As the pale light of dawn filtered over the mists shrouding the Valley of Aspirations, Bu He sat at the base of a stone pillar, staring with empty eyes at a bead crumbling to dust in his palms. The ancient symbols on its surface had long since faded, but the sense of deficiency they left behind was a brand seared into his heart, as heavy as the day it was first etched in his childhood.
Dozens of students were lined up across the valley, all eyes fixed on the glowing circle at the heart of the Qi Flow Ceremony. But for Bu He, Qi—the celestial breath of the heavens—was not a gentle stream but a hostile tide. He could neither feel it nor absorb it. No matter how he tried, the vibrant energies his peers gathered in their palms recoiled from him. It was more than an absence; his body actively rejected the flow, neutralizing it on contact, leaving a chilling emptiness in its wake. His meridians were a void, a flaw in creation that devoured the spirit current.
With the toll of a heavy bell announcing the start of the ceremony, the students were called forth one by one. Every eye was on the child who would be their family's pride. But when Bu He's turn came, whispers turned to jeers. Some even threw stones from the edge of the valley.
Head Abbot An Xin, his face a mask of wrinkled impatience, gestured sharply. "Bu He, bring the testing bead!" His voice echoed through the valley, but Bu He's legs did not buckle. On the contrary, in that moment, it felt as if he refused to move. A pang of pain, shame, and a stubborn pride warred within him.
The bead in his palm did not swallow the flow of Qi like the others. Instead, the moment he approached the testing circle, the bead darkened, turned to ash, and crumbled into nothingness, as if starved of the very energy it was meant to measure.
A wave of laughter erupted from the crowd. "A Spirit Null! The Mismatched! The boy who breaks the flow!" they shouted, and more stones were thrown.
For Bu He, time stopped. In that instant, the weight of the world didn't just press down on him; it collapsed inward. He fell to his knees, his hands digging into the earth. The scornful gazes tried to erase him, competing with each other in their cruelty. The loneliness inside Bu He grew, and grew, until it twisted into a dizzying rage.
As Head Abbot An Xin approached, he placed a hand on Bu He's shoulder and whispered, so softly only the two of them could hear, "Your path ends here, son. The Heavens do not favor you."
Bu He's eyes blurred. The words were heavy, but the defiance inside him yearned to shatter them.
As soon as the ceremony ended, Bu He slipped away from the crowd and headed for a forest path behind the valley. The cracking of branches under his feet was an echo of his inner rebellion. His eyes were fixed on the dark earth before him, his ears deaf to the distant laughter behind.
"To be unable to feel Qi... but how do I know that's what I'm supposed to feel?" he muttered. He was trembling like a dog soaked in a storm, but what raged within him was not despair, but a tempest yearning to turn everything upside down.
At the end of the path, by an old stone bridge, a solitary figure emerged. A hunched old man, covered in dust and grime, watched Bu He from the shadows. His voice was a whisper that seemed to rise from the soil itself: "The Heavens have closed their gates to you, child. But the Earth... the Earth remembers its own blood. When the spirit in the sky forsakes you, you must listen to the soul in the ground. That path is not walked with grace, but carved with pain."
The old man's hands were chapped, and between his fingers, he held an old, sealed stone.
Bu He flinched but did not leave. "I failed. They cast me out before the path even began," he said, his voice cracking.
The old man squinted, bowing slightly. "The beginning of the path belongs to no one. Your body is your only true path. Your spirit may be blind to Qi, but when you walk with the flesh, you can reach the story told by your ancient bones." He placed the stone in Bu He's palm. "This... this only opens for those who dare to turn their back on the sky."
That night, for the first time in his life, Bu He didn't ask if he could cross a bridge. He pressed the stone to his chest and closed his eyes. Slowly, he felt a burning start somewhere deep within his body, a primordial, hungry warmth. Something was taking the place of Qi... perhaps it was the first step on a lost, heretical path.
The forest's chill draped over Bu He's shoulders like a cloak. After the ceremony, he had no sanctuary to seek, no friend to speak to. Moonlight filtered through the branches like broken shards, the earth was damp, and the air smelled of moss. A peaceful sleep was impossible with the aching void left by the Qi that had rejected his very existence. The echoes of what had just happened rang fresh with every breath.
He wanted to collapse to his knees and give up. But as he clutched the sealed stone the old man had given him, another force seemed to awaken within. A deep ache, a searing pain that worked its way into the marrow of his bones. Not the absence of Qi, but a different kind of heat. It was as if the stone, against his skin, was igniting that inner void, causing agony but also sprinkling a desperate hope that everything could change.
He pushed deeper into the forest. With every step, his foot slipped slightly on the path of mud and rotting leaves. Amidst the weight of the air and the chirping of insects, he felt he was descending into a cave with no end. He allowed his inner fury to surface, oscillating between disappointment, shame, and a stubborn sense of humor. At times, he would call himself "the Mismatched" and laugh, only for his eyes to well up with tears moments later.
Soon, an old ruin appeared among the trees. A broken inscription on the wall read: "The path to the Scorching Tower begins here." The ruin was like a symbol of his own pain and loneliness; a place abandoned by the old masters, a place no one visited anymore. Its door was ajar, and the wind licked the stone steps, entering with a strange moan. It was like a call to the underworld.
Bu He didn't hesitate. As he descended the steps of the ruin, he felt a new vibration in his body with each footfall on the damp earth. The sealed stone in his palm grew heavier, eventually reaching a nearly burning temperature. At the bottom of the stairs, in a narrow room, he found a book amidst cobwebs and dust. On the cover, complex symbols and a few cracked letters: "The Broken Law."
As he turned the pages, he realized it spoke of techniques written in an ancient tongue, forbidden practices that pushed the limits of the body, and an energy path entirely different from Qi, called "Leyna." The book whispered a forgotten, dangerous truth: "Where Qi is the breath of the heavens, Leyna is the blood of the earth. To draw from Leyna is to turn one's back on the Celestial Path and embrace the Primal Core. It is a path of heresy, of strength born not from meditation, but from the body's screaming truths."
Forgetting everything that had been forced upon him, he delved into the book's depths. Each line was an echo of his own past; it was a book for the outcast, the suffering, the children abandoned by all.
Suddenly, a sound from outside startled him. Heavy, angry footsteps approached from the forest. Three of the youths from the ceremony had come to find Bu He after their public humiliation of him. They held thick sticks, their faces twisted in snarling contempt. "Mismatched, did you think you could hide from us?" they yelled.
Bu He thought of hiding, but holding the sealed stone and the book, he felt a flicker of courage. One of the boys spotted him and charged. "Born without Qi, born dead!" he screamed, bringing the stick down on Bu He's back.
The pain was sharp, digging into his bones. But in that instant, the stone in his palm flared with a blinding light. A wave of crimson heat, a shockwave, enveloped his entire body and burst outward. It was a hungry, demanding energy that felt like coming home, a power his very blood recognized. The boy with the stick staggered back a step. For the first time, Bu He stood his ground not with his body, but with a resistance that seemed to come from the deepest part of his soul.
The other two hesitated. "There's something wrong with this kid..." they muttered, but they still advanced, their pride pushing them forward.
Bu He instinctively ducked to defend himself, grabbing one of their legs and growling a few words he remembered from the ancient book. Suddenly, that hungry warmth coursing through his veins transferred from his hands to his opponent's skin, and the boy collapsed. The other two panicked and fled.
Panting on the ground, Bu He couldn't believe what had just happened. "My body... for the first time, it's truly mine," he whispered. The warmth of the stone in his palms hadn't faded; it continued to glow like a fire in the dim light of the ruin.
At that moment, a whisper rose from the corner of the room: "Pain will devour you, but it will also shape you. Now, make your choice: will you leave your old life behind and enter the path of pain, or will you continue to drift like a ghost in the valley?"
Bu He stood up, pulling his wounded body together, and pressed the book to his chest. He had never felt so determined. His eyes turned to the door, to the night outside. "If there is another path, I will find it. With my body, with my strength, and with this cursed mismatch of mine."
When he stepped out of the ruin, the morning chill felt like hope for the first time. He would break the chains of the old world and build his own path. He would let the new power awakening within him—a flame fed by pain and loneliness—light his way.