In the far reaches of Great Qi, in Kaiyuan Prefecture's coastal Quanzhou, lay a quiet fishing village.
One morning, a lavishly decorated carriage pulled up outside a shabby wooden hut. Black-clad knights stood at attention, blades gleaming at their sides, while a crowd of villagers gathered, whispering in awe.
"Is that really the Jin family? From Fengcheng?" someone asked under their breath.
"It has to be. Look at those golden emblems—nobody else in Kaiyuan would dare wear them."
The gossip spread like fire. Ten years ago, Shiting had abandoned his wife and young son before vanishing without a trace. Most believed he'd died far from home. But now it turned out he had climbed his way into the prestigious Jin family—and they'd come to bring his son, Shimù, back with them. A pity Shimù's mother had passed away years earlier. Had she lived, both mother and son would be walking into a world of glory.
"Glory? Don't count on it," an older villager muttered. "Didn't you hear what they just said? Shiting's already the Jin family's son-in-law. If his wife were still alive, he wouldn't have dared send for Shimù."
"Either way, the boy's luck has turned. Yesterday, he was an orphan. Today, he's a young master."
Inside, Shimù stared at the old man in a green robe. "So my father is bedridden, and I have a younger sister?" he asked slowly.
At fourteen, Shimù looked older than his years. Years of sea winds had tanned his skin and roughened his hands, but his sharp brows and large eyes gave him a striking presence. Tall for his age, his lean muscles hinted at raw strength beneath his patched shirt.
"Yes," the old man replied with a smile. "The master's illness is grave. He may not last long. That is why the lady sent me here—to fetch you, so you may see him one last time."
"The lady?" Shimù's voice turned cold. "He abandoned my mother all those years ago. Why acknowledge me as his son now? Go back. I won't go to the Jin family."
The old man coughed lightly. "Young master, perhaps you've misunderstood him. He had his reasons for never returning. If you'd only see him face to face, the truth would become clear."
"Hmph. No excuse can erase the fact that he left her. Say no more."
The old man frowned, studying the boy. At last, he said, "Haven't you noticed? The herbs you've bought in town have always been suspiciously cheap. Instructor Li at the county martial hall charged you less than other disciples. Whenever you came back from fishing, buyers snapped up your catch without bargaining. Do you think all that was chance?"
Shimù's eyes narrowed. "You mean… that was all arranged by him?"
"I can't say if it was the master himself. But the lady ordered it." The old man's tone softened.
Shimù hesitated.
"And one more thing," the old man continued. "You've been practicing body tempering, haven't you? Don't you dream of becoming a true martial artist? Before I left, the lady told me this: if you agree to see the master, she will help you get a chance to enter the Kaiyuan Martial Academy. Of course, whether you pass the entrance exam is up to you."
"Kaiyuan Martial Academy?" Shimù's voice wavered.
"You know their prestige. The four great academies admit students only once every five years. To even qualify, a candidate must complete body tempering before the age of fifteen and awaken the sense of qi. Without sensing qi, one can never cultivate true energy, open the meridians, or become a real warrior. And to awaken qi, you need a Qi Spirit Pill. Even the Jin family struggles to gather ten of those. Without help, you may never have the chance."
Shimù was silent for a long time before he said coldly, "Come back in three days. I'll give you my answer then."
The old man nodded. "Very well. In three days, I'll return for your good news." He bowed and withdrew.
Outside the village, a burly knight asked nervously, "Steward Cheng, why not just take him by force? Why waste time?"
"Watch your words," the steward snapped. "Shimù may not be of the Jin family's direct line, but he is still the master's flesh and blood. Our duty is to bring him back safely, not treat him with disrespect. Otherwise, neither the master nor the lady would forgive us."
"Yes, I spoke out of turn," the knight muttered.
Just then, another rider galloped up and bowed. "Steward Cheng, we've spotted the Biao brothers—Lord Wu's men—lurking nearby. How should we proceed?"
The steward's eyes narrowed. "So Lord Wu hasn't given up. The Biao brothers are both early Postnatal stage. Only I can handle them. You all stay here and guard the carriage. Lead me to them."
"Yes, sir!" the knight said, sprinting ahead. With a light leap, Steward Cheng seemed to float from his horse and vanished into the forest after him.
The rest of the guards stood silently at their posts.
That evening, under the pale moonlight, Shimù knelt at a small grave on a lonely mound just outside the village. The headstone read: Grave of Lady Wang of the Shi family.
"Mother, you never imagined this, did you?" he whispered. "Father isn't dead. He took another wife in the outside world. But don't worry—the promise I made to you, I'll keep. He left you to chase his martial dreams. Then I'll do the same. I'll become a true martial artist—the strongest in the world—so you can rest in peace."
Rising to his feet, Shimù stretched his limbs and began practicing his fists before the grave. His bones cracked as his movements quickened, his body whipping through the air like a tiger. Soon his fists blurred into shadows, kicking up clouds of dust around him.
With a sudden burst, he struck a nearby tree.
Boom! The trunk shook violently, leaves raining down. A deep fist mark dented the bark.
Shimù frowned at the mark. According to his instructors, such depth meant he had reached the seventh stage of body tempering—two steps away from full mastery and the chance to sense qi.
And it had taken him four long years to get this far.
The saying was true: The poor study books, the rich train in martial arts.
When he first joined the martial hall, even the entrance fee of thirty silver taels had taken him half a year to save. Every medicinal bath for strengthening his body had drained his fishing earnings until he was left with nothing.
Yet against all odds, he had reached a level that stunned the instructors. They praised his talent as extraordinary, born for martial arts. But Shimù knew better. He wasn't special. His progress came from a stroke of fortune two years ago.
That was also why he hadn't immediately agreed to the steward's offer.
Glancing up at the moon, Shimù dashed down the hill.
A quarter hour later, he was on the rocky shore. With a splash, he dove into the sea, slicing through the water with ease as he swam downward.
Deeper and deeper he went, until he had descended more than thirty zhang.
And then, in the dark waters, faint white lights began to glow—one after another, until the depths were dotted with a constellation of radiance.
Shimù swam calmly to the seabed and planted his feet before a massive reef that rose seven or eight zhang high. Around it, scattered like stars, were a dozen palm-sized shells, pulsing with white light in the darkness.