As Chang Jian extracted his sword, his own Qi was gathering inside it. It wasn’t supposed to be possible, not without the Meridians one would gain in the Second Awakening.

  Yet, Qi flowed, as if the sword was truly a part of his body, more and more of it running through the blade.

  Chang Heng wasn’t sure if he wanted to study the Qi or the sword more. It was pitch black, thinner and smoother than those one saw on the statues of old heroes, with only one blade that ended in a recurved tip.

  It was a katana, a type of sword rarely used in their region, made of some kind of black stone or crystal instead of steel.

  His cousin wasn’t imbuing a technique in it, yet it seemed to get sharper and sharper. The energy flowing around it seemed to get scared, as if the Qi had a consciousness of its own, while at the same time it tried to get closer, leading to that vibrating feeling in the air.

  He quickly raised the sword, and brought it down.

  All that energy stored moved in an instant, and the edge flowed easily through the boulder, forming a perfect arc as it slowed in front of Chang Jian.

  The Qi that rested inside the monolith dispersed after almost a year, as it crumbed down in a rain of simple pebbles.

  The crowd around them gasped.

  For almost a year, it had been a symbol of the fragility of their settlement, its sight bringing memories of how it could all be ended by some bad luck. The first time, Chang Jian showed they could defend themselves. Now, he showed they could win.

  The people watched him with even more reverence than before, some kneeling, some whispering, “Hero” and “Guardian” the most common words in them.

  It’s not that he was "the strongest", not even the strongest they’d seen, having witnessed the far too common speeches the City Lord held. But he was the only one who had no kind of hesitation, who acted and showed what he could do to protect them regardless of politics or self preservation.

  Even from just that showing of power, his enemies and rivals could use it, learn from it his strengths and weaknesses. But he didn’t care.

  “This is what I achieved since 7 or 8 months ago. From just a scratch, to cutting it in half. More than my Cultivation, what I improved are my skills. This is nothing compared to the level of skill you future opponents will have, I included.”

  He wanted to retort that those months were a long time, but he knew the answer already.

  .

  They walked back to the carriage without a word.

  This time, neither of them focused on the onlookers, the taller boy accepting gifts with a simple nod.

  …

  Inside that small box, Chang Heng's mind was occupied with far too chaotic thoughts.

  His fists clenched as his thoughts were only spiraling more and more.

  In his mind he was seeing time and time again all his mistakes during training, all the times he failed, lost, got beaten down. The time wasted to do a little less, rest more than he needed.

  His foot couldn’t help but tap on the ground at the thoughts.

  All the times he fought back against extra training, delayed it as much as he could, faked being more hurt than he actually was. At times, he was stubborn enough to keep going, but gave up as soon as his pride ran out. He wasn’t sure if he wanted more pride, seeing that it made him endure more than without it, or less, so that he would’ve accepted his clan’s guidance.

  He only knew that he had made so, so many mistakes.

  If he won one or two fights, he’d get some rewards. He then would be able to use some of them for himself, and sell the rest. The money could last for some time, probably. But after that? Would he end up homeless? Would his parents take him in? Could they even do it, seeing as they didn’t fight back against this damn challenge?

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  His hidden injuries, the ones from his illness that just refused to heal, were starting to ache more. This feeling… he thought he had left it behind on the night of his birthday, but it was back. That desperation, that powerlessness, that feeling that no matter what he did, his actions would amount to nothing.

  He was supposed to be strong, to be able to figure things out, but he wasn’t!

  His hands grasped through his hair, calling for an answer, a tip, some help, anything.

  But he knew that there was nothing to do other than win the next day.

  He needed to make some kind of plan, find a strong technique, a solution to this one, big problem.

  He couldn’t focus on that, though. His mind kept going to all the things he'd lose.

  He'd lose his new home, and access to the library.

  Any money he had access to would be gone, bringing another set of problems for him.

  In the beast waves, he'd be on his own.

  The friendship he thought was budding with his cousin was gone already, he was sure.

  His body felt the need to be smaller, as he ended up with his chest pressed on his knees.

  He'd lose contact with Old Man Ling, the only person he could truly call a friend, the only one who shared his passion and curiosity.

  His family would probably be forced to distance themselves from him.

  He'd lose his family.

  He would never see his family again.

  The phrase kept repeating in his head over and over.

  He could hear his heartbeat, thumping in his ears.

  The one constant in his life would soon be taken away. The only people who loved him, and who he could love back. No more bickering and dumb jokes with his little Xia, he'd never get to enjoy his mother's hugs again, his father's calm smiles and soft laughs.

  The images didn't stop coming, no matter how much he fought them.

  Someone called at him, a usually confident voice now worried for the first time. The difference only added to that pain he felt, as all he wanted from it was to look away and stop worrying about him.

  His breathing slowed, just a bit. Just enough to talk.

  “Leave me-” his voice came out strangled, his throat dirty. He had been crying.

  “Leave me alone, for a bit. Please. I need time to… to think.”

  “Of course, Cousin. I’ll leave you be.”

  He heard the door of the small carriage open and close as Chang Jian walked out. The carriage didn’t slow down for more than a second, as he spoke to the driver.

  But he knew the boy wasn’t actually acting like that just to spite him. Chang Heng didn’t have the reasons nor the energies to get angry.

  The small space he was in felt somewhat safe now. As if it was more in his control, now that he was alone. More like he was used to.

  Those years… all those years alone in small houses, time spent with no hope and no company. His parents told him they had warped his view of the world. That despite his age, both his mind and body were still those of a younger boy.

  It was clear they were right. For too many years, he had been sure of his death, had accepted there was nothing he could do; even if his situation had changed, and now there was a chance, he had yet to truly learn it, and especially act on it.

  He cleaned his face on his hands. He still wanted to cry, but it felt pointless.

  His chest felt empty, and tight at the same time. He knew what was wrong, why it was wrong, and what he needed to do, but the feeling of desperation stayed.

  He didn't know if he could do it, if he could change, and even if he managed to, if it would be enough.

  The “maybes” loomed over his head. He wasn't guaranteed that it'd work. But he still had to try, or he simply would never know.

  His mind was still anxious, and the pressure seemed far too much for him to handle, but he forced himself to somewhat calm down.

  Logically, he knew that just giving in to emotions and panic was pointless. But he still felt that need of disappearing, of shrinking down even more in that small box of a carriage.

  He felt so weak. Pathetic. He had thought that on that night, he had somehow changed. That being given a chance meant he had actually achieved something.

  But he was still on that chair, looking at the world behind the window, without trying to open it.

  He just wanted to finally be able to open it. Step outside the door. Walk on the streets, even if his legs were too fragile to carry him for long.

  His thoughts kept wandering between what he wanted to do, and what he failed to.

  When the carriage stopped moving, the calm after a long cry had seeped in his body.

  He looked at its window, which let in light but hid clear images. A shadow waited behind it.

  With its lithe figure and long hair, for an instant he confused it for that of a girl. The instant later, he remembered who was following the carriage.

  Even more than Patriarch Guang or Old Man Ling, that shadow was becoming his image of Cultivation.

  Strength. Confidence. A Path walked every day, always a bit further. And more things he had no words to describe, not in that moment.

  All things he wasn’t.

  He didn't want to, and yet, he took a breath, and opened the door.

  Chang Jian stood there. His eyes were kind, but firm.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “... A bit.”

  “Good.” He turned to look at an apparently random door, right at the entrance of their neighbourhood. “Let her out!”

  The servant holding it shut let it open on its own with a relieved sigh.

  A kid rushed out. Thin body, tall more than she was supposed to be, fiery clothes, hair and expression.

  Chang Xia rushed to her brother and hugged him, her head scraping on his chin.

  “You damned oldie,” she says with a whiny voice “why did you mess things up? You're not supposed to go away now, with your old age you should spend time with your family, not abandon it!”

  The boy wasn't sure if she was angry, sad, making fun of him, or all of them.

  They loved and trusted each other, but they would rarely have such showings of emotions together.

  He hugged her, and patted her back, trying to give an answer to all her questions. It was hard to be fully honest, especially as he exposed all of his mistakes.

  But he did what he could, pride be damned.

  Her snappy retorts at least gave him some laughs, small rays of light in the grey darkness he felt inside.

  As they kept talking, he could feel his strength come back, his resolution growing.

  He looked deeper in the neighbourhood. He'd need it, when he talked to his parents.