"In the heart of the 19th century—a time when ancient China bled under the weight of war and opium—foreign empires advanced like shadows across its lands. Ports were seized, cities were burned, and the once-proud people found themselves crushed by both internal corruption and avarice from overseas.
It was an era where monks sought sanctuary in monasteries, warriors roamed ruined roads, and secret societies invoked ancient talismans, all hoping to defy a grim destiny. The elders foretold that when the sky grew darkest and the dragon hid in the twilight clouds—the spirit of forgotten heroes would awaken once more."
Canton, 1839
The wind carried the salty scent of the sea and the bitterness of burnt spices. The narrow streets of Canton (Guangzhou) teemed with sound—merchants shouting prices, strangely dressed foreigners haggling in harsh tongues, and Imperial soldiers marching with vigilant eyes. Yet, beneath the clamor of daily life, a silent weight hung—the shadow of war.
Not far from the tumultuous streets and dusty alleys, on the slope of a dormant mountain, a humble wooden house stood in a clearing. Its loose floorboards made every step inside echo like a horse's trot.
— Bao Lei! Come here, boy — a heavy, yet gentle, voice called from one of the rooms.
A young man, barely fourteen, approached. Though slightly clumsy, his steps were silent—perhaps time had taught him which parts of the floor were loose.
His simple attire reflected his home's reality — a plain, unadorned gray Changshan, a long male tunic with no delicate seams or family symbols on the cuffs. Just enough to keep him warm as winter approached.
— Father, how may I help you? — Bao Lei asked calmly, bowing respectfully. — You must leave, as soon as possible. Your Uncle Wong will be waiting for your arrival.
— I cannot leave you. You won't be able to tend the fields anymore, and winter is near.— Reluctant at the news, the boy knelt down.
— You are the only thing I have devoted my final years to protecting. The shadows are nearing our home, and I will not let you stay to watch this world fade.
— Father, reconsider...
The man rose, his long white hair evidence of his journey. From a pocket in his robes, he drew a long red necklace.
— This is my will. The bond that will keep our destinies tied, Bao Lei... It is yours now.
The boy simply bowed his head, silently accepting his fate.
In the pre-dawn hours, the warm wind battered the windows of the residence like thrown stones. A keen observer in the distance might have noticed a crackling sound, like embers in a bonfire.
— Wake up, Bao Lei!
His father flung open the room door where the still-sleepy boy was trying to comprehend what was happening.
— Someone must be inside this old house! — a voice yelled from outside the property.
Bao Lei finally awoke completely, his eyes fixed on his father's anxious face. In his hand, the old man brandished a rusty, antique sword, long ago used by his grandfather in the Conquest of Guanzhu.
The old floorboards revealed the position of the intruders—drawing closer with every step.
The moonlight cut through the room's screens, instantly followed by a fierce upward slice of a blade so sharp it sang like a young bird opening its path.
The screen fell to reveal a man clad in a white mantle and a tunic blue as untouched stream water. In his hand, he held a silver-hilted sword, his black hair cascading to his waist, and in his gaze, only emptiness. Behind him were six men in similar attire—all wearing white masks.
— We don't need any of them alive — the leader of the intruders declared.
His body lifted from the ground as smoothly as a petal in the wind, and his blade shot toward the elderly man.
Against all odds, there was vitality left in the old man. His body spun, and the rusty sword deflected the intruder's path, sliding against the polished blade.
Bao Lei froze, anchored to the ground. His eyes felt like they were playing tricks on his mind—his father moved with skill unlike any swordsman he had ever seen.
— It's undeniable that the great Protector wouldn't get this old, is it, Wei Thang? — the man sneered. — And you men, don't just stand there! Get the boy!
The masked invaders, who had stayed back until then, rushed into the room. Their swords and daggers held a single objective—Bao Lei.
Wei Thang disengaged from his duel and propelled his body forward, using his foot to kick off a wooden chest, positioning himself between his son and the masked figures.
His breathing grew heavy, his feet anchored as if mountains rested upon his shoulders. His arms danced softly like a subtle breeze, and his palm movements traced the symbol of a dragon in the air. — Celestial Dragon Palm! — An invisible wave formed before Wei Thang, cornering the men in a storm of materialized Qi —a shockwave that hurled them against the walls.
— I can still prot — Wei Thang's voice was cut short by a harsh cough, blood streaming from his lips.
— Father, stop. You are too weak. Let me fight.
Bao Lei reached out for the sword, waiting for his father to pass it to him.
The old man's eyes held an entire universe that seemed to be fading, its light dimming.
Swooosh! – A rapid, dramatic flight.
An arrow pierced Wei Thang's chest. Bao Lei's gray tunic received the spatter of his father's blood, stained forever.
Wei slowly collapsed into his son's arms, their eyes meeting one last time before his final breath.
— You're next, boy!— the leader of the invaders roared.
In a semi-circular motion, the man projected the moon's reflection onto his blade's surface, and with quick footwork, he closed the distance to Bao Lei.
— The legacy of Zhu Bajie ends now!
That name was not unfamiliar to Bao Lei, but in that moment, his body was compelled to accept his fate. His eyes closed—the sound of the sword sliced the wind with ferocious speed.
A dry crack echoed through the room.
— Impossible, have you awakened already?
Without understanding, Bao Lei opened his eyes. The man now held a broken sword.
On the floor lay the other half of the fragmented blade, still emanating a reddish energy.
That same energy radiated from Bao Lei's body, like a growing mist.
The man recoiled.
Bao Lei stood up, his body seized by a heroic courage.
— Pòshān Jìn! — Bao Lei pronounced, though the voice was not his own.
His body channeled all the reddish energy, concentrating it into a single point in his chest. It was instantly dissipated in a beam toward the man.
The intruder was hurled against the wall, which didn't stop him, only coming to rest against an old tree in the back of the residence.
Dried leaves fluttered onto the man. Wounds covered his body, but a gaping wound was torn through his chest, piercing his torso.
Bao Lei walked toward him.
— I will never forgive someone like you!— The boy's eyes had transformed —flames burned within them.
— You... have no idea... what you... have stepped into! Boy!— the man exclaimed, nearly out of strength.
The boy stretched his left arm toward a pile of hay where an Iron Rake rested. — Jiānyú Chǎn!— Bao Lei proclaimed. The nine-tined rake levitated and flew into his hand.
He gripped it with both hands, spun around, and a reddish trail of energy began to pulse around the Rake.
Bao Lei drove the Rake into the ground, and a blazing Qi surged forth.
Nine blades of scarlet energy danced around him.
Swish! Swish! Swish! The blades shredded the man's flesh.
Only a bloody memory remained embedded in the tree.
The boy felt the weight of the universe crash upon his shoulders, his eyes darkened, and his body fell to the ground.
Not far from the house...
Fire was consuming the city.
The Daoguang Emperor had sent Commissioner Lin Zexu to Canton to crack down on the opium trade. He burned tons of the drug, provoking the British.
Not only had Wei Thang lost his life that night, but so had countless men, women, and children.
It was the harbinger of a war...