The memories of the arena, the council's judgment, and the long, bitter road behind him faded as Yuan Zhen stepped through Chengdu's battered gates. The present was harsher, colder—and entirely his own.
The journey had stripped him of everything except resolve. He traveled alone, refusing the company of Wei or any loyalists, knowing their association would only bring them ruin. The roads were thick with refugees—farmers fleeing bandits, martial artists cast out by the coalition, merchants whose wares had been stolen by one warlord or another. The further he walked, the more the world seemed to unravel.
Chengdu's city gates loomed, battered and scarred. The guards eyed Yuan Zhen's travel-stained robes and the spear slung across his back with suspicion, but a few coins and a cold stare bought him passage. Inside, the city was a storm of chaos: hawkers shouted over the din of clashing steel, children darted through alleys, and the stench of unwashed bodies mixed with the iron tang of blood.
He moved through the crowds, senses sharp. Every brush of a stranger's sleeve, every furtive glance, set his nerves on edge. Here, there were no banners of unity—only fractured loyalties and the law of the strong.
A commotion erupted near a market square. Yuan Zhen's instincts flared. He pushed through the crowd and saw a group of armored thugs—remnants of the Yellow Turban rebels, by their crude tattoos—harassing a vendor and his daughter. The vendor pleaded, but the leader backhanded him, sending him sprawling. The girl screamed as a second thug grabbed her arm.
Yuan Zhen stepped forward, voice cold. "Let them go."
The leader turned, sneering. "And who are you, traveler? Another hero come to die?"
The crowd watched, hungry for spectacle but too afraid to intervene. Yuan Zhen's grip tightened on his spear.
"I am no hero," he said, "but I do not suffer bullies."
The thug laughed, drawing a battered saber. "Kill him."
The attack came fast—three men lunging at once, blades flashing. Yuan Zhen's body moved before thought: spear sweeping low, knocking one aside; a twist and thrust—Silver Willow Thrust—catching another in the thigh. The third swung wildly, but Yuan Zhen sidestepped, letting the blade whistle past before driving the butt of his spear into the man's gut.
The crowd gasped as the thugs fell. The leader snarled, rushing in with a savage overhead strike. Yuan Zhen parried, the clash of steel ringing through the square. Their eyes met—rage against cold resolve. The leader feinted, then slashed at Yuan Zhen's side, but Yuan Zhen reversed his grip, spinning the spear in a tight arc—Iron Wall Parry—deflecting the blow and sending the saber flying.
The leader stumbled. Yuan Zhen closed in, the spear's tip at his throat. "Leave. Now. Or you'll answer to me."
The thug spat, but the look in Yuan Zhen's eyes—hard, unyielding, touched by something almost inhuman—broke his nerve. He and his men fled, dragging their wounded with them.
The square was silent. The vendor struggled to his feet, bowing low. "Thank you, sir! Thank you!"
Yuan Zhen shook his head. "Protect your family. This city is not safe."
He turned to leave, but a voice called out—a young woman, her face streaked with dirt but her eyes clear. "What is your name, sir?"
He hesitated, then answered, "Yuan Zhen."
A ripple went through the crowd. Some whispered, some stared in awe, others in fear. The name was already a curse among the coalition loyalists, but here, it was something new—a rumor, a legend in the making.
Yuan Zhen melted into the city's labyrinthine streets, heart pounding. He found a cheap inn on the outskirts, paid for a room, and collapsed onto the straw mat. As exhaustion threatened to claim him, he pulled the jade pendant from his collar, running his thumb over its smooth surface.
He remembered his mother's voice, gentle but firm: "Strength is not in vengeance, Zhen, but in what you build when all is lost."
A shadow crossed his face as he thought of the cruel fate that awaited his mother, a fate sent by Lady Liu's hand. The memory was a wound that refused to heal.
He closed his eyes, but sleep was a battlefield—visions of fire, betrayal, and the cold, triumphant smile of Lady Liu haunted him. When he finally drifted off, it was to the distant sound of drums and the promise of more violence.
He was woken by shouts. The innkeeper burst into his room, pale with terror. "Sir, please! The city guard—they're rounding up strangers. They say a demon has come to Chengdu!"
Yuan Zhen's blood ran cold. He dressed swiftly, strapping on his sword and spear, and slipped out the back. The streets were chaos—guards dragging men and women from their homes, accusing them of being spies or rebels. Yuan Zhen kept to the shadows, moving with the silent grace of a hunter.
He saw the thugs from earlier, now emboldened by the guards' distraction, harassing another group of refugees. Rage flared in his chest. He couldn't save everyone, but he could make a difference here.
He leapt from the shadows, spear flashing. The first thug fell before he even saw Yuan Zhen move. The others turned, but Yuan Zhen was already among them—a whirlwind of steel and resolve. He fought with a cold, precise fury, every movement a dance of life and death.
The crowd watched, stunned. Some cheered, others fled. When the last thug fell, Yuan Zhen stood alone, chest heaving, white hair gleaming faintly in the torchlight.
The name "White Demon" had not yet been spoken aloud, but the seed was planted. A legend was beginning.
Yuan Zhen found shelter in an abandoned temple on the city's edge. He washed the blood from his hands, staring at his reflection in a cracked bronze mirror. The white hair, the haunted eyes—he barely recognized himself.
He lit a single candle and knelt before the altar, the jade pendant warm in his palm.
Mother, I am lost. But I will not be broken.
He swore an oath in the darkness: to build something new from the ashes, to protect those the world had cast aside, and to make his enemies tremble at the name they had tried to erase.
Outside, the city of Chengdu burned with unrest. But in the heart of the night, a new legend took root