The moonlight slipped away, leaving only the faint crackle of insects outside the hut. Jin Mu lay awake until dawn, his vow echoing silently in his chest.
When morning came, life returned to its cruel rhythm.
"Mu, take this to the well," his foster mother said gently, handing him a clay jar nearly as large as his torso. Her hands trembled with guilt even as she spoke, but she forced a smile. "Just… go slowly."
Jin Mu nodded. He staggered beneath the jar's weight, each step threatening to topple him. The village boys lounged nearby, sharpening sticks into spears. When they saw him, laughter burst.
"Look! The cripple's going to fetch water—careful he doesn't drown in the well!"
"Should we help him? No, best not. Might catch his uselessness."
"Better he just dies. One less mouth to feed."
The words were knives, but Jin Mu kept walking. The jar cut into his thin arms, his legs shook, yet he forced each step forward.
He reached the well and lowered the jar, his breath ragged. But as he turned, one of the boys—his rival, the sect genius from before—stuck his foot out.
Jin Mu stumbled. The jar shattered against the stones, water and shards spilling everywhere.
The boys roared with laughter. The rival crouched, smirking into Jin Mu's face.
"Trash should stay in the mud. That's all you're worth."
Jin Mu's nails dug into his palms until blood welled. For a heartbeat, he wanted to strike, to fight—but his body trembled too much even to stand tall. His lips parted, but no words came.
The laughter followed him back to the hut. He walked empty-handed, shoulders bowed, dust clinging to his torn clothes.
His foster mother met him at the door. She saw the cuts on his hands, the bruise on his cheek, and her face broke. She knelt, cupping his face with trembling fingers.
"My poor boy…"
He looked at her. The kindness in her eyes was the only warmth he had. Slowly, he shook his head.
"I'm not… poor," he whispered. The words scraped like gravel, but they left his lips.
Her tears spilled, and she pulled him into her arms.
That night, as the village feasted for the children chosen by the sect, Jin Mu sat alone outside the hut. Firelight danced in the distance; laughter and music drifted through the air. He did not join them. No one invited him.
He sat on the cold earth, staring at his small hands. Weak, trembling, useless. And yet…
He remembered his wife's vow, though he had never heard it. He remembered his father's roar, though he had never seen it. Somewhere deep in his blood, their shadows stirred.
"I will…" he whispered again, the words lost to the wind. "…prove them wrong."
The firelight from the village cast his thin shadow long across the ground. Alone. Fragile. Yet unbroken