Li Wei grew quickly, and with every passing season the whispers around him only grew louder. Children who once played with him now watched him with awe and a hint of unease. They claimed his gaze could calm even the most stubborn ox, that flowers bent in his direction, and that the rain always seemed to fall softer when he walked through the fields. Though these were small things, in the eyes of the villagers they were proof of destiny's hand.
Madam Chen worked tirelessly, her back bent but her spirit unbroken. She saw in her son not just the omen of the star that lit the heavens, but also the promise of hope that had long been stolen from her. At night, when the world was quiet, she would hold him close and whisper, "You must never forget kindness, Li Wei. The world may turn its face against you, but you must never lose your heart."
Old Man Zhao, the mysterious elder, continued to watch the boy in silence. To most he was nothing more than a grumpy relic who muttered about herbs and fate, but he alone recognized the signs in Li Wei's bearing. In the way the boy listened to the wind, in the way his hands stilled at the touch of a leaf, Zhao sensed a harmony few could ever achieve.
One evening, as the setting sun turned the horizon into molten gold, Zhao beckoned Li Wei to follow him into the forest. The boy obeyed eagerly, curiosity shining in his eyes. They walked deep into the woods until the sounds of the village were nothing more than a faint memory.
"Li Wei," Zhao said at last, his voice rough like gravel, "tell me, what do you see?"
Li Wei looked around. The trees stretched tall, their branches whispering secrets to the wind. The ground was alive with the chirp of insects, the scurry of small animals. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly. "I see… movement," he said softly. "But it's not just the trees swaying. It's something deeper, like the world is breathing."
Zhao's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Good. Very good. You feel what others cannot. That is the beginning of the hidden path."
Li Wei tilted his head. "The hidden path?"
"It is the road walked by those who seek to rise above the ordinary. The world you see is not all there is. Beneath the surface lies a river of energy, unseen but ever-flowing. It shapes life, it shapes death, it shapes fate. Some call it qi. To touch it, to guide it—this is the art of cultivation."
The boy's eyes widened, his heart beating faster. "Can I… learn it?"
Zhao studied him carefully. "One day. But cultivation is not for the impatient. It is not for those who hunger only for power. It is a burden as much as it is a gift. Promise me, Li Wei, that you will never let greed cloud your heart."
Li Wei nodded with the solemnity only a child touched by fate could carry.
From that night on, Zhao began to teach him in small, hidden ways. He showed him how to breathe deeply, to listen to the rise and fall of his own heartbeat, to sense the rhythm of the world around him. He taught him about balance, the balance between strength and gentleness, between patience and action.
Days became weeks, weeks became months. Li Wei's senses sharpened. He could hear the rustle of a fox long before it appeared, feel the storm gathering even under a clear sky. The villagers noticed his quiet changes, though none could name what it was. They only whispered that the boy carried an aura too large for their humble fields.
Yet not all whispers were kind. Envy began to creep into certain hearts. Some elders muttered that children were becoming distracted, chasing after Li Wei as though he were some saint. Others warned that nothing good ever came from attracting heaven's attention.
One fateful morning, a stranger arrived at the village. Clad in robes of deep blue, his hair tied high with a jade pin, he bore the air of one who did not belong among peasants. He introduced himself simply as Scholar Wen, a traveler collecting tales and knowledge. But Zhao's sharp eyes narrowed, for he recognized the faint markings embroidered on Wen's sleeve an insignia belonging to a minor sect known for scouting talents.
Wen asked many questions. Too many. He lingered by the well, listening to gossip. He offered kind smiles to the children, but his eyes often darted toward Li Wei. Zhao warned Madam Chen in hushed tones: "Guard him well. The wolves have already scented the lamb."
That night, Li Wei sat awake, restless. He could feel it like the stars pressing against his skin, urging him onward. He whispered to himself, "The hidden path… I want to see it. I want to walk it."
The next day, Zhao tested him. They stood before a stream, the water rushing over smooth stones. "Li Wei, close your eyes. Do not simply hear the water become it. Feel its current in your blood, its weight in your bones."
Li Wei obeyed. At first, he heard only the noise. But slowly, the rush became rhythm, the rhythm became pulse. He felt the water's coolness on his skin though he stood untouched. His breath aligned with the flow until he swayed gently, as if he too were part of the river.
Zhao's eyes glistened. This child was no ordinary seed he was a sapling that might one day pierce the heavens.
But power draws eyes, and eyes draw danger. In the weeks that followed, other travelers appeared at the edge of the village. Some claimed to be merchants, others wandering monks, but Zhao's instincts told him otherwise. They lingered too long, asked too much, their gazes always drifting back to the boy with starlight in his blood.
Madam Chen grew uneasy. She clutched her son at night, whispering, "The world is not kind, Li Wei. If it reaches for you, promise me you will not lose yourself."
Li Wei, young as he was, placed his small hand over hers. "I promise, Mother. I will walk the path… but I will not forget who I am."
And so, the hidden path opened a little wider before him, its first stones laid by a vow, a mother's love, and a teacher's watchful eye.
Yet far beyond the village, in mountains shrouded by endless mist, powerful sects stirred. Rumors of a boy born under a blazing star reached their ears. Some saw him as a threat, others as a prize. And as fate would have it, their attention had already turned toward the humble village of Li Wei's birth.