whole world was far below. What was most stunning was the pure white robe he wore—the finest silk fluttering gracefully in the mountain wind, a stark contrast to the shabby clothes clinging to his body now.
But the most astonishing thing was what was in his hands. Small galaxies spun beautifully, stars glittered like diamonds, and planets danced to a rhythm only he could understand. The universe seemed to be in his grasp, subject to his will. The power flowing through his body felt so real, so intoxicating.
"That strange dream again..." Han Lie mumbled in a hoarse voice, rubbing his still-heavy, sleepy eyes. His tongue felt as dry as sandpaper.
Reality struck him cruelly. This narrow, dilapidated shack was a harsh contrast to the magnificence of his dream. The wooden walls were rotting with age, with small holes that allowed the cold wind to enter freely. The straw mattress he slept on was hard and musty, not having been replaced for years. The thin, patched blanket barely warmed his body on cold nights.
Gaps in the shack's roof let in the harsh morning sunlight, forming bright lines that illuminated the swirling dust. The corners of the room were filled with cobwebs, and the uneven dirt floor had hardened like stone.
Han Lie got up with difficulty, his bones creaking. He walked to the corner of the room where there was a nearly empty barrel of rainwater; the water was murky and smelled. With what little water he had, he washed his pale face.
His reflection in the puddle made him want to cry. A gaunt face with sharp, protruding cheekbones, hollow eyes surrounded by dark circles, a body as thin as a walking skeleton. His black hair was dull and messy, his skin sickly pale. At just seventeen, he looked like a dying old man.
"Han Lie the Trash," he mocked the voices that ridiculed him every day. The cynical, hateful tone he had memorized by heart. "The weakest cultivator in Green Bamboo Village. The shame of the now-extinct Han family."
The Han family was indeed extinct. His father, Han Zhou, was once a respected cultivator in this village. Foundation Establishment Realm Layer 3, considered strong for a small village. His mother, Lin Hua, was also a Foundation Establishment Layer 1 cultivator. Both died in a beast tide attack five years ago, leaving Han Lie, who was only twelve at the time.
What made it even more tragic was that Han Lie was born with damaged meridians. Qi couldn't flow smoothly through his body, blocked at various vital points. As a result, cultivation, which should have been the breath of life for everyone in this world, became an impossible dream for him.
From outside his shack, familiar mocking laughter rang out. The voices of young people his age starting their day with their favorite pastime—mocking Han Lie.
"Hey, Trash Han!" someone shouted with a loud, triumphant voice. "Come out and show us your trash cultivation!"
"Come on, don't be shy! Show us that Qi Condensation Layer 1 you've been struggling for five years to achieve!" another voice responded in a mocking tone.
"Maybe he's dreaming of becoming a true cultivator again!" loud laughter erupted from the crowd.
Han Lie clenched his fists tightly until his nails dug into his palms. Shame and anger mixed in his chest, but he was too tired to go out and deal with them. He had been enduring this treatment for five years. Five years of being mocked, belittled, and treated like social scum.
What was most painful was when they mentioned his parents' names in a mocking tone.
"Your father must be ashamed to have a son like you, Trash Han!"
"It's a good thing your parents are dead, so they don't have to see how embarrassing their son is!"
Words like these were like knives stabbing his heart over and over again. Han Lie often wondered if his parents would truly be ashamed to have a son like him. Would they be disappointed to see how weak and useless their son was?
He walked to the corner of the room where there was a small altar to remember his parents. Two simple, faded portraits flanked by two burned-out incense sticks. Han Lie couldn't afford new ones.
"Father, Mother..." he whispered in a trembling voice. "Forgive your useless son. I've tried, but..."
Tears began to flow. For five years, he had worked hard to cultivate, but the results were still nil. The Qi in his body moved like a snail, blocked in his damaged meridians. Even reaching Qi Condensation Layer 2 seemed impossible.
Meanwhile, many of his peers had already reached Layers 4 and 5, and some had even touched the Foundation Establishment Realm. They would be accepted into great sects, receive the best training, and become true cultivators. As for Han Lie... he would be trapped in this dilapidated shack until he died.
"One day..." he whispered, looking at the leaky ceiling. "One day I will stand on that peak in a pure white robe..."
He remembered the dream from last night. So real, so alive. The sensation of power flowing through his body, the feeling of being above everything, and most importantly—the feeling of no longer being trash trampled on by everyone.
But it was only a dream. In reality, he had to wake up and find a way to survive today. His stomach had been rumbling since yesterday afternoon. The remaining rice in the barrel was gone, and he had no money to buy food.
Maybe he could look for firewood in the forest and sell it at the market. Or find edible wild mushrooms and fruits. Anything that could help him survive one more day in this cruel world.
Han Lie took his shabby clothes—the only clothes he owned—and put them on with a motion that had become a routine. The fabric was faded, patched here and there, but at least it still covered his body.
Before going out, he looked at his reflection in the puddle one more time. Hollow, empty eyes, a pale face full of despair. But for some reason, the shadow of last night's dream still lingered in his mind.
The figure of himself sitting serenely in meditation, holding the universe in his grasp. A spotless white robe, a symbol of purity and strength. A calm face full of wisdom, not the desperate face he had now.
"It's just a dream," he whispered to his own reflection. "Just the dream of a trash kid who hopes too much."
But in the deepest part of his heart, there was a small glimmer of hope that refused to die. A hope that one day, somehow, he would be able to feel what was in his dream. To stand on the peak of the world, no longer being the trash that everyone trampled on.
Han Lie took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to face another day full of humiliation and suffering. The mocking voices were still coming from outside, waiting for him to come out and become their entertainment.
"Just survive one more day," he mumbled. "I just need to survive one more day."
With heavy steps, he walked toward the nearly-collapsing shack door, ready to face a world that never wanted his existence.