The dawn mist clung to the jagged cliffs surrounding Lingxu Village, turning the valley into a ghostly labyrinth of gray and gold. The first light of the sun struggled to pierce the veil, glinting off shards of broken pottery and scattered debris along the mud-stained paths. Normally, the village stirred with life—the rhythmic pounding of hammers in the blacksmith's forge, the shouts of merchants bargaining over vegetables, the laughter of children chasing chickens. Today, however, silence hung over Lingxu like a suffocating blanket. Even the crows dared not disturb it.
Above the village, perched on the ridge like a shadow carved from night itself, a lone figure observed. Black robes, torn and singed in places, clung to his lean frame, yet they seemed to flow as if woven from the wind itself. His posture was relaxed but deliberate; every movement suggested control, precision, and hidden power. Lin Feng's eyes, black and unyielding, swept over the valley below. Bandits. Small-time marauders who thought the early mist would hide their greed. Most men would cower at the sight of them, but Lin Feng felt only amusement. Pain had long been his companion, and fear was a stranger to his soul.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the residual aches from yesterday's training. Every bone, every sinew had been tested to the limit. And yet he smiled faintly. "Only the weak fear pain," he whispered to the wind, the words carried down into the valley below.
Two men, clad in tattered crimson tunics, stumbled through the mud, their laughter grating against the quiet of the dawn. Their iron blades caught the emerging sunlight. "Hah! Easy pickings today," the larger of the two jeered, sloshing through the muck as if the earth itself belonged to him. Lin Feng did not hesitate. Without a sound, he leapt from the ridge, the wind tearing at his robes like a storm given form. In a heartbeat, he was upon them.
The first bandit barely registered the shadow descending before Lin Feng's hand locked around his wrist, twisting it with a precision that made the joint pop. The second swung his blade wildly, but Lin Feng caught the man's arm mid-strike and sent him spinning into the mud with a force that left a crater where he landed. Blood pooled in the mud, yet Lin Feng's face remained serene. Not cruel, not angry—simply indifferent to the weakness of his enemies.
"You think strength lies in steel and numbers," he murmured, voice low, cutting through the mist like a knife. "The world bends only for those who do not bow." The bandits quivered. Fear replaced their arrogance. Lin Feng released them, leaving them battered and broken, yet alive. Mercy was not weakness—it was a choice.
Returning to the charred remains of a training courtyard behind a burned-down dojo, Lin Feng began his daily regimen. The iron chains dug into his shoulders as he dragged a weighted bag across the stones. His fists, wrapped in coarse cloth, struck a spiked wooden pole over and over. The acrid scent of burned herbs filled the air as he inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Every strike was a test. Every motion demanded endurance beyond what most mortals could bear. The pain screamed at him, threatening to shatter concentration, yet he welcomed it. He had no need for shortcuts.
"My body bends for no one," he muttered. With every swing, every drop of blood, every exhalation of agony, his muscles hardened, his bones strengthened, and his will solidified. Pride was not arrogance—it was sovereignty over self. No one could break what he would not allow to break.
After the trial, he seated himself cross-legged, letting the warmth of the rising sun wash over him. Around the courtyard, smoke from a few smoldering incense sticks curled lazily toward the sky. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, observing the duality of the world. The villagers below feared the bandits, yet did nothing to resist. The bandits wielded strength, yet lacked purpose. Both were incomplete.
"Strength without purpose," he murmured softly, "is only death waiting to happen. Good and evil are mirrors. I will master both, and let neither rule me." This was his Dao, whispered in the quiet moments between pain and action. Balance was not mercy alone, nor ruthlessness alone—it was the refusal to bow to either, the sovereignty of the self, tempered by the wisdom to act when necessary.
Far across the valley, atop a distant cliff, a shadow moved. A scout from the Crimson Fang Sect had been observing Lin Feng in silence. His eyes narrowed, scanning the young man's movements with suspicion. "The boy survives the flames… intriguing," the scout muttered. "I must report him. One who bends death without fear may become… a problem." Lin Feng's eyes flicked toward the ridge where the scout lingered. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He stood slowly, dusting mud and ash from his robes. "Then let them come," he said softly, voice cold but regal. "The world will learn that I bow to no one."
He stepped to the center of the courtyard and extended his arms, feeling the pulse of qi in the earth beneath his feet. The morning sun glinted off the charred stones. Lin Feng inhaled deeply, and the energy flowed into him. The sensation was subtle at first—a hum beneath the skin, a vibration through the bones. Yet he welcomed it, knowing that this was the first stirrings of Body Tempering. His flesh would become steel, his bones iron, his blood molten. Each moment of pain was a stepping stone to mastery, each breath a negotiation with life and death.
Even as the scout vanished from the distant cliff, reporting back to the sect, Lin Feng's focus did not waver. The villagers, oblivious to the forces already aligning above them, went about their lives, unaware that a storm had already begun in their midst—a storm named Lin Feng.
The first rays of sunlight caught something glimmering in the ruins of the dojo—a fragment of a broken stone talisman, etched with unfamiliar runes. It pulsed faintly, as if calling out. Lin Feng's eyes narrowed. Pride, curiosity, and instinct stirred within him. He stepped forward. "What is this…?" he whispered. The talisman's glow intensified, bathing the courtyard in an otherworldly light. From the depths of the valley, a low, rumbling voice echoed, shaking the very earth beneath him.
"You have been seen… and chosen."
The wind died. The birds froze. Even the smoke from the incense halted mid-air. Lin Feng's lips curved into a faint, dark smile. "So be it," he murmured. "Let the world come."