Han Sen labored diligently as a clerk for Uncle Beng’s trading company. His wage was ten copper coins a day—a fair wage for honest labor. He handled every task, from weighing agricultural goods to hauling them and binding sacks with twisted hemp rope.

  Uncle Beng taught him the quiet arts of trade: when to smile, when to pause, how a single coin held or offered could shift a bargain.

  Auntie Sian diligently instructed Han Sen in arithmetic and bookkeeping. Yet, they were astonished to discover his competence in reading and writing. Consequently, Han Sen also assisted with the nightly recording of accounts. In return, he received lodging within Uncle Beng’s home, granted a private chamber at the rear.

  Five months passed. The spring yielded to summer, and Han Sen reached the age of sixteen. His body grew taller, stronger – a consequence of his willing labor, often carrying loads meant for two men, and further fueled by nightly escapes. Using the Art of Vanishing, he would flee into the forest, training his martial arts until well past midnight.

  Life as a merchant's assistant in a small village like Baihe Li was not always bustling. There were days of quiet stillness, waiting for the farmers to bring forth the bounty of the land.

  On such days, Tek Liong often insisted that Han Sen accompany him to mingle with youths of similar age. As Tek Liong, the master’s son, Han Sen rarely refused him. They would stroll to the tea house or wander past the solitary tailor's home, a household blessed with three daughters. The youngest, Mei Ling, a maiden of fifteen, was widely considered the fairest in the village.

  "Look! Look! Mei Ling emerges from her home," Tek Liong exclaimed, his voice laced with youthful excitement. Han Sen followed his gaze and saw the beautiful young woman depart, apparently intending to purchase at the general store. She was accompanied by her friends, Swan Koh and Ting Ting.

  "Tek Liong! Are you not ashamed to ogle Mei Ling?" Ting Ting chided.

  "First, you must offer your father a proper dowry before even considering winning her favor!" Swan Koh retorted.

  "What are you two even talking about?" Mei Ling rebuked, a blush rising to her cheeks. Her two elder sisters were already married.

  "Mei Ling, you are worthy only of a man who can offer the most generous dowry," Swan Koh insisted, a playful arrogance in his voice.

  Yet, Mei Ling gave little thought to marriage. Her concern lay with her father’s failing health. Her mother had succumbed to illness four years prior. Now her father lives only with her; how could she think to leave the old man? Her gaze drifted towards Tek Liong across the street, but her eyes unexpectedly settled on Han Sen, standing calmly at his side.

  A strange enchantment touched Mei Ling. She was captivated by the young man's handsome features, his sturdy build, his quiet composure. And his eyes – they held a stillness, a lack of vulgarity. Their gazes briefly met, and swiftly, both averted their eyes. A delicate blush bloomed on Mei Ling's fair complexion.

  Several nights passed, and as was his custom, Han Sen slipped out towards the forest, to the open clearing surrounded by ancient trees, his favored place for martial arts practice.

  He invoked the Art of Vanishing, ascending silently into the air, relishing the coolness of the summer night. As he drifted soundlessly, his keen ears detected the sounds of three men running, dragging a sack of black cloth.

  From within the sack, a muffled cry of a woman could be heard, her voice stifled. The sack itself shifted and writhed, prompting one of the men to strike a heavy palm against its bulging form.

  What is this? Han Sen wondered inwardly. Is someone being kidnapped? He followed the three men as they turned and took a path, a shortcut through the forest leading to the city of Chuzhou.

  Han Sen descended, ending his Art of Vanishing directly before the three men. They were startled by the sudden appearance of a young man standing in their path, his legs relaxed, hands folded across his chest. His face was stern, his eyes sharp, and he declared, "Halt! Release the one you have taken!"

  The three men exchanged glances, then erupted in mocking laughter.

  "A mere boy dares to block our path? You know nothing of the ways of the jianghu. Seeking death here?"

  "Enough talk. We’ll silence you now!"

  The men drew their sabres, casting the sack containing the captive aside, and charged Han Sen, who stood unarmed.

  The forest air crackled with tension. Han Sen stood firm on the earthen path, his body straight and unwavering. Before him loomed three figures radiating a palpable darkness. They were known as the "Three Flower-Picking Sabres," their reputation preceding them like a chilling shadow throughout the region. Their faces were rough, their eyes cold, and a vicious-looking sabre was sheathed at each waist.

  “Yield your life now!”

  Han Sen offered no reply. He merely regarded them with a calm gaze, as one might observe stray dogs scavenging for scraps. A gentle breeze stirred, ruffling his dark hair. He felt the current of the Dragon’s Breath within him, a grounding force, a source of tranquility.

  The portly man snorted. "Then don't blame us!" He raised his sabre, swinging it towards Han Sen with surprising speed. The blade cleaved the air, leaving a visible trail of wind.

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  Han Sen moved. Not to evade, but to advance. He activated Thunderclap at Peak. Qi condensed in his palm, forming a pulsing, silvery light. He unleashed a palm strike.

  BAM!

  The palm struck the portly man’s sabre. A resounding clang echoed through the air. The man staggered backward, astonished. His sabre flew from his grasp. Han Sen’s strike not only deflected the attack but also sent a jolt of force through the man’s arm.

  The other two members of the Three Flower-Picking Sabres moved, attacking simultaneously. One swung his sabre towards Han Sen’s head, while the other attempted a knee strike to his abdomen.

  Han Sen utilized Scattering Petals in the Breeze. His body flowed like a feather caught in the wind. He sidestepped the sweeping sabre with a graceful spin and leaped backward to avoid the knee strike.

  The sabre aimed at his head sailed harmlessly past. Han Sen seized the momentum, surging forward. He activated Thunderclap at Peak again, this time targeting the man attempting the knee strike.

  DUK!

  The palm struck the man’s chest. He reeled backward, coughing up blood. The Qi contained within the strike tore through his meridian channels, inflicting excruciating pain.

  The portly man struggled to rise, grasping for his fallen sabre. But Han Sen did not grant him the opportunity. He continued his relentless advance, like a ghost dancing in the shadows. Northern Thunderclap was unleashed repeatedly, each strike carrying devastating force.

  The second man attempted to parry Han Sen's attacks, but he was unable to match the speed and power of the Five Winds Movement and Five Thunders Palm. The palm strikes slammed into his abdomen, forcing him to cough and fall to the ground.

  The portly man finally retrieved his sabre. He roared in anger, slashing at Han Sen with ferocious strength. Han Sen did not dodge. He met the blow with Thunderclap Palm Deflecting Dragon.

  KRAK!

  The sabre shattered in Han Sen’s palm. The Qi from Thunderclap Palm Deflecting Dragon had disrupted the metal’s structure. The portly man was stunned. He had not anticipated facing someone with such power.

  Han Sen stepped back, creating distance. He had no intention of prolonging their suffering. He merely wished to end their wickedness.

  The three men snarled in rage. They refused to yield, attacking desperately, intent on dying together. Han Sen had no choice, and finally unleashed his devastating strikes. The three criminals fell instantly.

  Han Sen sighed. He did not desire this. He only wished to protect the village and its innocent inhabitants. The power of Five Thunder Palm he possessed often exceeded his ability to control the choices of his opponents. If the criminals truly refused life, then he could not allow himself to perish.

  The young man approached the still-bound sack. Drawing upon his experience from working in his uncle's shop, Han Sen easily untied the knots and opened the black sack.

  A beautiful young girl emerged from within. Mei Ling. She was unconscious.

  Han Sen swiftly carried the girl forward to his home. With his immense Qi, Mei Ling’s weight was insignificant. He could still float gently through the air, landing softly before the tailor’s house.

  Mei Ling slowly regained consciousness. She had been terrified during her abduction, but now found herself before her own home. She turned, seeing the figure of Han Sen still watching her.

  Then, the figure vanished before her eyes, as if he were nothing more than a dream.

  The following morning, the story of Mei Ling’s rescue reverberated throughout Baihe Li. The men of the village searched the forest, discovering the bodies of the three criminals who had long been a source of fear.

  Mei Ling could not explain who had saved her. Yet, from that day forward, Mei Ling’s eyes often stole glances at Han Sen as he worked in the shop. A shy smile would grace her lips when their eyes met.

  Han Sen felt it too, a subtle pull, like the wind gathering clouds together.

  Yet, Han Sen remained a mere servant, possessing no wealth, a young boy burdened by a broken blade and secrets heavier than gold.

  Mei Ling's father, due to his circumstances, weighed proposals as one would measure rice on a scale.

  The youngest daughter often commanded the smallest dowry – a tradition as ancient as the Yellow River cleaving through China. He sought the wealthiest suitor to secure his own future, to guarantee the provision of his medicine. In times of hardship such as these, a maiden’s beauty was a currency; marriage, an investment.

  Kwok Lok Wai – son of the wealthiest merchant in Baihe, Kwok An Tang – presented the highest offer: five tael of silver, two rolls of silk, and a fertile plot of land.

  Mei Ling’s father accepted the proposal without consulting his daughter. He was thankful his child had escaped the clutches of kidnapping. How could he respond to the prospective in-laws if his daughter were to vanish? Thankfully, Mei Ling had returned safely.

  And so, the wedding ceremony arrived swiftly.

  On the wedding night, as crimson lanterns glowed, the gates to the Kwok clan estate swung open.

  Twenty-year-old Kwok Lok Wai, intoxicated by his father's rice wine and wealth, orders his newlywed wife to dance naked, squeeze her breasts, spread her legs wide open, and indulge his desires like a cheap prostitute, while the female servants – bought from childhood, bound by debt – are ordered to watch and scream at his whims. All of this is extremely humiliating and degrading for Mei Ling.

  In Baihe Li, there were no pleasures, no traveling performers, no teahouses with poets reciting verses. The long night and unchecked power quickly spiraled into unchecked indulgence.

  Mei Ling obeyed her husband.

  Filial piety, a child’s duty to their parents, demanded it. A daughter’s devotion to her father, a wife’s obedience to her husband – these tenets of Confucianism were ingrained in tradition during the Tang Dynasty, even amongst those in the village who did not comprehend their meaning.

  Thus, Mei Ling endured it all, the night of cruel commands, a harbinger of the days to come, to be met with a forced smile.

  The fifteen-year-old girl, once running freely with her friends, now moved like a shadow, her beauty polished for display, her spirit fading behind dull eyes.

  A month had passed since the wedding. Han Sen overheard whispers in the market, gossip about Mei Ling.

  Then, Han Sen himself witnessed the girl who had once stirred his heart walking back towards the Kwok family home, her prison now. Her eyes downcast, bruises hidden beneath the costly silk sleeves purchased with her own price.

  Their eyes met in the street.

  For a fleeting moment, a spark ignited in the woman’s eyes – recognition, perhaps, a desperate hope that those hands would once again offer succor.

  Then, she turned away.

  Han Sen clenched his fists at his sides. He was a blade, capable of cleaving through injustice.

  But the words of Uncle Beng echoed louder.

  "No single swordsman can stand against the might of an entire kingdom."

  Mei Ling’s suffering was not the result of blatant malice, but the bitter reality that the world weighed daughters in tael of silver and taught – even demanded – obedience until the last breath.

  Han Sen returned to his work, resuming the weighing of goods.

  “One day,” he murmured within himself. “One day, I will find a way.”

  Not with thunderous force.

  But with something of greater value than a dowry.

  For now, the most beautiful girl in Baihe Li carried water for a husband who owned her, while the boy who had loved her from afar learned the quiet power of patience.

  And the village, like the empire itself, turned its face away.

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