Once again, Chang Heng picked up his favourite book. It felt heavier than ever in his hands, as it did every day that passed. Always a bit heavier, a reminder of how his body was changing.

  He walked to the rocking chair, the one he always used, and looked out the window.

  The moon… it’s beautiful tonight.

  He avoided thinking of how he’d soon join it.

  The street in front of his family’s house was of simple, packed dirt, where too many people and animals walked on every day, and yet, in the night, it was empty: in the middle of the week, few were dumb enough to go out to drink, no one in his district could afford to waste money and not work the day after.

  In the distance, he could barely see the pink flowers of the cherry tree, the only place where lights shone.

  I wonder which family got a newborn today. At this hour in the night, they will probably be thanking their gods, right? There is no way they are still eating.

  He wanted to open his book, but he couldn’t avert his gaze from that small sight- a few branches of the tall tree, covered in small, blooming flowers, with the red, moving light of the fires illuminating them from below. It looked so much different in the winter.

  From bare and leafless, to the centre of festivities.

  A tiny smile appeared on his lips, despite his gloom.

  He lit a small lantern by his side and put the heavy book on his legs. “A New Language of Qi Symbolism and Scriptures”, it read on the title.

  Author: Chang Ming.

  As a kid, he got so excited from seeing someone with the same family name write a book, even if he could barely read the title, let alone understand what it meant.

  When his father told him it was written by one of his ancestors, he annoyed them for days and days, until they accepted to give it to him for his birthday.

  With hindsight, he now knew that his parents won the exchange, finding an easy gift that he would love.

  And love he did.

  In a few hours, he will have read it time, and time, and time again for nine years.

  For a seven years old, it had been a great present. For the almost sixteen years old Chang Heng, it was the one thing that gave him purpose and that he could dedicate effort to.

  He ignored the bookmark and instead opened the first page. On the back of the cover, there were two notes and some scribbles.

  The first, in a neat, elegant calligraphy, said: “From Mother and Father, with love. We hope your curiosity won’t be satisfied, and you’ll one day look for your own answers.”

  His curiosity had not been satisfied for sure. Not only did he read the book far too many times, but it spurred questions and ideas in him, some that he found answers to in other books, others that he worked on himself, and others more that he was still seeking.

  The times he found one, more questions came, more doubts, more ideas, his mind an endless well of creativity, the only barrier his parents’ declining finances over the years and his inability to pick up a job.

  He could read and write, and his math and logic skills were far above average, but what could he do when even just going out looking for a job was a dangerous task?

  The second note was clearly written by a kid, with barely readable letters and splotches of ink all around: “My first bok, from all family.” a word was written over until unreadable “Awesome!”, followed by a smiling face.

  It was an eyesore whenever he opened the book, and it always gave him second-hand embarrassment- or is this more late-hand embarrassment?- but he couldn’t deny that the feeling was one he still had now.

  It was one of the few things that never changed in his life.

  His home changed many times over the years, always a bit smaller; his doctor changed, always a bit cheaper; his sister grew, almost as tall as him, despite the younger age; his health got worse.

  The only things that didn’t change were this passion and the smiles his family gave him.

  The scribbles, obviously, came from his younger sister, Chang Xia. At the time she wasn’t even two, but still wanted to do the same they did.

  When they asked her what those weird lines and symbols meant, she said that she also wanted a book. When Chang Heng asked again the day after, she said that he actually made the scribbles, and she didn’t know what they meant.

  She has always been smart, for such a dumb girl.

  He was still completely sure of her idiocy, but far too often she won their verbal scuffles. Him being the dumber one for arguing with a child was her main argument, but sometimes she came out with insults that had their mother worried- and she did not have a refined tongue.

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  He slowly skimmed the pages, barely looking at the text, and instead focused on all the sparse notes. At times, he even had to put pieces of paper between the pages to write on them, when he finished the space.

  There was a clear distinction between the ones he wrote when he was a child, and the more recent ones, other than the much-improved calligraphy: a bit too many of the older ones used the book almost as a diary, telling where he went, what he did, with who…

  The older he got, the less those notes appeared, not because he didn’t want to write them, but because he had less and less to write. The number of times he met his friends lowered as his sickness progressed, and staying outside became a bigger danger to him, fevers easier to get and the smallest scratches easier to infect.

  The last one, he wrote before going out to play with the neighboring kid. He didn’t follow up with what he did, but he remembered.

  They played, and played, and played, then he passed out. Just like that.

  Same pain as usual, same tiredness, just his body shutting down. Maybe from the cold, maybe from the exertion, or maybe he had simply lost too much blood that morning. He couldn’t tell, and neither could his doctor.

  And I was supposed to be in a good mood, eh. What an idiot. Every time, you watch the moon, read the same notes, feel the same nice emotions, then get here and get all sad.

  More thoughts were ready to bubble up to the surface, dark things that he refused to put in words.

  To calm down, he finally started to read the book, opening the page where the bookmark lied, near the end.

  When he finished it, he watched outside the window.

  It wasn't yet midnight, but the festivities under the cherry three were most likely finishing, only one fire left to illuminate.

  The Blue Moon was still there, a constant presence for this half of the year.

  As the book said, whilst they still had the Blue Moon, it was best to practice the more Qi related aspects of Cultivation.

  It was the protector of the weak, and blessing their Qi was the way it helped them.

  The Red Moon would come in its place in a couple months, turning the meekest Beast into a dangerous one.

  The only good thing out of this mess of a life is that I'll have to see one less Red Moon.

  Breathe. Back to the book.

  This time, I'll start with the notes.

  …

  Fourth day of April, sixteen years earlier, Chang Ming held his baby, his son.

  It had been just an hour since he was born, and he already gave them their first scare.

  His wife, Chang Li, had passed out from the pain as soon as he came out- it would have been weird in a normal delivery, and it was even more that she did.

  Her body was big, and no matter how soft she seemed, she was plenty strong and used to hardship.

  But none of them could focus on her when she passed out, the tiny baby wasn't breathing.

  Healing Techniques, potions, and the best doctors in the city took the best part of an hour to make his heart beat on it's own, all while doing their best to keep the body alive.

  And now, the baby slept in his arms. He hadn't cried yet, which worried Chang Ming.

  The babies in the family terrains always made their presence known, even when no one wanted to know.

  “He's so beautiful, honey” His beloved's voice said.

  “He is.”

  “He looks so calm, sleeping… give me, give me. I want to hold him.”

  He smiled at her, mischievous. “In a minute.”

  “Really? Now you do the part of the bad guy? Just hand me that little thing, dumbass.”

  “It's the first time you call me that, you know?” He said while gently putting their child in her arms.

  “It's the first time you give me reason to, proper boy.” She kissed her child, love in her eyes as she looked at both of the men in her life.

  “How do we call him?”

  “What about… Heng? He is, after all, very calm. And I'm sure it would be a good omen.”

  “I like it. Little Chang Heng. Our son.”

  “Our son.”

  They looked at each other, no words enough to describe the joy they felt.

  “I already have an embarrassing nickname ready, you know that, right?”

  Chang Ming scoffed.

  “You are very unladylike.”

  “You knew that far before you married me, so don't say you don't like it.” She grinned.

  “I will neither confirm nor deny your accusation.” He breathed in, his face growing serious. “There is something I need to tell you, honey. There were complications with our son's birth…”

  …

  As the hours passed, so did those dark feelings that had come out earlier. They faded away as he distracted himself.

  Eventually he closed the book, he didn’t want to keep reading, and all that he was left feeling was… acceptance.

  I always knew it. My parents may have tried to hide it, but the doctors were never tactful people.

  Two months left for me. Maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less. I will miss Xia’s birthday. I should prepare some gifts for her. Maybe I can convince Father to let me help him with work, in exchange for some allowance. I doubt there is anything I can help Mother with.

  In the corner of his sight, a small light flickered for an instant. A firefly? Inside? What-

  Another appeared for the briefest moment, of a red colour that no firefly should have. It didn’t make sense, it was neither the season nor the place for them to be in.

  An idea started to form in his mind. There was no reason for him to believe it, no sign beforehand. He was too old for this, there were barely any records past the age of fifteen.

  He followed those flickering lights, letting his gaze wander, his heart beating louder and louder.

  For once, he was completely focused on the present, that exact moment.

  He was led to look at the moon, which waited at its peak. It’s past midnight. It’s my birthday.

  Then he felt it- energy inside him, and the same outside, of a kind he had never experienced before, only read and read about: Qi.

  On the night of his sixteenth birthday, Chang Heng had awakened as a Cultivator.