Deep within the heart of the Han Clan's ancestral grounds, the training halls echoed with fierce cries. Young disciples clashed wooden swords, qi sparks bursting from their bodies as elders barked instructions.
At the front stood Han Wei's son, Han Long, a boy of only twelve years yet already radiating a frightening aura. His blood mark—a crimson dragon coiling faintly along his forearm—glowed with every swing of his blade.
"Good! Push it further!" Han Wei shouted, his eyes glinting with pride. "Long'er, you must not disappoint your father. You will be the future spearhead of our clan!"
Han Long's chest heaved as he slammed his opponent to the ground. He raised his chin, confidence shining in his eyes. Around him, the other cousins of his generation could only look on with envy and fear.
Elder Han Zhiyun, one of the oldest in the clan, stroked his beard as he watched. "Wei, your boy's talent is frightening. But do not forget—natural talent is not enough. To rise above the other clans and sects, one must grasp what is forbidden."
At those words, a servant hurried in carrying a small jade box, sealed with talismans. Even from a distance, a faint sinister aura leaked from within.
"Father…" Han Long's voice trembled, both excited and fearful. "Is this—?"
Han Wei's lips curved into a cold smile. "Yes. The marrow of a Shadow Beast. Our elders paid a great price to obtain it. Tonight, you will refine it and push your blood mark beyond its limit."
Several elders exchanged uneasy glances. To feed such a forbidden treasure to a child could destroy his foundation… or worse. But Han Wei's ambition left no room for hesitation.
"The seven sects and clans are watching," he said darkly. "If the Han Clan wishes to rise again, we cannot rely on old glory. We must forge monsters."
Han Long swallowed hard, but the crimson dragon mark on his arm pulsed as if hungering for the marrow within the jade box.
Around the hall, other children continued their drills, sweat streaming, fists bruised, breath ragged. But none dared complain. The Han Clan demanded strength above all. Weakness was death.
As night fell, the clan's ancestral grounds glowed faintly under the moonlight, echoing with shouts of effort, ambition, and cruelty.
---
Far away, in the quiet valley, the small hut where Yan Jue lived with Madam Yan lay in silence. The boy, exhausted from his day in town, drifted into deep sleep.
The moonlight slipped through the cracks in the wooden roof, landing gently on his thin face. His breathing was soft, steady. For a moment, the world seemed ordinary.
Then—
The jade pendant at his neck stirred.
At first it was a faint flicker, like the spark of a candle. Then the glow deepened, turning into a brilliant golden radiance that filled the hut. The air vibrated, humming as if ancient runes long forgotten were awakening.
Yan Jue stirred in his sleep, but did not wake. Instead, the golden light poured from the pendant and seeped directly into his body. His small chest rose and fell sharply as warmth spread through his veins.
The aura grew stronger. Golden threads of light wrapped around him, forming patterns like rivers, like constellations. For a heartbeat, his skin shimmered with marks too complex to understand—marks not of ordinary blood, but of something far more ancient.
The wooden hut groaned, every corner bathed in brilliance. The dirt floor trembled faintly as if unable to withstand the power descending from the pendant.
Yet Yan Jue only sighed softly in his dreams, unaware that his destiny was shifting.
Above the valley, the night sky flickered with a strange gleam. A pair of distant owls scattered in fear, their cries echoing into the mountains.
The golden light pulsed once more, brighter than ever—then sank completely into Yan Jue's body. The pendant dimmed, returning to its cold jade form.
Silence fell again, as if nothing had happened.
Yan Jue slept on, a faint warmth still lingering on his skin. Tomorrow, he would wake unchanged in his own eyes. But deep within him, a seed had been planted—a force neither Madam Yan, nor the Han Clan, nor even the seven sects could yet imagine.
The boy who could not awaken had taken his first unseen step toward eternity.