Arc 1 — The Orphan Without a Path
The predawn wind came down from the hills like an icy hand, slipping through the cracks of the mud-and-wood orphanage until it sank into the bones of everyone sleeping there.
Lin Yuan was already awake.
He always was before the others.
Not because he liked rising early, but because cold, hunger, and habit rarely allowed for deep sleep. He remained lying on the straw pallet for a few moments, staring at the dark beams of the ceiling. Around him, the breath of the other children rose in thin white threads. One snored. Another shivered beneath a patched blanket. Someone murmured in their sleep.
By pure habit, Lin Yuan placed a hand on his chest and felt the cold touch of the medallion beneath his clothes.
It was round, dull, without any shine at all. At first glance, it looked as though it had been made from cheap metal, so ordinary that no one would bother stealing it. It had no gems, no clear inscriptions, no weight of anything valuable. It was only an ancient grayish disc, with markings so worn that they barely looked like the shadows of a forgotten design.
They had found it hanging around his neck when he was left in front of the orphanage as a baby.
That was all he had from his past.
Lin Yuan rose in silence. He put on the simple robe he wore every day and stepped into the courtyard before the others woke. The ground was hard from the night cold. The sky was still a mass of dark blue, and only a silver strip showed at the horizon.
He picked up the water buckets and walked toward the well with steady steps.
The orphanage stood on the outskirts of the small village of Dry Stone, a settlement too poor to attract attention and too insignificant to appear on any important maps. The houses were low, made of old wood and hardened mud, and the people lived clinging to whatever little the land gave them.
There, no one spoke of immortals.
They spoke of harvests, harsh winters, taxes, beasts that stole chickens, deceitful merchants, and the Gray Cloud Sect, the only truly powerful force within a thousand miles.
The sect was far for a peasant, close for a dream.
Lin Yuan leaned over the well, drew water, and filled the buckets. His arms tightened beneath the rough cloth. Though he did not cultivate, his body was stronger than that of other youths his age. He had carried firewood, water, grain sacks, and stones for as long as he could remember.
When he returned to the courtyard, the orphanage caretaker was already awake.
Old Mei was a thin woman with nearly white hair and hands as hard as dry roots. She had never been especially affectionate, but neither had she been cruel. In a place like that, that was already enough.
"Up before everyone again," she grunted when she saw him. "One day you'll become an old man before your time."
Lin Yuan set the buckets down beside the kitchen.
"If I wait for the others to wake up, we won't have hot water until noon."
Old Mei snorted, though deep down it was a compliment.
"Go chop the firewood. And wake those lazy ones in a quarter of an hour."
"Yes."
Lin Yuan headed toward the pile of logs stacked beside the wall. He took the axe, raised it, and brought it down with precision. The sharp crack broke the silence of the morning.
Strike.
Strike.
Strike.
He thought of nothing while chopping wood. Or at least, that was what he tried to do. But sometimes thoughts came on their own.
Who would leave a baby in front of an orphanage in a miserable village?
Why had they left him that worthless medallion?
Why had no one ever come back?
He had asked himself those questions so many times that they no longer hurt the way they once did. Now they were like thorns buried too deep to pull out.
Even so, on cold days, in long and silent dawns like that one, something inside him still kept asking.
Did they really abandon me?
"Lin Yuan!"
The shrill voice of one of the younger children pulled him from his thoughts.
A group of half-asleep boys had come out into the courtyard. One of them, with an upturned nose and sharp eyes, pointed at him with a mocking grin.
"Old Mei says recruiters are coming to the village today."
Another child laughed.
"They say they'll choose the best to take to the Gray Cloud Sect."
"And they say," added the first, crossing his arms, "that those with talent will be able to change their destiny."
A third looked at Lin Yuan with a crooked smile.
"Do you think you'll go too, orphan?"
Lin Yuan drove the axe into the chopping block.
"What if I do?"
The three of them looked at one another before bursting into laughter.
"Then take that medallion of yours," one said. "Maybe the elders will see you're the son of an important beggar."
The laughter grew louder.
Lin Yuan did not answer.
He only looked at them.
There was something in his silence that always made others uncomfortable. It was neither fear nor shame. It was a stillness too firm for someone his age.
Little by little, the boys stopped laughing.
"Stay here if you want to keep staring," Lin Yuan said, taking up the axe again. "But when you're done, gather the wood I split. That builds character too."
One of them snorted, another clicked his tongue, and in the end they walked away muttering.
Old Mei, who had heard part of the exchange from the kitchen, let out a dry laugh.
"Your tongue grows sharper every year."
Lin Yuan shrugged.
"Cheaper than a sword."
"And less useful in a fight."
"Depends on who you're fighting."
Old Mei watched him with her tired eyes. She had seen many children grow up in that place. Some weak, some thieves, some bitter, some obedient to the point of submission. Lin Yuan was different.
He was not the friendliest. Nor the most docile.
But when he fell, he always got back up without asking for help.
"Will you go if recruiters come?" the old woman asked.
Lin Yuan took a little while to answer.
"Yes."
"They may not choose you."
"I know."
"They may mock you."
"I know."
"They may see your hands, your clothes, your origin... and decide before truly looking at you."
Lin Yuan remained silent.
Old Mei sighed.
"Then go anyway."
He raised his eyes.
"Is that support?"
"It's realism," she said. "Support is overrated in poor places."
Lin Yuan barely smiled, only a faint shadow at the corner of his mouth.
Morning fully opened over Dry Stone. As the sun advanced, the village began to stir. Fires were lit. Dogs barked. Cart wheels creaked. Market voices, bargaining, tools, footsteps.
And then they arrived.
Three men in gray robes descended the main path, escorted by two young men armed with short swords. Their clothes, though simple, were far better than any garment in the village. Their boots had no mud. Their belts carried storage pouches. Their faces, even the youngest among them, held that lofty calm of those who live above everyday hunger.
"Recruiters from the Gray Cloud Sect!" someone shouted.
In an instant, the center of the village filled with people.
Parents pushing their children to the front.
Children smoothing their clothes.
Youths trying to look taller, stronger, more worthy.
Lin Yuan watched it all from a certain distance, the medallion hanging cold against his chest.
One of the recruiters unfurled a scroll and spoke in a firm voice:
"By order of the Gray Cloud Sect, at dawn tomorrow a selection will be held for youths suited to the path of cultivation. All those who have not yet seen eighteen winters may present themselves. Body, spiritual affinity, and foundation will be evaluated."
A general murmur rose.
One child began to cry from nerves. A woman crossed herself toward the heavens. An old man dropped to his knees as though he had witnessed a miracle.
Lin Yuan said nothing.
But he felt something tighten inside his chest.
Not hope.
Not entirely.
Something harder. Colder.
An opportunity.
Even if it was slight.
Even if it ended in failure.
Even if they mocked him.
He could not let it pass.
Little by little, people began to disperse, commenting on the news in excited voices. Lin Yuan remained still for a moment longer.
That was when he felt someone's gaze on him.
He turned his head.
It was the village blacksmith, a hunched man with blackened hands and a ruined back. He was staring at the medallion that barely showed between the folds of Lin Yuan's robe.
The old man narrowed his eyes.
"Boy."
Lin Yuan approached cautiously.
"Yes?"
The blacksmith pointed at the medallion with his chin.
"Let me see it."
Lin Yuan hesitated for a few seconds. Then he pulled it out over his clothes and held it in his palm.
The old man did not touch it. He only looked at it.
Very closely.
For several moments he said nothing.
Then he frowned.
"What a strange thing..."
"Do you recognize it?" Lin Yuan asked.
The blacksmith slowly shook his head, but his expression was not one of simple confusion.
"No," he murmured. "And that is precisely what is strange."
Lin Yuan felt a faint knot in his throat.
"What do you mean?"
The old man lifted his gaze to him.
"I've worked metal all my life. Iron, copper, steel, cheap alloys, old tools, nails, knives, pieces brought by merchants... This does not seem valuable, but it also looks like nothing I've ever seen before."
He fell silent for a moment before adding, in a much lower voice:
"That metal should not exist in a place like this."
Lin Yuan clenched the medallion tightly.
The old man stepped back.
"Go to the trial tomorrow, boy. Whatever that pendant is... it was not born in Dry Stone."
Lin Yuan closed his hand around the medallion.
The metal still felt exactly as it always had.
Cold.
Ordinary.
Worthless.
And yet, for the first time in many years, an impossible thought crossed his mind.
Perhaps it was not he who belonged too little to this world.
Perhaps it was this world that had never been enough to explain who he was.