It was then, standing at the precipice of destiny, that Zhao Gun recognized the true darkness that lay within the family legacy, a call to arms, a call to blood, and a call to become the man the clan desperately needed.
The path before him would not be easy, but the weight of expectation was now as much a part of him as the bloodline coursing through his veins.
From that day, Zhao Gun began to sever his ties with the world, withdrawing into silence and solitude, until their father decided to send him and his brother to the Azure Lotus sect. It was there that they first encountered Fu Heng, the day he joined the sect, and Chi Wei, who would play as significant a role in their lives as their own blood.
Chi Qide, ever the opportunist, arranged for Zhao Ren to befriend Zhao Gun, hoping to use their bond to his advantage.
And then there was Zhao Ren.
Zhao Ren lingered like a specter within the Zhao household, constantly present yet achingly unseen, a swirling disappointment cloaked in silk robes. While Zhao Gun endured grueling training that left his hands raw and bleeding, Zhao Ren fled into the world of dice and drink. Where Zhao Gun devoted himself to studying ancient battle treatises.
Zhao Ren occupied his mind with the names of courtesans, their laughter echoing like fleeting phantoms through his mind.
That night, under the pallid glow of the moon, Zhao Gun found his brother in the gardens, drunkenly weaving poetry from his lips, rich with longing and betrayal.
"Pathetic," Zhao Gun muttered, his disdain slicing through the night air.
Zhao Ren turned, a manic grin plastered across his face, wine pooling dangerously on his sleeves.
"Ah, the perfect heir graces me with his presence! Come to scold me again?"
"You're squandering your life," Zhao Gun snapped, unable to mask the hurt buried deep within.
"And you're wasting yours pursuing the approval of a father who doesn't even care," Zhao Ren shot back, venom dripping from his words.
"Face it, brother. To him, you are nothing but a tool, a means to claw back into the main clan's favor."
In a rush of anger, Zhao Gun's fist struck the stone pillar beside Zhao Ren's head, leaving cracks like the fractures in their hearts. "I am more than that."
Zhao Ren didn't flinch, his expression a mix of sadness and defiance. "Prove it."
"At least I don't waste my days chasing the affections of women who would say anything for coin," Zhao Gun said, anger lacing his voice, but beneath it was a simmering current of heartbreak.
A few weeks prior, their family had been thrust into chaos. Zhao Ren had been caught in the back rooms of the Red Fairy Pavilion, his robes tangled with a woman whose nimble fingers concealed a dagger. She wasn't merely a courtesan; she was a spy from the rival Ling Clan, armed with secrets that could shatter their family.
When the guards stormed in, she held a blade to his throat, a silent promise of betrayal and a scroll of the Zhao's darkest secrets hidden in her sash. Outnumbered and outmatched, she surrendered, and they arrested her.
"Pathetic," Zhao Tianwei had spat as the guards dragged Zhao Ren home like a puppet gone awry.
"You disgrace our family and our Zhao blood."
All Zhao Ren could do was laugh in a bitter, hollow sound.
"What family? You only have one son."
Zhao Gun, ever the dutiful heir, said nothing. But later, that night, he slipped into their shared courtyard, quietly tossing a bottle of bruise salve into his brother's room.
"You here to lecture me again?" Zhao Ren asked, a wry twist to his lips, though his eyes glistened with tears.
"I came to ask why," Zhao Gun replied softly, caught between frustration and a depth of concern.
Zhao Ren's smile faltered, revealing a chasm of despair.
"Because she listened. Because when she lied, it was for me, not for Father's empty approval."
Silence enveloped them, thick and heavy, dimming the bond they once shared. Zhao Gun turned away, unable to articulate the love and pain swelling within him. The ache of brotherhood mixed with shame, a wound that would not mend.
The sun had barely broken over the horizon when Zhao Gun made his way to the Azure Lotus Sect's training grounds, his heart heavy with urgency.
"You're late," Fu Heng called out, a teasing grin creasing his face as he spun a dagger on his fingertip.
Zhao Gun could only grumble in reply, but his frustration fell away as he realized the weight of his words. "I need your help."
The playful glint in Fu Heng's eyes dimmed. For as long as he had known, Zhao Gun was stubborn and fiercely independent. This was a significant request.
"What do you need help with?" he asked, curiosity piqued.
"My brother," Zhao Gun admitted, his voice cracking with barely-contained emotion.
"He's... slipping through my fingers. I don't know how to pull him back."
Fu Heng sheathed his dagger, the jest in his tone replaced by something more serious. "You're asking me? To that little piece of shit that I got into it with all those years ago"
"The same gutter rat he fought against years ago?"
"Cut the theatrics. You see things clearly when others cannot," Zhao Gun shot back, his gaze steady.
"Please, I need you."
The word lingered in the air, delicate and desperate.
Fu Heng sighed, relenting. "All right, but we do this my way."
They found Zhao Ren in a dimly lit tavern in Blossom City, coins glinting on the gambling table like stars waiting to be grabbed. Fu Heng slid into the seat across from him, a cocky grin plastered on his face.
"Double or nothing," he said, flicking a gold note between his fingers, the challenge dancing in his eyes.
Zhao Ren looked him up and down, a sneer twisting his lips. "You're that sect's charity case, aren't you?"
"Yep. And you're the Zhao family's disgrace." Fu Heng leaned closer, his grin wide. "Guess we're both stuck in our stories, huh?"
For a brief moment, anger flashed across Zhao Ren's face, but it quickly dissolved into something like relief. Finally, someone saw him. They played, and one by one, Zhao Ren's chips flew away from him. "Cheat!" he yelled, slamming his fists on the table.
Fu Heng smirked, leaning in with a swagger. "Or maybe you just can't grasp the game. Like you can't grasp anything else in life." Zhao Ren lunged at him in a fit of fury. Fu Heng sidestepped, effortlessly pinning him with a lock reminiscent of the one he once used on Ma Rong.
"Your brother sent me," Fu Heng whispered, his tone low and serious. "He may not say it, but he cares. You're breaking his heart, you know."
Zhao Ren froze, caught off guard. Then, he erupted in bitter laughter. "Since when does Zhao Gun have a heart?"
"Since always," Fu Heng countered. "You just stopped looking."
Zhao Ren scoffed, his sarcasm biting. "How could someone like you possibly understand him? Everyone expects greatness from him while I'm just... invisible."
" You, someone that no one expects anything of, would never understand your brother, whom everyone expects everything from." Fu Heng said.
"Your eyes are useless when your mind is blind," Fu Heng said, turning to leave him in the tavern, the words echoing behind him.
The night before the competition, Fu Heng discovered Zhao Gun in the training yard, his knuckles split and raw from pounding a stone pillar. Rage danced behind his eyes, dangerously close to spilling over.
"Your control's fading," Fu Heng observed, stepping forward. "Stop wrestling with the rage. Aim it."
Zhao Gun snarled, "I don't need your...."
Fu Heng flicked a pebble at his forehead, interrupting him.
"You're overthinking it. Watch how I execute this fist art, no wasted motion."
Zhao Gun stilled, his usual bravado faltering as he followed Fu Heng's movements. For the first time, he noticed the way Fu Heng fought not just with skill, but with a plan and purpose. There was an elegance in his chaos, a balance in his power, eerily reminiscent of Long Huang but with a devilish twist.
After the demonstration, Zhao Gun approached. "Your technique… It's unorthodox, almost like Long Huang's but sneakier."
Fu Heng wiped sweat from his brow, grinning with satisfaction. "It's not just about the moves. It's about knowing how to read the moment."
The two spoke a while longer, a bridge forming between them until Fu Heng left the yard, leaving Zhao Gun with a spark of clarity.
Days rolled by, and as Zhao Ren stood at the edge of the Martial Competition, a mix of emotions stirred within him. He watched his brother spar with ferocity. For the first time in years, he witnessed the flicker of longing in Zhao Gun's eyes, searching the stands for him.