The alleyways had long stopped being enough. Jie was ten years old now, his body taller, his frame hard with wiry muscle. Every fight he had found on the streets, every thug and soldier and drunk who dared swing at him, had ended the same way—blood on the ground, Jie standing. The thrill was still there, the rush of fists striking bone, but the challenge had dulled.
The whispers of the gray-eyed boy had spread far, carried by merchants and travelers. It wasn't just rumor anymore. He was a name, a story mothers told their children at night—half in fear, half in awe. Beware the boy with the steel eyes, who breaks men as easily as twigs.
But stories have a way of drawing hunters.
Word came of another child. A prodigy from a martial arts school deep in the mountains, trained since birth, who had defeated grown men with perfect technique. His name was Wei Shen. He was only a year older than Jie, but where Jie was raw instinct and hunger, Wei Shen was discipline carved into flesh. His movements were said to be like water—smooth, precise, inevitable.
The meeting was inevitable.
It happened not in a pit, not in the shadows, but in the open, beneath the bright sun of a crowded courtyard. A wealthy patron had summoned both boys, curious which story was greater. He promised food, coin, and glory to the winner, and spread word through the district. By dawn, the courtyard brimmed with villagers, travelers, even minor nobles, all pressing close for a glimpse of the spectacle.
Jie stood shirtless in the center, his lean frame coiled with tension. His gray eyes swept the crowd, cold and unblinking. Murmurs rippled wherever his gaze landed. He felt their fear, their anticipation, and it only sharpened the hunger in his chest.
Wei Shen entered from the opposite side. He was taller by an inch, his posture upright, his expression calm. He wore the plain garb of his school, his long black hair tied neatly, his eyes focused not on the crowd but solely on Jie. Where Jie looked like a wild beast dragged into the ring, Wei Shen looked like a blade drawn from a master's sheath.
They faced each other in silence. The crowd hushed.
"You are the gray-eyed child," Wei Shen said evenly. "They say you fight like thunder, without discipline, without control. Today, I will test if that thunder has weight."
Jie tilted his head. "And you are the prodigy. They say you fight like water. Then we will see which breaks first—stone or stream."
The words ended. The fight began.
Wei Shen moved first, a blur of fluid motion. His fist cut the air toward Jie's chest. Jie pivoted, catching the strike on his forearm, and retaliated with a wild swing aimed at Wei Shen's jaw. The prodigy slipped beneath it, his body folding and flowing, countering with a palm strike to Jie's ribs.
The impact rattled Jie. He staggered, breath catching. Pain flared sharp and unfamiliar. For the first time, a strike had landed cleanly.
The crowd gasped.
Jie grinned.
His fists came alive, hammering forward with savage power. Wei Shen met them with precision, deflecting, redirecting, turning Jie's brute strength against him. The courtyard rang with the sound of fists clashing, feet sliding, bodies colliding. Dust rose in clouds around them.
Wei Shen's technique was flawless. Every movement was efficient, every counter exact. Jie found himself pushed back, his swings meeting only empty air, his body punished by sharp, surgical strikes. His ribs ached, his forearms throbbed, his breath came ragged.
For the first time since his rebirth, Jie felt the edge of defeat.
But the hunger burned hotter.
He lunged forward, ignoring pain, absorbing blow after blow just to close the distance. His fist crashed against Wei Shen's shoulder, sending the prodigy stumbling. Jie pressed the advantage, striking again and again, each punch a storm of raw power. Wei Shen blocked, deflected, but the force drove him back step by step.
Their eyes met in the chaos—Wei Shen's sharp, focused, Jie's gray and burning with wild hunger.
Wei Shen struck low, sweeping Jie's legs. Jie fell but rolled, springing up with the grace of a beast, his fist slamming upward into Wei Shen's guard. The impact jarred them both, forcing them apart.
They circled, chests heaving, sweat dripping. The crowd roared, torn between awe and disbelief.
"You fight like a beast," Wei Shen said, his voice strained but steady. "But beasts can be tamed."
Jie spat blood into the dirt and smiled through crimson-stained teeth. "Try."
The second exchange was even fiercer. Wei Shen unleashed combinations, his strikes weaving like threads in a tapestry, each designed to end the fight. Jie absorbed them, his body bruised and battered, yet his fists only grew heavier, his swings more reckless. He stopped trying to block. He let the blows land, sacrificing his body just to deliver his own.
And then it happened.
A single punch. Not the hardest he had thrown, not the wildest, but the truest. It connected with Wei Shen's chest, the shockwave reverberating through the prodigy's frame. Wei Shen's eyes widened, his stance broken, his body collapsing to one knee.
The courtyard fell silent.
Jie stood over him, gray eyes blazing, chest heaving like a war drum.
Wei Shen looked up, pain etched into his face—but no fear. Only respect. "You… are strong. Stronger than I imagined."
Jie extended his hand. "So are you."
The prodigy hesitated, then clasped it. Jie pulled him to his feet. The crowd erupted, half in cheers, half in fearful murmurs.
For Jie, it wasn't victory that lingered. It was the memory of pain. The first strike that had rattled his ribs. The sharp edge of almost losing.
He had not been defeated. But he had been tested. Truly tested.
That night, as he lay bruised and sore beneath the stars, Jie understood something he had never before considered: brute force was not enough. There were fighters out there who moved with precision, who wielded discipline like a weapon sharper than any fist.
For the first time, he longed not only to fight—but to learn.
And deep inside, he knew this was only the beginning.