A month.
That was how long Wang Tang remained locked within the four walls of his room. A month of silence. Of absence. Of mourning.
Each passing day felt like an echo of the one before it—void of warmth, devoid of meaning. He barely spoke, barely moved. Food went untouched. Light went unseen. The once lively spark in his red eyes had dulled into a hollow emptiness.
But even pain has its limits.
One early morning, as the first rays of the sun filtered in through the cracks of his curtains, Wang Tang opened his eyes—and stood.
Not because the grief had lessened.
But because he had made a decision.
He would survive.
No matter what it took.
---
From that day on, Wang Tang began to train.
He threw himself into every class, every order, every demand placed upon him by his father. Swordsmanship, strategy, and magic became his daily torment and only distraction. Where once he had found joy in beasts and plants, now he found only a cold determination to harden himself.
He trained his body until it ached. He practiced until his hands blistered, until his legs refused to move, until sweat drenched his robes and his lungs burned for air.
The instructors noted his effort, but not his talent. Wang Tang was not naturally gifted. He was slow with the blade, clumsy in magic, and often overthought strategy. But what he lacked in brilliance, he made up for in tenacity.
Each day, he returned bruised and limping. But he returned.
And yet, the world around him did not grow kinder.
Wang Lu, his younger brother by a year, became a shadow that followed his every failure. Cruel smiles. Sharp jabs. Tripped feet during drills. Insults whispered loud enough for the class to hear.
"Still playing pretend with swords, big brother?"
"Maybe if you trained with lizards instead of blades, you'd do better."
The laughter that followed was always the same. Loud. Mocking. Unchallenged.
The instructors said nothing. After all, Wang Lu was the favored heir. And Wang Tang... was a relic of a past they wanted to forget.
Even Old Man Hui, who had once been his shelter, became a distant memory.
Wang Tang saw the sadness in the old man's eyes when they passed in the halls. He knew Hui wanted to help. To talk. To offer a hand.
But he also knew the truth now.
Caring about someone in this house was dangerous.
So one day, without a word, Wang Tang stopped seeking Hui out.
He avoided the garden paths they used to walk. Avoided the rear study where Hui used to share stories of creatures and plants. Avoided the only adult who had ever truly shown him kindness.
It hurt.
But it was necessary.
He wouldn't let Hui get hurt because of him again.
---
Time blurred.
Seasons passed. Snow melted. Leaves turned gold. Rain came and went. And through it all, Wang Tang trained.
He turned thirteen and a half.
His body was still lean, but stronger. He could now complete full drills without collapsing. His grip on the sword was no longer weak. He could summon basic elemental spells, hold a stance during sparring, and even win a match—once in a while.
But the gap between him and the others remained wide.
He was not admired. He was not accepted. His classmates still mocked his slow progress. His brother and his friends still found amusement in his pain.
He never made a single friend.
But he no longer cried.
His heart had become something else—scarred, quiet, and resolute.
He continued to save every coin he received. He collected information where he could. And though he hadn't touched a creature since the purge, his love for them still simmered deep inside, hidden beneath layers of discipline and pain.
And then one day, it happened.
Wang Tang had just finished a grueling session in the courtyard. Sweat clung to his robes. His knuckles were raw from sword forms. His limbs ached.
He was about to head back to his room when a guard approached.
"Wang Tang," the man said, bowing stiffly. "The Lord requests your presence in the main hall. Immediately."
Wang Tang paused, confused. "Did something happen?"
The guard's face remained expressionless. "I was only told to bring you. Nothing more."
A strange tension filled the air.
Wang Tang gathered his things and followed.
Each step toward the mansion weighed heavier than the last.
The corridors felt colder today. The servants avoided eye contact. The usual noises of the household—the clatter of armor, the hushed gossip of maids—were absent.
Something was wrong.
Dread gnawed at his chest.
The grand doors of the main hall loomed ahead. The guard pushed them open.
And what Wang Tang saw inside—
Was something that shattered him.
Completely.
Utterly.
Irrevocably.
His breath caught in his throat.
His legs froze.
And in that single moment, as his red eyes locked on the scene before him, he felt a coldness that even three and a half years of pain could not prepare him for.
The walls seemed to close in.
The world turned distant.
He could no longer hear the guard behind him.
He could no longer move.
Whatever strength he had built… whatever resolve he had forged…
Crumbled.
And the only thought that remained was—
Why?