With the first light of dawn, he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his dirty hands, then at the door.
It looked as though he had made a decision, yet he didn't move immediately.
He sat there in a long silence before finally rising, stepping out of his house — and into the unknown.
They say luck only comes to those who don't believe in it.
A new morning had arrived over Tanshin Village — a small settlement surrounded by mountains and the violet mist that embraced it every dawn.
Today was no ordinary day; it was the day of the Purple Moon Clan Festival — the day everyone had been waiting for all year.
In that era, lights weren't made from ordinary flames.
They were born from colorful paper lanterns strung across the streets, glowing with fragrant lotus oils.
Silken drapes hung from balconies, and the deep thrum of drums echoed through the air — both solemn and invigorating at once.
The scent of burning incense mixed with blue smoke that curled through the narrow alleys, where women sat near the stalls selling sweets and rice wine, and the laughter of children mingled with the calls of merchants.
The entire village had turned into a living painting:
Girls in violet dresses waved their fans, clansmen marched in neat lines preparing for the ceremony, and elders sat before the temple, eyes fixed upon the sky — as if awaiting a sign from the moon itself.
But Mo Xing was far from all that noise.
At the edge of the village, beyond the dew-soaked fields, he trained by the Tanshin River — the only place he ever found peace.
Barefoot, each movement sent droplets scattering through the morning air.
His eyes were heavy from sleepless nights, his clothes stained with mud, yet his body never stopped moving.
"One… two… three… four…"
Each punch made the tree trunk before him tremble, his breathing blending with the whisper of the wind.
> "I have to rely on my physical strength during the trials… otherwise, I'm finished."
He knew he hadn't awakened the power of the Runes yet — his body was the only weapon he could depend on.
Two years of training, two years of silence, two years waiting for a moment that might never come.
He had remained at level zero.
> "How cruel it is to keep striving for something you're not even sure is right…"
Above the village, the paper lights still swayed gently in the breeze.
The distant sounds of celebration reached him faintly — as if from another world.
On his way back through the village, Mo Xing noticed something strange.
The middle son of the clan leader… both his arms were broken.
That was odd — the night before, they had been fine.
Mo Xing wondered what had happened but didn't stop. He simply kept walking.
"Mo Xing! Where were you? Are you joining the clan festival this year too?"
A voice called out from behind — playful, yet carrying a hint of mockery.
He didn't turn around.
He was used to such voices.
Many had mocked him before.
He trained harder than anyone, yet his effort never bore fruit.
It was painful — to give everything you have, and still gain nothing.
"Mo Xing, are you deaf? Look at me when I talk to you!"
The voice pressed again, more insistent.
Suddenly, a girl appeared in front of him.
"I told you to stop, Mo Xing! Hey, where were you?"
She was fifteen years old — pretty, with innocent features and long golden hair tied with a red ribbon.
She wore a white silk dress embroidered with blue threads along the sleeves.
Her name was Yue.
She considered him her childhood friend…
But Mo Xing didn't see her that way.
He rarely spoke to her, nor did he show much emotion.
In the village, Yue drew everyone's attention — but Mo Xing… he remained quiet, distant, untouched.
His childhood had been a burden — a wound many like him shared.
Childhood shapes half the self, but his had been anything but easy.
Mo Xing had suffered greatly.
"Move aside, Yue. What are you doing?" he said coldly, his tone flat and distant.
He had just returned from training, still wearing his tattered clothes. He never cared for festivals — considered them a waste of time.
Training was the only thing he was truly good at.
Yue smiled softly, teasingly.
"Haa, why so gloomy again? Did something happen?"
Sometimes she worried about him — not because of bullies or warriors, but because of himself.
Mo Xing often pushed his training too far — injuries, bruises, fights that erupted without reason.
And though he was still at level zero, his physical endurance always helped him rise again.