Morning came slowly to Li Village. The night's great star had left behind a strange stillness, as if the land itself was holding its breath. Chickens clucked uneasily, the dogs barked at nothing, and even the wind carried a whisper of fear. The villagers had not slept much, many had gathered around dying fires, retelling what they had witnessed until their voices turned hoarse.
"Did you see how bright it was? It lit the whole sky!" "A child was born at that very moment. That Chen woman's brat!" "Heavens, could such a cursed place produce someone touched by fate?"
The gossip traveled faster than smoke, spreading suspicion like a plague.
Inside the small hut, Madam Chen sat weak but smiling faintly at her son. Li Wei's tiny hands grasped at the air, as if even in sleep he longed to hold something beyond reach. His cries had softened, replaced by a steady breathing that soothed her weary heart.
At her side sat the old cripple, Old Man Zhao, who had silently kept watch since the star appeared. Few in the village respected him. Once, decades ago, he had been a promising cultivator, but his dantian was shattered in a sect battle, leaving him broken and mocked. Children hurled stones at him, adults avoided his gaze. Yet tonight, for the first time, his eyes burned with a glimmer of purpose.
"Madam Chen," he rasped, his voice dry like leaves in autumn, "this child… he will not live an ordinary life."
She clutched the boy closer. "Then he will live a life I will protect, no matter how the heavens twist fate against him."
Old Man Zhao gave a bitter laugh. "Protection? Against whom? The star was seen far beyond this village. Even the great sects of the Nine Provinces will hear of it. Some will want him dead before he grows too strong. Others will want to use him as a pawn. Either way, danger will come."
Her expression did not falter. "Then let danger come. He is my son. If his path is written by the heavens, then I will not let men erase it."
The old man studied her face for a long moment, then nodded slightly. In that fragile hut, among cracked walls and broken earth, he felt a resolve stronger than the iron towers of empires.
By mid-day, the village was alive with unrest. The headman called a gathering in the square. His cane thumped against the ground as he declared in a trembling voice:
"Everyone here saw the star last night. A sign from the heavens cannot be ignored. That child born under the omen must be decided upon. He may bring fortune… or calamity."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some faces glowed with hope, others twisted with fear. An old woman shouted, "What if he brings disaster upon us all? Already we suffer enough why invite the wrath of stronger clans?"
A younger man countered, "Fool! A child blessed by the heavens could lift Li Village from its misery. Do you not dream of a day when we are no longer mocked as low-born?"
The villagers argued fiercely, their voices rising, splitting into factions. Hope clashed with fear, faith battled doubt.
And above them, hidden in the shade of a crooked tree, Old Man Zhao watched silently. His heart ached at their ignorance. They saw only fortune or disaster, but not the boy himself. Destiny was rarely so simple.
Meanwhile, far from the village, whispers of the star spread like wildfire. In the Eastern Empire's capital, within the Heavenly Court Pavilion, scholars poured over ancient scrolls.
"According to the Celestial Records, the birth of a star-child heralds great upheaval," one muttered. "Empires may fall. Dynasties may crumble. Such children either perish young… or ascend to power unrivaled."
In remote sects nestled atop mountains, elders debated in solemn tones. "Should we find the child?" "No. The heavens mark their chosen. Interference may turn blessing into curse." "And yet, can we risk letting him grow unchecked?"
The ripples of one child's birth had already begun to touch the pillars of power.
Back in Li Village, Madam Chen nursed her son quietly, unaware of the storms brewing beyond the mountains. She hummed a lullaby, her voice soft, though her heart carried the weight of countless worries.
Her brother, Li Shan, entered the hut. His face was hardened by years of labor in the fields, but his eyes softened at the sight of the newborn.
"Sister," he said, kneeling beside her, "already the villagers talk of driving you away. They fear the child."
Madam Chen tightened her grip around Li Wei. "Then let them fear. I will not abandon him."
Li Shan's voice dropped. "If you stay, they may not only drive you out but they may harm the boy. You know how desperate people can be when fear takes hold."
The words pierced her heart, yet she raised her chin. "If they try, I will fight them. Even if it costs me my life."
Li Shan clenched his fists. For years he had endured humiliation in silence, but now, seeing the fragile child in his sister's arms, something stirred within him. "Then I will fight with you. This boy is our blood. If the heavens chose him, then let the heavens guide us."
That night, Li Village slept uneasily again. The villagers locked their doors, as though fearful that the star's light might still linger. But inside the Chen family's hut, warmth flickered. Old Man Zhao sat cross-legged by the door, his crippled legs folded awkwardly, his cloudy eyes closed in meditation. For the first time in decades, he tried to circulate his broken qi, though it was faint and painful.
Madam Chen watched him with quiet respect. "Why do you stay?" she asked softly.
His voice was low, almost a whisper. "Because the boy reminds me of what I lost. Perhaps… guiding him will give meaning to what remains of my life."
She nodded, tears filling her eyes. In that moment, she realized the truth: though the village scorned them, though danger loomed, she was not alone.
In the crib, little Li Wei stirred, his small hand clenching into a fist. His dreams were filled with strange flashes of light, of endless skies, of voices calling his name from beyond the clouds. He could not understand them, yet his heart pulsed with a rhythm that echoed like a distant drum.
Somewhere in the heavens, a star flickered faintly, as though smiling down upon him.
Thus the days after his birth became the first trial of Li Wei's life. A trial not of blades or cultivation, but of survival—against fear, prejudice, and the weight of destiny already pressing upon his fragile shoulders.
And so began the whispers that would one day grow into legend.